I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are.

There's a song

that I've been listening to

so much.

Too much.

All the time.

The chorus goes

I

don't

care

if

the world knows

what my secrets are.

Maybe it's cliche,

but it gives me all the good feels.

I'm on a run,

and I'm all like,

YEAH!

I DON'T CARE

IF THE WORLD KNOWS

WHAT MY SECRETS ARE!

I was thinking,

When did that start?

When did I become

an open book?

When did I become the person

who shares things

on the internet

that are just-a-bit-too-personal?

And then I remembered

that in the fifth grade,

I liked Michael June.

One day at our lockers

at the back of the classroom,

the girl who intimidated me

said to me,

probably in that taunting sing-song,

"You have a crush on Michael!"

And my face went red,

I'm sure,

and I got ten-year-old defensive

and said,

"No, I don't!"

completely unconvincingly.

And she laughed at me

and I was embarrassed.

Of course.

But later that day,

we were at our lockers again,

and the same thing happened.

But this time,
when she accused me
of liking Michael,

I summoned some sort of

ten-year-old gumption

and said,

"Yeah, so?"

And I remember

that she didn't respond.

And I remember

being surprised

that I didn't feel embarrassed.

I'm glad I remember
that that happened.

I don't care

if the world knows

what my secrets are!

See also
I feel free.

The Lillywhite.

This is Kaitlin.

I moved in with her in January.

The first time we met,

she invited to come hang out

with her and her friends.

I didn't go.

But.

Because of her,

I care about feminism.

Because of her,

I ran a half marathon.

I now know

that everything

always needs more mustard.

That Mexican food

could always be spicier.

She's the only person

on this planet

that I have a playlist on Spotify

named after.

She's always adventuring.

She loves all da babies.

She has spent time

becoming who she is.

And that person is a beautiful person.

The greatest, most loyal friend.

Someone who always tries

to improve herself.

Someone who has actually thought

about what kind of person

she wants to be,

instead of just letting

life happen around her.

She uses her voice

to say good things.

 

Happy birthday,

Kaitlin.

After 13.1 miles in a downpour.

Bitter.

In the desert,

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter--bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

"Because it is bitter

"And because it is my heart."

Stephen Crane

Sometimes I feel
like that naked creature.

I eat my own
bitter heart
and its bitterness
lingers on my lips.

Sometimes when I am unkind
I feel my soul fill up with garbage.

The word garbage
is so striking--
like an expletive.

Garbage is worthless.
It gets dumped
far away from 
where anyone would want to be.
.
.
.
On Friday
(because I have
the greatest friends)
we each took a balloon
and let it go
to let go.

I picked a little flower
from a bush
as we were walking to the park.
(It's in my right hand
in the picture.)

I wrote a little note to God
and I tied it to the balloon
with the flower.

It said,
I picked this flower for You.
I'm attaching
all my bitterness to this balloon.
Please let it become love
by the time it reaches heaven.

I was nervous.
When it was my turn,
I paused
until I was ready--
like when I walk confidently
to the end of the diving board,
then wait
to jump.

But when I finally let it fly,
it flew
straight up
fast and free.

Some of my friends' balloons
hadn't risen as high,
but floated intimately
over the roofs of the houses
next to the park
where we were.

But not mine.

It did just what
I hoped it would.

Friendship is Magic.

Isn't the fact

that people have friends

kind of amazing?

I'm not trying to be self-deprecating

and say that I'm surprised that I have friends.

Like, I think I'm a pretty cool human.

But it's kind of a miracle

that anyone has friends.

Think about it.

There are other humans out there,

the living, breathing type,

who think thoughts in their heads

and are busy

and sometimes are kind

and sometimes aren't.

And they say to themselves,

"I want to do something today,"

or

"I've got something funny to say."

And then,

even if it's subconscious,

your face

and your name

and memories of you

come to their minds.

So they call you

or text you.

You laugh together.

You do something together.

You're friends.

Somebody chooses you.
And you choose them.

Of all the people out there
to choose from,
you choose each other.

It's a sweet, sweet miracle.

Eating Toast.

This week,

I discovered the singular pleasure

of eating toast.

It's one of the simplest

and most iconic foods

there is.

Think of it--

you take a soft piece of bread,

warm it up,

make it crispy.

Then you immediately put butter on it

which melts before your eyes,

making it soft again.

You're left with a strange texture

that somehow manages to be

incredibly soothing.

The secret,

I've discovered,

and the reason I'm such a latecomer

to the realm of toast,

is butter.

Not margarine.

If being content

despite how hard life is

had a taste,

it would be the rich but understated taste

of butter

on bread.

It fills every grumpy corner

of your little body

with light.

I was thinking about toast

as I was eating it this morning.

And I decided

that eating toast

should never be suffered

to be multitasked.

Toast should only be eaten

in silence

next to a sunny window.

Then I decided to have

a third piece.

Remembering & Forgetting.

There are times

when you forget

when you should remember.

Like friends' weekend plans

that they already told you about.

There are times

when you remember

when you should forget.

Like disturbing pictures

that come up on your news feed

unannounced.

There are times

when you want to remember

and so you do.

Like moments for the Pensieve.

There are times

when you remember

without trying.

Like your library card number

from growing up.

23910002127051

There are times

when you know

you will never forget something.

Like specific details

of your day

on September 11, 2001.

There are times

when forgetting

is just what you need to do.

I once liked a boy so much

that I had all the details

of every interaction we'd ever had

filed chronologically

and stored in technicolor,

ready at all times

to be shared

with any sympathetic female

who might listen 

to my (overly specific) tale.

Recently,

I was trying to tell my friend

some details of this story.

And I had forgotten.

And it was the best feeling

to realize how free

I really was.

Someone.

Starting grad school has been exciting.

I seriously enjoy my readings,

even though there are a lot of them.

I've started thinking about everything

in terms of economics--

like my choice of radio stations

when I drive in the car.

It's all about scarcity

and marginal utility

and marginal cost.

Sometimes while doing my homework,

I learn about things like

the Congressional Budget Office

and I get so excited

about the thought of working there

that I abandon my reading

to search jobs on the CBO website

and daydream about them.

My life is going somewhere.

Somewhere new

and maybe big.

I have dreams.

I know what kind of person

I want to become.

But.

There is something that you always want.

And that something

is

someone.

Someone who will sit next to you

while you're both studying.

Someone who you can tell

about all the things you did today

and who will listen.

Someone whose plans

include you

every time.

Who makes decisions with you in mind.

Who wants to be kind to you.

Someone you do all of that for, too.

You can tell me

that I should be looking for more

in my life

than that.

You can tell me

not to wait for someone

to complete me.

I hear you.

I believe you.

But there's nothing wrong

with wanting that someone

more than you want your career

and more than you want your goals.

Everyone

should have someone

like that.

Everyone.

Sunflowers, please.

This is Emily.

I met her a few months ago.

She said,

"Let's be friends."

I thought that sounded like a good idea.

And I've thought it ever since.

.

.

.

Once, when I didn't know her too well yet,

she mentioned one of our friends

and said,

"You should write a blog post about him."

And in my mind, I said,

"No, I think I'd rather write

one about you

instead."

.

.

.

Because her life is full of sunflowers.

Her face is always

glittering

with the slightest bit

of magic.

She likes it

when life surprises her.

She kept me

from chickening out

when we were planning

to climb a mountain.

She listens to me

and I listen to her.

She knows when Pride & Prejudice

will be the right choice

and when just sitting on the front lawn,

dying a shirt with Rit dye

will be the perfect way

to spend the afternoon.

She moves.

She walks in a direction--

the one she wants to walk in.

She's what I needed

when I needed it.

The Movie Theater.

I don't like going to the movie theater.

For most people,

it's just an entertaining experience.

But I nearly have an existential crisis

every time.

Why are all these previews

for action movies?

Hercules, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes,

Guardian of the Galaxy.

Aren't they all just the same plot

wrapped up in different packaging?

Why do people continue

to spend money

on movies like this?

WHAT AM I DOING

AT A MOVIE LIKE THIS?

Why is The Fault in Our Stars

a thing?

I want to throw up.

Why do people pay so much money

for popcorn?

Why didn't I get popcorn?

Why is every movie theater bathroom

decorated in black and purple and red?

Why is that lone man

laughing so much more

than everyone else?

Is that laugh for real?

It sounds like something

out of a movie.

I saw this at the dollar theater yesterday,

and the truth is that I enjoyed watching it.

I'll probably never watch it again.