witifulramblings

Archive for the ‘English Major’ Category

Day 125: Paul Kalanithi

In Dreams, English Major, Friendship, God, Happiness, Holstee Manifesto, Humanity, life, literature, loss, Love, Meaning, People, Relationships, Teaching, Writing on September 20, 2016 at 11:51 pm

The physician’s duty is not to stave off death or return patients to their old lives, but to take into our arms a patient and family whose lives have disintegrated and work until they can stand back up and face, and make sense of, their own existence.
Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air

In reading Paul Kalanithi’s story there are two quotes that stood out to me. One is listed above. While Paul is recounting his perceived role as a neurosurgeon, I think the poignant thing about that quote, is that you can change the words, and, in doing so, you will see something very beautiful:

The individual’s duty is not to stave off pain or return others to the position before they felt pain, but to take others into our arms, those whose lives have been disinegrated, and work until they stand back up and face, and make sense, of their own existence.

While Paul was most certainly a beautiful doctor in his lifetime, what I found most touching about his book was his ability to see (through the lens of his profession) the meaning behind living. The part of life that drives and perpetuates us, if we’re lucky. The precious ability we have to connect with others and enrich their lives through the experiences we make with them.

I have degrees in English literature. Paul did too. I have spent years disconnected from books, from authors that once touched me so deeply I felt a definitive passion to share their words with others and, hopefully, contribute to the world by helping their ideas, failures and successes to live on. My life got in the way though, and I lost that passion, I quit reading, I quit writing and I chalked up the time spent in academia as a waste. What I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d learn from reading this book, a book about a neurosurgeon’s life, is that what I’d studied, and how I felt about it, and how I can still feel about it, is meaningful. You can bring that passion, that meaning, to other aspects of your life, just as Paul had done. He was a neurosurgeon, but he was also a lover of Dickenson poetry and Emerson’s Leaves of Grass and Eliot’s The Wasteland. He found a way to beautifully intertwine his passion for works and authors such as the above with his equal, but different, passion for medicine and the brain. In fact, I believe, the two were codependent in his life. He was such a great physician because he had read the words of the grieving, of the loving, those who struggled to understand their own mind, such as Hemingway, and thus with these literary experiences he was able to further understand the element of humanity that must be present for a great physician to exist. He understood, like he states above, that he wasn’t God, his role wasn’t to stave off death, but to show those patients he encountered, how to live, how to love, how to grieve, how to be supported, how to find meaning – all things he learned, and, eventually, put down into a book of his own. 

This idea leads to my second favorite quote of the book, when he and his wife Lucy discuss the idea of having a child after his cancer diagnosis:

Will having a newborn distract from the time we have together?” she asked. “Don’t you think saying goodbye to your child will make your death more painful?”

“Wouldn’t it be great if it did?” I said. Lucy and I both felt that life wasn’t about avoiding suffering.

Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air

Life isn’t about avoiding suffering, it’s about fully living which includes suffering. When we read literature, some of the greatest works, or, on a personal note, some of the works that have touched me most, it’s been the books, the poems, the historical recounts of people that suffered, that experienced something that hurt them and then took the time to write about it. Those are the ones that make you see life differently, those are the ones that remind you what living is really about. This is a subtle reminder that hardship is beautiful and to avoid it would equate to a flat life. A life absent of deep seated meaning. 

Paul’s book is one that will leave you in tears, but in a good way. What struck me most about this book was, oddly enough, the cover of it (I am oftentimes drawn to book covers and their hidden messages). 

Paul was a leading neurosurgeon at Stanford University. He was up and coming and he was a “great” doctor. I thought of my own grandfather who passed away just last year. I remember visiting him in his hospital room before he had lost the ability to communicate. He was a surgeon, not a neurosurgeon, but he lived his life in the same professional circle as Paul. I remember distinctly looking at the white board in his room, the one where his name and conditions were listed alongside his current medications and their dosing, it read: “Dr.” with my grandfather’s first and last name following. Each time a nurse would enter the room, he’d emphatically remind him or her that he was indeed a doctor, a surgeon, and that they should refer to him that way. He’d go on to let them know the years he’d spent in the operating room as if it somehow mattered while he lay in bed dying. Perhaps it did, perhaps it brought him meaning, but what this story is meant to point out is what’s written on the front of Paul’s book, a memoir of his life, is just his name – no lofty Dr. title preceding it. Just Paul Kalanithi, that’s it. Surely, someone who spends years of their life training to be a physician, a neurosurgeon, didn’t leave that title off by mistake or as an oversight (my own grandfather taught me that). Perhaps though, Dr. is omitted because Paul saw himself as more than just that. In reading his book, I think it’s quite apparent he did. 

When there is no place for the scalpel, words are the surgeon’s only tool.

Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air

A whit.

Advertisements

Day 92: Here at the Uni…

In Education, English Major, Teaching, Women, Work, Writing on July 29, 2013 at 8:43 pm

When you’re a teacher, the most meaningful, and perhaps important, part of your job is your students. I was on campus working at the university today and I decided to segue from my work to get a sandwich for lunch.  I noticed one of my students, one of my more insightful and dedicated ones would be an understatement, I approached her and we got to talking about her current endeavors (I always like to hear what my students are doing and the ways in which they have advanced).  She informed me that she is working with a program referred to as “summer bridge” wherein she helps a cohort of university freshman make is through their first year of college; I was so proud of her.

As I began to turn away from her, she stopped and looked me in the eye,

“The things I learned from you really helped me and I will never forget them. I just want to thank you for everything you taught me about writing.”

I beamed. Those are the real moments, the ones that counteract all the freshman students who sit in the back of the room and quietly sneer or text. It reminds you why you teach and it makes me feel like I am making a difference here at this university.

professor whit.

Day 70: Internalize the Rubric

In Education, English Major, Laughter, life, Teaching, Writing on September 15, 2012 at 6:36 am

I was standing in the meat department of the grocery store the other day staring blankly at the chicken cuts when the guy behind the counter looked at me and asked,

“what do you want?”

I looked directly at him, and I said.

“I’m sorry sir but I don’t know what I want. I don’t even know what day it is, and if you were to ask me my name at this very moment, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’d be able to tell you what it is.”

I think he thought I was joking at first, but then after I stood there for about 5 minutes with a continued fixed-chicken thigh-gaze, he finally got it.

Skipping forward a few days, today I found myself at a gathering wherein I was told to internalize writing rubrics. After five years of undergraduate work, an almost complete masters degree, and countless graded papers (both my own and those of my students), I couldn’t help but return to my meat department moment (and gently kick my colleague under the table). I was under the impression a paper was either an A, B, C, D, E, or Failing. Maybe my internal grading rubric is slightly off kilter–or maybe I’m just starting to lose my sanity after several years in grad school (I did just notice my accidental E in there). I’m just lucky I am getting an identifiable name, albeit correct, on my own papers. I’m sorry professors. It was kind of like a moment in class last week wherein my student looked at me, and then he asked who was going to be the professor the following week…?

Um, me.

OK, so whose going to be the professor all semester?

Um, me.

Sorry kiddo, I’m not going anywhere whether you like my rubric or not. The good thing is though, I can’t remember my name half the time so guess what? You don’t have to either. I promise, I won’t take points off for that.

20120914-234835.jpg

Day44: doesmymindeverstoprunning

In Education, English Major on May 7, 2012 at 12:58 am

Sorry there has been such a lag in posting, this is what happens when you juggle grad school writing (aka writing you are forced to do) and blog writing or the writing you actually want to do.  I realize some, if not most, people hate writing altogether so this may be kind of hard to comprehend.  But myself, and other English majors included, we like to do this thing called “nerd talk” wherein we over analyze pretty much everything and then, dum dum dum, WRITE ABOUT IT!  I remember the first time it happened to me, I was sitting at a stoplight, I think, and I noticed a silver car in front of me.  I began to ask myself questions like, “why silver?” “does Dodge make a different color silver than other brands?”  “That one sure looks like it has a lot of sparkle to it, I wonder what they put in the paint to make it sparkle like that?”  “Is that sparkly paint they put on the vehicle highly toxic?  If so, I wonder how many car painter people get paint poisoning each year?”  “And wait, how do they treat paint poisoning? How long does it take to get better from something like that?”  “I wonder how much they pay car painter people because if there is a risk like that then they should definitely pay them more than house painter people…”

You see how I took myself on a little journey in about five minutes, I ventured through areas of politics, market, medicine, branding, economic placement, and even paint toxicity…all from a silver vehicle parked in front of me.  I take these journeys, since entering grad school, oh I would say, a rough ten times a day.  I haven’t quite determined if it is to my advantage or disadvantage, mostly.  It definitely serves me well in an academic setting, but I think trees/cars/birds/people/phones/mattresses/dirtcleaningtechniques/rock types/andvariousotherrandomthings might be getting sick of Ms. whit.

signed.

a personwhoisthinkingtoomuch.

Grad Students: The Umentionables–Day 39

In Education, English Major, life, literature, Musings, Thoughts on April 16, 2012 at 7:04 am

I realize I spend a lot of time talking about my status as a divorcee, but I rarely talk about the other things that I am (i.e. a graduate student in the humanities).  Yes, I am one of those very dedicated, smart individuals who has chosen a career path in academia, pause, and not just any old field of academia I would add…English Literature (emphasis on the Literature portion).  You see, let me explain, Literature is one of those funny fields of study…funny in that you spend countless hours, reading countless books (thousands of pages really), and you probably will never obtain any sort of job that will help you to pay back your countless student loans.  True story.

I’ll add though, I can’t say that I am at all disappointed in my choice to pursue an advanced education in English Literature and Composition studies.  I do believe it is one of the most holistic educational experiences one can have, and when I look at others who have graduated from similar programs (albeit different disciplines) I realize the stark contrast in our educational experiences and rigor.  English is tough, it’s tough based upon the sheer amount of reading one must do (literally thousands of pages per week) and not only do you have to bank those pages but you also have to comprehend just what’s going on within the plotline and with the applied theoretical approach.  However, all of that said, you gain a greater appreciation of the world, humanity, and the experiences/perspectives that accompany the aforementioned.  The discipline of Literature really speaks to a greater understanding of the diverse nature that is our world.  I’m just struggling now with how to contextualize the aforementioned into an appropriate, lucrative career path that will support my loan repayment in particular.  I hope you can sense my optimism here.  Smiles.

Today though, I was thinking about the ways in which grad school has changed me especially as I approach the end of this particular educational endeavor.  I realized that I no longer take showers for enjoyment.  You see, as a grad student (single mother probably adds to this) you get so used to having so much nightly work that taking a shower becomes an unwanted task.  It’s a get in and get out approach.  I used to love the shower when younger; I would stay in there for a full hour if possible.  Now, my body won’t even allow me to do this.  It just WANTS OUT. Move on whit, you’ve got work to do!

Interestingly grad school has also lent to my extreme obsession over books, so much so that I take pride in all of those that I own.  This is why I have a wall-to-wall bookshelf filled to the brim with them (I’ll be adding 45 new novels next semester (one’s I’ll need for my comprehensive exam).  Because I am slightly OCD, I have them arranged by height and width.  It’s obsessive but I pride myself on having read them all.

Finally, grad school has turned me into an anxiety-ridden freak (thank god this blog is anony).  This isn’t really an isolated phenomenon though.  In fact, I work in an office of about twelve colleagues that teach within the Department (myself included) and of the twelve I would say…twelve are on the same anxiety meds.  I heard a couple of em’ swapping meds the other day (don’t know if this is legal).  I’m convinced that we’re not crazy, we’re just driven right?

So, an abhorrence for showers, book obsessions, and crazy pills…this is what grad school (in the humanities) perpetuates.  I’m proud to say that I’ve learned to control my bouts of anxiety (which typically center around my attempt to be perfect in situations where perfection does not exist) through the adoption of an “I don’t care attitude.”  Seems to be working quite well so far, although I’m judged by some.  This is another thing about grad school, it’s a political environment, one wherein there are certain expectations, ways of doing things, and definitely grad student no-no’s (not trying to be perfect is a no-no).  However, I’ve learned that life is for living and not for being perfect.  It’s for loving things beyond the halls of the English Department (although I do love these halls and they’ve given me much over the years I’ve walked them).  If you can’t find balance then you’re probably the best grad student (and the most unbalanced human being).  It’s taken me up until my last semester of graduate school to decide to stray from this.

I’m beginning to love showers again, although I’m realizing this is a gradual process.  I do like having clean hair on a daily basis, though.  Smelling good is nice too.

I don’t know how many more books I’ll be collecting come my graduation in December.  I do know that my bookshelf will begin to adorn non-classical works–and that’s OK.

Just in case you’re a perfection-seeking grad student in the humanities–anything that ends in the suffix “azepam” should be of help to you.  I suggest the balanced thing though, having tried both I find it a much better course of action. You don’t want to graduate a masters holding drug addict and/or chain smoker bordering on lung cancer.

–a grad student whit.Image

(This pic speaks well to my shower commentary.  I never  had so many days of greasy hair as I’ve had in the past three years.  Apology in advance to any of those who experienced me on a day wherein I didn’t have time to take a shower (for a few days in a row) and/or I forgot to wear deodorant.  I know it happened, more than once.

Running Book List

In English Major, literature on December 23, 2010 at 8:38 pm

Running Book List:

A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man by James Joyce

Bless Me, Ultima by Anaya A. Rudolfo

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston

China Men by Maxine Hong Kingston

Solar Storms by Linda Hogan

Kanthapura Raja Rao

Erasure by Percival Everett

Paradise by Toni Morrison

The Signifying Money Henry Louis Gates

Times Arrow by Martin Amis

Flaubert’s Parrot by Julian Barnes

Possession by A.S. Byatt

The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

Nice Work by David Lodge

Atonement by Ian McEwan

The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie

The Sweet Smell of Pyschosis by Will Self

Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson

Daily Cupcake: For the Homosaps.

In Articles, Blogging, Blogs, Education, English Major, God, Humanity, Laughter, life, literature, Men, Men, Politics, Stories, Thoughts, Women, Work, Writing on November 13, 2010 at 7:53 pm

I thought I would change things up a bit for today and provide you with an excerpt of text.  This one is from Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, which also means that this post won’t show up on several internet servers due to banning (not that anyone from the middle east reads my blog anyway).  For those of you seeing this, enjoy:

“Question: What is the opposite of faith?”

“Not disbelief.  Too final, certain, closed.  Itself a kind of belief.”

“Doubt.”

“The human condition, but what of the angelic.  Halfway between Allahgod and homsap, did they ever doubt?”

“…O God, he cries out, O allgood allahgod.”

Rushdie likes to use puns throughout his writing, created words, in this instance “allahgod” and “homosap” but these are just two of many examples, and they don’t come without intended meaning.  Suggestive of the word allahgod, through the combination of the Muslim Allah and the traditional Christian God is the creation of another dimension, a third space. A place where, perhaps, god and allah are one and the same, or they represent a new type of god  (perhaps any other god worshipped).  He also combines the words “all” and “good” adding emphasis to the fact that “allahgod” is “allgood,” and all encompassing.  Then what are we? “homosap.” This shortened version of our species describes us as “homo,” supposedly knowing; however, with the ending shortened to “sap” indicates a sort of foolishness.  So perhaps Rushdie is suggesting that we, humans, lack an open perspective/judgment concerning god and his universal nature, his allgood, allpowerful, allknowing, presence.

Just something to chew on.

Day Seventeen: “Gender is a Performance:” Play Your Own Part.

In Articles, Blogging, Blogs, English Major, Esteem, Family, Friends, Happiness, Humanity, Laughter, life, literature, Love, Men, Men, Mother, Parenting, Politics, Romance, Sex, Stories, Thoughts, Women, Work, Writing on November 8, 2010 at 10:14 pm

I recently stumbled upon this blog post, which I found to be slightly disturbing but not for the reason you might be inclined to think.

Our society has transitioned into a new wave of discrimination and this time the target seems gender related.  Since the beginning of time, and even currently, differing cultural groups, religious groups, varying ethnicities, have been the product of discriminatory practices but now we’re venturing into a whole new sphere.  I think the important thing to remember is this is nothing new.  As many of you know, my educational background is focused in the area of literature.  Throughout the years I have explored a variety of texts, poetry, fiction, essays, etc, where gender/sexuality issues exist.

Yes, there were homosexuals in the fifteenth century. Big shocker.

However, gender and sexuality, in the past, were presented mostly through allusions, satirical jest, etc.  We’re entering a new era and in this one people are opening up.  Finally, individuals are facing the blatant reality that gender is not so easily defined nor is sexuality.  How wonderful that we are transitioning towards this way of life, writing, living the obvious, the real, why hinder such?

But it’s happening, people are impeding this miraculous feat and, yet again, lives are being lost, ruined, and hurt because of differences.

A professor once said,

“gender is a performance, a fabrication.”

You could think of it like this, each one of us is playing a role in a play, acting the part, being the person that very role assigns.  Unfortunately, life, sexuality, gender, is far more complicated than a role so strictly designated.  Individuals may choose different performances or they may be living a biological performance different from that of yours or mine.  That doesn’t make their performance any less real or vital; however, your assumption or judgment of it may be detrimental to their life. If we continue with the theatrical allegory, the world of theatre, is quite obviously designed and encouraging of creativity, why not then in our own societal structures as well?

Individuals, children, adults, PEOPLE, should be allowed to live their lives. They should be allowed to perform the way they choose and most importantly our children need to know that those choices are okay because inevitably they will grow up and act a part of their own.

The holocaust, the chinese exclusion act, black slavery, native american discrimination, and the list goes on and on.  All of these historical events have one thing in common–injustice.  People being forced into roles they were never meant to inhabit.

So, play your part the way you want to.  Don’t try to perform the role necessarily assigned to you by socially constructed gender terms.  Little Boo played his part (the one he chose) and I think he did a great job of it.

Whit.

Sharing Life: Day Fourteen

In Articles, Blogging, Blogs, Dating, English Major, Esteem, Friends, Happiness, Laughter, life, Love, Musings, Stories, Thoughts, wit, Writing on August 16, 2010 at 7:21 pm

There’s this little white blank church I would pass everyday on my way to work.  I’d find myself wondering, who worships here, who fills this place every Sunday?  What are their thoughts, hopes, desires, and pains?  That happened every morning for a few months.  I was so tempted to return on a Sunday, the place was so lonely, but I knew there was a time of infusion.  The worshippers would come and breathe vitality into this place.

In your life there comes an instant where you really have to sit and evaluate who you are and what you’re living for.  This moment isn’t the same for everyone.  For some it comes by a breath of happiness, others tragedy, some change.  I can remember the day I got married.  I thought this was my juncture.  Here I would ask, “Who are you?  Who loves you? And then, you are going to have this beautiful life with this beautiful person—you are defined.”  But these moments aren’t so easily recognized, and oftentimes they happen without us even noticing it.  This is how it happened to me.  I did get married, I remember pieces of that day so vividly, and I hold them in my heart, mostly so I can share them with little e.  I recall the pink cake, and how the train on my dress ripped unexpectedly, I remember sitting on a bench, surrounded by white, staring out through the etched windows of the church.  Uniquely, I remember doing all of these things by myself (this is quite anomalous for someone’s wedding day).  I don’t ever remember being scared, or worried, or even unsure.  I felt blank.  This was not my moment.

Six years have passed since that occasion.  Now, I find myself meditating on who I’ve become and what that experience did to my life.  I realize that I’m angry.  I’m so mad at the person who betrayed me–he let me down.  I direct that anger, not at him, but at people I’ve dated since him.  It may be something they do, something they say, it reminds me, and then suddenly I see a reflection of his face staring back at me.  While this is happening, I let him do whatever he wants.  I never show disappointment, or rage, for him I am still blank.  Once he told me, after everything was done, he was about to remarry, “I am so sorry for ruining you.”  I responded with a quick, “thanks?”  That was my first evaluation session (some people have more than one).  I was no one, a ruined individual that was it.  Well, you know what they say, “ruin is the road to transformation.”  I gave myself a few months and began taking that seriously.  Then with the start of this project there came my second moment.  I write it out and I begin to see who I am and what my dreams are.  I’ve accomplished. I’ve lived.  I don’t feel ruined anymore, but I have to stop being angry or I’ll never capture what I am truly living for, happiness.

So, I asked myself last night, what good has come from the end of that marriage? Immediately I thought, the people I have met.  I think about all of them.

****

Steve, his wife died of cancer and now he’s a single dad with two beautiful girls.  Chloe, his miracle baby.  She was delivered premature so that Bridget (Steve’s wife) could undergo chemo.  Then there’s Grace.  Steve once told me that while driving in the car Grace noticed the leaves outside falling, blowing away.  She said something like, “Daddy, that’s like mommy right?  The leaves come and go.”  He loved that moment because his little girl understood life and death.  Steve taught that there is beauty in tragedy, and hope.

Karen, when I met her she was weak but at a distance I have seen her grow into someone of strength and courage.  Her family lives in Hawaii and she raises her son on her own.

Jason, his wife also died of cancer.  He graduated law school, top of his class, and got a job with one of the best firms in Nevada.  He bought a new home and then six months ago sold it after being laid off.  His daughter McKenna is beautiful and has a stitched pillow on her bed with a picture of her Mom holding her.  I met him right after my divorce and he taught how to move on.

Wayne.  I wonder about this one.  I spent a year crying that we weren’t together but then one day I realized, that’s a good thing, now you know what it feels like to love someone.  I never felt blank with him.

Dr. S, our custody evaluator.  I spent numerous trips to San Diego for sessions with this fellow.  He reassured me of all my parental intentions.  He never said, “you’re a great mom,” instead he said something much deeper, “you have a spectacular child, one who is very loved, I thoroughly enjoy little e.”  He restored my worth as a mother.

Joey.  A Mormon that taught me Mormons are good when I stopped believing they were.

Jerry.  He gave me my first job after my divorce.  When I started working for him I was timid.  I didn’t even know how to say, “I WANT THIS.” After leaving his office I worked for a law firm (that should give you a good idea of my progression).  I ran into him at the grocery store about two months ago, he said, “I can just see how you’re different.  You’ve got life in you.  You’re in a great place.”  He was a stepping stone.  I had to start somewhere and he gave me that opportunity.

The countless men I’ve dated.  They’ve taught me how to date, how to pray, how to recognize a wanker, how to listen, cultural awareness, money management, passion.

Glen.  He’s my attorney friend who always has good advice.  He’s also always on IM chat and easily accessible.  We’ve been friends for three years now.

Scott.  A single Dad who loves taking me to concerts and being my “wingman.”  He’s always willing to take one for the team.

Chloe.  I just met her, but she reminds me of all my college girlfriends.  Chloe laughs with me and it gives me a sense of “times gone by.”  She’s great.

James.  He taught me about addiction, what it’s like to live in the shadow of it.  I pray for him.  Memories of James helped me through some tough family times.  I needed to meet him.

Toby.  He sold me an Anthropologie rug off craigslist.  A cute aussie who has since moved back to Melbourne.  In a late night conversation he was able to get through to me.  He also taught me the word “wankers,” which I love.

Jonathon.  He started out as the perfect date.  He’s an English professor who loves literature.  I learned from him that I may be able to get a job when I someday finish school.

Professor Ochoa.  She told me that someday I’ll write a book.

****

I look at all these people and cannot help but smile.  They’ve given me so much life, they are all so beautiful, and have attributed to the transformation currently underway.  I am like the white church, the blank lonely church, and all of my friends they are the worshippers. They come into my life, at their moments, and they infuse me.  I am going to stop being angry, and self-conscious, and closed.  I am going to let more people in. I said before that life is defined by moments, but I retract that statement.  Instead, life is defined by the moments you share with others.

A Lesson on Happiness: How Words Transform (Day Eleven)

In English Major, Happiness, Humanity, Laughter, life, Love, Men, Men, wit on July 29, 2010 at 4:21 pm

A wonderful philosopher once said, “As is his language so was his life.”

The past two weeks have been wonderful for me as I’ve reflected on so many things, the present and the past.  The words written here have transformed, somewhat, and they’ve changed my perspective on things.  So ten days in review, a lesson on how to be happy (plus some added extras).    See you don’t need Prozac after all.

  1. listen to those around you, see what they’re saying, you may find truth. (thank you Mr. Be Happy)
  2. Do something you haven’t dared before
  3. Embrace life, whatever it brings (Hello Earl)
  4. Create your own reality
  5. Live your dreams or in them (that’s fun too)
  6. Let thoughts of happiness infiltrate your ideas
  7. Remember to live (don’t check out empty handed)
  8. Recognize that some days are just going to be shitty
  9. Talk to yourself
  10. If you have holes in your soul–fill em’ up

I realize my realities can be whatever I make them; I can write my own world.  We can all live in our dreams and hopefully those dreams make up our bliss.  You don’t have to pretend to be happy (I used to do that) you just have to give yourself permission to let the good in.  One last thing, let the words of others pervade—sometimes you gotta get out of your own head.

Hiking Photography

Beautiful photos of hiking and other outdoor adventures.

SOLD BY CATHY

I NEVER FORGET YOU HAVE A CHOICE

thejamsquare

Thetis Island Blog

The Home Team at MNS

Real Impact Real Estate

Violet Gallery

sketching, creating and living life!

Southern Sweetys Photography

Capturing Life's Sweetest Momemts

Bucket List Publications

Indulge- Travel, Adventure, & New Experiences

ExploreDreamDiscover Talks

Travel, culture, food, and perception

Margaret's Miscellany

(in which I catalog my travels and a random assortment of likes and dislikes)

Dropping LSD--(Law School Debt)

currently blogging: student loans, frugality, design tutorials, and random crap on the internet

divorced is not a marital status

Living life without the scarlet letter--D

Coffee Under the Umbrella

Would you like paint and power tools with your coffee?