Writer. Student. Educator. Daydreamer.

A List of Gratitude, Part 1.

I was inspired by Gala Darling to take a moment to express gratitude  for the things in my life that make me happy. Here’s my most recent list.


Bubble baths while listening to This American Life. Taylor Swift’s 1989.  Jimmy Fallon’s reaction to realizing he could have dated Nicole Kidman. Jimmy Fallon in general. The cinematography in Short Term 12.  Clean sheets on my bed & heavy handmade quilts. The pizza cat Facebook messenger sticker. Avocado toast with salt & pepper. Listening to my 3-year-old nephew tell me about his day. Coffee coffee coffee. Dancing terribly to 80’s music with friends at a bar & not caring what anyone thinks for a change. Moscow mules. Season 3 finale of GIRLS; the last scene when Hannah holds her acceptance letter to graduate school & smiles to herself because she knows she’s finally doing what’s right for her even though it’s hard & everything else is complete shit. Walking my dog Harper around my neighborhood & photographing small details I notice along the way. An ice cold Coca-Cola in a glass bottle. Moccasins with stripey socks. Smiles of acknowledgement from strangers. Waking up without an alarm.


This was a good exercise for me. What are you grateful for lately?

(Photo credit: mywonderland1)

You never forget the first time you see someone cry.

It’s as though your relationship with them is now divided into two separate entities: the time before you saw them cry & the time after.

You watch their face contort into this once unfamiliar shape & you sit there for a moment before realizing what’s happening because it’s a new sensation for you to see them this way & it always takes your synapses an extra second to spark when you are experiencing something new.

You wait for a cue from them. What should you do? Should you touch them or simply sit there with your hands folded in your lap? Should you look at them & watch the tears roll off the edge of their chin or should you look away & give them their privacy? But, isn’t the entire act of crying in front of someone the ultimate breach of emotional sanctuary?

Weeks later, at a party, you find yourself looking at that person differently. Across the room, they are laughing at a joke someone told. They throw their head back when they laugh & you realize that they do the same thing when they cry.

You suppose that there is some significance in this, but you can’t figure it out.

Uncovering my authentic voice.

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Ah, the elusive writer’s voice. Is that even a thing? Are writers actually able to confidently state that they have, indeed, ‘found’ their voice? If so, where was it hiding? I’d love to know. Was it between their couch cushions amongst some loose pocket change? Was it balled up in the corner of their closet next to the infamous missing sock? If only it were that easy. If only, one day, I would sit down to write and suddenly exclaim, “Oh! There you are, voice. You little somethingsomething. I’ve been looking all over for you.” And, boom. Just like that. Voice found.

The problem for me, I think, is due to the fact that I don’t know if I even have a rational everyday voice. I’m a naturally anxious person. My daily life is consumed by my tireless efforts to counteract the voice inside my head that fills me with self-doubt. It seems as though I need to get this voice in check before I can even begin to uncover any other sort of voice ambling about inside of me.

However, in order to speak on this topic and appease my lack-of-a-writer’s-voice anxiety, I’ll state some of the basic qualities of my writing. Let’s see if I can at least handle that. When I write, it’s typically fairly stream-of-conscious. It’d like to call it tongue-in-cheek, but I think that is giving me a bit too much credit. My writing is self-deprecating. If you know me in real life, you know that this is a very authentic portrayal of my true self. I’m the first to admit that I don’t know what the hell is going on. No, seriously. I’ll literally look you in the eyes and ask you, “What the hell is going on?”

The majority of my life consists of me looking around suspiciously at others waiting for them to figure out that I’m an adult imposter. What if they found out how laughably small my savings account is or that I bought a house but have no earthly concept of what the word escrow means? I think a lot of my fears as a writer and as a human stem from those two words: what if? What if my writing isn’t good enough? What if it’s actually complete garbage? What if I’m not good enough?

I realize that this all colors me in quite the muted light. However, that’s why I want to write. That’s why I must write; to focus, to grow, to quiet the anxious self-talk swirling about in my head. Someday, I will find my elusive writer’s voice and I will write so loudly, everyone will have to stop and listen.

Free Wallpaper: “A Cup of Tea”


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I came across this quote by author Jeff Foster on his Facebook page. I’m including the entire passage below because it truly resonated with me & where I am in my life right now. It’s always good to remind yourself to keep things simple. I hope you will enjoy this wallpaper & use it as a reminder to yourself to live in the moment.

In the end, as in the beginning, there is nothing more spiritual than having a cup of tea.

We can talk about the absolute presence of the witness, the subjective objectivity of subjective conscious presence, the ecstasy of transcendental states, the pathless path to glorious enlightened futures, the spiritual realms with all their compelling promises of perfection.

But soon, we tire of the words, however beautiful, and we long for simplicity, realness, a truth that cannot be broken. We long for the moment, however paradoxical that sounds. We long for our ground, our home. Connection. To get out of our heads and into the Heart.

And so we are sitting with a friend in a café on a summer’s morning, kids screaming in all directions, the reflection of sunlight on a tea-stained spoon, and THIS, THIS is life. Not life as abstracted by thought, not life as spoken by well-intentioned gurus and philosophers, but life as lived first-hand, life as nothing more than immediacy and presence and wonder, life as a tea bag, life as a sleeping dog, life as the shattering of glass, kids wild at play, oblivious to the seriousness that approaches in time.

I once had a concept of the ‘spiritual’. I once sought enlightened states. I once had an idea that I, or anyone, was an authority. I once felt superior to sleeping dogs and broken glass.

I am now a tea bag.

– Jeff Foster

P.S. Yes, I drew that little cup of tea & I’m kind of proud of it. So, be nice.

Flash Fiction: “The Necklace”

You still wear the necklace he gave you beneath your clothes. It serves as a personal sanctuary for you. You find yourself reliving the day he gave it to you—in that little unassuming black box. You’d never received anything in a little black box before. You remember how nervous he looked with it cupped awkwardly in his over-sized hands like a fragile baby bird. For once, he couldn’t look you in the eyes. You knew it was a sacred moment, so you made sure to open the box carefully with it still nestled in his palms. Now, sitting on the near-empty bus entirely too late at night, you close your eyes & focus on the feeling of the thin silver chain brushing against your skin. You pretend it’s him touching you again— the simple thought of it making you purse your lips & cross your legs. You smile sadly.

Song: Birdy – “1901 (Phoenix Cover)”

Welcome, Tessa Rose. You are loved already.


It’s been a week filled with love for me. On Wednesday at 10:47 in the evening, my sweet niece Tessa Rose came into this world. She is beautiful & I’m already completely smitten with her. I’m also so proud & in awe of my sister! She is such an amazing mother already to my nephew Elijah.. She simply exudes  grace & patience. She is most definitely one of my biggest role models in life.


Sometimes, it’s easy for me to get caught up in my head. I retreat & fall into a pattern of feeling very “woe is me” whenever things don’t go exactly as planned. However, seeing & experiencing this new little life renews my faith in …well, everything. I’m so hopeful. I think that’s the best way to describe things. Welcome to the world, Tessa Rose. You are so loved already!


What’s at risk.

“The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” – Ernest Hemingway

I’ve been listening to the podcast RISK! quite a bit recently. If you’ve never heard of it, here is a brief description from their website: “RISK! is a live show and podcast ‘where people tell true stories they never thought they’d dare to share in public.'” The stories that people tell are often jarring. They cover just about every topic you could imagine— death, love, heartbreak, abuse, sex, depression, and the list goes on. These people stand alone on a stage in front of a microphone and completely spill their guts to a room full of (I’m assuming mostly) strangers.

Sometimes, their stories are hard to stomach. I commute a decent amount for my job, so I typically find myself listening while behind the wheel. I’ve missed an exit or turn several times because I’m engulfed in these brave individual’s stories. I’ve gasped and cursed and cried and laughed and paused and rewound and fast forwarded.

Amongst the wide range of emotions that this show elicited from me, there was one in particular that consumed me entirely: jealously. Why wasn’t I brave enough to tell my story so unapologetically? Why was it so hard for me to risk being exposed as my authentic self? I was jealous of the raw, imperfect edges of these storytellers—of the way they were able to look their audience square in the face while admitting these private (and at times extremely painful) things about themselves. The podcast was certainly aptly named because these people were truly taking a risk.

I wanted that. I wanted to expose myself and share my story. I wanted to make people gasp and shake their heads. I wanted them to laugh at the absurd parts and blink away tears at the painful, unfair parts. I wanted acceptance and affirmation and that cathartic, relieved feeling that they surely had to feel afterwards.

But, then, I realized I was nowhere near ready to risk telling my story. Even as I write this sentence, I can honestly say I don’t even know where I’d begin. Does this all have a point? Not really. Am I going to leave you feeling inspired and empowered after reading this? Maybe not. But, I guess I’m okay with that. I take small risks every day. Like writing this very post or wearing a dress with heels when I really just want to put on a sweatshirt and jeans. I live every day as bravely and authentically as I can.  I make mistakes because I’m human. I put myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. Because I’m human.

I hope that some day I will be able to stand in front of a microphone in a room full of strangers and shout at the top of my lungs, “Look! This happened! This is me and I’m totally okay with it!” Until then, I carry on humbly and risk getting out of bed to live another day.

I was an English Teacher at an Inner City School for Two and a Half Years


I was fresh out of college and had just completed my student teaching at an excellently rated suburban high school within a close-knit community. During my student teaching experience, I had technology and resources and administrative support! The kids thought I was cool (in a nerdy way)! They did their homework (most of the time)! I created these awesomely creative projects! I was officially the best English teacher ever (seriously a student gave me a mug on my last day to prove it)I was so ready to go out into the world and SAVE ALL THE CHILDREN BY FOSTERING IN THEM A LOVE FOR THE WRITTEN WORD!

Shortly after I finished my student teaching, I stumbled upon an English teaching position that was posted for a local charter school. I remember thinking, “Wow, there are a lot of charter school positions open! Whoever said that there were no teaching jobs out there was full of it.” I knew I was going to be “working with a different student population” than I had been during my student teaching experience. But, I mean, I’d watched Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers. How hard could it be?

After my first day, I quickly realized why there were so many charter school job vacancies. To put it bluntly, it was rough. I could tell you story after story about the fights I witnessed and the verbal abuse I experienced and the lack of administrative support I was up against. Honestly, my skin simply wasn’t thick enough nor my heart hard enough.  I had students from broken (more like shattered into oblivion) homes, students who were literally homeless, students who were fifteen and pregnant, students who came to school hungry.

Yet, I was supposed to make them give two shits about A Tale of Two Cities and proper MLA citation? I was supposed to prepare them for state testing? It all felt like some sort of cruel joke that I wasn’t in on. These kids needed so much more than I was capable of giving them. I drove home crying many days. Sometimes, I drove to school crying.

The day I decided I was going to finally give my two weeks notice, a particularly volatile young man in the 11th grade threatened me. “Man” is definitely the best way to describe him. He was at least two heads taller than me. He pushed a desk over and had to be escorted out of my classroom by school security. I was visibly shaken. This student had not liked me from the beginning. Maybe I reminded him of someone in his life who had hurt him. I had tried everything and failed to gain his trust. It destroyed me and I knew I couldn’t handle anymore of the stress or anxiety.

So, I gave up. I did. I quit mid-year and it was one of the most selfish things I have ever done. I left them. Because I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was doing them as well as myself a disservice by staying. But, honestly, I just couldn’t handle it. My heart hurt too much every day when I got home.

That is not to say that I didn’t experience moments of brightness. My students touched me in ways that I still am figuring out. They were so resilient. They opened me up to an entire world that I’d heard existed. However, to see it first hand is an entirely different story. Teaching also taught me a lot about myself as a person. It revealed both positive and negative qualities within myself.

I still stay in touch with some of my students. I had one of my seniors who is now attending college message me recently on Facebook to tell me that they were reading and discussing a book  that we had read together in class. She told me she felt confident and thanked me for preparing her. I teared up.

Would I go back? I never say never. I could see myself— years down the road—- going back. Sometimes, I miss it so much. But, right now, I’m just thankful for the experience and all that it taught me about myself.

Ten Books That Changed Me


There’s no hiding my love for the written word. Books have an uncanny ability to pull at my heart strings. Although this is not necessarily a complete list, I have chosen ten books that have changed me for one reason or another. They may not all be great works of literature; however, they all came into my life at the perfect time & served a purpose. I could write paragraphs on each of these books. But, I won’t do that. Not yet anyways. I’ll just list them. What books have changed you? I’d love to know.

  1. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
  2. The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis
  3. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
  4. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
  5. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
  6. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
  7. Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
  8. About a Boy by Nick Hornby
  9. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
  10. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Free Desktop Wallpaper: Don’t Give Up.


Hello, everyone! I’m back  & feeling inspired. We all know that the period of time after the holiday rush is a tough one. But, I’m trying my hardest to stay as positive as possible. I made this little desktop wallpaper for you to hopefully inspire you to keep going. Don’t give up, my friends. Even though it may see like the easiest thing to do. I know I’m not going to. Feel free to use it & share it!

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