several months ago, i blogged on the blue shoes my mother gave me for christmas.


well, i finally wore them. i didn’t claim a ten-year-old dressed me, or that i was color-blinded. i owned my bright shoes.

and spilled a bit of coffee on them.

i did it. first tank tops, now blue shoes. what else will i have the courage to pull off in the future? who knows. i am being reminded of this song, too often attributed as a children’s song when i think it works best for teens and college-aged people.

little by little
i’m changing, i’m growing
little by little
i hope that it’s showing
i’m not who i’ll be,
i’m not who i was,
i’m somewhere in the middle
but god is changing me little by little





it’s only fifteen minutes.

i have a new mantra.

what do you do during your day? work, school, and sleep take up so much of mine. busy parents have to make dinner, run kids to soccer practice, put them in the bath, and to bed, there seems to be no time to breathe, and many of us start to wonder how much sleep we actually need…

i grew up in a home where laundry was done infrequently, where the toilet was stained, and smelled. the kitchen was mopped maybe every six months. you didn’t pick up after yourself as a longlong habit. you would look at the counter, and somehow your eyes would not see the piles of dirty dishes. your brain would not register their existence.

that is setting myself up for failure in a core goal of mine; to not be like my mother. i don’t keep things clean. upkeep is not in my arsenal of skills.

it needs to be, though, failure is not an option.

starting today, i will find fifteen minutes a day to clean. you can do so many things in that time frame. dishes, sweep, vacuum, a load of laundry, and wiping down the bathroom. there are definitely fifteen minutes to spare in my day; i just have to be ambitious enough to find them.


have you ever seen a boy with funny clothes? a girl with braces on her teeth, or freckles on her nose? some kids call them “odd balls”, some kids call them “weird” […] god makes lots of people in all colors, shapes and sizes. he loves them very much and what we need to realize is that calling people names because they’re different is wrong. instead we need to look on them in love and sing this song:

i can be your friend. i can be your friend. anyday, in any weather, we can be friends and play together!

i’ve always been open to being friends with everyone. i almost silently worship certain people. i am definitely more of a follower than a leader when it comes to making friends, being the person seeking out the friendship, being the person to wish another would want to be my friend. i think i have always had the attitude of who am i, that this person would want to be friends with me?


my best friend from k-2nd grade was named t. t and i would whisper about the spice girls and britney during sunday school, and she might have even snuck in her cassette tape of backstreet boys if i recall properly. i think out of our class (maybe 10 kids), she was one of the most popular, but i didn’t have too much of a concept of that back then. all i knew was that she was a better artist than me, so i copied what colors she used in her coloring page exactly.

i left churches to become mennonite, and haven’t seen her since.

i think too many people think too highly of themselves. too many people think they are a t, and that people should flock to them. not just anyone, but that they can discriminate, pick and choose. that is sad. you can’t discriminate on people due to working class, style, and usually personalities. some people can be so wonderful, and you are just missing out by denying them access to you as a person. be flattered when someone asks you to join them on their lunch break to chick-fil-a. who cares that she has dark facial hair growing on her upper lip? chances are, she is a better person for how she’s been treated for it, and the kind of person you’ll want in your arsenal of pals.

20 before 21


i think most bloggers have seen this idea around, and think it’s a great one. there is nothing like a push, a plunge, accountability, published records of dreams. i kept mine realistic, even, of small changes to make a big difference in the course of a year.

1) submit manuscript to agents
2) start saving for retirement
3) go out on one date
4) get drivers license
5) start nursing school
6) learn to sew
7) finish fanfiction novel
8) talk to j, e, and f at least once a week
9) read 30 books
10) start deliberately exercising
11) eat one green thing a day – jolly ranchers don’t count
12) get a wardrobe i actually like
13) make dinner often
14) get a new job
15) learn how to knit in the round
16) watch all the star wars movies
17) write inspirational people
18) have $10,000 put away
19) be proficient in math
20) start a garden


sometimes, i wonder how at all i turned out like i did. my dad is a physicist with aspergers syndrome, and my mom is absorbed in keeping up with the joneses and appearances. 20120714-214058.jpg

enter me, who wears off-beat clothing, has wildly different opinions on some political/religious things, and who surrounds herself in culture. my parents did everything they could do discourage it, but maybe that only encouraged it.

i get that they worry. the fact of the matter is is that i might be rather poor living in new york. i’m going to have friends they don’t approve of, and dress in clothes they don’t think matches. and maybe mom is right; maybe i do this as a manic thing.

they aren’t going to understand why i’m happy, either. and i won’t be able to explain. but hopefully they will come to see that as long as i am, that’s what matters.

dear f


f is my best friend. f has a very low self-esteem. if she could take her eyes off her perceived flaws for one moment, she could see how much freaking potential she has. there are all sorts of things i want to tell her, to remind her of, to let her know, to inspire her. what better way than to do it here, so that the rest of us can be inspired too?

f, this is for you.









forget regret.

happiness isn’t manic.

i’m not crazy.

forget regret.

happiness isn’t manic.

i’m not crazy.

most of us have personal mantras we repeat to ourselves. sure, most of them were not bestowed upon us by ghandi, but that doesn’t make it any less relevant or important. sometimes, i write these words on my wrists to remind me to stay strong. other times, i fill notebook pages with them.

what are your personal mantras?