I wonder how life would be different
if we were taught that heartbreak was something
That heartbreak was good.
That a broken heart doesn’t break into pieces,
but instead, breaks open…
So that it can get stronger.
So that it can love more.
So that it can grow bigger.
So that it can hold all that you are, in all your glory…
all your possibility
So that it can hold all of you
and receive, in full
from the Universe.
An unbroken heart is not something to wish for, for…
Six months ago, as we all went into lockdown and moved our relationships online, I randomly received a FaceTime call from a man I had met years before at a personal development retreat.
We had lightly kept in touch online, but didn’t know each other well at all, and I was surprised when the call came through — surprised, and to be honest, delighted. We had had a nice connection over the years, and a fun new FaceTime connection was a welcome distraction.
As the first two months of the pandemic played out, the calls continued. We spent endless hours…
“Maybe at some point I’d see some value in your care and friendship,” he spat derisively.
The man who had never shown one ounce of anger stood there at the door he’d just opened, his hands clenched, livid in his rage.
“Leave. Before I say or do something I’ll regret.”
I walked out the door. He’d blocked me on Facebook and deleted me from his life before I even made it home.
We’d been dating for about four months. We had started to mix friends, to mix lives, to make plans, but I was hesitant. …
A couple of months ago during a very typical tweenage attitude spiral, Rory and I were volleying back and forth.
“Child!” I finally yelled. “They make babies cute for a reason. It’s so you don’t throw them out of third story windows. And let me tell you, girl, you are not baby cute anymore. If you keep going at this rate, I am not sure how the hell you expect to make it to 18.”
“Ah, crap. I’m going to end up in pieces in a freezer somewhere, aren’t I?”
“It’s a very REAL possibility!”
Welcome to my life, and…
I had just one objective when I reached Scotland: to find a redheaded man wearing a kilt who would speak to me in a Scottish accent. What I would do with that man if I found him, I wasn’t sure, but dreams are meant to come true and Scotland is full of redheads, kilts, and magic. I had seven days to find my own version of a unicorn in real life.
Where this dream came from I honestly I have no idea. I cannot tell you why I have always been particularly attracted to redheaded men, or why I find…
My daughter clings to things, and her teeth are no exception. While most kids have lost most if not all of their baby teeth by the age of eight or nine, Rory has carefully avoided wiggling, pushing, or pulling at hers, leaving them in as long as possible. This is why last month, Rory lost four teeth, FOUR, in one month, at eleven years old. The new ones literally started just pushing the old ones out her head.
I can count. I saw this coming. …
I woke up in a panic. I knew immediately I had overslept.
I had a very early flight out to North Carolina, booked for the dual purpose of visiting friends and completing my commitment to go ten new places that year, and I knew immediately I was not going to make it.
I rushed to the airport with mad hope in my heart. Maybe the plane would be delayed. Maybe some miracle would happen. But by the time I hit the ticket desk the flight was closing their doors. I had missed it. The next flight wasn’t for eight hours…
Two years ago, someone shared a writing contest with me and invited me to enter. The contest was a call for submissions of monologues about homelessness. The winning submission would be performed on the streets of Chicago to raise empathy from people who are housed toward the struggles of living on the streets.
Having just returned from The Just Say Hello Tour, I had a lot to say on this topic, but I had never written a monologue before. I was known to dabble in some poetry, but performance art? No way. Not my thing.
My friend urged me to…
I found out I was pregnant on a Thursday night. I had been in a store earlier that night and had grabbed a test on a whim. They were cheap at Target if you chose the store brand.
I wasn’t even truly late, but my birth control ring hadn’t in place when I’d gone to take it out. It was odd. I figured it had been recent. After ten years on hormones, it likely wouldn’t matter anyway.
I was 100% sure it was going to be negative. A couple bucks seemed like a reasonable price for peace of mind.
I do not understand the concept of favorites. There are literally thousands of ice cream flavors on this planet. Colors are glorious. Music can cover all breadth of experience and emotion. Why would anyone ever pick just one of anything?
“What’s your favorite (fill in the blank)?”
This is my least favorite question. I’d prefer you ask me when the last time was that I felt like curling up and dying. Honestly. At least that is a question I could answer, and with some depth.
Instead, when asked about favorites, I flounder. …