Last night, honorary members of this exclusive world known as #BachelorNation (that’s us, the viewer), tuned in once more to watch Becca navigate the turmoil and angst that (I can only assume) comes with dating multiple people at once in hopes of finding someone to propose to her on an accelerated timeline all in the public eye.
Bonds between individuals are most often rooted in and solidified by shared experience*. This does not refer to instances that are lived through simultaneously; rather, possession of the ability to resonate with our peers by taking our own lived experience and using it as a lens of understanding when approaching theirs. It’s comforting to know that in times of splendor and in times of strife (especially those of the latter), we are not completely alone.
This is probably not the first time you’ve heard of Friendsgiving – a portmanteau of the words friendship and Thanksgiving coined for groups of pals everywhere to take the season of thanks one step further by dedicating a day during the holiday season to celebrate friendship exclusively.
Adjusting to change is an unfortunate facet of life, especially in a social regard.
As another month draws to a close, I find myself looking ahead, in a figurative manner, but literally as well. Recently, as I turned the pages of my planner to get a sense of the upcoming weeks, the illustration for the new month gave me a prompt that left me considering a great deal:
Domestic Violence Awareness Month is dedicated to shedding light on domestic violence as a human rights issue, as well as on the various forms it can take and how to seek help when in such a relationship.
Self-doubt is a calculated monster thriving on subtleties. It’s the summation of all of the little, almost forgettable occurrences perhaps glazed over in the moment, only to resurface in totality with every other fleeting thought about not being good enough that had once skipped across your mind.
I want to thank you for your contribution, be it monumental or otherwise, to this metaphorical patchwork quilt. It seems I have become the keeper of the parts of people they have left with me, though we may have parted ways. The collection of these instances has been subtle, and often they are mine without my realizing it.
Sediments of dirt and ash dance together, intertwining with the knots in your hair as you pull yourself from the fire. You are aware of the thickness in the air as it pierces your eyes, pierces your lungs. You use only your arms to pull yourself backwards. Legs unbending and helplessly dragged along. The heels of your shoes imprint upon the ground in parallel lines that will not cross as you continue to move forward. Technicalities will tell you you’re actually moving backwards, but you know you’re doing anything but. Continue reading
My siblings and I did not have dogs growing up – a direct result of my dad’s allergy (only now better classified as an “allergy”). Because of this, I often consider only the idealized facets of becoming a pet owner: being welcomed lovingly after a long day; taking walks in picturesque weather; experiencing a unique kind of unconditional love.