It’s pretty easy to amaze me. I have an infatuation with clouds that resonates with the glee one would feel over life-changing food. The choirs of angels blast into my ears whenever I listen to a beautiful male voice with an equally beautiful musical arrangement. I am moved to tears when I view the sunrise or when someone I love holds me while murmuring that everything will be okay. I am at my weakest when it comes to emotions, and I love it.

I watched this video last week and couldn’t help but feel like I had found my soul kin. The display of the most purest of joys on this girl’s face as she experiences something for the first time… it’s something no one will ever be able to take away. Even if there was ever an occurrence where her mother pulls her aside years down the line and tells her everything that’s wrong about rain, it won’t matter. The beauty of that moment captured will never be stolen from her.

I’ve been learning a lot of new things lately. Even at work, learning new skills has infused a new type of life into my gait and I’m excited. I met new people who will definitely become my friends, and I’m looking forward to seeing them more. I picked up a new hobby and it’s opening my eyes to different perspectives. My hunger to consume as much as I can and to really live and relish new experiences is making me bolder and happier. And yes, there are times when I look like an idiot and stumble about, but isn’t that the human part of becoming excellent?

A few days ago, I went bonkers over the rolling clouds that appeared after heavy rainfall. “Oooohhhhhhhmyyyyygooooodddddd,” I wailed as I squinted up at the expansive ocean of a sky, stretching out my fingers towards the white, fluffy masses. My friend shook his head and simply responded, “Weirdo.”

I’m okay with that. Being weird, being so tickled by life’s surprises… all of it keeps life amazing and worthy of child-like awe.



ImageThere’s a lot that you could be thinking of, and all of it weighs so heavy that it feels like your heart is splattered all over your feet. You drag them along leaving a streak of brilliant red that doesn’t seem to wash or fade away with the onslaught of the bullet-like rain that reminds you over and over again that you’re only human and you could disappear in a glitch of destiny. A lot of people say that your destiny is determined and you’re moving towards this one thing that decides what your life has always been about, but couldn’t that possibly be such bullshit?

Getting through every single day knowing that you did your best, knowing that you loved fiercely and represented the glowing embers of your soul… that has to be the best destiny possible for that day. To be shooting for the stars and working your ass off to get to the moon, you then realize that maybe you should go a little further, see how far you can really go. You’ve miscalculated your limits, the limits of your humanity, and by the time you glance back and find the fierce paleness of the moon fading as quickly as your oxygen, it’s too late and you’ve already drifted too far.

The angst that you carry inside of your shirt like you’re hiding a bowling ball causes an insurmountable desire to release everything and run away, but you have to keep lugging that shit around without any hope of salvation. But the burden can actually be a blessing, like the blessing I was within my mother’s womb for nine months that were probably the worst time of her life, only for us to both fall in love with each other upon the first glance. Except. Falling in love wasn’t really with each other, but with that moment of “Damn, we’ve been through hell and back, and look where we are now.” I am her and she is me, and that’s where we’ve fallen into this forest of buds called love, where through wildfires and drought, we’ve had to nurture and care for it with dedication and commitment, which happens to be viable ingredients to stay afloat with someone you may hold without any regard for anything else in this world that can be so nasty and cruel.

There are times when you may feel like the world totally reads you wrong, as if you were those supposedly scandalous books of the past that had to be burned. But as the flames lick up your stories and swallow up your voice, the ashes rise and all that’s left is your withering look of discontent that is illuminated by that computer screen, gazing at your face in a darkened room and pityingly trying so hard to envelope you in any breed of light.



ImageI recently started noticing messages in my inbox regarding my upcoming high school reunion. This made me feel awkward in three ways: 1) I didn’t technically “graduate” from this high school and I think 99% of the people I considered my friends at the time didn’t know what actually happened to me, 2) I hated high school, and 3) it freaks me out in a small way (similar to perhaps an adorable baby mushroom cloud) that it has been ten years since I was 18. Ten. Years. That’s a whole decade worth of drama, growing pains, and good things. Wow.

As haphazard as my decision-making skills are and as wild as a rollercoaster my emotional and spiritual development has been, I must unfortunately state in a contradictory manner that I was always an equal balance of safe and reckless. I feel cocky to call myself a big fish in a small pond, but I really did act as if I knew everything about this feeble body of water in my massive tuna of a body.

In practical terms, I came out of high school thinking I knew it all. I considered myself to be a professional wiper of life’s shit, and as long as I had these “street smarts,” it didn’t matter that in every other term, I didn’t have anything figured out. Dreams to be accomplished, jobs to be pursued, careers to be made… I had no clue what I was destined to do. I know a lot of people don’t have it figured out, and I know that it’s one of life’s fun mysteries to discover what your purpose in life is and how you can make a niche in this crazy world today, but as much as I enjoyed struggling through this identity crisis, I stayed in it even after I knew what I wanted to do.

I knew I wanted to write. I talked about it all the time. I talked about blogging, moving to New York to pursue a Sex and the City-esque life resembling Carrie’s, working my way up in a publishing house, and even going to school to get my master’s in writing. I blah-blah-blah’ed my dreams into one giant puff of a cloud that simply followed me around and didn’t take any shape. I became complacent with working in professions that I knew that I was good at, but didn’t particularly get excited over. My heart bled for the written word, yet why was it so hard for me to snap out of my passive comfort to pursue what I knew was woven into the DNA of my being?

As I erratically jumped from job to job, I realized that there were times I did this because I was afraid. I was afraid of becoming a big tuna in an even bigger ocean, where rejection and criticism were much more common, and I wouldn’t be surrounded by the safety of what I was already confident with. The predictability of my life choices began boring me to tears, and I knew that I needed to face my fears and start applying to jobs where I can start writing and hone in on this passion of mine that loomed over me for the past ten years.

I didn’t get callbacks and started getting discouraged. I even accepted a job offer for this job that was completely out of left field and wasn’t at ALL what I was expecting or looking for, but it seemed like it would be a great asset to my professional development. But to keep a long story short, I heard back about a writing position literally the weekend before I was supposed to start. God is so funny, and He loves to surprise me with His faithfulness.

It’s finally happening. Not only am I going to write full-time, but I’m going to be moving to a new city too. I feel like this is going to be the beginning of conquering fears and fulfilling dreams.

My oceans will continue to grow, so may I become bolder to swim.



homewardI used to own the Homeward Bound VHS as a kid and watched it a crazy amount of times whenever I felt moody and was having my typical internal tantrums. My favorite thing about this story was that these three very different animals started off in three very different places, but through this arduous and treacherous journey to find home, they became friends with a bond that no one else will ever understand. I longed for that when I was a child, but because I was so busy hiding within the confines of my shame and wounds, I had no idea what it entailed to have my own Shadow, Chance, or Sassy in my life.

Even a year ago, I had a lot of trouble with this. I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint who I can really talk to if I was feeling down, and scrolling through my contacts to desperately find a human connection with no success really put me in an absolute shithole every single time. I somehow came to believe that maybe this was a matter of making new friends and hoping those wouldn’t disappoint me. But again, I just ended up adding more names to grievously browse through.

Then something unexpected happened. God started bringing in some friends who I had all along, but they were actually on the sidelines, even benchwarmers to the events of my life. They came in like ninjas and made themselves known through one little occasion after another, and soon I finally began to immensely love these men and women who, likein the case of our furry friends I mentioned, started off being close and around each other in proximity, but took quite a while to even really get to know each other.

With the rollercoaster I had been on recently with my health and matters of the heart, I have been so blessed to have wise and wonderful friends to cheer me on and pray for me. To even hear a resounding agreement among them of certain paths I should take or important accords I should consider, I take it as seriously as hearing the chorus of the angels encouraging me to act.

So thankful for these few, these amazing people who love and know me. My heart feels full, and I’m grateful you’re on this journey with me, and I feel closer to home every day that I think of you.


waiting {part two}.

Click here if you missed Part One.


I am a terrible, terrible waiter.

Not that person who takes your order and delivers your food.

But that person who has to wait. For anything.

I needed to get out of Michigan, stat. Although there were very specific things about Michigan that I absolutely grew to love – namely my roommate Kristin, the largest cumulus clouds I ever saw, snow, and the cheese pretzels from our dinky cafeteria – there was a massive arsenal of things I could not stand. I couldn’t wait, so in the same zest one would acquire in jumping out a burning plane, I applied to Biola University (again, another miracle that a four-year institution would take me, but my sob story essays may have been killer) and got in. My poor Prelude had to endure yet another cross-country trip in less than a year.

Once I arrived back in California, I did not return as a changed, shiny girl. Instead, I was deeply bitter about a lot of wounds that I let fester, but that was another chunk of my life that I did not have any time for, and healing needs time more than anything. I became a bulimic of the new, consuming all that I wanted that would take me further and further away from the cowering, real me buried deep inside. We all know that even new things grow old, and that was when the purging would commence where I sacrificed everything that would remind me at all of where I came from and who I really was, leaving me constantly dissatisfied and alone. I even broke up with a kind boyfriend who was really trying to be there for me and genuinely cared for me, without a good reason at all.

My heart had become its own private island airport, where the only traveler whipping through the waiting terminal was me and me alone.

Biola lingered and trudged by like an ancient snail, and it had a strange similarity to its predecessor. I was antsy as a child could be and did the very best that I could to stay sane, which meant jumping from major to major, joining clubs and quitting them, taking an eclectic arrangement of classes, and working ridiculous odd jobs to keep me distracted from the looming possibility of any stability in my life. In reacting to the pure ecstasy of completing the college portion of my life, I hit the ground running and left for Europe for a few months (despite the flighty character of who I am, this was probably the best thing I ever did for myself), fulfilling my desire to disappear and take some time to breathe some newness into my bones again. Upon my return, my post-college, young professional life was no different and to this day, it’s amusing to review my resume because the only thing that all of these jobs had in common was that I never stayed longer than 1-2 years.

The punch line is that I also have not ever lived anywhere for longer than 2 years either. This brought me to a so-called philosophy: Why the hell should I wait for life when life never seemed to show mercy and wait for me?