“The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in a while, and watch your answers change….”
A couple days ago, I was digging through some old boxes when I came across my middle school burn book. Awkward.
Most of the pages are covered in magazine pictures, surrounded by comments written in bright markers. While at first glance the overfilled composition notebook resembles a “burn book” a la Mean Girls, that’s not actually what it is. The notebook is a friendship journal. Back in 2007, two of my 7th grade friends and I shared a journal. Each day someone different would take it home and write an entry. The entries were typically pictures, quizzes, and stories we cut out from magazines. We used code names (which were pointless because at the end we put pictures of ourselves and labeled who was who) and wrote small comments about our lives. It’s a fine cultural artifact, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day the journal ends up in a museum or special collections library, where you will need to use gloves to flip through the pages.
Swimming is a confusing sport, because sometimes you do it for fun, and other times you do it to not die. And when I’m swimming, sometimes I’m not sure which one it is.
I stand on the edge of the pool and jump.
If the security personnel do their job properly, they just might cause you to miss your plane, thereby possibly saving your life.
One piece of advice I give to all incoming college freshmen is to always have a funny, lighthearted embarrassing story to tell about yourself. Icebreakers are popular in college, particularly the question: “share your most embarrassing moment.” It’s a silly question because no one wants to share their actual most humiliating moment to a group of complete strangers and relive the embarrassment. My real low points would achieve the complete opposite of breaking the ice. The room would fall silent, and everyone would feel awkward because deeply embarrassing stories are painful to hear. The only thing worse would be to say that you don’t have any embarrassing stories. (LIAR.) No, what people want is a humorous self-deprecating story of mild woe. I’ve had to answer that awful icebreaker question so many times, I have a few stories ready to go at all times. Today, I’ll be sharing one of them. Hopefully, it’ll break the ice.
It’s amazing that the amount of news that happens in the world every day always just exactly fits the newspaper.
Mary made a quick stop at a local grocery store to buy apples. She reached for an apple that seemed to meet her fruit standards. Immediately, she realized someone had already taken a bite of the apple. The apple slipped through her fingers as she cringed. She grabbed a different apple, then another, and then one more. To her horror, Mary discovered that all the gala apples had the same bite marks. The red delicious were left untouched.
Mary stepped back, clearly disgusted. That’s when she saw a young man taking her picture with his phone.
Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion.
― Arthur Koestler
Mrs. Henderson was clearly losing the battle against her yard. Weeds had taken over most of it, and the overgrown grass hid a few newspapers scattered across the lawn.
Kate sighed as she picked up yet another newspaper on her driveway. She lazily threw it over the fence to join the others on Mrs. Henderson’s yard. To the dismay of both women, the Tribune never seemed to deliver the paper to the right house. Even after numerous complaints.
All Kate wanted to do was take off her heels and relax in front of the television with a glass of wine, which is exactly what she did. It had been a lousy Monday.
Love the giver more than the gift. –Brigham Young
Happy Birthday!!! -The last words I heard before everyone went crazy.
For a long time, I put off starting a blog because I was paranoid. I feared that one day my little personal blog might get me fired from a job or some stalker would like me a bit too much and kill me in my sleep. Even today, I’m weary of writing about topics I deem “too personal” or publishing posts that might come back to haunt me.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t adequately analyze all the risks, nor foresee all the possible consequences of starting a blog. Fellow bloggers (and people on the fence about starting a blog), take note.
I regard romantic comedies as a subgenre of sci-fi, in which the world operates according to different rules than my regular human world.
Are you ready to be the leading lady of your love life? Do you want to begin your “happily ever after” starting tomorrow?
With this handy new guide, NOW YOU CAN! For a limited time Valentine’s Day offer, I’m releasing a free excerpt of my forthcoming self-help book, From Plucky Comic Relief to Main Romantic Interest in 30 Days (Pre-ordering available soon). I’ve dedicated half of my life to exploring how Hollywood has provided all the answers to life’s hardest questions about love: “What should I wear?” “Will he like me?” and even the classic, “Should I bring a burger in my purse in case the line at the restaurant is 2 miles long because it’s Valentine’s Day?” Fret no longer. Below, I’ve compiled some of the best nuggets of wisdom romantic films have taught us over the years. You’ll have him saying, “As you wish” like Westley before you know it.
In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does but by what one owns.
-President Jimmy Carter
The original title for this post was “Minimalism: I watched a Netflix documentary, read a few blogs, and now, I’m an expert” but I decided to minimize it to simply “Minimalism.” for obvious reasons.