to auburn, with love.

when i was a year old, i moved from tuscaloosa to cullman. i couldn't tell you a single thing about living in tuscaloosa, because i don't remember a single moment of it.

when i was 9, i went back there for my first alabama football game. i can tell you a lot about that day. i can tell you my exact thoughts when i first stepped from the concourse out into the bowl of bryant-denny. i can tell you how it was homecoming. how eli manning was the rebels' quarterback, and how alabama won 42-7. i can tell you where we sat, and about the cute family in front of us, and the drunk ole miss fan who threw a plate out the sunroof of his limo on the way home. i became the child that got alabama football media guides for her birthday, and read them cover to cover 97 times.

when i was 17, i made my first visit to auburn university. it was august, and so hot. campus was crowded and bustling yet always strangely slow and calm. when i told people i was considering auburn, they'd always say, "oh, well i'm sure you'll convert soon," as if you could just switch that easily. maybe someone who didn't really care could do that, but definitely not me. if you switch that easily, you were never really a fan to begin with, because that's not how sports work. 

when i was 18, i moved to auburn. in august, just under a year after my first visit, i moved into the dorm and made new friends and quickly realized auburn was where i was supposed to be. i waved my shaker in jordan-hare on saturdays, but i never really meant it. it was fun– SEC football is always fun– but it didn't really mean anything to me. 

i didn't get homesick until january. after being home an entire month for christmas, i fell hard back into my home routine. i left to return to auburn on my dad's birthday, and it was raining, and it was the worst. then the very next night, i got to watch alabama win the national championship, in what has become my most favorite alabama game of my lifetime. i sat in a room full of auburn friends and proudly wore the alabama jersey i've had since elementary school, because there wasn't a single thing any of them could say to me. they were all sassy about how lsu had already beat alabama once and "haven't we already seen this game" and then by about halftime, they all shut up. the next morning, i walked half a mile in the rain to my car (joys of freshman parking) and drove to academy, where i bought a national championship t-shirt. shockingly, there wasn't a huge demand for those in auburn. i still smile every time i drive by that store. i wasn't so homesick after that.

when i was 19, i watched Roll Tide/War Eagle, the excellent 30 for 30 doc, and thought, wow, they should have interviewed me for that. this is me making myself available for the sequel.

when i was 21, i started working in the auburn athletics department. that's a whole blog post in itself, but i'll leave it at this: a chapter i never could have predicted, a chapter i loved and didn't love, a chapter that taught me exactly what i don't want to do with my life and a little bit about what i do want to do. i stood on the sidelines for an iron bowl, met charles barkley, learned a lot, and made some of the very best friends. the job allowed me to leave my mark on auburn's campus in a very real, very tangible way, in the form of stadium cups and outfield walls and whole list of other projects that were tough and time-consuming and also wildly worth it.

to auburn, with all my love. thanks for taking care of me. thanks for the very best memories. for the slow, hot summers and gorgeous fall days, and for one impossibly fun snow day. thanks for not kicking me out abruptly in may, but rather, letting me have one more semester and ease my way out. i drove out of town for the last time on january 8, exactly four years after that one homesick day at the end of christmas break freshman year. 

what a difference four years can make.

the things we let go.

we live in a giant bubble of information. much of it is good and interesting and thought-provoking, but some of the information we're constantly surrounded by is just plain inflammatory.  we live in an age of hot takes and public streams of consciousness, an age where people not only have an opinion, but more than ever before, feel the need to share that opinion. 

it's easy to get fired up, to argue, to get stressed or bothered by what someone else says or does. but we gotta start letting it go. stop worrying about a stranger's inconsequential opinion. does that person have authority over you in some way? do you respect that person? are they on your home team, your core group of closest people? no, no, and no? then let it go.

as i type, jess mendoza is becoming the first-ever female broadcaster of a postseason major league baseball game. no surprise here, but twitter's got some thoughts on that. plenty of crude jokes and misogynistic opinions and while i know i should take everything on my timeline with a grain of salt, i'd be lying if i said i didn't get a little angry for a moment. women in sports is kind of my thing, one of those things i'll fight for and read on and monologue about for hours. i had a sassy reply tweet drafted up in my head, and then i thought,

do i want this to be my story?

i don't want to be the girl who gets angry at internet strangers, who tries to stop the conversation but actually just pours more gasoline on the fire. there's these common phrases among the internet generation: "I don't usually post about this, but..." or "i never say these kinds of things, but this just needs to be said..."

so, um, just checking, you realize that's a complete and total contradiction, yes? by trying to separate yourself from the conversation, you really just jump right into the muck with everyone else. maybe this is just me being contrary, but i don't want to participate in those trending conversations. i want something different. something more important. 

so we let go of the little things, the silly things, the sexist strangers on twitter and the anonymous haters in the comments section. it doesn't matter and it never will. set your eyes on higher things, my love.

when it's working.

when the hard weeks are followed by two good ones.

when it feels so good outside that you're wishing for a thousand more 67-degrees-in-August days.

when, even though the state of your room/brain/thesis project is questionable, your desk is clean + bright, ready for work.

when you see a dance so beautiful you watch it six times in a row, in the dark middle of the night, on a tiny phone screen.

when your days are long, and by 7 PM your hair is a mess and your body is tired— so tired— but you can drive home knowing it was a good, productive day.

when you sketch and sketch and sketch, looking for a breakthrough, and then stumble upon it almost unintentionally. and you're not there yet, but that tiny doodle means progress.

when you're two days from getting on a plane for a weekend adventure.

"So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord— who is the Spirit— makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image." (2 Cor 3:18, NLT)

feeding the sheep.

The text you're about to read came from Hannah Brencher. I am mostly posting this as a reminder to myself. A reminder to love and stop arguing, to wait and not worry, to be and not battle. So that when I come back here in a few weeks or months, I'll be reminded that the details, those little theological sticking points that cause so much division and pain, aren't as important as the Story.

The year is 2015- 

We have enough questions and angry Facebook rants. Enough anger. Enough pain. The media is full of wanting the church to answer questions. We all get a little cray with our megaphones and character counts. And I rarely ever speak up but I have to say this- the God of the Bible didn’t grill people on their political stances. The Jesus of the Bible didn’t sit and wait for someone to sit and hash out their sins to a jury of their peers. The Jesus I read about had one simple question and one command to follow it:

Do you love me?

He asked that three times to Simon Peter. 

Do you love me? 

Not, are you perfect? Do you never sin? What is your view on sex outside of marriage? What is your view on homosexuality?

These questions will never lead us into an answer that can actually help a hurting world where people feel scared and unsafe and already not belonging. 

Do you love me?

That’s the simplest and question: Do you love me? 

And if you love me— if your answer is “yes”— then feed my sheep. That was his command: Feed my sheep. Show up for my people. Listen to their stories. Cry when you need to. Step away when you have to. Give until it hurts. Until it breaks you. Until you think you can’t go on any further. Stay in the mess. Stay in the trenches. Look for the holes. Dig in the deep end.

Feed my sheep. Stay up through the night. Get them breakfast. Meet them at diners. Sit in their questions. Give them your shoulders and your tired arms. You are not the answer. And you cannot save a person from their darkness but please don’t ignore it and act like it does not exist. 

Stay up. Wait for them. Just wait. Be a light that is still on when they finally come home. 

Everyone comes home eventually. 

We’re all just wondering if someone will leave the light on for us when we finally start to find our way back.

i need you to know.

“You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. Some people want adventure. Some people want roots. Some people want an escape. Some people want a treasure hunt. We all want different things that keep us coming and going and staying and living. It’s better to just say, “You do you. You be your own manual. You be your own compass with the help of God that you want– the portion size you’ll take of Him. But I won’t preach at you with a suitcase in my hand. We all have our reasons for staying and leaving, and that’s just fine.”
— Hannah Brencher, "A Hotel is For Sale on Baltic Avenue"
“Just in case you ever foolishly forget, I’m never not thinking of you.”
— Virginia Woolf, Selected Diaries
“You were a risk,
a mystery,
and the most
certain thing I’d ever known.”
— Beau Taplin, "A Certainty"
“And this is open season,
time is up, time to be leaving.
Head on down this very arbitrary road.
Armor up, and say your prayers
from underdogs and millionaires.
I heard you better off on your own,
but I ain’t gonna face this hunt alone.
So I’ll be needing you,
and I know you’ll be needing me too.
We’re in this game together.
”
— Josef Salvat, "Open Season"
“Other people’s opinions and expectations matter. But they don’t drive everything. And making things means building up a little wall, for a short time, when you say, essentially: I will be with you later. I hear you, I love you, I will be with you later. Because I’m creating silence right now. I’m making stuff.”
— Shauna Niequist, "The Bends, The Shouting, The Real Work"

command shift three.

(that's the keyboard shortcut for screenshotting– but you knew that, right?)

if I had a penny for every time I screenshot something, I'd have a lot of pennies. here are some of my recent favorites.

shoutout to insta for being the best social media we have. you da best, insta.

    

because these are my three favorite insta accounts. @kalbarteski // @arbuzzy // @alimakesthings


   

because sheet art over bed? brilliant // because that handwritten type over gorg image // because moody neon signs give me life, people.


    

because I relate to this on a spiritual level // because my pushup bra will help me get my man is still my favorite // because the intersection of sports + design is where i live.


  

because hannah brencher is a beautiful soul // because we all need this reminder // because brush lettering is my most favorite, and these are lovely words.


      

because I'm a sucker for the effortless-cool mattress-on-the-floor bedroom // because that mural tho // because I can't resist a good gallery wall. and this, people, is a GREAT gallery wall.


oh, and PS: the idea for this post came from hey natalie jean, a blog you should all start following right this second.

okay baiii. happy weekend!




bits + pieces

every now and then, I just accumulate so many good things in my brain that I need to spill them out somewhere. so this is that spill. enjoy.

*    *    *
Because all you can do is give yourself away. Give yourself away with shaky hands and bravery that rocks you when you look back and realize that you did it. You could do the hard thing. You could have the hard conversations. You could love the people that were hard to love. You could be alone and be far better at it than you’d expected. You could say yes or, even harder oftentimes, you could say no. You could try.
this piece from Liz Franklin is exquisite. do yourself a favor and go read the whole post. it is all the praise hands emojis.

*    *    *


this Sam Smith + John Legend collab is super brilliant. two great voices combined is like buttah, i tell you.

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hey you guys, this weekend I watched the entire third season of House of Cards. Friday night, I worked really hard to finish my midterm portfolio, and then Saturday i did absolutely nothing except devour the newest season. (I also devoured some cinnasnacks from sonic, but that's a different story.)

*    *    *

my life has been wildly busy lately, with lots and lots of late nights working, and this remix is better than any red bull in terms of keeping me awake. between the hours of 1-3 AM, there's a good chance this song is on repeat. 


i'm afraid i'll forget. (boston, volume 51.)

because sometimes, what happened just a few months ago feels like ages, and because sometimes, I'm afraid I'll forget...

the eeeearly sunday morning train ride out of the city, to a suburban town and a field full of tiny lacrosse players. how fenway park and lansdowne street were deserted when left the station at 6:00 AM, but alive and vibrant with hordes of red sox fans when I returned at 6:00 PM, just after the game let out.

late afternoon walks to the grocery store, and always picking up chicken fingers from the deli for dinner that night. the time there was a musician playing live music inside the store, and how weird I thought that was. and how I got over my fear of self checkouts.

cape cod—goodness, cape cod. I don't ever want to forget that slow, easy, vibrant weekend. waking up early and navigating through south station to get on a bus full of strangers, only to finally, finally see my parents waiting at the end of our route. driving along the cape and stopping to pull over every time we saw a potential photo op. marveling at the boats and beautiful homes. stopping in harwich for pizza, really hot pizza, and drinking out of cold aluminum cans while picking out famous baseball players from the old Harwich Mariners pictures on the wall. wandering through a magical toy store with the little candy shack in the backyard. sleeping on the hotel room floor on an american flag pool raft that night, and not caring one bit.

fourth of july, when it rained and rained and rained. the night before, I listened to the fireworks out my open window. I shut the window just after they ended and just before the hurricane rolled in and soaked all the poor people who weren't snuggled inside like me. on the actual fourth, usually a day of sunshine and boat rides and charcoal grills, it never stopped raining. and I matched that by never getting out of bed. I watched an entire series on netflix, and then when the storm finally let up, I walked down the empty, soggy street to the 7/11 for ice cream, something i only let myself do on the most special days.

walking down memorial drive on sunday afternoons, when it's closed to car traffic and instead of luxury SUVs, it's just tinies on training-wheeled bikes that you had to watch out for.

that one friday night after the all-star game, when I was exhausted after hours and hours of work but for some reason decided to walk a mile to get pizza in cambridge. and on the long walk back, carrying my little pizza box and thinking about nothing and everything, I realized the summer wasn't endless. that there was a very real point at which it would end and life would go back to "normal."

may was scary, and june was a blur. july was happythankyoumoreplease— that is to say, it was everything all smashed into one. it was juggling a thousand things, almost all of which were good things, and oh, also a trip to london. it was going back to all my favorite places I'd found in boston, and discovering new favorites also.

and then august was home. august and september and october were home, and they were good (so good), but they weren't boston.


time, rest, and worth.

This time change thing has really thrown me off.

Of course, it always does, but tonight, when I legitimately thought it was 9:30, I looked at the clock and it said 5:57. Now it's just after nine, and I'm completely ready for bed. In an ideal world, going to sleep at 9:00 would just be like an hour early for me, but lately, it seems like getting in bed to catch the end of  Seth Meyers at 12:15 is a victory.

Tonight, though, when I was leaving the studio at 5:57, I was thinking about how over the last five days, I have been the least busy of my entire semester. It has literally been so glorious. The other day, I went to Books-a-Million and bought a new book IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCHOOL DAY. (Amy Poehler's Yes Please, which you should all read immediately.) Do you understand how rare and wonderful that is? Having time this weekend to relax, and not wake up stressed, is so precious.

It's also given me some time to recalibrate. About a week ago, Satan started whispering little lies in my ear, things that were discouraging and scary and, if I had let them, would have seriously knocked me off balance. You might not care about this, but maybe you might have heard a similar lie. So here's my lesson of the week...

As a creative person, I like working behind the scenes. I don't really want attention or praise, I just want to make other people's jobs easier. I am aware, and so very thankful, that God has given me a gift that not everyone has. (Of course, for the one thing I can do, there are seventy hundred million more things that I can't do. Perspective, people.) So much of my to-do list over the past year or so has been designing things for other people. Which I love. That's what I want to do with my life. But I think that I lived behind the scenes for so long, focusing on other people first, that I started to lose a bit of my self-worth. I thought, "What if people only appreciate me for the work that I give them? If I died, or moved to Australia, would people miss me, or would they miss the designs that I could give them on two hours' notice?"

This, you see, is another side effect of being too busy and stressed. I always say that I know I've got too much on my plate if I wake up worrying, but I realized last week that another red flag is those little devil whispers. And I am so, so thankful for this slow period that came at just the right time, allowing me time to find rest and peace.

It doesn't always happen that way, though. Sometimes your toughest days are also the busiest ones. In that case, I've learned that you have to carve out little moments throughout the day for silence. A thirty minute break from schoolwork to read a quick devotional, grab some peanut butter M&Ms, and catch up on SportsCenter can work wonders. In that time, enjoy the mental quietness, and remember that your worth is so far beyond any work you can produce here on earth.

real talk.

Yesterday, I was reading a new Esquire interview with Taylor Swift, and this hit me so hard:

(source)

This is not a post to fangirl over TSwift, because I really only like her about 62% of the time. This post is less about who said it, and more about what she said.

"I'm realistic about the fact that millions of people don't have time in their day to maintain a complex profile of who I am." 

 That is so, so good. One of my hugest weaknesses is tripping over how I think other people perceive me. But here is the thing (and this is going to make me sound really arrogant): people spend a lot less time thinking about me than I think they do. One time, I was trying to explain this fear/stress that I have to someone, a person that I had really only just met, and she said, "You know, it's not all or nothing. Just because someone doesn't think you're the coolest person ever doesn't mean that they think you are the worst. Maybe they just feel neutral about you." I realize that sounds like terrible, hurtful advice to some people, but it was so helpful to me, and it's something I reflect back on a lot. I had never thought about that space in between COOLEST PERSON EVER and omgtotalloser. And that space is probably where a lot of people perceive me. Just like Swifty said, "And that's okay. As long as those adjectives aren't train wreck, mess, terrible."

And then today, I saw this on one of my most favorite blogger's instagram:
(source)

Do you see that post-it on the computer? It says "Don't disappoint the wrong people." That sounds like a scary threat, but it's more about knowing who really matters to you. Know your home team, the people who rely on you and love on you and vice versa. It's good and helpful to care about what they think, and it's so worth the effort to not disappoint them. 

But everyone else, well, sometimes their opinions of you just don't matter a bit.


a thousand things.

The first year that I realized birthdays aren't always a big deal was my 17th. It's always worth celebrating, of course, but celebrating in a different way than you did when you're younger. Sixteen was fun because I got a car and loads of freedom, but then seventeen was just... normal. It was great, but I went to school, then I put on my scrubs and went to work like I did every other day. It was my first weird birthday.

This year, the big idea was "chill." I didn't want to do anything big or flashy, just quiet and small and happy. And you know what? I think I'm onto something.

About a thousand great things happened today. A lot of them aren't related in any way to it being my birthday, but doesn't that just make it better?

I didn't even notice when it hit midnight and the calendar flipped. I didn't notice until I got a text at 12:03. And then I spent the next hour, passing my actual birth time of 12:40, doing design homework in a quiet apartment while watching the late night Sportscenter loop for the third time. It felt right, somehow.

I woke up to the news that William and Kate are having another baby.

I also woke up to a basket full of my favorite things, including but not limited to diet sunkist and sharpie pens.

For lunch, I went to Taco Bell. Because it was spontaneous and yummy.

While I was sitting at the kitchen counter eating said Taco Bell, a postman delivered a big red tube with my name on it, revealing the cutest illustrated print of Boston landmarks. With no clue who it was from, I spent about three hours wondering who sent me such a perfect mystery gift. Which was fun in its own sense.

Also on my lunch break, I discovered that One Direction pulled a Beyonce and dropped a new song today out of nowhere, also announcing that their new album will be out in two months.

I wore two of my favorite outfits—it was actually for required events, but still. you should always do that on your birthday.

In the middle of it all, I submitted a form to secure my place on a study abroad trip to Ireland next spring— WHAT. i know.

When I got home from class, I ate leftover birthday cake and drank a diet sunkist and watched the SEC network.

A really great new Rolling Stone profile of Taylor Swift came out today— which I read, obviously.

It was one of those hot, slow nights, where it was still 88 degrees an hour after the sun went down. On my last birthday, I might have hated this, but after a summer up north, I've been savoring the humidity. (I know that sounds so weird, but it's just one of those things you have to experience for yourself.)

We made a late-night Sonic run, and because I hadn't eaten dinner, I ordered a peanut butter fudge milkshake with absolutely zero guilt. We took selfies and sang songs and did all the good things.

--------

So, in short, today was a really, really good day. Calm and happy and just exactly what I'd have drawn up.

twenty one is gonna be fun.

on comfort food.


I learned a lot in Boston, but I lost something, too. It went away slowly, so much so that I wasn't aware of losing it until my last few days. Living in a big city hardened me a little bit. I lost my softness, my sympathy. Of course, it's completely my own fault, but it was a little bit of a defense mechanism. I was acutely aware of being a young person alone in a big city, so I stopped making eye contact on the street. I didn't smile at the homeless people. I withdrew, which is something I did far too much anyway, before Boston. 

I loved being up north for a season, but I could never live there. Between Boston and London, I realized that I'm not sure I ever want to live outside of the South. My first full day home was exactly as I'd have drawn it up. It was hot, and slow, and a little bit quiet. Easy. I drove down the two-lane highway (in my own car! for the first time since April!) to my grandparents' house, where I laughed and ate ice cream and did little household tasks— all very normal things, but things I've missed out on this summer.

As I unpack, both literally and mentally, from this summer, I'm working on undoing that knot Boston tied in me. I think that more than anything, it's a matter of familiarity. Recently, I've decided that I'm a comfort food person. One night while we were in London, we had ordered Indian takeout, which was one of the first times I've had legit Indian food. And you know, it was fine, but I just don't have exotic tastes. I've never been one for anything fancy— I mean, my idea of a perfect night is chicken fingers and a baseball game. Even as I start trying to cook more, and pick out new recipes to try, I just don't choose fancy spices or groundbreaking culinary combinations. 

I think there's plenty to be said for stepping outside of your comfort zone. That's what I did all summer. But I also think there's a reason your comfort zone exists. It's where you thrive, where you are the most happy, the most you. It's important to get outside of that area every now and then, to see if maybe your comfort zone is bigger or different than you previously thought. Try new things, but know that it's okay to come back to that sweet spot. 

So for now, I'm back. I tried big city Northern living, and it was fun and wonderful and great for a summer, and I learned so much, but it's not my scene. Traveling and adventuring is important and exciting, but it gets a little wearisome. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm ready to be done with airports for a little bit. So now, this next season is going to be about comfort food: getting back to the people, places, routines that I love best. It feels a little strange right now, a little unfamiliar, more like I'm following an instruction manual instead of writing my own novel. Like when I borrow my sister's chacos, and they fit, but the straps feel a little funny, because they're not used to having my feet in them.  The longer I wear the shoes, though, the better they fit.

chacos and chicken fingers: it's good to be home.

after boston.

it was ten days, six weeks, two and a half months, and then... over.

during this season, I lived in a constant tension of appreciating and anticipating. counting the days until I was back home with my people, but also loving, thriving, soaking up the opportunity.

at 20 guest street, suite 125...
I jumped head first into a professional sports league I knew nothing about, and came out of it smarter and quicker. It was there, around a conference table, after someone with a lot of authority in the office told me he dismissed everything I ever said because of my Southern accent, that I learned that I like being underestimated, that I'm driven by being an underdog. It made me mad but also made me better. On Intern Row, a glamorous name for an unglamorous clump of desks in the middle of the office, I laughed, studied, wrote, and made incredible friends. Oddly enough, it was sitting at a lunch table there in Brighton Landing that I was reminded how thankful I am to live in SEC Country...

at 279 western avenue, apartment 2...
I realized that I don't like being alone as much as I thought. It's fine for a time, for a night or a week, but it's no way to make a life. I learned how to make pasta from scratch, and I learned that sticking to your convictions even when they're unpopular might be awkward at first, but people ultimately respect it.

on the 86 bus route, somewhere between litchfield and lothrop...
I learned that there are so. many. different. people. and that that's an incredible, interesting, awesome thing. during my five-minute commute, I got a window into so many lives, because a bus ride, I learned, is when people let their guard down and breathe before reaching their destination. life should be more like a bus ride.

at 1288 massachusetts avenue, the panera bread in harvard square...
I realized you can make home anywhere. Every Tuesday morning, I bought a bagel and camped out in the quiet corner of the upstairs seating, working and writing and watching the people of Cambridge outside. Some of my best quiet moments came in that little back booth.

It was a summer unlike any other, but I found so many moments, places, and people that I absolutely love. The Sunday afternoon walks along the river, down Memorial Drive to Trader Joe's. The countless nights sitting on my bed, watching the Rays play and watching the sunset out my open window. The late night packing and unpacking cars after the All-Star Game. The dinners with new friends.

By the last few days, I knew the season was ending. I felt the book closing, and I was okay with it. Sad to leave, but wildly thrilled to be going home. This summer was such an important learning experience, something I'll never be able to replicate or forget. For that, I'm forever thankful.




home.

image via ella frances sanders.


This is not a post about LeBron.

Okay, it is a little bit about LeBron.

I'm not anti-LBJ, but I'm not sure that I'm pro-LBJ either. You hear stories on both sides: praising him, and ripping him to shreds. Which comes with the territory, I'm sure.

Four years ago, on my way to Brazil, I sat in the Miami airport and watched The Decision. Yesterday, I sat at my desk at Brighton Landing and read the article. No capitalization, no fanfare, just a letter. A story.

What a difference four years makes, huh?

I'm coming home.

 Is there any other sentence so loaded, so emotional, so completing? Maybe "I love you," but if you think about it, I'm coming home is really just another way to say that.

I'm coming home is like a love letter to your city, your people, your memories.

No matter how you left, why you left, or how long you've been gone, when you say those three words, it heals a lot. Just look at LeBron. "I'm going back to Cleveland" would have just been a way of saying "I'm ditching Miami." There likely would have been more burned jerseys, more talk of greed and disloyalty. But I'm coming home made us all stand up and cheer. No one can argue with that, because we can all relate.

In two days, I'm going back to Cullman. I'll only be there for less than 12 hours before leaving again, but I can't wait to say those words:

I'm coming home.

the things you do.

S. Charles via unsplash.

you do it all.

you do wide open spaces, and flowers in the morning.

you do parties and get-togethers when you feel like it, when you need that connection and community, but you also do solitude and thinking, when the only noises you hear are your own breathing and the AC unit outside your open window. constant, reliable noises, like the world reminding you: "hey, we're here when you need us. just don't be afraid to ask."

 you do the travel and the adventures and the courage, but you also do home. you eat pancakes in your pajamas, falling back into the old routines quicker than you ever thought possible.

you connect, you learn, you grow. you stumble a lot, but you know, that's just part of it.

we're here.

image via

I'm fascinated with the concept of a personal motto. a battle cry. a singular sentence that encapsulates all that you're working towards, hoping for, dreaming about. I don't know if such a thing is possible, because 1) I'm highly indecisive, and could likely never choose a single sentence, and 2) life is so broad, yet so intricate, that I'm not sure you could ever peg down a life with just a few words.

regardless, it's fun to try.

I recently came across an old interview (from Sharpie's blog, of all places) with Timothy Goodman. He is an wildly talented graphic designer who I first discovered last summer through the 40 Days of Dating project. (only click that link if you have a few hours to spare, because it will suck you in, I promise.) In the interview, he says this:

"we're here to be provocative, to be memorable, and to tell great stories."

 and I just think that sums things up pretty perfectly.

these are the days.

I knew– I've known, for almost two months– there would be a point when this post would come spilling out. Even so, it's hard to put into words. But, since that's kind of the point of a blog, let's try:

I'm surprised at how deeply content I am.

I'm surprised that I could turn a big, strange city hundreds of miles from home into just that: a home. It's not a real home, obviously, and every root I lay goes down with a bit of sadness, knowing it's just a temporary thing. But still.

The contentment shouldn't be a surprise, knowing that I am provided for and cared for eternally, but being able to find happiness in the daily grind of a strange new life has been surprisingly easy, and for that I'm so, so thankful.

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One of the best lines from all nine seasons of The Office came in the final minutes of the entire series. It stopped everyone who was watching in their tracks, and it's stuck with me ever since. As everything is winding down, and you know it's all just about over, Andy Bernard says,

"I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them."

 But here's the thing: I think you can know.

You know you're in the good days when the day feels endless, but in the best possible way, like you have hours and hours to do anything and go anywhere. When the day actually does end, you're exhausted, probably with messy hair and tired feet, but you don't even mind, because you feel accomplished, full, satisfied. Like maybe aesthetically you're not at your prettiest, but in some other, less tangible way, you absolutely are.

For whatever reason, I've been more aware of the golden hour this summer than ever before. My parents call that time, the moments just before sunset, "karma time." I'm not completely sure why they call it that. I think it has something to do with feeling like you've got all the good karma in the world. All I know is that for the first thirteen years of my life, I thought everyone used that phrase, and I had no idea they made it up.

Anyway, today was one of those days when golden hour seemed to stretch on forever. Today was hot, muggy, but windy, like the best, gentlest version of an Alabama summer. I sat downtown, watching soccer in the plaza with hundreds of strangers, but I was in awe of the light bouncing off all the skyscraper windows. I rode a bus out to a part of town I'd never been to, and found myself watching the city bustle from a distance. As I type, it's last light, when the traffic slows down and the hardwood floors in my kitchen are at their warmest after being flooded with sunlight all day. The golden hour feels never-ending, and everything feels right.

In this rambly, twisty, messy piece, what I'm trying to say is this: these are the days.

The good, long, complete, full, exhausting, adventurous, wonderful days.

a last supper.

Today is your big moment. Moments, really. The life you’ve been waiting for is happening all around you. The scene unfolding right outside your window is worth more than the most beautiful painting, and the crackers and peanut butter that you’re having for lunch on the coffee table are as profound, in their own way, as the Last Supper. This is it. This is life in all its glory, swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non-events. 

 —Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines

 The first book that really ever impacted my life was Cold Tangerines. In one of the first chapters, there's this idea that every moment– every single little trivial, tough, terrific moment– is part of this grand, beautiful storybook. I'd obviously been taught that in Sunday School, but hearing it in such real, accessible terms made something click for me. Since I read those words as a sophomore in high school, I've tried to live them out, but that's often easier said than done.

 Yesterday, I had the closest thing to a "Last Supper" that I've ever experienced. It would take a novel to explain the events of the day leading up to the moment, but suffice it to say I was running on empty, both physically and mentally. My body was exhausted, my brain was tired, and I was very aware of being alone and helpless in middle-of-nowhere Massachusetts. (Not by my own decisions, my adventures had taken me out of Boston for a day.) 

 Which is why, when I found myself sitting cross-legged on a bench at a deserted train station, eating a $3 Stop-and-Shop deli sandwich and gulping a Powerade like it was my lifeblood, I suddenly was reminded of that passage from Cold Tangerines. I was profoundly, deeply thankful for that food, but also for something more. The food was a physical representation of God's provisions for me this summer. I realized that no matter where I am, who I'm with, or what I've done, God's there. I could've cried in that moment, because everything that has happened to me in this season has fallen perfectly into place, even when I thought it was hopeless. So many provisions, coming through at what seemed like the last minute, but was really just God's perfect timing. 

 Nothing about my meal seems right on paper. It wasn't lunch or dinner time, but rather that awkward in-between. I wasn't gathered around a table with my closest people. I balanced the food on my lap while sitting outside on a dirty bench (because train "stations" here are really just a roof and a platform). It really, honestly, probably wasn't even that great of a sandwich. But, in its own way, that meal was as important as the Last Supper, because it reminded me of how great, great, great our God is. 

six women around a table.

I am not ashamed to admit that I just spent a full hour (a little more, actually) of my life watching this video from The Hollywood Reporter. How I went this long without knowing of their Roundtable series, I'm not sure, but this is the greatest.

Kaley Cuoco, Mindy Kaling, Zooey Deschanel, Taylor Schilling, Emmy Rossum, and Edie Falco sit around and chat, and I hung on to every. single. word. I watch some of their shows, and some I don't, but you don't have to be familiar with the shows to appreciate this. I wish it was maybe a little less annoying interruptions from Emmy Rossum and a little more quiet wisdom from Taylor Schilling, but whatever. If you don't want to watch the whole thing, skip to the last twenty or so minutes. It's wonderful, I tell you.


that time I crashed harvard law's commencement.

It has been well documented, both on this blog and in my real life, that I love Mindy Kaling. She is near the top, if not at the very top, of my list of crushes. (not girl crushes, because, in the words of Mindy Lahiri, "I hate it when people say girl crush. Just say crush, no one's going to think you're a lesbian.") So yesterday, when I was just chillin' on Twitter, I saw that she was going to be speaking at Harvard Law School's Class Day. Now, I had no clue what Class Day was, but if Mindy Kaling is going to be in Cambridge, you can bet I'm going to be there too. When I realized it was happening the next day, and that I don't work on Wednesdays, it was settled. I was going to crash this sucker.

This morning, I almost didn't go. It was gray and rainy, and I woke up feeling gross. But I popped some Advil, ate a chocolate chip cookie, put on my best polka-dot pants, and started the 15-minute walk to Harvard. (By the way: living this close to Cambridge? It's the greatest thing in the whole world. Cambridge is the best.)

I had no idea what this whole Class Day situation would be like. I figured out that Class Day is basically like the awards ceremony the day before Commencement Exercises. Would I have to sneak in? Pretend to be part of a big family that was going in? Surely I wouldn't be the ONLY one just going to hear her talk. She's from Cambridge, after all.

It turned out to be the most chill thing. I just fell in line with the crowd that was filing in to Holmes Field, took a program, and sat down and pretended like I was "waiting on a friend"– something I'm getting really good at doing this summer.

I had to sit through some boring speeches, one funny speech from a moderately famous State Attorney, pretend to laugh along with some law school inside jokes, and clap for people I don't know (because if I sat there the whole time, alone, not clapping, someone would probably suspect me of being a suicide bomber or something.), because of course Mindy was scheduled to speak at the end. Probably how they kept us all there.

You know what is the coolest thing? In normal life, she talks exactly like Kelly Kapoor or Mindy Lahiri. Obviously she sounds a lot more intelligent and grounded, but it's largely the same. Her speech was hilarious– it's floating around online, you should watch it– and I'm SO glad I decided to go.

The most gorgeous setting. That tiny little person on the right side is Mindy Kaling!

Harvard is really the coolest place. It's like that girl in school that you want to hate because she's so pretty, but she's actually so nice that you can't really help but like her. Obviously the campus is gorgeous, and you just feel smarter/cooler/more famous walking around. As I was leaving, I passed the Undergraduate Class Day, and Sheryl Sandberg was speaking. See what I mean– there are literally famous people here all the time! Last week Karlie Kloss was here, as I learned from urgent texts from Caroline and Mallory. ("FIND HER, NATS!" "MY SPIRIT ANIMAL IS IN YOUR VICINITY!") Anyway, I would have stopped to listen to Sheryl Sandberg, but at that point, my feet were frozen and I was just trying to make it to Starbucks before they gave out entirely. But still, how cool is Harvard?

On that note, in case you were wondering what the weather is like here in Boston? Here's how it was today, while I sat through an outdoor ceremony that lasted two hours:


UM EXCUSE ME WHAT? They keep telling me we eventually get summer here, but I don't believe them. I literally thought I was dying this afternoon. My feet are still cold, as I type this 4 hours later.

I'm trying to pack as many little adventures into this summer as I can. I think I'm off to a good start. Don't worry, there will be many more to come!