As I write these words from home, I’m recalling great words of wisdom passed on to me by my mentor shortly before I quit my full-time job and went solo as a freelancer. Those words were:

You’re going to go through so much more toilet paper.

Truth be told, I wound up staying at home far less than I had first anticipated. I learned quickly that I like working alone … around other people. I like to work at coffee shops, cafes, the library, different coffee shops, different libraries, and so on, on repeat.

For that reason, the closing of…


Taking a hard look at the role we play in our own interpersonal drama

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

Throughout our lives, we’re admonished by people we admire most to not take things personally.

For most of our lives, we fail abysmally at that task.

My favorite emotional guidebook of all time, The Four Agreements (spoiler: number two is “don’t take anything personally”) drills us in not taking casual language, overlooked invitations, or potentially problematic ideas personally. My husband even gallantly reminds me at least once a week when I unload a day’s thoughts and interactions on him that I’m taking something personally.

Today, I’m…


But don’t worry. Trauma makes us different to relate to — not harder.

A friend shared a meme with me the other day that I related to in an uncomfortable way.

Yes, this post is inspired by a meme casually shared from one anxiety-prone person to another. This is not an academic post about the psychological bases of trauma, nor is it founded in research, study or science.

But a meme got me thinking about the things that make us weird. About trauma. How people who have endured trauma, complexity, and deep, bone-shaking sadness are at risk of being somewhat…


My stepfather bought a TV on Black Friday.

It had HD, 4K, and a few more inches than last year’s deal. Lots of surface area covered in a plastic film one atom thick that had to be peeled off slowly and satisfyingly. The corresponding cable box was delivered today.

That is not the point of this story.

The point of this story is that my stepfather is dying. Sooner, rather than later. And, yet, despite that somewhat bleak reality, he jumped on one of those deals — those perennially improving deals that baby boomers love to love.

And I can’t…

Liz

Aspiring Human | Optimist | Minneapolite

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