Ye Olde Childhood Library, or Where It All Began

You know, for a blog that’s entitled “Lady Librarian” I haven’t included much content about, uh…well, libraries. I aim to improve on the shortage with this entry. I’m taking an online class this semester called Public Libraries, and in one of our first classes we were assigned to report on the history of a public library of our choosing. I was daunted by the options—this survey from the American Library Association states that there are over 9,000 in the United States! …and then I had my light bulb moment. What if I wrote about the library that fostered my young love of reading and learning? The place where I learned to use chopsticks at a summer children’s program and discovered my inclination toward scary stories in all their shapes and forms?

So that’s what I’m presenting to you here. I did some research via old newspaper articles—thank god for digitization, y’all—and got a fascinating look into how one rural library evolved over the years, along with how its surrounding community offered continual support for the institution time and time again.


For this blog post, I’m reaching into my own past and looking at the history of my childhood library: The Guymon Public Library & Arts Center located in Guymon, Oklahoma. I had great fun digging into the digital newspaper archives, and am excited to report on the library’s humble beginnings along with the persevering spirit and support provided by the local residents.

I first found mention of Guymon’s library in an article dating back to 1909, when the library was less of a permanent fixture in the rural community and more like a nomadic entity. This particular entry stated that the library was being moved from an office of the Savage Drug Company to another office in the Dutch & Son Bakery. For the next several decades the library continued to hop around to a number of locations, which included the Chamber of Commerce and the County Superintendent’s office, and by the 1960’s found itself in an overcrowded and inadequate facility at City Hall. The one constant, it seems, was the willingness of residents to maintain and advocate for the library. Various book committees and ladies’ clubs called for book donations and helped get a subscription library going for $1/year in 1929, which was no small fee at the dawn of the Depression era. It was also community members and the library board who persisted when a sizable bump in the road appeared at a critical time in the spring of 1968.

An initial bid for $75,000 in bonds—money that would be spent converting the old post office into a proper library building—was rejected to see if a higher amount of federal funding could be acquired. Citizens thought this might be the better route to ensure that the library would meet state board requirements. As it were, federal spending for the library was unreliable during that time (shocking…) since the Vietnam War was ongoing and inflation and a 10% surtax were on the horizon. The library board had to make a decision, and quick. A representative from the Oklahoma State Library, Esther Henke, declared in an interview that funding might not be available after July of that year. The board soon went back to city council, revived the bond issue, and it was approved.

By April 1969, the library passed inspection and was open to the public. The cozy building of my memory was located at the corner of Fifth and Quinn Streets, not too far from the downtown area. My own family lived on Fifth Street for a couple of years, which meant I was only a few minutes away! That 3,600 square feet structure and its small, diligent staff served a community of approximately 13,000 people for over 40 years, and some of my fondest memories as a young girl took place there as well.

Most recently, a new facility was opened in September 2013. Once again, it was time to update, expand, and bring in a fresh breeze of change. According to the library’s website, “funds for the new building were generated with a one-cent sales tax for Capital Improvements in the City of Guymon, The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act through a grant from the USDA and a donation from the Nash Foundation.” The grant amounted to over $650,000, the largest bestowed upon an Oklahoma project for a community facility, which I think is nothing short of incredible. 

I hope you enjoyed reading this short history as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I’m including a couple of pictures below so y’all can see both the old and new buildings!



Author’s note: I altered the language slightly from the original forum post to be less formal! I also want to point out that this is by no means a complete history, but I hope I did justice to a place that was foundational in getting me to where I am today. xo

Flickr Site for Old Library Photo Here

An Interlude

Wowza, I am really cutting it close here!*

Okay, first I need you to play this video…

So the crazy talented Sleeping At Last is making these unique, gorgeously crafted songs for each of the nine Enneagram types. My eyes filled up with happy tears as I was listening, because other than the tracks on Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood to the Head, this is the closest someone has come to putting my personality/being into musical form. If you’re an Enneagram junkie, or just enjoy beautiful music and want to hear the behind the scenes take on how the songs were created, check out The Sleeping At Last Podcast.

Now, let’s see. I’m making this less of a formal “post” and more of a short reflection. Looka here, I’m already in student mode. And I guess that’s a good thing, considering I start my second and final (!!!) year of grad school next week.

I haven’t been writing as much in the past month or so. It’s not that there’s a shortage of topics to write about in my personal life or in the world at large. Because uh, that’s never a thing. It’s more that I’ve been trying to live less in my head and not pensively examine and reflect on all that’s happening around and within me. As much as writing helps me process my emotions and work through the tangled web of my thoughts, it can also act as a tool for avoidance. And right now, I’d like to actively participate in my life as much as possible instead of picking it apart under the microscope of my pen and paper.

I’ve titled this using the word interlude because I do feel as if I’m in the midst of a respite, a breathing space of sorts. I shamelessly used the thesaurus there, FYI. But I like that term—breathing space. The summer is coming to its close. I moved out of my former apartment and into a darling new one with a couple of friends of mine. The city is expanding with students like myself in preparation for the upcoming semester. We’re all in transition here. As for me, I’m learning to view these periods of change as friends instead of enemies.

I meant it when I said I’m keeping it short, so my dear reader, keep breathing. As always, lots of love and joy and every good thing your way.


*see my good intentions of blogging at least once a month in my last entry. Hehe.

[Header Photo by Pixabay on]

Hello Procrastination, My Old Friend…

Greetings, dear ones! I, along with a fellow writer/blogger friend, have been trying to share fresh content at least once a month on our respective sites…which shouldn’t be all that challenging in the grand scheme of things, you know? Yet here I am, two days before July’s end, and I’m scrambling for something to share. I have a more substantial post that’s still cooking on the back burner, but in the meantime I thought it would be nice (read: faster and simpler) to combine a handful of photos from recent-ish travels and ventures with bits of my already written poetry.

Sunset at Dane Street Beach—Beverly, MA

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there are times when words won’t do justice
and all you have experienced
must simply sit with you, and in you

maybe it’s enough that you passed through
you are alive
you made it here

then there is the way the moon casts its glow
on the rippling waves
muted orange warming steely grey

there are waters that give
waters that take away
and we find ourselves carried along by those tides

Morning walk through the Urban Forestry Center—Portsmouth, NH

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when the shadow comes knocking
remember this

there is an old magic still humming about in the world
sunlight waiting to warm your cheeks
sparrows flitting and chirping in the bush
a sharp wind blowing right through your bones

there is darkness and light
and every shade imaginable in between

Roadside pitstop—somewhere near Cuba, NY

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can you make room for those parts of you that say,
“I don’t know
I’m afraid
I used to have the answers
but now the answers have fled” 

kiss them tenderly
and whisper,
“that’s quite alright”

go ahead
and welcome them home

Statue of Diana & her dog—Newton Free Library

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I called upon you
my sisters
and wise
we spoke next to the river
the trees as our witnesses 

your arms enveloped me
as I asked for your guidance, your gifts
and you ever so gently reminded me,
“we are with you always,
and everything we have
has already been born
within you”

Another sunset, another walk—Guymon, OK

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it was when I entered the darkness
instead of running from it
that at last, I set myself free

Mount Auburn Cemetery—Cambridge, MA

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You are the one who comes to me
when the ice cracks beneath my boots
between meditations on gravestones
and birdsong in the trees above them 

in the night, as the psalmist wrote,
when I lay down in my bed of tears
on a couch of sorrow
lamenting with fear and longing

on cobblestones, on painted houses
the blue glass bottles catching sunlight
books that are dog-eared and yellowing
the scarf around my neck in winter 

is this why they call you Holy Ghost?
unseen and seen, in everything
haunting every corridor without invitation
I cannot understand, yet you are not unwelcome

Brant Point Light—Nantucket, MA

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morning light turns my cheek
its warmth a magnet
beckoning me to look up, look up
and when I finally do
I’m caught in the fine dance
of specks and particles in the air
invisible at so many other angles and attitudes
seen here with the blinds pulled down
watched with a curious gaze
a reminder that there are lives
galaxies even
existing and thriving
laughing and waiting for us to look up, look up


[all photo & poetry credits are mine!]

On Speaking to Fear

This has been an ongoing theme in my life and kinda came out in my last post, so I’d like to go into more detail about it now. Ready? Okay!

I have this insidious Fear Creature dwelling in my brain that’s been speaking a series of bizarre, hateful messages to me for the past year or so. And maybe It has roots deep in my past, but It’s also playing a particular role in my present. The messages have to do with me deciding who I am, what I believe, what I like or dislike, and what I’m here for. Since I’m doing all of that in a profound and thorough way outside of the sphere of Christianity for the first time in my life, I often feel some combination of lost/curious/overwhelmed/amazed. And scared. Paralyzed to the core. On a regular basis.

Note- if that last bit came out of left field for you, then please read this. Call me or message me if you would like to have a respectful, loving conversation about it. But let’s continue.

So there are times when The Creature comes to me and says, “This is wrong. That’s wrong. You’re wrong. You shouldn’t like this or them or subscribe to that idea. Wrong, wrong, WRONG.” Etc., etc. And it can apply to absolutely anything and anyone, from authors and speakers I admire, books and music and movies I’m into, where I choose to live and work, right down to the food I eat, how I dress, the people I’m friends with or interested in romantically, and what I think is funny. What I write about and choose to share online is one of the biggest things. The Creature likes to shoot me down, undermine me, and make me second guess pretty much everything all the time. It likes to tell me I’m a fraud and a sellout and a total weirdo loser.

Get the picture? The Creature is a real jerk. A big, fat bully. It reminds me of that mean kid in grade school who found the dumbest reasons to pick on you and make the other kids laugh, when really all they wanted was attention. Bullying and teasing made sure people heard whatever it was they had to say. The meaner and louder, the better.

So I’m here with a message for my personal Fear Creature:

How do I put this lightly? Stay in your fucking lane. Thank you.


[via GIPHY]

I hope you know I say those words in a kind, yet firm way with a bit of Southern twang and a placid, professional smile on my face. This is the manner in which I practice tough love with myself. Maybe it would be “nicer” and “more ladylike” to coddle The Creature and give it googly eyes and speak to it in a voice barely above a whisper, and politely ask it to please go away please instead of declaring it out loud with the use of expletives, but that’s not my mood as of late. (It might also be considered more sane to not talk to an anthropomorphized part of my psyche, in general, but I crossed that bridge a loooong time ago, folks.) Anyway, I’m over the whole being a doormat for my fear mode of living. I’m over being a doormat, in general.

I’m not sure why I felt like typing all of this up and putting it here on my blog, to be honset. But here’s what I can tell you based on my experiences up until this moment:

The Creature has as much power as I’m willing to give to it. And I’ve given it a lot of power for a long, long time. I allowed fear in its various manifestations to rule so many parts of me: my faith, my personality, my relationships, my sexuality, my creativity, my views on humanity and the world at large. Fear of failure and rejection were paramount (still are, to a degree), and I thought that if I made myself small enough, quieter, meeker, more likable and palatable, then I’d be okay. I’d fit in. I’d be safe.

FYI- That strategy didn’t work. It actually backfired on me so hard.

And I have to add that there are plenty of times and places for fear (see: navigating rush hour traffic on I-93), because it’s hardwired into us as a protective measure for a reason, but when it continually takes the wheel? When it becomes the place that we live from and make all of our decisions from? Nope. No bueno. No mas.

Y’all, I know the world can be a mean, frightening, and unfriendly place. I’d like to hold on to the hope that there’s an arc of cosmic justice and redemption operating in our universe, but…what if there isn’t? I falter. It’s hard for me to read the news or want to stay informed because I usually end up horrified and disgusted by what is happening on a national and global level. It’s hard to find the bits of light amidst too much darkness, but I know they exist. I know, because those bits are what keep me going day to day.

There are about a thousand and one reasons to stay cemented in any given mindset and/or community, one where the outcomes are relatively predictable and all the people around you think similar thoughts and talk the same way and love and hate the same things that you love and hate. I get it. I was there once. I’m not even bashing it. There’s a level of solidarity that can act as a shelter in the midst of a continual stream of perfect storms. Maybe that’s what truly works for you and brings you comfort and meaning. Maybe that’s where you want to raise your family. Maybe you don’t even have the luxury and privilege of choice. But I also wonder if oftentimes we stay because we’re so frightened of the unknown, because we worry if we try to branch out, we’ll get knocked around, beaten up, and scorned. It’s possible we’d be worse off for trying. I counter: does remaining static and tribal allow our hearts and minds to expand and help us to live in all the fullness that life has to offer? Even, and especially when, that fullness is sure to include the vast spectrum of human emotion and experience in all of its agony and ecstasy?

What am I trying to get at here? I guess, that in all of this, it’s not about becoming fearless. It seems so admirable, right? The total eradication of fear. But if fear is absent, then there is no need for bravery. Courage wouldn’t exist as an option, because it wouldn’t exist without fear. What do we do then, if The Creature stays with us, whether it looms large or lurks there in the background? The best thing I know to do is speak, and speak, and speak again. This voice was not made to remain silent.

I don’t know, y’all. I don’t have answers. And this has turned into more of a ramble, a string of thoughts that frayed at its ends. Ultimately, it’s an open-ended discussion that I welcome participants to join in so we can work through this and be here together.

“We are very afraid of being powerless. But we have the power to look deeply at our fears, and then fear cannot control us.” -Thich Nhat Hanh


On Road Trips & Being Present

Well, hello there, beautiful!

I’ve just wrapped up a two-ish week journey, in which time I flew to both California and Texas, then drove my car solo all the way from Texas to Massachusetts, THEN took a weekend trip to Vermont. It’s been busy and wonderful and chaotic, and I slept a deep and dreamless sleep for about 10 1/2 hours last night at the end of everything and woke up feeling brand spankin’ new.

I’m still in the middle of writer’s block. Blog posts are irregular. Journal entries are sparse. Poetry is nonexistent these days. Sitting down to create this post is causing me a bit of physical pain. I can’t even tell you why, and I’m sure that special rainbow has a treasure chest full of fascinating psychological and emotional reasons at the end of it. For now, I’m gonna go with a baseline, “It is what it is.”

But…there is a but. I had a lot of time to think and process while I was traveling. Uh-duh. I also listened to a lot of great music and podcasts, and had some fantastic conversations with different peeps who kept me company during my 4 day drive. I’d like to share some bits and pieces of that here.

The first mini-life lesson from this road trip: know when to stop. Envision the hand-clapping emoji in between each of those emboldened words for added emphasis. I was trying to get from Springfield to Cleveland on my second day of driving, and it just wasn’t going to happen. I was exhausted and still about 3 hours out when it started raining. Hard. As in, torrential downpour hard. Oh, and it was already after dark. Fun times. My good friend K called to check on me and advised me to stop, but I was all, “Nah, I got this.” I had a reservation for a hotel and there wouldn’t be a refund if I cancelled, but mostly I wanted to be a badass and prove to myself and the world that I could drive close to 12 hours in one day and make it to my destination, no problem. So yeah, Mother Nature had other plans and I really had no choice but to stop, which made me unreasonably angry. I pulled over on the highway about 20 miles from Columbus, along with most of the other cars on the road, because it was next to impossible to see and it was, how do you say, dangerous? I smacked my steering wheel and started yelling at the sky. Like, “FINE, is this what you wanted???” Yep, I threw a fit. I’m sure I cried a little bit in there, as well. The unnecessary drama was real. The fighting against common sense was real. I gathered my wits, said a prayer for myself and all the travelers around me, and safely made it to a nearby Holiday Inn. I griped about the whole thing on my Instagram stories and went to bed in a huff for being thrown off of my precious schedule. Overnight, my head somehow magically removed itself from my rear end and I realized that things could have been much worse, and I just needed to be thankful that I was okay. I made peace with being a day behind, and guess what? Rivers didn’t start running backward, and it kinda led into what happened next.

My last leg of the drive home wound me through upstate New York. It was all lush greenery and rolling hills, a true pastoral fantasy. There was one point in time when I turned off whatever was blasting through my speakers and just sat there. In my car. Watching it all go by me and letting myself pass through it. I had been freaking out about a number of items: not having enough money to get by, trying to figure out clever ways to change the fact that I don’t have enough money to get by, especially since I’m in school and shouldn’t school be my primary focus and the thing I’m devoting most of my time to, feeling like a garbage adult because I’m not making enough money to get by (do you see a theme here?), knowing that I probably wouldn’t make it back for book club that night even though I said that I would be there and oh my god, I’m such a flake, and also I feel like I live in so much fear and I make decisions that are fear-based and why do I keep doing that, I’d really like to stop doing that?!

Good grief, Charlie Brown. Then out of nowhere, a little voice spoke to me and said,

“You have nowhere else to be except here right now. So be here.”

And by golly, I listened. Even if it was only for a few minutes, I listened. It didn’t solve all of my problems or make them go away, but it made the problems more manageable and less like they were going to grind my bones to make their bread.

Last but not least, here’s what I was listening to during my travels. All come highly suggested by me, because you know, I have impeccable taste and only give my time and energy to the most worthy of causes. Links included. Enjoy.

The Fundamentalists— hosted by philosopher Peter Rollins & comedian/YouTube personality Elliott Morgan // These guys are a hoot and a half…I appreciate everything they’re churning out, but “Protestant Muslim vs. Catholic Muslim” is a standout for me.

Spiritualish— hosted by Meadow Devor & Laura McKowen // Real fun, and there’s some especially good content about setting boundaries…highlight episodes include “How to Make Everyone Like You” and “The Cost of Being Likable.” 

On Being with Krista Tippett // One of my very favorite podcasts ever, in the whole world…so many interviews with so many incredible people…recently tuned into “The Inner Landscape of Beauty” with poet/theologian/philosopher John O’Donohue.

Music? Clean Bandit was on repeat, I brushed up on the Fleet Foxes discography before seeing them in VT this past weekend, ~T-Swift 4ever~, the Black Panther soundtrack, Arcade Fire, Darius, and I did my best to brush up on my Spanish and memorize the words to Despacito…so there’s that!

As always, thanks for reading, friends.


// this post was originally published on my Medium account, which you can find here!

[photo cred: Esther Tuttle @]

A Before & After Tale

“You don’t handle change very well,” said G. I looked up, shocked by the frankness, but not stung by the truth the words carried. I had just finished part of a long rant of my frustrations and confusions to this new friend of mine. It was one of those long-winded talks where your heart starts to pour itself into listening ears and the words refuse to stop flowing out.

“It’s okay, I don’t either,” she followed up with a smile. So I breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nervous laugh.

Truth be told, I don’t handle many adverse situations well. Hooray for being human!

These are my confessions (just try to get the Usher song out of your head now, I dare you): I run from pain. I shut people out to lessen my chances of emotional suffering. I don’t like asking for help. When I am hurt by others, I tend to hold mean, nasty grudges. And no, I don’t handle change very well.

Which would probably explain why a little over a week after turning 26, moving from rural West Texas to the greater Boston area, jobless, and in the middle of a freaking scary and unsettling faith shift, I was crying in my closet on the first night in my new room.

*side note- It’s a nice closet to cry in. Plenty of space to stretch out and roll around in my misery a little bit if I so choose.

I don’t know when or why I started doing this – not crying in closets…that’s been happening since middle school, and can be cathartic in good measure – but I began to view the metaphorical glass of my life as half empty. Thoughts like…

“You’re not good enough, and no matter how hard you try, you still won’t ever be good enough.

You’re unlovable.

Nothing will change, and nothing will get better.

People suck and can’t be trusted.

Don’t even think about getting your hopes up,”

…started to pervade my mind and shape my worldview. And let me tell you guys, this is a NASTY headspace to be in, because you start to hate yourself, and then it makes you hate other people and life in general and then you’re in a swirly dark vortex and not even fistfuls of dark chocolate paired with a bottle of Arbor Mist Strawberry Moscato can help you. Oh man, now I’m craving dark chocolate and Arbor Mist Strawberry Moscato.


Switching gears. It’s been several months since I wrote ^^all of that^^ and I’m now in a different place in my life, which is wonderful. Because guess what- Things did change! Things got better! Wow! I could go into my whole process and blab about that for the next 25 years, but I’ll spare you…at least in this post. *smirks* What I want to capture here is where I’ve come from and where I’m at today. Some of you who keep up with this blog/my life in general, bless your souls, know that I’ve been writing poetry again. It’s been a massive part of getting back in touch with my creative energy, and it’s also been way therapeutic and healing for my soul. Win-win situation. I’ve mostly kept those writings private, but I’m ready to share at least one poem with y’all now. Whew, palms are sweating. This is called “As Water.” I hope you like it (and if you don’t, hey, that’s cool too).


3.14.18 As Water

[photo cred: me // taken in Orange, CA]

A Late, Late, Late Night Ramble

It’s nearly 2 in the morning and I’m wide awake. This isn’t unusual for me. The witching hour and I have been well acquainted for several years now, and insomnia is my homie. My habit has been to stay in bed, tossing and turning and feeling like total junk because I SIMPLY CANNOT FALL ASLEEP. But earlier tonight—I guess it would be yesterday if we want to be technical—a woman older and wiser than I was telling me that she struggles with the same issue, and that finally she started to get up and do things around the house, knit, etc. instead of also feeling like junk because she simply cannot fall asleep either.

I decided to follow her lead and be at least a little productive until my body decides it’s ready to crash. So far, I have filled in my planner and gotten a head start in figuring out how my week will look, started listening to Mat Kearney’s Just Kids album, wrote a poem, and now I’m here. Working on a blog post. It’s a bit of babbling, but there’s also something I want to talk about. It struck me earlier when I was brushing my teeth. One of those things.

My life has changed a lot in the past couple of years. I also think that I have changed a lot. Like, not a lot, a lot. I’m still ~me~ and all that. It’s like this, y’all: I’m in my mid-20’s and I thought I had all the things figured out until I realized in a rather harsh and unpleasant and mean kind of way that I had next to nothing figured out. Which sucked on an exponential level. And then over time it sucked a little less. Now it’s becoming exciting. Still confusing, but I’m learning to live and thrive in what I call this “tension of not knowing” instead of despising it or wishing it away.

Am I making sense? Did I mention that it’s nearly 2 in the morning and this is almost pure stream of consciousness? You’re welcome.

But here was the thought that came as I was teeth brushing. As I was going through my personal rollercoaster—think Texas Giant at Six Flags—a lot of the relationships in my life were affected by the crazy ride. Friendships were tested. Majorly. Some are still present with me, and some are not. And I guess I wanted to write about this because I wish that Me from two years or even a year ago had some kind of resource or voice to walk her through that time. I think a lot of us are well-versed in how to deal with romantic versions of heartbreak or loss, or at least we know there are magazines and blogs and books aplenty that broach the subject. But, the loss of friends? Of people I thought would be in my life, you know, more permanently? I didn’t know what to do at all when the rubber met the road. I was so ill-prepared. I made mistakes. I was hurt, and I most certainly was hurtful, whether any of it was intentional or not.

In a sense, I guess this is like a letter to my younger self, even though of course she won’t read it and it’s fruitless to try and change the past. Maybe this is more important, that I’ll have a reader who needs to see this and it will be like a digital hug for them.

What I’m trying to say is, at some point in your life, you’re gonna go through something tough, or maybe a fair number of tough somethings. I’m not even attempting to scare you here. It just is what it is. Keep breathing. And when that time comes, you may feel like the world as you know it has shattered and you’ve lost all your bearings and you might be wondering who you can trust and who could possibly understand what’s happening inside of you. That’s normal. It’s awful, but it’s normal. It’s not wrong, and there’s no need to feel ashamed. I would like to encourage you to start with trusting yourself, but I know that can be shaky and next to impossible. If you have a relationship with God, pour into that. If not, that’s alright too. Really, it’s alright. There’s still yoga and iced lattes and butterflies and night drives and babies to cuddle. Go for a run, even though you hate running and you think the runner’s high is a load of utter BS. Let the run turn into a walk, and pay attention to how the sun feels on your skin. Take it a day at a time, or in even smaller increments. One hour at a time, one minute, one moment. Binge watch New Girl and laugh until you cry, and then cry just to cry and know that it’s not against the law to do so, especially when your heart is broken. It’s okay to be angry, too, even though I know that particular emotion frightens you. If someone asks how you’re doing, be honest. You don’t have to divulge everything that hurts, but you might be pleasantly surprised by their response. You might also be super offended and realize that’s a person who isn’t on the same frequency as you. I repeat, that’s okay. You don’t have to force it. It doesn’t make you a jerk, and it doesn’t make them an enemy. Know that certain bonds were only meant to last a given amount of time. This is the hardest lesson, the one about impermanence. Finally, know that you have people who will love you through some of your ugliest, nastiest moments. You won’t understand this. You don’t need to. Tell them, “thank you.” Tell them, “I love you.” While you’re at it, tell yourself, “I love you” too. Spoiler alert- you’re gonna make it through this.


[photo cred: me // this was taken somewhere in Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico a few years back]