Who is the strongest person you know?

"There is so much pain and I don't know how to not notice it."
-Charlie

I have always identified myself as strong; tough as nails, sticks and stones can't break my bones, you can't break me, you can't even shake me, you know, that whole thing. And I do genuinely believe I have strong characteristics and I do think I'm capable of handling a lot, but the truth is: nothing really bad has ever happened to me. I have been very loved, very blessed, and very privileged for my entire life. I have done stupid things and that had bad consequences, but I chose them. I have cared about people who hurt me, but I chose them. In all of the moments when my strength was tested, there was a preceding moment in which I knew, this could go horribly wrong, and then it did. But I don't think these things make me exceptional and I don't think they make me strong, they just make me a person who deals with shit when she has to deal with shit. I might have defined strength differently, I might have thought the things I experienced were hard, I might have gone so far as to think I can genuinely understand the kind of pain people are put through, if I wasn't my mother's daughter.

My mother is little, very little. To hear her tell it, she is an ogre, but in reality, she is a beautiful, sunny little person. You might know her from church or from knowing me or from high school or from work or from her writing, but no matter how you know her, very quickly you realized that she is a lot of woman contained in that tiny body. She will pray for you until your burden is lessened, she will readily hit you with a barrage of fucks, and I guarantee she can drink more beer than you. Any of you reading this, I don't care your body weight or your age or your presumed drinking talents, she can drink more beer than you.

When I was ten I got a C+ in social studies. My dad told me it was okay and sometimes smart people get bad grades and that I would just have to try harder next semester. But it didn't really matter what dad said because I knew my mom was going to come home and shove my report card up my ass; I never got a C on a report card again. When I was sixteen she grounded me for two weeks because I drank at a party and lied to her about it, when I was eight she smacked me in the head with a brush because I wouldn't sit still. And in all of the twenty years I've known her, these are the only bad things I ever remember her putting me through, and they were for my own good. For the entirety of my life, she has always gone infinitely above and beyond for me, more so than anyone I've ever known. She is so good and so kind and she will love you, no matter who you are, and when you wrong her, she will love you more.

My mother is sweeter than I am, she is more friendly and more likely to take an interest in random people in Wal-Mart than I am. She is sweeter, but she is much stronger than anyone I have ever known.  When she was fifteen, her brother and her everything died. A year later, her best friend died of cancer. When she was twenty four, another one of her brothers committed suicide. And two years ago, her father died. She has survived three labors, bankruptcy, countless betrayals, and the kind of experiences that make people go wonky-eyed. Her story is hers to tell though, not mine. The reason I write is not because I want to tell you all how much I love my mom or admire her or am in awe of her, she and all of you are well aware of that. I write because I am in awe of so many of you, your strength, your resiliency, your ability to get out of bed and keep fighting and keep succeeding. I write because throughout my lifetime I have been asked a thousand and one times, "Who is the strongest person you know?"

And I have to say, I think everyone I know is the strongest person in the world.

The world has a lot of conflicting ideas, a lot of beauty and a lot of pain and a lot pain disguised as beauty and beauty disguised as pain. But you are all surviving, thriving in it. And some days you have to remember that getting out of bed is more than someone else could do today. And other days you have to remember that the universe is not conspiring against you, sometimes shit just sucks. But every day, you have to remember that you are trying, that you are probably being too hard on yourself, and that we get to do this only one time, and doing something that makes you happy, is not a bad thing.

For the ones doing everything in their power to be the best big brother they can, I am in awe of you. For the ones who are planting churches and raising babies, I am in awe of you. For the ones battling depression, I am in awe of you. For the ones struggling to find God, find yourself, find your way out of the closet, I am in awe of you. For the ones loving people in different states, different time zones, different countries, I am in awe of you. For the ones who can't see the next step, the next paycheck, the next light at the end of the tunnel, I am in awe of you. I don't know if someone tells you how strong you are being every day, but damn, you are truly remarkable.

I don't think it is my burden to be the strongest person in the world, I don't even think it is my burden in this life to be strong. I think it is my burden to be a person to the strong people. My mom said once that I internalize her pain, but I think I was just built to love people who go through an exceptional amount of pain. I am small but I am sturdy and for a long time I could not understand why so many bad things happened to so many of the wonderful people I love. I think it is not why these things happen, but when they happen and who is nearby to love them when they do. God puts soldiers where they need to be, and I am a good man in a storm.

Justine

There are very few people in my life whom I remember the precise moment that I realized God sent them to me for a reason. I remember sitting on Bonnie Chronister's piano bench, however, and telling you that I wanted to write and be a baby heart surgeon and you telling me that you just wanted to do something where you could talk to people and make them realize how loved they are. Long story short, we missed the first hour of chamber choir rehearsal, but we realized we were soulmates. Our friendship has since been filled with a mutual love of Jillian Hickey, Nick Preston, Alex Pettyfer, and objectifying men, singing...so much singing in and out of puffy blue dresses, boobs (lots of boobs), the terms 'casual', 'kittens', and, 'so there's that,' jiggling your butt around, sushi, Jet, and all of the secret things that make us so fucking awesome. We are Sex in the City, without Miranda, because...ugh.

Sometimes you are moody and angry and bitter and sassy. Sometimes you won't let me help you. Sometimes you and I get into fights because you always, always, ALWAYS let my dog run away. Sometimes bring out the crazy parts of me that I try to keep top-secret...like that one time we went swimming in your apartment building's swimming pool or Halloween or nudey Snapchats or...let's just stop there. But you always make me laugh, you always care way too much about the people you love, you always remind me that my writing is important and meaningful, you refer to your parents as though they are better than all other humans which, I think at this point, we all agree with. You refuse to call my boyfriend and my cats by their true names; but you love Boston, Sean, and Steve, so it's fine. You are always the brightest, sunniest, smartest, daisiest, loveliness, emo-music-loving, shrimp-sauce-filled vegetarian princess in my life and in every life you touch. 

You may not see this or know this about yourself every day, but you are beautiful. You are simply stunning, all the way to the core of your heart. Your ability to be incredibly stressed, burnt out, and exhausted and still give out all of the love you have left in your heart is what makes me want to be a better, stronger friend, sister, girlfriend, daughter, etc. You may not believe in God but your presence in my life makes my faith stronger every day; not very many people have loved us the way we love each other, not very many people have held us up when we cannot stand the way we have held each other, no one has replaced the painful shards of our glass hearts the way we have replaced each others. Your goodness affects your every action, your compassion is never hidden, you are never too busy or too stressed to bend over backwards for someone you love; you embody so many things that God wants us to exemplify.

Sometimes nothing I say or write or promise or give can heal all of the wounds the world gives, and that is a good thing, it means you are real and alive and experiencing all of the awful realities that make humans imperfect. All I ask of you, always, is to know, that the way you love people changes them. You enlighten us to the beauty in our flaws. You inspire us to do all of the things we think we're not good enough to do. You tell the truth, even when it hurts, even when it's the last thing we'd ever wanna hear. You fill in gaps and insecurities and absences. You give encouragement and smiles and empathy out like they're easy to find more of. You love better and stronger and more sacrificially than anyone I know, besides my mother, and it's scary and it's beautiful and I am in awe of it. I want you to know that everyone who has ever been loved by you knows what unconditional love feels like. You have given the people you love a gift that heals, that gives meaning to living this silly, lovely, horrendous life.

I love you, Justine. Not for all of our lovely memories or moments or secrets or stories or days or daydreams, but for just you, being you. Being your friend changed me, it made me grow up and see that sometimes I am incredibly selfish, it made me believe that my writing is powerful, it made me believe that people can be good inside and out and that they can love you permanently. I only hope to spend every day, for always, loving my people the way you have taught me to love. I wrote this because you deserve to hear how much you are loved and how much your love has shaped us every day, and now you will.

Boxes

I like to put things into boxes; Tiffany boxes, lined up in pretty rows with pretty bows that get lots of Instagram likes and lots of eye rolls and heart shakes and vibrations of jealous current. I don't like to talk about the boxes, because I don't like to admit they are there. I made the boxes because I like their organization and their alphabetization and their simplicity and their complexity and because someone once said I should. I made the boxes because boxes get good girls good grades and good girls do well and good girls, good girls, good girls. Good girls go into boxes like Barbie dolls with shiny hair but hairless skin; but did you know, women naturally grow hair on their skin? And did you know that you can't put yourself into a box because, eventually, you will suffocate from the lack of oxygen? And did you know, that my mom tells me all the time, "You can't put things into boxes, things don't fit into boxes." But, she puts shit in boxes too.

Why are we always trying to minimize the space we take up? Why are we constantly trying to fulfill the role that was chosen for us and nothing more or less? Why is it easier to bite our tongues until blood fills up our throats than simply say the words scratching to be let out of our lip doors? Why is it easier to give up on ourselves than on someone else? Why did we build the boxes and what are they here for? There is a woman box and a man box, a race box, a who-you-like-to-bang box, a money box, a loud box, a fat box, a box for daddy issues, a box for addicts, a box for perfectionists, a box for failures, and a box that holds the dreams that didn't fit in the boxes we brought with us. But the thing is, boxes aren't real; they are made of air and lies and some stupid shit some philosophical oppressive wig-wearing fuckbags pulled out of their pantyhose constricted assholes.

Sometimes I listen to Marvin Gaye and other times I listen to Bob Dylan and sometimes Sia and 80s pop and some really awful shit and some really beautiful shit. Some days I want platinum blonde hair and other days I want to shave my fucking head and other days I want a pixie cut and on Wednesdays, I wear pink. I like to solve chemical equations and write and debate everything and I have a hard time communicating my emotions. And some days I wake up and know it is all going to be okay and other days I wake up and realize that, "Everything is going to be okay," is just a box that a scared person made because everything is not always okay. There is a part of me that thinks I should run far away from college and civilization and write books about teenagers who don't know how to accept love in pretty ways. There is another part of me who wants to go to school forever and get all of the degrees I fantasize about having, and not so that I can be smug in PhD arrogance, but so that I can do whatever I fucking want to do and be awesome at it. Sometimes I want to be bony and sometimes I want to be curvy. Sometimes I am really disappointed in the people I love more than anything because my expectations are difficult to understand and they don't fit into boxes any better than I do. They fit perfectly into my heart and that will always be enough. Sometimes I want to be the one that leaves wreckage in her wake and sometimes I want to be the one who fixes the wreckage until it sparkles again. Sometimes I want to put everyone in a box together so we can all hug and be happy and sometimes I want you to all step the fuck out of my box before I send trained wolves to slowly eat your limbs off.

I am small and yet, I need a lot of space. I need space to fuck up and space to do better than I ever imagined. I need the world and not to take but to explore and touch and inject. I need enough space to run and build treehouses and have babies and careers and catch dreams in an ever-growing net. I'm gonna need a lot of oxygen, a lot of opportunity, a lot of passion, a lot more than a box's worth. So fuck boxes. Fuck the box someone told you that you belonged in and fuck the box that you put yourself into. We are multi-colored, multi-talented, kaleidoscopes of possibility and potential, and a box is made of fucking cardboard. Rock breaks scissors, humanity breaks cardboard.

And you can put me in all the boxes that you want. You can call me a dumb blonde or a spoiled white girl or a crazy, evil, manipulative bitch from hell or a Jesus freak. We have a box for that, we call it the God Box.

Big Girl Summers

For as long as I can remember, summertime had meant a certain doctrine of sacred activity. Cheerleading camps and Nelson Ledges and the Street Fair and the Greek Fest and driving around aimlessly after 11 pm and endless runs on the bike trail and lemon shakes and cotton candy and searching for cattle to tip over and watching the sunset at Mosquito Lake. Summers were reserved for sleeping till noon and staying out until...well, whenever we wanted.   We wasted all of our gas going to see boys in different zip codes and searching for beaches off the coast of Ohio and listening to our favorite mix cds. We had little to no responsibility other than getting darker than we'd gotten the summer before. I can't help but be nostalgic about these summers, they had been my favorite way to live with my favorite people in the world for seven years running. We grew up and we spread out, but we promised that come the end of May, we'd find ourselves knee deep in blissful irresponsibility.

But for some reason or another (most likely the looming proximity of the future that you become aware of in college) I didn't find myself skinny dipping in Mosquito Lake or flashing thirteen year olds on bicycles or staying out till 5 am (not that I'd ever done any of these things, Dad). But I worked. Like a lot. Like more than I ever worked before. 8:30 to 5, five days a week. And I really loved it sometimes (when I got to show girls--just as stressed as I had been--the campus where I realized dreams can come true). I really hated it other times (usually at 6:30 am when my alarm went off or when a four year old asked me to wipe his tiny bum). It was full of schedules and structure and bank accounts and time constraints and "I can't, I have to work"s. There were several, "Let's just not go to work today"s and we always ended up going, like some fucking adults. I only had a frozen treat one goddamn time, and it was only cus I had a meltdown about buying books. I didn't attend a single dirty fair, which is infuriating because I love those bitches. I didn't spend any gas money, in fact, I think I only drove two or three times (one of which was Lori's Mustang, so it's fine). I only got to run on the bike trail once, but I tripped and fell on my face plenty of times running in Pittsburgh. It was a summer devoid of most of the things I'd grown to adore about summer.

But it was the best summer of my life.

I was knee deep in blissful irresponsibility and blue, green, and brown water in Deep Creek, the Jersey Shore, the Florida Keys, and Boca Raton. I wandered down beautiful beaches, weathered one way streets of Pittsburgh, and library shelves. I watched my mother's dear friend get married, and then her daughter, my dear friend, got engaged. I watched movies on couches with Jill and Justine and stayed up all night, all dolled up with Jill and Justine. I read a thousand feminist blogs and watched all of Orange is the New Black (which you should be watching right now if you haven't already, bitches gotsta learn). Lily told me I was her best friend in the world. Maddog 20/20, that is all. I watched baseball games in Ohio, Florida, and Pittsburgh. I swam with manatees (kind of, mostly hid behind Zach) and saw dolphins. I ate a lot of really good food and drank a lot of really good drinks. I got to spend my beautiful angel of an aunt's 40th birthday with her, in paradise. There was Led Zeppelin and yoga and bug bites and museums and a bad night at the beach shack (as if there are ever good ones). There were sunsets and rainstorms and movie days and movies in parks and movies in bed and movies at the movies. There were boat rides and airplane rides and 'beer cruises' and ADVENTURES (primarily, the journey home from Key West). And last but not least, I fell in love with my favorite person in the world.

All I can think is that, I finally know, like I suspected all along, the best years of my life are not locked away in a yearbook or in a time capsule or in the suffocating, yellowing walls of Lakeview High School.

The best years have only just begun.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I have wanted to be a lot of different things when I grow up. When I was ten and fifteen, I wanted to go to NYU and starve and write the great American novel. I covered every inch of my fourteen year old walls with pictures of supermodels, old dewey decimal indexes, and sharpie memorandums of my favorite literary excerpts. When I was sixteen and eighteen, I wanted to be a heart surgeon, largely because I liked the figurative idea of holding people's hearts in my hands rather than the actual biological science behind it. When I was six, I wanted to be a cashier because I liked the way their nails clicked on keys and their gum smacked around with such sass. At some point, I wanted to be the next American Idol and Tinker Bell and a mermaid and a lawyer and and a scientist and a professor and in Africa and an activist and a photographer and Hermione Granger and Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe and a missionary and a Rockette and a campaign manager and an artist and a badass. I've wanted to write for National Geographic and bartend on desert islands and teach English to impoverished children and be the woman who rides elephants in the circus.

The problem with all of these strange, varied aspirations is that, as time went on, they didn't replace each other, they only piled up on top of each other, like a technicolor mountain of stacking crates that weren't designed to sit on top of one another. I'm always positive of what I want to do with my life, until I'm not positive. I'm always certain I've got it all figured out, until I realize I have no idea what the hell is going on. Before I went to college, I knew. Then I finished two semesters, full of variety and science and feminism, and I no longer had any sort of idea. It's the kind of uncertainty that makes you feel alive but also makes you feel as though you are going to asphyxiate and die at any second; it's a balance. I talk to people and they ask me what I want to do with my life and I try to never say the same thing twice. People ask me what I'm majoring in and I say Chemistry and English and then there is this look that follows, and I say, yes, I'm minoring in Crystal Meth. But if you understood how cool it is to be able to write an analysis of Gloria Naylor's writing one hour and titrate acids and bases the next, you'd do it too. Some people think they know exactly what I should be when I grow up, some people think I should be writing books, some people think I am a fuck, some people say do this and do that and then you'll know. But, the truth is, some people and some other people aren't going to figure it out, I have to figure it out.

Most of the time I pray, not usually for patience or perseverance or time, but for a big glaring road sign that smacks me in the face with the most obvious of career choices. Preferably one in which I get to write and do experiments and research and work with less fortunate women and children and advocate for them and make enough money to feed anyone who needs my help being fed/buy Lululemon clothes for funzies and get to drink a lot of coffee and wear khaki pants and argue with misogynist dickheads (cus that's my favorite) and get to be one of those women that they shuttle to small female children for show and tell. I ask everyone what they major in and what they want to be when they grow up in the hope that someone will have already figured out what I should do, but largely its people doing things I don't want to do or people being equally as confused as I am. Sometimes I feel like Hermione with the damn hourglass. I know, I'm going to do a lot of different things with my life. I know, I'm going to figure it all out eventually. I know, I know, I know.

The truth is, there are a lot of corners to this round, round world and a lot of cracks that need sealed and a lot of messes that need cleaned up. For everyone there is a place and a time and a perfectly carved niche. Carrie Bradshaw asked if it was possible to miss your own fate, to get all caught up in the ifs, ands, or buts, and find yourself five stops past the stop you were supposed to get off. But I've missed a lot of bus stops, I've gotten on quite a few of the wrong buses and stayed on long after I should have gotten off, and yet, I'm still quite sure that right here, at this moment, I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. And all of the bumps and bruises and indecision and fear and failures are what got me to this place. I am a romantic and I do believe in fate and destiny but I also believe in hard work and blood and sweat and tears and scraped up knees and elbows. I believe that glass ceilings exist, but I'm really good at breaking glass, just ask anyone who knows about my relationship with mirrors. I believe that there are a lot of people out there who don't necessarily want women to be successful, but I believe there are even more who want to help us as much as they can. Some people know exactly what they want to be, and they have known all along. Some people have no idea, and they are not stressed out about it at all. These people are my heroes.

Someone at the daycamp said to me the other day, "Well don't you want to be a teacher?" No...no, I most certainly don't want to be a teacher. So there's that.

What do you want to be when I grow up?

First Year

9 months ago, I came to Chatham to begin my "freshman" year of college. I was fresh off a summer of Coca-cola, no sleeping, beach waves, and being with my best friends day and night; I was in no way a feminist, an inspiration, or a girl worth $160,000, but hey, they wanted me, so I was gonna give it to 'em. I said goodbye to my precious, crying little family, put my big girl panties on, and was ready for college. I spent one week in Pittsburgh & felt like I already had it all figured it out, I was gonna be a doctor, I totally got the busing system, and I was definitely immune to all of the bad things that happen to people their freshman year.  I wrote a blog called, "20 Things I Learned My First Week in Pittsburgh," I loved life, I was funny, I didn't even have time to miss my mom.

Then I wrote my first college paper, in my opinion, the best paper I'd written to date, had every English connoisseur I knew edit it, and got a B+. A B fucking plus. I'd never gotten a B on a paper, ever. And that was the beginning of real life....

They tell you about your first year of college, they tell you all of the trouble you get into, all of the random boys you'll kiss, all of the mistakes you'll make, all of the bad grades you'll get, all of the friends you'll make, and all of the things you'll learn. (People have really low expectations of first year college students) But they don't tell you how much you change, how much you grow up, how much you lose, and how much you gain. They don't tell you how scary and lonely it can be some days, or how incredibly fulfilling and inspiring it can be other days. I learned a billion and one things this year, about myself, about Chemistry, Biology, English, Feminism, East Asia, and all that jazz, about people, and about life. Here are twenty.

1. I'm really loved in a big way, bigger than I will ever understand or fathom, by God, by my family, by my best friends. I am blessed beyond reason and understanding.

2. I came to college with the two best friends I've ever had already, and I will leave college with those same best friends. In fact, I will have them the rest of my life. If I ever have kids, they'll love them probably even more than me. They'll take me to the emergency room, pick me up, or pay the bill. My parents go far above and beyond the low expectations I have of people, they are real life angels.

3. You don't always have to have a plan, in fact, plans never work anyway, so why bother making one? Do the best you can with what you have in front of you every day, take it day by day. Nothing is ever going to happen the way you predict it, and that's the cool thing about life: you can't predict any part of it. It is always exciting, it is always changing, you can't fight it. Embrace the unpredictability or else, you'll always be miserable.

4. The best things don't fit into pretty boxes. They don't fit into ugly boxes either. They are too big, too special, and too magic to be contained.

5. Learn your limits. Become friends with your limits. Listen to your limits. When your limits say, "Maybe not," they mean, "No." I still haven't really learned my limits, but, I've learned that I should learn them.

6. Say thank you. Write thank you notes. Write thank you emails. Write your friends letters. Leave post its on computer desks. Leave love letters everywhere you go. Hug people. Tell people how nice they look today. Tell people how much you appreciate them. Tell someone, "Wow, you are beautiful." Smile, all the time, every day, even when you're not smiling on the inside. Tell people that you care about them, say it, even when it makes you feel vulnerable. Make people feel good simply because you can, and that is an amazing gift.

7. I am actually considered an adult now, which is weird and I still don't understand it very much. This means I can sign things and do things and people don't then say, "Did you ask your mom?" I am still waiting for most people to say, "Did you ask your mom," all of the time and I'm still asking her, regardless.

8. Coffee solves most problems. Even if it doesn't actually solve the problem, it makes things seem manageable. It is also okay for the baristas to know your name, it is actually preferred. I love Cafe Rachel. Running helps too, just be prepared to trade your cute feet for some hooves.

9. Ask. If you want something, ask for it. If you don't understand, ask someone to explain it. If you need help, ask someone to help you. If you never ask, you'll never know the answer and you may spend forever waiting for someone to give it to you. The worst thing that can happen is that someone says no, someone doesn't give you what you want, and then you know what you do? Refer to 8 and then ask someone who isn't an asshole for help.

10. I remember Tina Noble screaming into a semi-truck driver's window, "PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE." I was never patient until I had no other choice to be. I am not naturally a patient person, patience is not one of my god-given virtues. But, sometimes, patience is the only choice you have. Life doesn't always make sense, it rarely makes sense, and you don't always get to understand what the hell is going on, but you do get to trust and be patient. You do get to believe that there is a light at the end of every tunnel, because there is.

11. Say no when you want to say no.

12. Your story won't look like anyone else's, that is what makes it special. It belongs to you and only you and it isn't supposed to look like your best friend's, or your mom's, or the smartest girl you know's. Life isn't regimented and it isn't systematic, you are not a part of an assembly line, unless you wanna be.

13. I learned that you can make just about every word in the English language offensive, and we are deeply in need of another Women's Rights Movement. If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to. But I really wanna talk about it. If you don't want to talk about it, don't call someone a pussy. Actually anything you say could trigger it, it's just so DAMN TRUE and NECESSARY TO TALK ABOUT. Meow.

14. You may think you're an overachiever, you're probably wrong. Someone is going to be a much bigger overachiever than you. Get ready, you'll know it when you see it. Just do ya thing, girrrrl.

15. Ohio has an accent. I don't wanna talk about it.

16. People disappoint you and people let you down. Even the best people, even the ones you adore. Everybody fails you at some point or another. We expect people to be permanent fixtures and they very rarely are, and that's okay. Presence may not be permanent but the things we teach each other get to be permanent. I came to college with two people's pictures and I haven't heard from either of them in a very long time. It is okay, it is growing up and sometimes it means letting go so that you can catch better things, or even better, so that you can catch yourself. The cool thing about this rule, though, is that it comes with a silver lining.

17. Someone will surprise you. Someone will reach far above and beyond your expectations, without even knowing it, because that's just who they are. Its okay to have a little bit of faith in people, its okay to trust people a little bit, because, every now and then, people will surprise you.

18. It is gonna be scary and it is gonna be overwhelming sometimes. The to do list will be a shit show and you might have some heavy roots going and you might spend too much time in the library and you might lose it a little bit. It will be okay. On any given day, plenty of other people's worlds feel like they are exploding into ash & dust, chances are you will encounter one of them. Occasionally, it is good to remind yourself not to take life too seriously.

19. Let people help, let people care, let people see the scary parts of you, let people in. WOAH WHO AM I? I KNOW. CRAZY. I'm sorry, be a tough, independent piece of work and make people say, Damn, you're impressive, and if they don't think so, FUCK 'EM. But, it is also okay, to care about people, and to let them care about you, it is okay to say, "Hey, maybe everyone doesn't suck." Because, everyone doesn't actually suck (little known fact.) If you're reading my blog, you probably care about me, at least a little bit, and guess what? I care about you too. Isn't that cool?

20. The grand finale, the last one, the big one, the thing that sticks out above all else...
Feel it. All of it. Every day. Feel pain, feel joy, feel so incredibly happy or so incredibly scared that your stomach is going to fall out. Feel the soreness in your legs with pride. Feel the disappointment in your heart with strength. Feel the burning of liquor down your throat and seriously wonder why this is a form a recreation. Its too short to be numb, to not be present, to be afraid to experience all of the raw intensity that we are afforded. Let it all hit you, every emotional, burning, salty wave, this is life. Never cheat yourself out of the feeling, it doesn't make you weak, it makes you alive.

That's a little bit of a lotta bit.

9 Months later, I get to say First Year instead of Freshman, because I have a vagina. I still love Coca-cola and I still love to sleep. I still have the best best friends plus a few more. I actually think my taste in music got worse, my taste in literature got better. I have gotten on the wrong bus many a time. I can hop from crow to low pushup in one fluid motion and sometimes I paint my nails. I'm not a Biology major, I'm an English and Chemistry major. I still love Stevie Nicks, so I guess I haven't changed that much at all.


P.S. I got A's on every single paper, in every single class, after the first one, so thank you, Dr. Lenz.

A Love Story

You must love yourself before you can love another. The most repeated, rehearsed, rhetoric adage of love, of relationships, of breakups, of all time. I cannot tell you how many times someone has shot this one at me and I rolled my eyes and thought, "That really helped dickbag." I cannot tell you how many times I sat up late wondering, hoping, willing things to end up differently than they did, wondering how I got to that place, that place of confusion, loss, and disappointment. I heal, we all heal in strange, less than chronological ways, but often, things never really make a lot of sense. We figure things out little by little, one day something catalyzes an epiphany in our mind, days, months, years after the healing, and we finally have understanding, closure.

For a long time, I didn't understand the love yourself adage. I have loved several people who did not love themselves, friends and boyfriends and in between. I know what its like to bash your head off of a wall because someone will not look at themselves in the mirror and see what I see. I know what its like to be told that you are too good for someone to the point where you start to feel as though being 'too good' is a bad thing. I know what its like to think, "Maybe if I just give you a little more, love you even more unconditionally, it will help you love yourself, to find the beauty in yourself." Because that's what I do, when I love people, I love unconditionally, I love all of the dirty, broken, hurting parts of you, I love you inside out, right side up, to the moon and back, because that's what you deserve, that's what we all deserve. Out of these people, these unconditionals, very few of them have loved me back in this way, not because they didn't  love me just as much but because they didn't know how to love me the way I loved them. I realize in retrospect that love looks differently to all of us, we all associate different actions with the feeling, and that's perfectly okay, but we need to see love embodied in a way that we understand or else we feel neglect, bitterness, fear, longing. I need love expressed through action, through movement, through verbalized commitments, through little insignificant statements, through consideration and space. I need love in a way that I know even if we are fighting I can call you at 3 AM and you will pick me up, no questions asked. I need love in a way that I don't have to wonder constantly, I need a little bit of security from people. I need this kind of love because this is how I love, in big, unconditional go all out for you ways,  not in an every day, obnoxious way but when you need it, or when you have forgotten how special you are.

 For a long time, I thought that the "Love yourself" adage applied to me in that I loved people who didn't love themselves, and that that was my plight. This past weekend, I spent at a leadership retreat, learning all about vulnerability and dealing with conflict. I learned so much that I will carry with me forever, but largely applied it to my relationships with others rather than with myself. But last night, laying on my yoga mat in savasana, my instructor said this: 

"Love yourself enough to stop worrying. Love yourself more than you ever have. Love yourself enough to give yourself peace."

I love myself, in a hard, judging, mothers-who-give-their-daughters-self-esteem-issues way. I love myself in a way that makes people go to therapy. I love myself in a way that I take care of myself and get my shit done but do not actually stop to say, "Hey Clo, where are we at today?" I love myself in that I care about my future and my security and plans; unfortunately, this often leads to me making myself push writing to the side because 'that's not a real job.' I do not let myself break my strict rules. I run at least five miles a day, and granted, I do love to run, but I started because of a mental expectation of what my body should look like. I do not do a lot of things for me, I do a lot of things, for you and for you and for you. I could be on my way to yoga or Dunkin Donuts or the library and if you call and say, "Hey Clo, wanna go run a marathon with me," I'll be there, laced up, no questions asked. I am a Yes person to my people, but I'm not a Yes person to myself. I rarely look in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful." I rarely pat myself on the back and say, "I'm so proud of you." Not because I don't think I am a good, accomplished, talented human being, but because I always have my eyes set on the next goal. 

I realized that though I do love myself, I do not love myself in the way that I need to be loved. The reason I love the idea of love so much is that I am constantly awaiting a person who will love me in the way I love them. However, I do not love myself how I love other people and therefore, how can I ask other people to love me how I love them? (Mindfuckery) From now on, from here on out, I vow to love myself how I need, how I deserve.

I will not push yoga or writing or God to the side to appease anyone, even myself, they fill up my heart and my heart should be filled. I will stop criticizing myself and love the body that I was given and continue to do good things for it, not out of self-hate but self-love. I will allow myself to be vulnerable, to be scared and exposed and naked, because it helps other people connect to you, it helps other people see your heart; and if I fall, fail, or fuck things up, I know that God and I will catch myself. I will trust, in a big way, more than I ever have, with everything, that though everything does not have reason or justice, everything is part of God's plan for my life. I will look in the mirror and know that, yes, you are kind and compassionate and giving and soft even though you have been hurt, the world has not hardened you; this does not make you weak, this makes you strong. I will stop running from my truth, shoving it in corners and drawers, and embrace it: I am a writer, I am good at other things, I could do other things with my life, but I am a writer, that is my passion, my gift, and my purpose. I will love myself the way God loves me, the way my parents love me, the way my best friends love me, like I am a treasure, unconditionally. I will say yes to me, even if it means saying no to someone else.

So they say, "You must love yourself before you can love another." I think we should say, "Love yourself how you want to be loved, how you deserve to be loved, and you will never go without." <3 p="">