life

The Well

I know a lot of random information, and I have the blessing-curse combo of being able to see every side of a problem. I figured I could put all this to good use. So I’ve introduced “the Well,” my contribution of knowledge to the world. Ask me anything–advice on a relationship problem, how to make your own jewelry, what book you should read next, how to properly use punctuation, whether the moon is made of cheese, etc. The world is your oyster, and I want nothing more than to help you harvest the pearl. So ask away!

Magic, Mischief, and a Little Bit of Chicken Fried

is for magic.

In which I weave together writing advice and my feelings while listening to Zac Brown Band.

M is for mischief.

In which I talk about the major downsides of an INTJ personality, specifically mine. And maybe weave in more writing advice, for any of you trying to write one.

M is for muffins.

Because I made some this morning and they were delicious, and I felt like I needed a third item in this list. (more…)

On SMART Goals and Procrastination

Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you had everything you wanted? The perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect spouse, kids, dog. The book deal. The movie deal that sprouts from the book deal. The travel that comes with being a famous author. The successful coffeeshop in a tourist trap town. I think about that a lot.

And yet, I don’t avidly work toward it.

(more…)

A Short Subjunctive Rant

No, I didn’t mean subjective, though this will be that, too.

If you’ve ever learned a foreign language, you know what the subjunctive tense is. It’s the “if” verb tense, the one that accompanies things that might happen. English has a subjunctive tense, though it’s largely ignored. You probably use it without knowing it, and only use it correctly about half the time. If that. (more…)

Endemic Species

The world is full of oddities: naked mole rats, haunted dolls, toe socks. The whole spectrum of human emotion is an oddity if you think about it for to long. As is the entire human body. There are so many things that no one understands. And there seems to be a startling lack of curiosity in the world.

The more time I spend with other people, the more I wonder how the human race got to the point it is today. Are people less curious? Or have there just always been the select few who say, “screw your laws and customs” to the universe and go ahead and make scientific and humanitarian and technological advances despite it all? (more…)

A Smattering of Self-Expression

I never thought the day would come, but I actually miss writing self-reflection papers. Don’t get me wrong, they were usually miserable excuses for assignments, and I don’t think I learned a whit about myself writing them, but as far as college papers go, they got kind of fun. Once I figured out that I would get an A literally no matter what I wrote, as long as I wrote it well, the world kind of opened up. I badly paraphrased famous authors, I turned everyone I knew into anthropomorphic animals, I spent three pages ranting about the term “corrosive” and how it applied my current college situation. I even parodied a self-reflection paper in a self-reflection paper. It got fun. (more…)

Serenity Calling

You’re sitting passenger in a car traveling down an abandoned highway sometime around dusk but slightly past. You’re chasing the sunset, buildings lit like frame-frozen sparklers towering behind you in little cities growing littler as you drive. Your shoulders are uncovered and your hair flies free in the deafening bit of wind coming in through the sunroof that long past stopped letting in sun. The driver’s picked the music, and it’s something you enjoy but don’t know well enough to sing along. That doesn’t stop you, though; the trust flows as freely between the two of you as your body does with the motion of the music and the car. As freely as the words don’t.

On the side of the road there’s an armchair. It’s got curling arms and an arched back and you wonder how long its been sitting there. You don’t point it out to the driver. He’s in the middle of a particularly complicated rap and enjoying himself immensely and you don’t really want to share it with him anyway. He wouldn’t understand. The armchair stands like a sentinel, welcoming you to county whose line you just crossed without really reading the sign. There’s a word for this feeling, but words are so limiting. It doesn’t really matter who it belonged to, because in this moment, it belongs only to you and to the sunset and to the freedom of the road.

The unsureties of life suddenly don’t matter. The stickiness of the same job and the same house and the same people and the same city stretching as far as the eye can see. The unspoken questions that hang over conversations, the held back arguments and bottled hurt feelings. The bad habits and long-forgotten broken promises. None of that matters. Not right now.

Because that armchair, somehow, has convinced you that life is going to turn out all right. It sits there, desolate, alone, and it welcomes strangers and friends alike to the no name town off the highway you’ve already forgotten the name of. And it does it with dignity. With pride. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to fear, simply the open arms of a lost but not forgotten old armchair.

You remember that phrase, that mantra. Not all those who wander are lost. Deep roots are not reached by the frost. And suddenly you don’t even care that hipsters have appropriated it, because if it brings them joy and peace, who are you to judge?

You know the next time you roll like a pebble toad away from your problems, from relationships, from predatory tasks, you’ll see only the walls and the anger and fear. But maybe, just maybe, as you hit rock bottom and blend in, you’ll remember that displaced armchair, and you’ll stand again, and welcome yourself to this new phase of life. Because, after all, who can ever sit unsure in an old, proud armchair?

Not I.