I squished too many pillows in the backseat and filled my trunk with what hadn’t been sold on craigslist. Summer in Georgia taught me they don’t call it “Hotlanta” just to be sexy. I stood in the driveway out of breath and sweating, staring at a stack of boxes in the garage.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. I’m unable to recall a recent memory involving this kind of laughter—the kind that unfolds so deep within your soul it causes tears to spill. When did silliness begin to fade? At what point did it crawl into the grave?
I lift the blinds as high as they will go. Sometimes the sky looks dark purple. Other times it’s a rich, deep shade of navy. Tonight, it is black—the cosmos starless.
Here’s my anthem: I want to be the kind of twenty-eight year old who is brave enough to hope for crazy things.
This month has felt extra special and extra full. My mom turned fifty, and I pulled off a surprise weekend I’d been planning for months.
“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.” “You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.” ~ E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
"Beauty is to the spirit what food is to the flesh. It fills an emptiness in you that nothing else under the sun can."