I was honored to take college-graduation portraits for my friend Melissa. I've known her since I was eighteen months old—where has the time gone?
A sweet little weekend in San Diego to celebrate my best friend's recent engagement + the beginning of spring break...
P.S.: All photos taken with Canon T2i camera body + Canon EF 24-70mm f/2.8L USM II lens
Hi friends! Here's a quick video I shot this weekend in one of my favorite places—San Luis Obispo, California—with some of the best people I know.
2015 was a year of humility and change. It was a year of growth and of character over comfort, of postcards and patience and a whole lot of prayer. But amidst it all, 2015 was a year of unexpected joy and the most precious of blessings. Here are five lessons I've learned along the way this year...
1. Treasure your health (and your mama).
Brain tumor. Two words that I never thought would become rooted in my vocabulary and daily life. When my mom was diagnosed with a plum-sized brain tumor in September, life underwent a radical change overnight. Our “new normal” consisted of MRIs, appointments with specialists, hospital waiting rooms, and taking endless phone messages. Dinnertime conversation revolved around the anatomy and function of the temporal and parietal lobes. And after my mom’s brain surgery—which, by the way, was beautifully successful, and she handled everything with such grace and bravery—I found myself thrust into the position of nurse, pharmacist, caregiver, chauffeur, and housekeeper, while balancing college finals and dealing with a sprained neck. I was running on empty. Exhausted and stressed to the core, I still knew undoubtedly that I would do anything for that sweet “patient” of mine. That’s what love is. Though this season of life has been a bit trying, it’s shown me just how much I treasure my family. Now that my mama is beginning to recover, we are so joyful. We laugh at her punk-rock haircut (half shaved, exposing a rather gnarly horseshoe-shaped incision). We joke about her fifteen prescription bottles. And, most of all, we talk with new urgency about what changes we want make in our lives and how we will more actively pursue our passions. Brain surgery has been a wakeup call for our entire family. Cherish your family, cherish your health.
2. Buy the plane ticket. Take the long drive.
Part of having a non-linear college path means that my closest friends are dotted all across the country. As someone who tends to have fewer but closer friends, I’ve realized the importance of having highly intentional friendships. For me, this has meant saving my money for train tickets, or spending long, percolated hours in the thick of Los Angeles traffic—doing whatever I have to do just to get there and be with people that I love. My “love language” also happens to be quality time, so I’ve found it incredibly fulfilling to be able to see faraway friends and spend the weekend or even just the afternoon together. This intentionality in friendships has also meant more emails, text messages, and written letters exchanged (with emphasis on the latter... I love writing and receiving letters in the mail).
3. Savor the little things.
Everyone goes through a period of inevitable drought, when the finances are tight, morale is low, and things feel hopeless or just monotonous. In such times, savor the small moments—the golden retriever napping next to you, a catch-up phone call with a friend, a steaming mug of something delicious paired with a well-loved book. This year, I’ve had to rely on God more than ever, and I know that he’s blessed me with an abundance of beautiful moments in return. The little things have kept me feeling joyful, blessed, and grateful for each day.
4. Forge ahead, even if you can't see (literally).
With my sprained neck in November came an influx of vision disturbances—a catalyst for several MRIs, neurology appointments, ophthalmology appointments, and blood work (my family has gotten quite comfortable at the doctor's office this year!). At first it felt like life was on pause as I was waiting to heal. But my normal vision didn't return, or at least not yet, so I’ve had to learn how to adjust and forge ahead. And the crazy thing is that forging ahead has made me feel more normal; some of my symptoms have become mere annoyances that I can forget about. Although I have to take extra good care of myself, I’ve actually found more relief from pushing myself to do more, even when I don’t feel like it. Every day is much too precious to be wasted (I think that’s been one of the overarching themes of the year).
5. Let yourself dream.
As much as I advocate living in the present moment, I’ve recently found a lot of joy in letting myself just dream—of being completely impractical and getting lost in daydreams about the future. And I’ve found that it’s maybe not so frivolous after all; dreaming helps me better understand where my heart is without that pesky practicality getting the way. I dream about being an author (...without thinking about the unstable paycheck). I dream about my future vegetable garden and neighborhood and family, of the books I’ll write and the people I’ll meet. I also like to dream about the future that’s right around the corner: 2016. How will Friday, January 1st look different from today? What can I do to actively make 2016 excellent? What does this fresh, new year have in store? 2015 was a humbling year with some jagged edges, but it also was a year of wonder. I am wonderstruck at how everything—the good and the bad—worked together seamlessly in 2015. Looking back, I see God’s hand in every single moment, and I can’t wait to see what He has in store next. After all, "we know that for those who love God, all things work together for good" (Romans 8:28).
Happy New Year, friends!
This past year marked my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. In light of this, my older brother, Kyle, and I reflected upon the life lessons our parents have instilled in us over the years. Without getting too nostalgic or saccharine, here is an A-Z list of some of our favorites.
A: Allow for U-turns.
Plans change and interests shift. Be compassionate toward yourself and change direction if need be. High school, college, jobs—these are all evolutionary experiences, and adjustments are sometimes necessary.
B: Be a Good Samaritan.
Be kindhearted, and go out of your way to help others. Do things that make Jesus smile.
C: Character over comfort.
I can't emphasize enough how many times I've heard this phrase. My parents were all about pushing us to do the right thing, do the hard thing, do the uncomfortable thing on our own so that we could learn (rather than them rushing to our aid and fixing all of our problems for us).
D: Doing what's right is probably not the same thing as doing what's popular.
I am such an unabashed rule-follower. Although rules can feel superfluous at times, they usually exist for a reason. And even though blatant defiance is "cool," it's usually not right (unless it is—use your best judgment).
E: Eat your veggies.
...and your fruit! Especially if it comes from the garden.
F: Follow your passions.
During her first year in a biochemistry Ph.D. program, my mom realized that although she liked science, she didn't love it. Prior to college, her parents told her she could only pursue math or science, even though her real passion was writing. So when I wanted to change majors (and then change schools), she was nothing but supportive.
G: Gossip is destructive.
Stick up for others, change the subject, and walk away if need be. Gossip isn't worth the repercussions.
H: Hold others to a high standard.
Sometimes my brother and I can take this to extremes, but for good reason. Build a community of accountability. Hold yourself to a high standard, humbly accepting critiques on your poor judgment and actions, and do the same for those around you. Push one another to be better.
I: Intentionality makes for strong relationships.
Back your words and actions in careful thought and lots of love, and watch your relationships grow deeper and stronger.
J: Jump on opportunities.
Admittedly, my brother is much better at this than I am (I am much more cautious, which comes with the territory of being an introvert). But when I voiced interest in transferring high schools to the brand new one, trying out for varsity cheerleading, going to college out of state (and subsequently transferring to a college in state), my parents encouraged me to try new things and say "yes."
K: Keep your standards high.
Don't settle—in friendships, academics, jobs, and certainly don't settle in romantic relationships. Keep heart, and keep your standards high.
L: Look for the intention behind words and actions.
Thinking about why people behaved the way they did makes for increased empathy and understanding. Did they have good intentions but bad execution?
M: Make it a great day.
My dad would always say this when he dropped me off for school (that one glorious year in elementary school that I didn't take the school bus). Make it a great day. Actively make your day excellent, rather than passively letting the day happen to you.
N: No TV on weekdays
I was rather unpopular for this in middle school and high school, as I was that one "weird kid" who wasn't up-to-speed on Pretty Little Liars or what have you. My brother and I weren't allowed to watch TV during the school week, which encouraged us to spend our time outside, in the pool, or with our nose in a book. And although I could watch TV on the weekends, I still wasn't up-to-speed on the trendy television shows—I opted for Scooby Doo, Phineas and Ferb, and Lizzie McGuire reruns.
O: Offer kindness.
Be kind, be kind, be kind. It's so simple.
P: Pray unceasingly.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18.
Q: Question your motivations.
My brother and I have always been encouraged to be introspective about our motivations. Why did I want to take singing lessons in the seventh grade? Because I loved to sing? Or because I wanted to be Hannah Montana? (It was, undoubtedly, the latter, and the dream didn't last very long.) I ask myself the same questions now. Why do I want to post Picture A on social media? Because I genuinely want to share it with my friends or because I'm searching for attention? Be honest with yourself about your underlying motivations.
R: Remember birthdays.
Send a card. Send a text. One minute of effort can brighten someone's entire day.
S: Send thank you notes.
This was such a strictly enforced rule in our household that it eventually became second nature to me and my brother. I know that I feel warm and fuzzy inside when someone sends me a thank you note, so I want to extend my gratitude to others.
T: The clock keeps ticking.
I hated my first "real" summer job—working retail at a beachside surf shop. The hours were long, the breaks were short, and the tourists were both plentiful and generally unpleasant. Although I felt lucky to have a job at all, I dreaded going to work every day. My mom reminded me that whether I'm having fun or not, the clock keeps ticking. Even if I was having a lousy time, I could trust that the seconds were still ticking by, one step closer to closing time.
U: Understand the opposing point of view.
Be it small disagreements, political debates, or the world religions, understanding the other side is extremely valuable. While this understanding may help you better argue your case, it can also deepen your feelings of empathy toward the other person/party.
V: Verbalize (“use your words”).
I was, admittedly, a bit of a quiet pouter when I was little. Instead of sticking out my lower lip and sulking, I was encouraged to "use my words" and verbalize what, exactly, was upsetting me. As an INFJ and an HSP, I tend to feel and think deeply and internalize those thoughts and feelings, so the reminder to use my words is still significant.
W: Wear sunscreen.
Growing up in a family of swimmers (sans my dad), slathering up in orange-scented sunscreen was part of the daily regimen (and for good reason: skin cancer runs in the family).
X: Extend compassion.
Push yourself to extend compassion even when it takes a great deal of concentrated effort. In the words of G.K. Chesterton, "it is easy to be heavy, hard to be light." (Can you tell that empathy, compassion, and kindness were the major themes of our childhood lessons?)
Y: Your sibling is your greatest supporter
...and competitor. :-)
Z: (Get your) Zzzzzs!.
Early to bed, early to rise. As you can see in the photo below, we have always taken our naps very seriously (I was three; Kyle was seven).
Hello friends! I spent this past weekend in San Francisco, so I took the opportunity to film another little lighthearted video.
I seem to be on a sort of video kick as of late! As with the last video, I used a Canon Rebel T2i camera with a 50mm lens, and I edited the footage in Final Cut Pro. I'm still just starting out with cinematography, but I feel like the practice is already paying off in subtle ways (i.e., I actually understand some of the buttons...). Enjoy!
“'Respect for individual human personality has with us reached its lowest point,' observed one intellectual in 1921, 'and it is delightfully ironical that no nation is so constantly talking about personality as we are. We actually have schools for ‘self-expression’ and ‘self-development,’ although we seem usually to mean the expression and development of the personality of a successful real estate agent'” (Cain).
In her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, author Susan Cain explores the concept of the “extrovert ideal” that is so deeply woven in American culture, and, serving as the main theme and point of contrast, the concept of introversion. She highlights the alienation that introverts sometimes feel living in a world (seemingly) full of the chatty, gregarious, real-estate-agent types. The introvert, as defined by Cain’s book, is “reflective, cerebral, bookish, unassuming, sensitive, thoughtful, serious, contemplative, subtle, introspective, inner-directed, gentle, calm, modest, solitude-seeking, shy, risk-averse, thin-skinned,” whereas “this person’s opposite number” is defined as the quintessential “‘man of action’ who is ebullient, expansive, sociable, gregarious, excitable, dominant, assertive, active, risk-taking, thick-skinned, outer-directed, lighthearted, bold, and comfortable in the spotlight."
Quiet also digs into the importance of authenticity: “If you’re a sensitive sort,” Cain says, “then you may be in the habit of pretending to be more of a politician and less cautious or single-mindedly focused than you actually are.” It’s within the pages of Quiet that Cain illustrates why introverts don’t need to—and shouldn’t—turn to this falsely extroverted façade.
This technique of fake extroversion resonated with me, because as a (younger) teenager, faking it is exactly what I did. “Adolescence is the great stumbling place, the dark and tangled thicket of low self-esteem and social unease,” Cain explains. “In middle and high school, the main currency is vivacity and gregariousness; attributes like depth and sensitivity don’t count for much.” Amen.
I began to feel this unexplainable pressure to be extroverted at my second high school. As a new student in a completely brand new school, I was faced with an overabundance of extracurricular activities to join, each with nearly empty sign-up sheets. ASB, class council, charity clubs, spirit clubs, sports—I felt like I needed to do everything if I was going to make friends, be liked, be successful, or get into college. I traded my lifelong (and rather solitary) sport of swimming for the cheerleading squad. I became a club president. I spent my lunches in the thick of the cafeteria, surrounded by girlish shrieks and gossip and fistfights. And while some of those experiences pushed me out of my comfort zone for the better, I can’t help but look back on my (second) high school experience and wish I had followed my intuition, passions, and curiosities more truthfully. I wish I had spent my lunchtimes painting in the art building or researching in the library. I wish I had made more friends who liked literature or cartoons or classical music. I wish I had felt blissfully unaware of the pressure to date, go to parties, be seen and be heard, join everything, and, for lack of a better word, brand myself.
“...Salesmanship governs even the most neutral interactions...every encounter is a high-stakes game in which we win or lose the other person’s favor. It urges us to meet social fear in as extroverted a manner as possible. We must be vibrant and confident, we must not seem hesitant, we must smile so that our interlocutors will smile upon us. Taking these steps will make us feel good—and the better we feel, the better we can sell ourselves” (Cain).
The same pressure—this “salesmanship”—followed me to college. I joined a sorority. I took fashion classes. I lived in the “good” dorm (read: rowdy). The pressure was more immense in college; living in the dorms, it’s highly noticeable if you, for example, choose to stay in on a Thursday or Friday night, rather than dress up and “go out.”
Now that I’m a few years older, I’ve realized that it’s much more satisfying to delight in my introversion rather than fight it. That’s what I had been doing—fighting it, hiding it, and trying to change it to fit in. Attending parties wasn’t going to make me like them any more. Avoiding the library wasn’t going to make me miss it any less.
As Cain says, “Free will can take us far, suggests Dr. Schwartz’s research, but it cannot carry us infinitely beyond our genetic limits. Bill Gates is never going to be Bill Clinton, no matter how he polishes his social skills, and Bill Clinton can never be Bill Gates, no matter how much time he spends alone with a computer.”
P.S.: In the second part of this post (coming in the near future), I want to discuss the power and importance of solitude for introverts and how said solitude can benefit the creative and intellectual process.
Although San Diego was my hometown for a solid 90% of my life, my affections for its sun-drenched streets and sea-salty air have only heightened over the past two years that I’ve been elsewhere.
It’s human nature to take things for granted—even if those “things” were glassy, salty sliders (a.k.a. gnarly waves, brah), perfect weather, and bare feet. But it’s also human nature to romanticize these fragments of life that we’ve long since left behind. So when I went “home” to San Diego last weekend to visit my two best friends, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Maybe San Diego wasn’t as all-around-lovely as my memories were insinuating. I knew my friends would be amazing (as always), but was San Diego still my home? Did it still feel magical? I was a little worried.
And yet, the moment I arrived, I knew my memories weren’t idealizing San Diego in any way—if anything, my memories fell short of the real thing! Hopping in the car with one of my best friends (and clutching a sweet yellow bouquet of flowers that she had brought to welcome me), we took to the back roads, looping through one of San Diego’s most beautiful and unabashedly wealthy areas. Between shout-singing our favorite songs at the top of our lungs (current favorites: Age of Worry by John Mayer and Leave the Night On by Sam Hunt) and ogling over the sprawling estates and palm tree-lined sidewalks, I realized how lucky I was to have multiple places to call home, but mostly how fortunate I was to have such sweet friends to come home to.
We spent the weekend engaging in all sorts of shenanigans.
Between creamsicle shakes at our favorite beach-side café and visits to Trader Joes to stock up on “supplies” (those big tubs of tiny chocolate chip cookies and sea salt pita chips), I felt God’s light and love in both of my two friends. Their laughter was contagious, their attitudes positive and adventuresome. We did a photoshoot with a friend-of-a-friend photographer, melted over Jack Johnson’s sweet melodies whilst stretched out on blankets with thousands of other concert-goers, and even managed to make it over to Michael’s for craft supplies (we ended up spending an hour drawing out our favorite bible verses and worship song lyrics—tune my heart to sing thy grace).
In the midst of the joy, the workaholic part of me felt gluttonous, spending three days with my favorite people, eating nothing but my favorite food, and doing all of my favorite activities. But don’t we need those kinds of weekends? My soul felt entirely refreshed after Labor Day weekend, and I was reminded of the real urgency in taking care of myself and mixing in ample play time with work time.
As a perfectionist taking 20 units of school, nursing a fascination in interfaith dialogue/microfinance/social business-meets-religion books (there are six on my bedside table right now), and big dreams of getting my Ph.D. in Religious Studies, I forget to play. I remember to lie in front of the television watching cartoons and eating cereal out of the box at 9 p.m., but I forget to play. To gather up friends, release the stresses and responsibilities for a few days, and just romp around town.
Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe your workday is long, your sleep cycle is out of whack, and your friendships are fraying. Maybe your grades are perched between a rock and a hard place, you’ve run out of mac and cheese (sincerest condolences), or your family is driving you mad. The washing machine is broken, the gas gauge is on empty, and the jury duty summons came in the mail. You’ve cracked your iPhone and shattered your patience with this whole “life” thing.
We’ve all been there, friend. So my humble call on this Thursday evening is this: work hard tomorrow and play hard this weekend. Go surfing. Go hiking. Make dinner with your family. Go on a run with your best friends. Think. Dream. Talk about something meaningful.
In closing, I’d like to mention something about that last line: talk about something meaningful. Last night I was talking to one of my best friends (the same one who brought me flowers when I arrived in San Diego), and she said:
“I have a question for you. Do you think you are who you believe you are, or you are who you choose to be? C.S. Lewis thought the first; I’m more inclined to think the second. And it’s been rattling my brain.”
We ended up having the best discussion about valuing action over passive thought, and we decided on a prayer that we both want to start praying more frequently regarding turning our actions into a stronger faith in Christ’s presence and steadfastness. I feel lucky to have friends that are sisters in Christ. I feel lucky to have San Diego as one of the many places I call home. I feel lucky that God blessed me with an incredible weekend to recharge.
Passing on a little positivity this evening-
I’ve written about social media before, ending each post with the hopeful thought that maybe I’ll figure out how to handle it. Maybe I’ll learn to not see “likes” as a numeral representation of my own self worth. Maybe I’ll settle into the idea of exposure. Maybe I’ll find paradoxical balance in hyperconnectivity.
I’ve always been a Highly Sensitive Person, carrying the innate character trait “Sensory-Processing Sensitivity” (SPS), described best as an uncommonly sensitive nervous system, found in about 15% of the population. HSPs (Highly Sensitive People) are deeply aware of subtleties in their surroundings, and are more easily overwhelmed when they’re in highly stimulating environments. The brains of Highly Sensitive People actually work a little differently than other people’s brains. (Interested? Check out Dr. Elaine Aron’s research or one of her books on HSPs).
All of that aside, I understand why “issues” like social media cut me so deeply. Why comments can feel like bruises and tweets can feel like the gnarly raspberry scrapes that graced both knees during my tomboy stage. For a lot of the world, social media is just another normal, albeit rapidly growing, fragment of life. But if 15% of the population—about 1,056,900,000 people—is feeling the same way as I am (a.k.a.: deeply overwhelmed/what happened to in-person friends?!), social media is worth discussing. I’ve also been receiving a lot of emails recently from readers asking about how to deal with the likes and comments, jealousy and comparison. Highly sensitive or not, social media is bit of a burden for a lot of people.
I want to like it.
That’s what normal people do, right?
But I can’t handle social media in my life. I won’t let social media control my life. I don’t want social media to broadcast my life. Social media may be the anthem of the Millennial Generation, but I’m sitting out the song. I’ve tried varying degrees of social media usage, searching fruitlessly for that perfect balance of hyperconnectivity.
I began cutting social media out of my life a year ago. The process began slowly. I bid adieu to Twitter and its 140 little characters. Vine went next, along with its other one-hit-wonder friends (Path, 4Square, Google+, and every other social media site that was popular for a week). Even with my iPhone feeling metaphorically lighter, I felt no different. I was still craving the worst kind of validation, counting my likes on Instagram and exposing so much of my daily life through the filters. I was letting myself be vulnerable, allowing friends and acquaintances to decide how many likes or comments I was worth receiving that day. At the same time, it was a front—staged pictures and excessive editing—all to sugar coat and shroud the messy realities of daily life.
Yes, I could choose what I posted. Yes, I could decide what I looked at. Yes, I could pick who to follow and who could follow me. Yes, I could decide how often to log on and when, but this “moderation” wasn’t satisfying. After getting rid of Twitter, I turned to Instagram. Even when used in moderation, I would still compare myself to my friends and acquaintances, obsess over how many people unfollowed me, and allow others to define me with their likes and comments. So with an all-or-nothing spirit, I said goodbye to Instagram too.
I was left with the dying social network—Facebook. I tried to glean comfort from Facebook’s irrelevance (maybe since “nobody” uses Facebook anymore, I’ll feel more comfortable posting on it). I cut down my Facebook friends to the essentials (which somehow still included my middle school lab partner and my boyfriend from kindergarten). With the best of intentions I posted pictures and commented and responded to messages....only to feel the same way. I think Facebook is one of those things that people claim they don’t use. They roll their eyes, laugh about how they “like never go on,” but still have an undeniably active presence on the site.
I have never known a world where Facebook wasn’t the breeding ground for political arguments, snarky comments, comparison, spam, bullying, and wasted time. I do have really wonderful acquaintances and deeply respect many of them, so I knew it wasn’t their fault that my Facebook experience was so bothersome.
So what’s the problem?
Social media isn’t so much of a problem, as it is the wrong solution for me. As a Highly Sensitive Person and an old soul, I want face-to-face interaction, phone calls to say hello, letters by mail, and notes left on my car window. I need a room full of friends—not a device full of them.
Is it possible to be a twenty-something in 2014 without social media? Yes. Is it possible to go through high school without watching all of the popular TV shows? Is it possible to be a college student and not be a wild partier? Is it possible to be twenty and to feel more like five and eighty-five at the same time? Yes, although it all goes against the societal grain. But that’s okay. Let’s call it being entrepreneurial. Forging a path where few have gone. Being an individual. Having the confidence to not need online validation. While changing the natural progression of friendships (debatable wording) in the world is impossible, I’m free to give my polite “thanks, but no thanks,” the next time social media comes knocking. And although it gets a little tedious or uncomfortable to answer the “why” question when people find out I don’t have a Facebook, it’s worth discussing instead of being carried upstream by the forces of trends and social norms.
“I think people underestimate the power of tea,” my friend Cheyenne said in class the other day. “Why can’t we just invite someone over to drink tea and talk?”
She’s this really cool yoga-loving, beach-bred, free spirit (with an Instagram that will leave you equally inspired and envious, especially because of her summer spent in Bali—check out @the_sandy_yogini on Instagram).
We were talking about how so many people feel like they need TV shows and movies and celebrity gossip to hold a conversation. These things provide an avenue for connectivity and give people something to talk about. The scripted drama and sharp words of reality TV shock us and provoke us; our appetites for this kind of entertainment become insatiable. (Like, Oh my gosh, did you see the newest Keeping Up with the Kardashians last night?)
But what about talking of our dreams, ideas, or favorite books? Something of substance and worth?
It’s one of those quotes that everyone knows, plastered on the walls of elementary school classrooms across the nation. I’ve never actually given the quote much thought until I thought about my own conversations with classmates and friends—convicting. The content of our conversations doesn't have to be about events or people. We don't have to have small or average minds. Through friendship, fellowship, and conversation, we can have great minds.
I’m really fascinated by people—their quirks, dreams, accomplishments and stories. We can learn so much from one another if we simply tear down the fragmented wall of “guardedness” that we’ve built around our hearts and minds. Vulnerability can be a beautiful thing, when done carefully.
Through The Little English Girl, I’ve learned that opening up my heart and letting readers sift through my thoughts can leave them soothed and encouraged by my own related experiences and positive words.
One of my favorite things in the world is sitting around a little table in the corner of a coffee shop, hands clasped around a steaming mug of cocoa, focused only on getting to know the person in front of me. With our phones tucked away in our pockets, we can channel our attention onto each other, laughing over childhood stories or breathlessly talking about our dreams. This is real connectedness, when friendship is about nurturing and building each other up, rather than empty gossip.
People are brilliant. I am so deeply impressed by the doctors, mathematicians, chemists, software developers and app-makers of the world—I never could do what they do, nor do I have much interest in following their path. I like to think that perhaps some of those people feel the same way about artists, writers, photographers, and philosophers. Our differences are brilliant.
As I shift into a new season of life, I’m making it a goal to get to know as many people as I can, so that my worldview and horizons can continue to be stretched on a daily basis.
Let's be pals? Delight in the sweetness of fellowship today.