Totally Be

  I’m lucky enough that I’ve never had much problem dancing to the beat of my own drum. Lucky because I believe it’s a good skill to have — to be fine on my own, to have other people look at me oddly, or to be questioned, and feel confident with my answer — when endeavoring to live a life of value. To me, value isn’t something I can get with a coupon. I find value in something, usually an experience, that enriches my life. When people say “find your truth,” I think what they really mean is  find what you value . It allows us to be honest with ourselves while still respecting others. Truth is an indisputable fact; values are malleable and complex because they can exist in so many permutations. Honoring our values feels  true to ourselves .  We receive so many messages, from so many outlets — from friends and family to culture, society, and the media, not to mention advertisements and guerrilla marketing campaigns — that it can be hard to hear our own inner voices abov...

  Hobbies are generally good. They are fun, pleasant escapes from the drudgery of necessary tasks. They are often a creative outlet, something we can be proud of. Or they are simply relaxing, a needed balance to the stress of our lives. But what about when the hobby itself becomes a source of stress? I love my hobby and there is no doubt that it has brought immense value to my life. But sometimes I wonder if I’ve taken it too far. We may get so into our hobbies that they turn into projects to tackle instead of simply enjoy. We may set ourselves progress goals, deadlines, and add hobby related tasks to our to-do lists. Completing something usually gives a satisfactory feeling, but what are we going through to get there? Is it still fun? Obsess  –  int. v.  To preoccupy the mind of (someone) excessively. To have the mind excessively preoccupied with a single emotion or topic. To besiege; beset; compass about. Before we notice, a hobby may morph from a fun and exciting ...

  No matter how much quality time we’re getting outside, some more wouldn’t hurt. Many studies show spending time outdoors improves the health of our mind and bodies. And since we have to eat everyday, why not link our outside-time along with meals? Al fresco dining isn’t as comfortable as we’ve become accustomed to in our climate controlled interior worlds, but it can still be incredibly pleasant in ways that eating inside can never be. Eating outside offers up sounds, smells, and sensations we just can’t get in a sealed room. Sunshine, wind, dirt underfoot, bugs flying, flowers blooming, glittering snow… Getting outside our comfort zone bombards our senses and we notice things we otherwise wouldn’t. Like the tang of the tomato sauce, the texture of the fish, the sharpness of the carbonation, and maybe how full we already are? Perhaps when we think of al fresco dining, we think of Mediterranean cafés, the deck of a cruise ship, or bazaar food carts, but eating outside need not be ...

  I am a parent working at home with three children aged seven and younger. I rarely have days where I know exactly how many productive hours I will have. I’ve tried the Bullet Journal and really like many aspects of it, but found it hard to keep up with. I needed something less goal-oriented and more supportive. From years of experimentation, I’ve created my current diary setup, which I call my “Dailies”. I start a fresh page each day and use simple symbols to block off sections for supportive goals, acknowledging successes, practicing gratitude, and task management. One page is usually enough. If I feel the need to journal long-form about anything else, I start on the next free page and go on for as long (or as short) as I’d like. At the top of the page, I write the date and day. Additionally, I use my phone’s calendar app to keep track of all my schedules, events, and appointments. I prefer my phone so I can schedule things as they come up, without needing my notebook on hand, a...

  Mainly because I can’t grasp that the internet is a place to   be . You want to know why you won’t find me online? Do I explain my experience as an internet user? Do I defend my diversion to social media? Do I share my opinions disparaging having an “online presence” and the unattainable “fully developed platform” — both I have been encouraged to have regardless of cost? I have many nebulous thoughts on these topics so a static post about them is fallible. Online, I am here, on my website, but I am not everywhere. I want to share, but differently — anti-algorithmically. Here, I can be contradictory. I can be quiet and still be known. A digital calling card left to be discovered. I don’t want to be fed to you. Current marketing focuses on branding not the product, but the person. I don’t want to  be  a brand. I want to tell stories, a wide variety of stories. This website is my storefront. I am not the store. I just work here. Oh, the internet… We’re all just visiti...

  There are as many reasons to read as there are books in the world. Bestseller pushes, book club picks, marketing displays, and magazine blurbs all try to get us to read (or simply buy) certain books. Reading the hottest books and discussing them online or in groups has its perks and enjoyments, but what books do  you  want to read?  Japanese author Haruki Murakami once said, “If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.” It’s important to pursue some reading as pure self-indulgence. I’m not talking about reading the self-help genre as a means of self-care. I mean reading anything,  anything , just for the sake that it interests you. All genres are welcome and none are trash. Forget the phrase “guilty pleasure” when it comes to reading — if you enjoy it, enjoy it guilt-free. A book doesn’t have to be high-brow literature or ripe for discussion to have value.  Reading time may be the only alone...

  My parents built their house in June of 1987. I was born that August. We lived there together for the next twenty-six years. I moved out nine years ago when I married, but only four blocks away in the same small town that my father, my husband, and I grew up in. I still visited often, especially when I had my own kids. The house is on a dead-end street, with few neighbors, a lot of space, and deep woods surrounding. It’s a little piece of paradise amid a quaint town you could pass in a blink. It’s a legacy, too, built on property my Opa bought when they immigrated from Germany after World War II. And now it’s been confined to our memories. I get why my parents wanted to sell. It’s a pretty big house and they are empty-nesters. The house and property were a lot to take care of. Not to mention all the stuff that space had allowed them to accumulate. They were tired of the grind, of taking caring of things they didn’t need, of falling into old habits. They want to travel, to simplif...