Food doesn’t taste better or worse when documented by Instagram. Laughter is as genuine over Skype as it would be sharing a sofa. Pay attention. Take in nature, hold someone’s hand, read a book. But don’t ever apologize for snapping a photo of a sunrise after a hike, or blogging about the excitement of having a crush, or updating your goodreads account. All of these things are good and should be celebrated. Smile at strangers on the sidewalk and like your friends’ selfies. It’s all good for the human spirit.

@cogitoergoblog  (via creatingaquietmind)

(via bonesymcdeadpants)

reasons why today is good: I got my first end-of-quarter bonus at work and for one brief and shining moment, I have more than enough money. I just walked to the bakery and got a still warm loaf of cheddar garlic bread. It is 75 degrees out and I’m making iced coffee, and later I’ll probably go sit in the park and read, or go to the bookstore and read, and maybe today is the day I order a copy of Megan Falley’s book After the Witch Hunt, and maybe it’s not, but either way it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

word. currently weeping in the middle of the entire contents of my closet (childhood junk, nostalgic things I need to let go of, books I have to give away, heavy hardcovers I desperately want to take back to MN but can’t afford to ship).

protip: as you contemplate your pile of possessions, also contemplate your terrible life choices, your lack of future prospects, and your profound sense of not-belonging. weep some more.

I am so awkward with babies, but today I babysat my cousin’s 13-month old for a couple of hours and it was actually fine. I am shocked, there’s a first time for everything, etc.

parallel lives and how to deal with them

Tomorrow I’m heading home to visit my family. I haven’t been back since December, so I’m looking forward to seeing my parents and my dog, and spending some time in my hometown. But I’m also feeling really anxious about it.

My life has changed a lot since moving out of my parents’ house, so much so that it sometimes feels like a completely new life. When I packed my car and left Massachusetts, I left behind a lot of things I love and miss: the mountains and the way they frame the sunset, the safe feeling of familiar surroundings, the friends I made in college, the financial support of my family. But I also left behind many negative feelings that I am healthier for having escaped: the loneliness of not having many friends in my hometown, the stress of living in a tense household, the everyday pressure of trying to earn my parents’ respect, the memories of who I’ve been in the past and the feeling that I could never escape them.

When I left, the slate was wiped clean. Parts of me that felt like open wounds have begun to heal. I am learning not to dwell on the shame of what I am, to hide myself less often, and to live more openly. My queer identity is no longer a secret or phase I hope to grow out of; now it is a component part of my character that I freely acknowledge, and build community from. I am less afraid of being judged for my anxiety by people I’ve known all my life; I have learned to acknowledge it more easily, and letting new friends in on it casually, without fear of being pitied or judged.

Part of this is just growing up, but part of this is that moving far from my roots has taught me the courage to create change for myself. 

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