Reflection or something..

A year ago, I celebrated the first moments of 2014 at a party in a new city, amidst (soon to be) new friends and tequila shots, with a kiss from my gay roommate as another friend puked in the sink next to us.

I really hate New Years resolutions.

You don't need the New Year as an excuse to change something in your life.  If you really want to change, you can do it on your own.

That being said, there is something kind of nice about ringing in the New Year with a goal.

So, I think my vague, unofficial New Years resolution for 2014 was, quite simply, to make it better than 2013.

In hindsight, I think I was being a little dramatic, but at the time, all I could think of was how much 2013 sucked.  Like.... royally sucked.

So, here I am, just hours away from 2015, reflecting on the past year. 

I hate to be cheesy but...........

2014 was great.

Amazing.

Maybe it was just about my mindset, maybe it was because I was determined to make it great, I don't really need a reason.  I'm just happy that it was the way it was.

Highlights:

• I discovered Asheville.  Sure, I had already lived there for a few months, but 2014 was when I really discovered the city.
• Similarly, I discovered yoga.  (I had done it off and on for years, but 2014 was when I really realized what it was all about for me..... thank goodness and namaste, y'all.)
• I was reunited with family members I hadn't seen in years.
• I made an unforgettable group of friends, the kind of friends that almost feel like family. You know who you are.
• I road-tripped up the east coast with a good pal from my semester abroad that I hadn't seen since 2012.
• I was able to return to Buck's Rock Camp in Connecticut and reunite with old friends, make new friends, foster some creativity, eat a lot of peanut butter bars, learn a little something about forgiveness and second chances, and feel inspired by the youth as well as my peers that surrounded me.
• I worked on my first theatre production since college and received a much needed reminder of why I once wanted to devote my life to it.
• I was able to make a whirlwind trip to Florida to see my beautiful cousin get married and visit with old friends and family.
• And I moved back home for a bit.  Some might not see it as a highlight, I certainly had my moments.  However, I was able to save money, reflect on life, make some plans, appreciate the beauty of Vermont, hang out with my dog, and most importantly nurture my relationship with two of the most important people in my life (Hi Mom and Dad).

So there you have it.  

A list of things that is entirely irrelevant to most of you.  So, I'm sorry if I wasted your time.

But, I'll leave you with a small piece of my vast, vast fortune of wisdom (do you sense the sarcasm?).

If you're determined to make 2015 great, it will be. 

But these things don't happen on their own.

Have a happy, safe, and healthy 2015.

And, as always, thank you for reading.

To give credit where credit is due...

I think that I can safely say that one of my favorite feelings in the world, is that of starting a new book.

I always feel very ambitious and adventurous when I open the cover, flip through the first, relatively purposeless pages, and find myself face to face with the beginning of a new story.

A clean slate.

Fresh.

Somewhat similarly, but also not similarly at all, is the way I feel about finishing a book.

I say "similarly," because I also love the feeling of finishing a book.

However, these two feelings are vastly different.

Upon finishing a good story, I often feel some mixture of overwhelmedness, accomplishment, grief, and closure.

Mere moments ago I had the... let's say "experience" of finishing Ken Kesey's 700+ page behemoth of a novel, Sometimes a Great Notion.

I could go on and on about the intricacies of this story, but will simply say that very few pieces of literature have evoked in me aforementioned mixture of overwhelmedness, accomplishment, grief, and closure with such utter force.

Still filled with the adrenaline that pumped through my body for the last 50 pages and while the spirit continues to move me, I would like to share, via Mr. Kesey, an anecdote that deserves acknowledgement; one that was particularly moving to me.

...About a guy I met in the nuthouse, a Mr. Siggs, a nervous, quick-featured self-schooled hick who had spent all his fifty or so years except for Service time in the eastern Oregon town of his birth. A reader of encyclopaedias, a memorizer of Milton, a writer of a column called "Words to Adjust By" in the Patients' Paper... a completely capable and sufficient person, yet this intense little self-styled scholar was perhaps the most uncomfortable man on the ward.  Siggs was terribly paranoid in crowds, equally hung up in one-to-one situations, and seemed to enjoy no ease at all except by himself inside a book.  And no one could have been more shocked than myself when he volunteered for the job as Ward Public Relations Director. "Masochism?" I asked him when I heard of his new position.  "What do you mean?" He fidgeted, hedging away from my eyes, but I went on. "I mean this Public Relations job... why are you taking on this business of dealing with big groups of people when you're apparently so much more at ease alone?"
  At this Mr. Siggs stopped fidgeting and looked at me; he had large, heavy-lidded eyes that could burn with sudden unblinking intensity. "Just before I came in here... I took a job, stock outrider. In a shack hid away outside Baker. A place a hundred miles from noplace. Nobody, nothing, far as I could see. Sweet, high country; beautiful... Not even a cedar tree. Took along complete set of Great Books.  All the classics, ten dollars a month, book salesman took it out of my wages in Baker. Beautiful country. See a thousand miles any direction, like it was all mine. A million stars, a million sage blossoms--all mine. Yes, beautiful... Couldn't make it, though. Committed myself a month and a half." His face softened and his blue star dimmed again beneath his half-closed lids; he grinned at me; I could see him forcing himself to try to relax. "Oh, you're right. Yes, you are: I am a loner, a born one. And someday I will make it--that shack, I mean. Yes. I will, you'll see. But not like last time. Not to hide. No. Next time I try it it will be first because I choose to, then because it is where I am most comfortable. Only sensible plan; sure of it. But... a fellow has to get so he can deal with these Public Relations, before he can truly make it. Make it like that... alone... in some shack. A man has to know he had a choice before he can enjoy what he chose. I know now. That a human has to make it with other humans... before he can make it with himself."
  I had a therapeutic addition to this: "And vice versa, Mr. Siggs: he has to make it with himself before branching out."
  He agreed, reluctantly, but he still agreed. Because at that time we both considered this addition pretty psychologically profound and--in spite of its chick-or-egg overtones--the very last word in "Words to Adjust By" at that time.
  Recently, however, I found that there were even further additions.  A few months ago I was sage-hen hunting in the Ochoco Mountains--high, spare, lonely plains country and certainly as far from noplace as any place I know--and I ran into Mr. Siggs again, a healthier, younger-looking Mr. Siggs, tanned, bearded, and calm as a lizard on a sunny stone.  After overcoming out mutual surprise, we recalled our conversation after his acceptance of the Public Relations job, and I asked how his plans had worked out. Perfectly--after some successful therapy he'd been discharged with honors over a year ago, had his outriding job, his Great Books, his shack... loved it. But didn't he still occasionally wonder if he were really choosing his shack or still just hiding in it? Nope. Wasn't he lonely? Nope. Well wasn't he bored, then with all this sunshine and adjustment? He shook his head. "After you get so you can make it with other people, and make it with yourself, there's still work to be done; you still have the main party to deal with..."
  "The 'main party'?" I asked, right then starting to suspect that statement about his being discharged "with honors." "What do you mean, Mr. Siggs?" The 'main party'? You mean deal with Nature? God?"
  "Yes, it could be," he remarked, rolling on his rock to warm his other side and closing his eyes against the sun. "Nature or God. Or it could be Time. Or Death. Or just the stars and the sage blossoms. Don't know yet..." He yawned, then raised his little head and fixed me once ore with that same intense look, a demented bright-blue look galvanized by some drive beneath his leathery face that sunshine--or therapy--could never adjust... "I am fifty-three," he said sharply. "Took fifty years, half a century, just to get to where I could deal with something my own size. Don't expect me to work this other thing out overnight. So long."
  The eyes closed and he seemed to sleep, a skinny back-country Buddha, on a hot rock miles from noplace. I walked on, back toward camp, trying to decide if he was saner or crazier than when I last saw him. 
  I decided he was.

(Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey, 1964)

Here, his words inspiring me to write a few of my own words for the first time in nearly two months.

Words are incredible.

"Resume-worthy."

I'm not sure if I can pinpoint exactly when it happened, but there was a distinct point (sometime during my junior year of college, maybe?) that I realized how badly I needed to work on my resume.

I mean I know working at the Bagel Basement for 3 years is pretty impressive buuuttt.......

So, I started furiously applying for internships and getting involved in as many "resume-worthy" activities as possible.

By the end of my senior year, I was relatively satisfied with what I had accomplished and was ready to take the "real-world" by storm.

However, the ego of a senior in college can be quickly beaten down when humbled by aforementioned "real world."

So, terrified by my independence, lack of structure, and freedom to do what I wanted, I forewent all of my original plans and ran away to North Carolina, where I knew virtually no one and was able to escape the society and self-induced pressure to "succeed."

Shortly before my big move, I became aware of a job opening in my new city and began to pursue it, said pursuit ending in ultimate success.  While the job was nothing related to what had been my area of study in New York, it was a full-time,  Monday-Friday, 9-5, administrative office job.  As a first job out of college, I thought I'd done pretty well; even if I didn't enjoy it, even if I didn't stay at the job or in the industry, "...I could still put it on my resume."

I stayed at there for the better part of 9 months and, off the record, I can safely say that, with the exception of some truly phenomenal co-workers, it was one of the least-enjoyable professional experiences of my life.

The owner of the corporation had very questionable ethics, there was no sense of job-security, the inter-department relationships were often very tense and catty, and the tasks designated to the person in my position were only able to fill an 8-hour workday, if the hotel was busy, often leaving me spinning in my desk chair, trying to hide how much time I was spending on Facebook.

After leaving the job, as many of you know, I returned to work at Buck's Rock Performing and Creative Arts Camp for a second summer after which I moved back to my parents' house in Vermont to get a little grounded, save some money, and figure out what the next step is for me.

While I'm here, I've been working at a Umpleby's Bakery & Cafe, a small locally owned business in a town nearby.

Sure, the food service industry has its miserable moments (Public Service Announcement: if you come in to order lunch after 1:45pm, you need to re-evaluate your life), but compared with the office job I held in Asheville, I may as well be sitting on a chocolate throne in diamond studded shoes drinking cocktails and getting paid $87(billion?)/hr.

So why is it that, typically speaking, a job in a cafe is not considered "resume-worthy"?

I work harder, I make a comparable amount of money, I feel that I am making a larger contribution to the business as well as to the general public (enjoy your sandwiches, folks), but would this job ever help me in obtaining my dream job (if I ever decide what that would be)? Probably not.

This is a realization that has been slightly troubling to me in the last month or so. 

I am not sure what I want to do, ultimately.  For the time being, I have a job for the sole purpose of making money. 

But when the time comes for me to, once again, start looking for "real jobs," will the last job that goes on my resume be: Administrative Assistant at the I Don't Want to Name Names Corporation?

Who knows.  Probably.  I guess that just how the world works these days.

I guess the best thing that people in my position can do is just focus on their short-term plan and do what makes them happy and what makes sense for now. 

Maybe, down the line, it will be harder to get the job you want, maybe your resume won't compare with those currently suffering through entry-level office jobs, but, hopefully, you'll be able to look back and say: "Worth it."

BASICally

I have never been one to pay attention to or keep up with popular culture.

Somehow, I always seem to be 10 steps behind everyone else.  

-What is Twitter and why do people use it? 

-I never "lol." 

-And what the actual fuck does "bae" mean?

However, with the ever-increasing use of social media, there is one cultural phenomenon that has not entirely escaped me.

The concept of the "basic bitch."

Urban Dictionary defines a "basic bitch" as such:

"A girl who...wears Uggs, leggings, oversized sweaters, and posts pictures of her iced Starbucks white chocolate caramel soy latte on Instagram..."

A couple of good friends and I shared amusement just the other day through a Buzzfeed article that gave a list of steps demonstrating how to dress up as a "basic bitch" for Halloween.  The list included: yoga pants, a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks, a North Face jacket, and Ugg boots.

I won't lie.  "Basic bitch" is fun to say.  It's funny to joke about and I don't think there is much weight behind the insult due to it's widespread and frequent use in the media and among our generation. 

My main qualm with this concept is that this overall definition of a "basic bitch," as agreed upon by the general public, seems to consist of a very broad and superficial list of character traits. 

It is at this point that I must refer to another recent trend in pop culture: Emma Watson.

Ever since she made her speech about the launch of the HeForShe campaign in front of the United Nations, people cannot get enough of her; reblogging, posting, tweeting, sharing, liking, and commenting at every chance they get. 

I applaud her, I really do.  But I have done some research and I have some unfortunate photos to share with all of her fans:

Uggs, dear readers. Emma Watson in Uggs..... And is that a baggy sweater I see?

Just Emma being fab, right? Take a closer look at that cup in her hand.  She is drinking Starbucks, folks! I wonder if it's Pumpkin Spice...

And last, but certainly not least:

I didn't want it to be true... but, alas. Our Emma is wearing leggings... Or, even worse... Could they be yoga pants?

So, with this evidence, are we all in agreement that Emma Watson is just another "basic bitch" like the rest of them?

Personally, I kind of hope not.

Because if being the UN Women Goodwill Ambassador at the age of 24 is basic, then I really don't think there's a lot of hope for the rest of us.

And while, in good fun, I am a bit of a self-proclaimed "basic bitch," I don't think I would ever want someone to seriously describe me as "basic."

I don't want to toot my own horn, but I think I have some interesting qualities... Right?

Does that mean I don't enjoy the occasional PSL (Pumpkin Spice Latte)?

No.  They are one of the reasons that fall is my favorite season... I wish I was joking.

Do I wear yoga pants and baggy sweaters?

Hell yeah.  That shit is comfortable as hell.

Do I have a North Face jacket?

No.  I have two.

And any girl who hasn't buried her toes in a fluffy pair of Ugg boots when that cold weather comes around, hasn't lived. 

The end.

What the Doctor Ordered...

Allow for me to apologize again for my almost complete lack of posting during the summer months.  Again, most of it can be attributed to the crappy wifi connection at camp.  The rest, unfortunately, must be attributed to my laziness and preoccupation with other things.

I will give you a quick list of highlights from my summer at Buck's Rock:

• I made lots of art.
• I participated in an 8 mi. road race.
• I got really drunk and cut my toe open at '80's prom (no campers allowed, don't worry.)
• I performed with my co-counsellor and my camper at a chamber music recital.
• I finally finished the book I'd been working on for 6 mos.
• I started writing a series of short stories.
• I got to reconnect with lots of good people and meet lots of new ones!

This list merely touches on the events that made this summer an unforgettable one.  At this point, I have to give a shout out to all of the people that helped make it so enjoyable.

However, after spending the vast majority of my spring surrounded by my lovely Asheville friends, followed by a 2.5 week road trip with my friend Cathryn, followed by two months surrounded by campers and co-workers, two of whom came home with me for a week after camp, after which I spent a week back in Asheville to celebrate Miguel's and my respective birthdays (the return of Sunday Funday!), I finally came home to some much needed R&R and peace and quiet.

One of my main objectives over the last few days has been to find a job somewhere in the Upper Valley, in the hopes of saving some money before the imminent "rest of my life" begins.

That being said, I am actually a big fan of unemployment.

Sure, if I went unemployed for too long, I would absolutely go insane, but, for now, as the title of my post suggests, it is "...just what the doctor ordered."

I have found in the last few days that not having a set schedule allows for one to really and truly focus on themselves and the way that they want to live their life.

As for me, true to character, I've been going to bed early and waking up early (with plenty of time to enjoy my day).  I have been doing lots of walking and running in addition to the usual yoga that I practice.  I have been cooking lots of yummy and healthy, home-cooked meals and, subsequently, eating those meals.  I've been spending long overdue time with my dog and my parents. I've started watching Arrested Development (late to the game, I know, but goddamn, that is a funny fuckin' show) and started a new book, Ken Kesey's Sometimes a Great Notion (so far, highly recommended).

I think the thing that I have noticed most in my (hopefully) brief stint at unemployment, is how much having that extra time allows you to appreciate things.

For years, I have claimed that my attention span does not allow for me to start a new television series, that I can't invest myself in it enough.  The same goes for reading, while I've always known that I enjoy reading, I find that my mind tends to drift to all of the other things that I could (and probably should) be doing instead.  However, in the past few days I have done both of these things, and I've had the time to actually enjoy them.  Perhaps there's an argument for intellectual stimulation somewhere in there?

Even while practising yoga, easily one of my favorite activities, I often find my mind wandering to the other things going on in my life, kind of defeating the purpose of the very important "clear your mind" aspect of the practice.  However, while practising in my front yard yesterday, I found that I was, in fact, able to clear my mind.

Blah, blah, blah, cheesy, I know.

Now, instead of giving you more arguments for unemployment, I am going to go make pesto with my Mom and prepare for a job interview (hypocrite, much?)

But, that whole unemployment thing.... If you get a chance, give it a shot.

Sweet Treats.

As many of you know. I am residing, for the summer, in New Milford, Connecticut, working as a guidance counsellor for a group of adolescent girls at Buck's Rock Performing and Creative Arts Camp.

Considering its rather remote location, small population, and lack of tourism industry, down town New Milford actually has a lot to offer a group of camp counsellors on any given hour or day off.

Some of the hot spots include Primos (a Mexican deli/convenient store, great for hangovers), O'Connors (a local watering hole), Bank Street Coffee (currently using their wifi), and Tasty Wave (a frozen yoghurt parlour highly frequented by my friends and I.)

However, the bulk of this post is going to be focused on The Sweet Spot, located on Railroad Street in down town New Milford.


                  

The Sweet Spot is small bakery and cafe that offers a wide variety of sweet treats.  From cupcakes, to cookies, to ice cream, The Sweet Spot has it all.  And if you're in desperate need of a pick-me-up but not in the mood for something sweet, they offer coffee and espresso beverages as well.  As if they needed to improve their situation, they have "coffee cubes" which, in my personal opinion, are a revelation.  They are exactly what they sound like: frozen cubes of coffee.  Don't like when ice cubes melt and dilute your chilly beverage? No worries, because, when coffee cubes melt, it just means more coffee, and who can really complain about that?

The Sweet Spot also offers the legendary "Scoop Cake," essentially a cupcake with a filling of peanut butter, chocolate, caramel, or whatever other saucy ice cream condiment you can imagine and topped with a scoop of ice cream of your choice.  I've never had one, but I can only imagine the wonder that is the Scoop Cake.

But anyone who knows me, knows where this post is headed, so I may as well stop beating around the bush. I love coffee, but lots of places have good coffee.  Ice cream doesn't do much for me, personally.  Cookies are great, so are cupcakes and brownies, but they're pretty widespread as far as baked confections go.

The real reason to go to The Sweet Spot? The peanut butter bars.

                       

(Disclaimer: although I currently sit just minutes away from The Sweet Spot, at Bank Street Coffee House, I did steal these images from Google.)

Peanut butter bars are exactly what they sound (and look) like.  3/4 peanut butter, topped with 1/4 of chocolate. Delicious granule-y texture.  Better when chilled (as they are served.) They are incredibly rich, so go in with an appetite (and a sweet tooth.)  If you're not in the mood for the entire bar, they also offer $0.35 peanut butter balls, the smaller and cheaper "equivalent." I use quotes because, while satisfying, the peanut butter : chocolate ratio of the peanut butter balls versus bars is just not the same. In my personal opinion, just say "fuck it" and go for the full experience.

I have converted several of my co-counsellors to "peanut butter bar believers" this summer and I hope to spread the love and knowledge via this post.

Other than delicious baked goods, my summer has been amazing.  A lot of personal growth as well as a general cultivation of my creativity and happy reunion with wonderful friends.  Not sure what my plans for next summer are but it's hard to imagine not coming back to the beautiful place that Buck's Rock has become for me. 

That being said, if The Sweet Spot ever stops making peanut butter bars, it will definitely carry some weight in my deciding whether or not to return to New Milford.

For My Dad.

"Fatherhood is great because you can ruin someone from scratch."

~Jon Stewart

Thank you for doing a great job ruining me!

Love you.

There Are Places I Remember..

Two and a half years ago I embarked on one of the most amazingly life-changing journeys that I will, most-likely, ever experience:

I got on a plane in familiar old Boston and got off in a tropical, seaside city in southern Spain (whoa, unintentional alliteration).

As it was two and a half years ago, I don't remember the exact feeling of utter terror as I got off of the plane, stepping, for the first time, onto the Spanish ground that I would proceed to tread for the next five months, but, I know that I was, in fact, utterly terrified.

However, as I got into the groove of things, I found my routine, my lifestyle, and most importantly, a strong group of friends.

Over the course of the five months we spent in Almería, we found our way together.  We ate, we drank, we swam, we travelled, we studied, we struggled, but we survived.  And I think we would all agree in saying that a lot of our ultimate survival can be attributed to one another. 

Then, all of a sudden, much sooner than any of us had expected, the semester came to a crashing conclusion.  We all said our goodbyes, promising to see each other soon but (and I hope I'm not the only asshole that had this concern) I think we all wondered how much truth there was to this promise.

But, I can now officially say that I have, in three cases, followed through.

In the last eight months, I have visited and been visited by the one and only Bobby Holliman.

The incredible Cathryn Gillen sacrificed time and money to fly from England and road trip up the East Coast with me (learning along the way the vital correlation between caffeine and Katie's good moods).

And, last but definitely not least, I lived with the unbelievably amazing Patrick Ingram (another one to add to the list of life-changing experiences!)

So I guess the valuable and ever-cheesy lesson to be learned here is to keep the people that have changed your life in your life.

                                                                                                  

	¡Viva Almería 2k12!

Delay the Hangover.

In my 22 years, I have found that it is a fairly common school of thought among people over the age of 8 that Sunday is not the most enjoyable day of the week. 

For students, it means the last day to finish their allotted (and often excessive) weekend homework.

For adults, it is their last day of “freedom” before heading back to work.

For parents, it means back to school, back to making lunches, back to soccer games and play dates, etc.

For me and my fellow “20-somethings,” it means one last day to rest before heading back to the monotony of a 9-5 job that we hate or, even worse, the monotony of “the unknown.” It also means one last hangover before the new week starts.

Or does it…

The revelation can be dated back a few months to a Sunday morning after a particularly wild Saturday night.

Upon waking up, my friends Miguel and Aaron and I decided that our only hope for survival was to “delay the hangover.”

So, after a Bloody Mary with breakfast, we went and purchased a few bottles of champagne, some orange juice, and planted ourselves on the couch to watch some Desperate Housewives.  The result:

Sunday Funday was born.

Here are a few of the things you should know about Sunday Funday:

                                                         

                                         It is racially diverse.

There is always a surplus of men.

~*Sometimes we do casual tarot readings*~

 








We like glasses ($5 margaritas in pint glasses: not pictured.)

Sometimes we go to Mardi Gras parades.  

Sunday Funday is often blurry. 

  

<<We nap at our own expense.

There are very few acceptable reasons to cancel Sunday Funday.

And Monday will suck.

From mid-winter, indoor, day drinking, to fried fish sandwiches, to sunbathing and grilling out.  Mimosas and Man-mosas. Hot dogs and Takis. New friend groups, Simper Freckers, and $5 margaritas. Sunday Funday is more than just another day of the week, it is not just a tradition: 

It is a way of life.

Keep delaying the hangover.

I love you all!

Back in the game.

Many of you probably know that in high school I was a bit of an actress.

A passion that ultimately led me to pursue my potentially useless degree in Theatre Studies (still holding out hope, cross your fingers for me, folks.)

However, as I've expressed to some of you, I feel that my scholastic path led me a bit off track and I forgot why it was that I had originally fallen in love with theatre.  

But man! It is so hard to get your foot back in the door. 

So, since I've been in Asheville, I've auditioned for a couple community productions (to no avail) and I've been thinking of the different ways that I could reincorporate acting/performing into my life.

And then I got the opportunity to work on a short film that a friend was producing/directing/editing/etc.

Sure, it's not Broadway or anything, but it's definitely a step in the right direction.

So a big shout out to Jameson Hartrum for giving me a chance!

For those of you that are interested in seeing my first foray into acting in about 5 years, here is the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUuGREiBVlY 

(I apologize, I'm a little rusty.)

And speaking of things I haven't done in 5 years, I just ran my first 5k since senior year of high school, so, fuck yeah!

~ Love you all ~

22 Lessons I've learned at 22:

1. Post-grad sucks.

2. Everyone looks cuter in the winter.

3. You will never have enough money.

4. Try not to let #3 ever stop you from doing something you're passionate about.

5. Move somewhere just for the hell of it.

6. Don't settle.

7. Flush out the toxins. Literally and figuratively.

8. Read your horoscope.

9. Sunday-Funday is the best day of the week.

10. Don't worry about your dancing. There are people worse than you, I promise.

11. Yoga will always make you feel better.

12. Anyone can get a job (whether they deserve it or not.)

13. That being said, co-workers can make all the difference.

14. Existential crises are real.

15. Budweiser is not, in fact, the king of beers. Neither is PBR, Rolling Rock, Miller High Life, or Nattie Light.

16.  Step out of your comfort zone.

17. You can always do better.

18. Don't knock it 'till you try it.

19. Treat yourself.

20. Tequila is dangerous. Period.

21. Remember to look in the mirror.

22. Do what makes you happy.

Stay tuned for the "23" edition.  Let's see how many of these stay constant.

Two men walk into a room...

There was once a room.

The room was dark, not shrouded in mystery, rather in things incomprehensible to most.

One day a man walked in, his ultimate goal unknown to the room's occupants.

One of said occupants with raspy breath and heavily-lidded eyes commented, astonished, on the elderly man's youthful complexion.

He responded with a list of remedies, allegedly passed down to him from his mother, that he believed to be the reasons for aforementioned complexion. They were four-fold:

1. Stay out of the sun.

2. Use copious amounts of baby oil.

3. Get facials.

4. Smile. All the time.

The list was deemed worthy by the rooms occupants and a general introduction commenced.  However, for one small character, tucked shyly away in a corner of the room, this list of four reasons did not seem to lend credence to the man's mysterious youth.

They thought to themselves that, surely, the man's youthful nature had to have something to do with it.

The way he laughed whole-heartedly.

The way he told stories about his life and his family.

The way he engaged with the room's occupants.

His utter selflessness.

As the man spoke, the dark room became lighter and a gust of fresh wind seemed to follow him and billow throughout, enveloping the stale, dry air.

Though his appearance lasted mere moments, it made an impression.

Today, in another world, another dimension, another man walked into another dark room and said:

"You are not what your day was."

Thanks, as always, for reading. ~K