“Happy Holidays!” “I think you mean Merry Christmas!”

With the season approaching, I’m already seeing the political correct debates beginning.

Honestly. I could care less if you came up to me the day of Christmas and said Happy Holidays.

The fact that YOU took the time to even say anything to me at all brings me joy. And all I have to say in return is, Happy Holidays to you, too.

Is it really so irritating to people that they can’t handle a few altered greetings during the holidays. I mean, it really couldn’t be a better “politically correct” greeting. It is a time filled with Holidays. So why not just accept the freaking greeting and move on?


I thought that Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa,  Christmas, New Year’s, whatever, etc. was a time of thankfulness and joyfulness, and celebrating the best way we know how. With love. And appreciation.

But no. There must be someone somewhere complaining that the world around them isn’t greeting them the “right” way. All I have to say to those people, and you know who you are, is… Get. Over. It.

This world is changing. Holidays are filled with tradition. That’s great. If you eat Turkey on Thanksgiving. Congrats! You’ll have plenty of left overs for cold turkey sandwiches later. If you go out to eat, because it’s just easier and cheaper, Congrats! No dishes to clean. Perfect. If you put up a tree for the 25th of December. Wonderful! Who cares if Walmart calls it a “Holiday Tree”. YOU call it a Christmas Tree. And that’s all that matters. You’re not buying a name. You’re buying an item. That you can transform into something special and a memory to share with your loved ones. And if you can’t stand seeing the display of trees on sale with the title, “Holidays Trees” then go into the woods and chop down your own real tree. No signs.

But just because YOU celebrate something, does NOT mean your neighbor does. I think the concept of “political correctness” gets in the way of many people’s belief systems. But I think it’s there to help make people aware of others around them. It’s to keep in mind that we’re all unique and celebrate all kinds of things. And we’re not stuck in a boring world that has limits to what we can do or say. If you’re worrying about what someone is saying to you, more than what their actions are; then I think there is something seriously wrong with you. If you are offended that someone took the time to greet you during this especially joyous time of year, then I feel sorry you.

You’re now looking to be offended, and I can’t wait to be the one to do so!

Happy freaking holidays! Seasons Greetings! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Christmaskwanzakuh.

I don’t even freaking care.

No, wait! Scratch that. I DO care. Because you cared. Cared enough to open your mouth and wish me well.

Thank you. And Merry whatever to you as well.

It comes down to religion. Let’s just say it. Commercialism vs. religion. It’s nothing new. Santa Claus verses Jesus Christ. Whatever the battle. It’s part of the world. And this problem, that people have freak out-blow up breakdowns about, just needs to stop.

It’s pathetic. It’s so sad that someone will honestly pick a fight, because the White House is now referring to “Christmas Trees” as “Holidays trees” Whatever YOU call it. That’s not going to change what you do with it and how you celebrate. Right?

And for those who hate it when someone who writes “X-mas”. And argue that it takes “Christ” out of it. Honestly. There are many different ways to look at that situation. First of all. Christmas is a long word. So lets just cut it short. Who cares. You get the point. I mean, come on, we’ve all written it on a cardboard box to put away our ornaments into storage. And second, Christ isn’t going to suddenly disappear completely from that day simply because a few people write X-mas out instead of Christmas. It’s a historical thing. A story that has been around for a long time, and at this rate isn’t going away anytime soon with all the Nativity sets that sell out each year. I think we’re going to be just fine. Don’t fret.

Whatever YOU do. Do it with the happiest grandest attitude ever! Be proud of what you celebrate, but don’t lash out at others who don’t follow.

Simply remember what this time is about, instead of getting caught up in all the wording.

Thanks for hearing me out.

PS: Happy Hallow’s Eve. 😉


Dorms create friendships.

This year I attended the ever infamous Howl at Utah State University.

I think it was exciting based on the fact that I went with a group of friends that I’ve grown close with over this last year. We’ve really made an effort to be in each others’ lives. I couldn’t ask for better people to surround myself with.


It’s crazy to believe that I found them. It’s even crazier to think back on how it all began.

I lived in traditional housing my freshman year of college. I was literally dropped off at the curb to face the whole college thing on my own. My first semester I hung around my roommate and her friends which eventually turned into mutual friends. I guess I didn’t really allow myself to venture out. I was focused on school, and being away from what I was used to, little old Pocatello, was interesting to say the least. I was scared. But I unfamiliar. And that can be worse, sometimes.

I found myself taking long walks. I didn’t want to be in my tiny space all the time. I would go to class, and then take a detour back home at the end of the day.

And then I found the bus. The bus system was great. Especially for someone like me who didn’t have a car on campus my first year. I was able to discover the town of Logan, Utah in a new way. It was great. The timing of the bus system isn’t ideal, but if you depend on it, it’s the most important form of transportation. I know. I used it to get to work my entire first summer living in Logan.

Anyway – while living in freshman traditional housing my second semester. I tried something new. I would leave my door open as to welcome strangers. That helped. They would hear music and comment. They would see something in my room and like it. This usually struck conversations and this is how I met my amazing friends.

Kelsey lived exactly to my right. She had her own room. I met her my first semester, but we didn’t really “bond” until the second. I knew her and would say hi to her and occasionally we would go to the free concerts, plays, etc. on campus. We were concert buddies! We would sit out in the lounge/kitchen area and chat about whatever. I found out that she was from Seattle, WA area and we had that in common, since my dad lives there. I wanted to know all about it. She was so proud about where she comes from. She basically decided to come to USU because it was much cheaper than WA. This is where I also met Michael. He came down a few times to hang with Kelsey, as they were dating. He is a grade younger. But he’s such a light in our group. So funny, so honest, and so extraordinary. He marches to the beat of his own drum. He’s not the biggest fan of little old Logan, UT compared to big daddy Seattle, but he manages. And we all have a great day. I’m glad he’s here. I’m also glad Kelsey came here. She’s a fun, opinionated, interesting, smart, beautiful person. I’m glad I know her and that she’s one of my greatest friends here at Utah State.

Nicky lived many doors to my left. She’s dealt with a lot of drama since I’ve met her. But I feel like I’ve always had her back. And she’s always had mine. I think one of my first encounters with her was when I was sitting in the lobby of the first floor of my dorms, she asked me to watch her laundry while she ran to her car. I agreed. The second was when I was doing homework in the lounge and she came out too. We didn’t really say much, but her face was familiar by now. When we look back and talk about it, it seems so silly. We feel dumb. Haha. But maybe that’s because we are so close now. Eventually by the second semester things became a little clearer. Her friend, Kylie, at the time, and herself invited the floor to go to dinner. They were trying to be more social. My roommate were the first and last to take them up on their offer. Haha. It just became a routine where we would go to dinner together. There are lot of memories of going to The Junction just across our dorms. We began to do activities together like play games, go the the canyon, dinner, events on campus, etc. It was fun and our friendships were developing. I’m glad we met in Logan. We’re both from Idaho. And our paths crossed a few times, but we were never introduced. It’s crazy. We do the whole choir thing and break out in song occasionally 😉 I’m glad she’s my friend and we can talk and just hang and have a good time.

Soon we included Kelsey. She just has that natural ability to have fun which gets her out there and talking and making friends. We both have this desire to meet new people, so that’s what we did.

Living in that dorm was only bearable for one reason. Them. My friends. It was great. It was something I will always hold dear to me and remember my freshman year including mostly them.

Over these last 3 years we have gone through different changes, where we live, our friendships, our classes, etc. But it has only made us closer. I’m so happy to know them. I never really had “girlfriends” growing up. So it’s nice to have these friends. Yay for new friendships and old. It helps us all grow. I’m truly thankful for all my friends. Far or near. New or old. You mean the world to me.

Thanks for hearing me out.

My way out of Neverland.

{My story of suicide} :

I remember as a child I never wore shoes. If I could help it, I’d go bare footed every chance I got and suffer the consequences later – because the feeling of being shoeless gave me a kind of freedom I was willing to sacrifice soft spotless feet for.

I of course, conformed to the whole shoe idea going to school, simply because kids ask questions, and they are cruel. And I didn’t have time to explain. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be allowed in the classroom without them. Sanitary issues and all.

Anyway, I hated shoes.

I lived in an apartment complex growing up where there was a broken down playground nearby. Pine trees surrounded it leaving traces of pinecones and sap everywhere I stepped. At this point in my childhood, my feet could feel no pain. I had walked on just about anything. Pavement, rocks, pinecones, sand, grass, pointy grass, sap; you name it. I was a kid. And that kind of thing didn’t bother me. I just wanted to play and be adventurous and all that good stuff.

I always loved to climb trees. Oh yeah. I was cool. I climbed them so high I’m surprised I didn’t fall crashing down breaking my entire body. In fact, I’ve never broken a bone in my life. I’ve only fractured my ankle. And that’s another story.

I would pretend to be on a pirate ship at the top taking watch and looking for land and treasure and potential enemies.
Hook, with Robin Williams, was probably my favorite film, because I believed I belonged on a pirate ship sailing for Neverland. I was a believer. Totally.

Looking back at my childhood, there wasn’t much action being a child. I was dealing with the reality of divorce, and bullies, and sickness, and death – and all that crap. So escaping to Neverland was my best bet.

I’ve been watching Once Upon a Time on ABC and it’s brought back a lot of memories from my childhood. If there had been a group of Lost Girls, I’m sure I would have taken the first Pixie Dust trip on the High Way to Never Never Land.

I was certainly a lost girl. The kind of girl that felt out of place everywhere. I believed I had experienced a crap load of crap and that I was much more mature than most kids my age. But at the same time my age said otherwise. I was restricted from being a kid and an adult, so what did that leave? It left me lost. And confused. I was furious, because I was stuck in between a rock and a hard place. It was difficult to be happy, because if I tried to be a kid with those my age I had to pretend or not tell the truth about my life. I would pretend I was just a normal kid and that my parents were still married, and my dad wasn’t gay, and pretend I didn’t hate going to church, and lie about my fantasy Neverland world I longed to go home and escape to.

I think that as we go through life, we come across the part of life where we feel so utterly lost that we believe there is no way of ever finding our way home. Or we have no idea what home is, and we try to create one of our own, but it usually fails because it’s created from fantasies and false realities.

Everyone’s story is different and we all have a completely different way of escaping how lost we feel. I think the time I felt so lost was from the time I was eight years old until I was 14. That’s a long time to be lost.

The only thing that got me out of that slump was realizing the value of life. I had to come close to losing it in order for me to wake the hell up and see beyond Neverland.

My experience at 14 helped me understand why some people commit suicide. But it also helped me realize why people fight to live.

I chose to live.

I thought it selfish of me to even think about it, after begging my mother to live when I was 12 years old, and to think 2 years later I tried to erase myself.

But I understand. I’m not one to judge those who do commit suicide, but I am a survivor and I know if I reach out to someone feeling that way – I could possibly save them, like I was saved.

I think I was different than most suicide provoked people. I didn’t completely think there was no way out. I hoped and prayed for a way out of my sadness, but I didn’t see a light. I didn’t know where the end of the tunnel was, but I knew there was one. But I know others who have felt such sadness they are dead set on believing there is truly no where else to go. This breaks my heart, to know people feel this way. But It’s just a part of life. And I think it makes us stronger in the end.

And if I can be a light at the end of the tunnel for somebody or if I have been, then I’m doing it right. I’m living my life the best way I can. I no longer have feelings of ending it. But I know that simply asking the question, “Are you suicidal?” Could help save a life, no matter how difficult it is to ask.

I was saved.

I was saved because someone reached out to me. Something reached out to me that made me want to live. I wanted to grow old. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to see what life was like. What life was like when I was in control. I’m so glad I did, it reassured me that I always wanted to live. I was looking for a way out of Neverland. And I found it.

Thanks for hearing me out.

The old maid.

“I have to get married by the end of this year, or I’m gonna be an old maid once I turn 21.”

Never have a heard such a statement confidently projected as I did today in the beginning of my history class today.

My first thought was, “You poor thing.” and my second thought was, “Oh yeah, I live in Utah.”

I moved to Utah 3 years ago, and became a resident about 2 years ago. I consider myself a Utahn. Yes, we are known for our terrible awful horrible driving skills, or lack thereof. But another rather infamous stereotype comes from none other than the pressures of marriage and the bearing of children. It comes, no doubtedly, from the history and settling of the mormon religion which has seeped itself into the roots and culture of the state of Utah.

I am a native of Idaho, and it’s not much different, so I’m not nearly as surprised by what this young woman spatted out randomly during class. I am however, intrigued as to why she believes it. 

I am not about to blame a church for being the soul purpose for why the majority of the college girls I attend school with have this idea that they need to get their M.R.S and make babies until the cows come home, if you catch my drift.

I do, however, believe it’s a very prominent source.

But I know that as human beings it’s natural to want to find a companion. To want to find love and acceptance. 

I also believe that many couples want to join in the commitment of marriage for sex. It’s against/frowned upon to take part in sexual intercourse before marriage. It’s completely acceptable to understand that two people faithful in their church do not want to break any promises or rules, and so they find a solution and quite possibly rush into marriage.

But I’m still stuck with why this girl thought she would be an old maid at 21. I don’t know about you, but once I’m 21, I’ll be legal for you know what, and I’m so excited to partake in that part of adulthood. Drinking, responsibly of course, and having the time of my life.

But that’s just me.

I know plenty of people who are married, with child, or children and haven’t even turn 20 yet. And that’s totally cool too. Because it’s a choice they made. And I support that, because it couldn’t have been an easy one, so I trust them that they thought long and hard about what to do. And then there are those people who don’t plan anything at all and are pushed into having a kid but are able to come to terms with the fact that they are going to be a parent and they get to make choices after that to determine their future outcomes. 

Anyway, you get my point. Life happens and you do your thing to get through. Everyone has a different story, and that’s cool. It’s more than cool, it’s amazing.

But I’m still stuck. Who told that girl she was going to be an old maid once she turned 21. Do we live in the 16th century? I didn’t think so.

As I pointed out above, we all face different circumstances in our lives that shape our future. There isn’t a deadline for marriage. There is a deadline for having children, so maybe that’s where she was coming from, saying that if she doesn’t hop on the band wagon and find someone quick she will no longer be fertile? That’s somewhat understandable, but yet I know people having children in the 40s, so maybe we can rethink that. And lets not forgot those that can’t even have children. But that’s an entirely separate story, and I’m getting off topic.

My point is, to the sweet girl frantically desperate to find a mate, you poor sweet thing. It will happen when it happens. Whether that’s at 19, or 39, etc. Please don’t call yourself an old maid at 21 and hate yourself if you don’t find the man of your dreams in the next three months. If you set a deadline like that, you’re likely to set yourself up for failure and that will only cause you pain.

I don’t know many 21 years old dying to get hitched. You’re not alone in the world. You’re just starting out your life. If you get married a month from now, great. It’s a big step and I applaud you for taking it. But if you’re two seconds past 21 and not hitched, take a drink, and relax. You’re not an old maid, just because the society around you makes it out to be an ugly monsterous horrible thing. In every other state, you’re still considered young and a viable candidate for dating. It’s not over, yet.

Hahaha, I couldn’t help myself. I just had to write a little letter. And sarcastically point out just how ridiculous, in my opinion, her logic is. If a deadline is set for such a large commitment at such a young age, I feel like she’s only setting herself up to fail. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me. I plan to get married with the intention of never getting a divorce. I want to find someone who I know I will work and fight to stay with no matter what lies ahead. That means spending enough time getting to know each other and not rushing into marriage.

Then again, I’ve never been married, so maybe my point is invalid. I don’t know.

But thanks for hearing me out.

The funeral: What I wanted it to be.

I raced to the casket as if it were going to grow feet and run away. At least in my head. My body couldn’t keep up with the blood flow rushing inside. Everything appeared faster. Everything was louder. Everything was darker. Everything was madness. Everything was a blur.

Everything but her.

At least her body. Her body was still. Because she was no longer filled with the familiar soul I once laughed with. The soul was gone. It disappeared into thin air. Or so I imagined. The body just laid there. I was afraid to touch it at first. But I was able to kiss it before it closed and locked forever. It was the center of my universe that evening. I had waited all week to see it. The viewing. The funeral. I was curious. I was twelve.

I was at the front of the line. It was impossible not to see it.

I chose to be the first one. It didn’t bother me. I was numb.

Faces passed, hands brushed, eyes watered, smiles struggled, and I nodded.

I wanted to slap the faces of most the people who showed their face and put on a show. Like they knew me. Like they knew her. How sorry they were. Like they had been there all along. I didn’t know over half the people who came to show their sympathies. Or I did know them and didn’t want to. Or I knew of them. I guess funerals are for exactly that. For the guilty. For the shameful. I just wanted to run. But backwards. I wanted to rewind.

Those feelings have escaped me since then. But at the time, I didn’t care.

I wish the me now could tell the me then, it would be alright. My world had turned upside down and I was in shock. We were all talking about time. We were all talking about how there wasn’t much left. But it didn’t really sink in. Not until I saw it in stone.

It’s like I was on fire. There is nothing quite like death.

I remember calling our home number. I would listen to it ring for what seemed like hours only to be told it had been disconnected. Her life had been disconnected.

It was more real than anything I had ever felt before. Something I thought I would never recover from. Never was such a permanent word. It was terrifying. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. But nothing happened.

I tried to retrace my steps. I tried to hold onto what was more than just a soulless body preparing to decay. Something I also thought about constantly that day. 6 feet under. Buried. Trapped.

I tried to remember her smell. Her laughter. Her smile. Her touch. Her humor. Her voice. Her words.

That day was easy. It was easy to remember those things. It was easy to consume myself in what we had just a week before.

But now…I dig. I dig deep and deeper each time I want to go back. So far I panic that it’s fading. It’s so far away I’m afraid of forgetting. I’m afraid I won’t always be able to pick up my shovel and dig far enough to retrieve a memory. 

The video displayed pictures and recordings of her life. Stories were told. Flowers traced the walls. Faces blurred. Children were children, unable to giggle, dance, run, play – because it was “inappropriate”. I would have rather been a child then. I real child. A young happy child. A child who had no idea what was going on. A joyful child. A child who didn’t know any better. I would have thrown a tantrum.

I wanted to lift her body up and magically spread pixie dust on the two of us and fly away to Neverland.

I guess I was a child. But I didn’t believe that. I had to be older. I had to be stronger.

I wanted to call her “Stacey” and her call me “Dolores”. We could talk in our infamous Jersey accents and fight about our non-existant husbands and what kind of mattress we preferred.

I wanted it to be the early hours of the morning so I could jump into bed with her and “cuddle” because all we had was each other.

I wanted to hear her obnoxiously (on purpose) yawn acting as my alarm clock each morning just so I could complain and beg her to shut up.

I wanted to turn on the karaoke machine she bought us for Christmas and sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart (Turn around)” one last time.

I wanted it to snow so we could make hot chocolate and she would somehow coax me into shoveling the sidewalk and driveway before it got too thick.

I wanted to drive to Arizona and open my door and start to panic because it was way too hot and I convinced my brain I couldn’t breathe and she would calm me down with her words by telling me it was only a few degrees hotter than a summer in Idaho.

I wanted it to be an autumn evening where the leaves would gracefully fall before my feet and I would be walking next to her on a familiar path on our many walks together.

I wanted it to be the middle of the night after I had a panic attack about the world ending and the afterlife and she would calm me by telling me God only gave us 10% of our brains and we don’t know everything, and we won’t know until we meet again. She would hold me and I could breathe again.

I wanted to be in the nursing home when she worked there and gave me a tour saying hello to all the residents and making them smile because they didn’t have frequent visitors.

I wanted it to be a late night after I finished watching One Tree Hill and I would walk over to my mother at her desk studying for one of her nursing exams begging me to watch another episode so she could get through her chapters. I was so proud of her.

I wanted it to be the time we went on a walk and a dog “chased” her and I told her she was overreacting and the dog wouldn’t hurt her, and she threatened to throw a rock down its throat and I begged her not to and she said she promised she wouldn’t, for me.

I wanted it to be an ordinary trip to Broulim’s Grocery Store for a kid’s free cookie and she would make me sneak her one.

I wanted to be in the bathroom washing my hands and she would beg me to wash her back while she was in the bathtub and I would always rub over the part of her back that was indented just enough to notice and she would tell me that she got it from scratching her back with fake nails, and I would act surprised no matter how many times I asked before.

I wanted it to be a regular Sunday afternoon after church at Frontier Pie’s getting a slice of our favorite pie, but always sharing with each other and fighting over the best pieces with our forks.

I wanted to be in the McDonald’s drive thru excited about getting an ice cream cone, but never getting the full amount of ice cream because she would always chomp down on the top before handing me the cone, and I would pretend to get mad.

I wanted to be in the living room in our pajamas where she would randomly lift up her pant legs and say how her ankles/legs looked like a chicken, and I would call her “Chicken legs” and we would laugh because it was true.

I wanted it to be the first time I saw her after she came home from Salt Lake City LDS Hospital and I felt so awkward because she was bald but I broke the silence and rubbed the top of her head and said that her hair was growing back and it felt like baby chick fuzz.

I wanted it to be the time when she collapsed up the staircase turning pale after a trip to the Aberdeen doctor, and making me run to our apartment to call her friend so she could go to the hospital because she couldn’t breathe. And we found out that her spleen had burst and we waited in the hospital and my dad drove down from Pocatello. And I wanted to see her so badly that I opened the door to her room and I saw her puking blood and they made me leave and my heart raced, because for the first time I realized that in life it’s possible to lose the things you love the most and it’s okay to cry. And I found out just how strong she was and how badly she wanted to live life. And I curled up into a ball and whispered. “She’s a survivor” And she was.

I wanted it to be the night at the Blue Heron Bed & Breakfast where we had the entire place to ourselves and it had snowed outside covering the world with a giant white blanket and we played in the hot tub, and lazed around eating Fong’s chinese food and enjoyed what we had like it would be gone tomorrow.

And it was. Almost.

A few weeks later she died.


I love you and miss you everyday mom.

Better than the dream: A poem.

Skittish and shy, I don’t blame you.
When you face everyday with a forming storm, you question if the sky is even blue.
Truth be told, the sky will shine.
When you capture a ray of light, maybe life will be better than just your prime.

I watched you walk the line.
I watched you dry your tears.
I watched you work for every dime.
I watched you release your fears.

Bitter and blind, the world blinked its eyes.
When you flew your flag out, you woke a tameless beast.
Stronger than before, the world saw the truth.
When you hoped and prayed for a better day, freedom reigned.

I watched you truly smile for the first time.
I watched you count your blessings coming down like showers from the skies.
I watched you sigh with relief from meeting people, so kind.
I watched you jump for joy as the world finally opened its eyes.

Loud and proud, people opened their closet doors.
When you held their hand, you showed them reality was finally better than the dream.
Cheerful and humbled, happiness was yours.
When you found your lover, and they found you.

I watched you walk down the aisle.
I watched you blossom and bloom.
I watched you prove them wrong, after running for miles.
I watched you explode into the sky like a firework, no longer crying in your room.

Happy National Coming Out Day 2013.

God bless the many who have dared to open their closet doors.
And God bless those who are still struggling to do so.
May you know you are loved, no matter who you are.

Always changing.

I try to be spontaneous.

I used to be a very plan-oriented person. I’ve lost sight of that. I’ve been disappointed far too many times to continue the ritual of Plan A, B, C, etc. I noticed how obsessive and anxious I would get with every minute closer and the second after when a plan didn’t go through. It’s seriously such a trigger for my anxiety. I’m super anxious when I work myself up into a frenzy. I do have actual panic attacks, and I, to this day, still don’t know how I am able to focus and calm down.

This is something that I’m trying to make part of my past. I no longer want to feel locked away and unable to adapt or deal with change. It’s something that throughout the years I’ve practiced and haven’t quite perfected. In fact, it’s so far from that, I’m not sure if I’ve even made much progress. But it’s a goal. And I’m dealing with it.

Back to the spontaneous me.

I also used to be the kind of person that would blurt things out before my brain had the chance to even fathom what was preparing to escape my mouth and form into actual conversation. I was blunt. And when you’re a kid, you’re told not to do something so many times that soon enough you do exactly that. I stopped saying what I felt. I now keep quiet until I feel my words are worthy to hear.

This is something I’m also trying to work on. I want to believe that the words I say have importance and meaning behind them. My words count. They matter. And whatever comes out of my mouth is a thought I’ve had and obviously want to share. I guess I’ve been afraid of the world to know me. That’s changing. And I’m saying what I feel instead of only what I believe to know.

I’m also working on being more open minded. I’ve always considered myself a wide open book, filled with hundreds of mixed emotions and opinions that I lay out for the world to see. (not so much in conversation, but remember, I’m working on that;) I believe we can always be more open minded tomorrow than we were yesterday. It’s a constant thing. Life. It’s constantly changing and that means ideas are too. We, as a human race, are struggling to adapt, but at least we are adapting. And I want to be a part of that. I want to be a sincere advocate for myself and those around me. And that means not always agreeing with others, but at least understanding and accepting them.

I have no room for hate, anger, stress, etc. in my life. By releasing the idea that I am right and everyone else is wrong is something I’ve tried to approach most every situation in life with. What I deem as important, right, appropriate, etc. may be complete opposite for someone else. I’m making room for others in my life. And remaining open minded will help me accomplish this goal.

I’m also going to stand firm in the things I like or don’t like. I’m open minded, but there are things that I know for a fact that I love or dislike. That’s not to say I won’t change my mind later, but in the time being I will be brave enough to stand up for what I believe. For example: (I know it’s a small example, but still) I love Miley Cyrus. I’m a true fan. I admire her. People may not understand that. But that’s okay. Because I understand it, and that’s what matters. I can laugh about jokes people make about her, because, sure it’s funny (but only for so long) and I’m sure she’s laughing too. I mean, did you see SNL? She is so comfortable and very aware of what others are saying about her, and yet she keeps doing what she does.

Anyway, the point is. We all have things we can individually improve on. It’s up to us how we do it, when we do it, and what the end result is. Frankly, I don’t think there ever is an ending point to learning. I think we are constantly changing, learning, and adapting. It’s a beautiful thing.

And I’m so lucky to be a part of it.

I’m so glad to be a part of history in the making.

Thanks for hearing me out.