Grace and Gratitude

I've been noodling with a post this week, anxious to not let my blog fall to the wayside now that I am in San Antonio. Because isn't that the whole point of the Internet?  Location shouldn't matter if the content remains relevant. (or at least, that's what I'm telling myself)

I drafted a piece on complaining. It is, indeed, one of my most treasured activities aside from primetime television and eating McDonald's. But what I felt most necessary to complain about is something none of us can fix: 90+ degree weather in mid-October. Bitching about warmer temps will not, unfortunately, convince Mother Nature to give me the autumn breeze I desperately crave.

The next piece I drafted was on how I've magically found myself doing really adult things like: weekly date nights with my boyfriend and pre-sunrise dog walks with mi madre; planning my evening around flea baths and Target runs; working at a desk from 8a-5p; joyfully stocking my desk drawer with healthy snacks (because heaven forbid I become even slightly hungry in between meals). I could go on and on because I have spent an absurd amount of time realizing how adult-like I am ... and how, 98% of the time I feel like I'm playing a video game where I've skipped the tutorial and am just sort of running around with no idea how anything actually works. But, this is not some riveting revelation. I'm certain many twentysomethings find themselves all of sudden being adulty. It's just like "BAM 10p, time for bed because I'm an adult. Also, did I get enough calcium today? You know #bonehealth"

Despite my now exposed lack of creativity, I figured I would just leave the browser open for a bit and hope something would come to me. It was not until I was aggressively sifting through holiday tablescape ideas on Pinterest that inspiration struck. One table display debuted an easy way to make your own placemats. The stamped quote of choice read "Give Thanks with Grateful Hearts".

It's like life ... or God... hit me upside the head, Jethro Gibbs style. This whole time I've been searching for ways to write about negative things: complaining in general and then complaining specifically about my newfound depleted youth. "What's with you, Debbie Downer?", the nonmushy part of my brain said. The reality is the negative stuff is funnier. I'm literally picturing Jakob's face when he catches me 'in a mood' about something utterly maddening and equally ridiculous. The poor guy thinks he's just asking how I am, only to get an earful about something that doesn't matter *to anyone* and can't be fixed. But when I saw that preciously handcrafted placemat, I knew I had fallen into the ultimate blogger trap-- "bitching just to bitch".

So here's what's gonna go down today. I'm not going to bitch. I'm not going to rant about the fact that it's basically still summer in Texas. I'm not going to tell you all about how weird it is to be an adult. I'm sitting back, closing my eyes, letting my heart and my mind fill with what's important: grace and gratitude.

 There are a lot of things I could get twisted about that aren't so superficial. I could sit here on my soapbox (I'm far too lazy to stand on it) and tell you about overwhelming feelings of self-doubt, a hurt heart and an even more wounded pride, and fighting against petty judgment. But I'm not going to do that either. I think so much of what weighs me down is not my affinity for McDoubles, but because I am a certified, card-carrying member of a top not-so-secret society, Grudge Holders Anonymous (GHA for short).

I think it is often so easy for us to get bogged down with things that suck-- especially when those "things" are people's attitude (and when I can't wear a scarf without sweating). Jakob and I went to Sunday mass at Blessed Sacrament, a new joint for me, and the sermon delved into a discussion on letting go. The question posed was this: "What is something that you could let go of that is holding you back from stronger relationships?" And that went for all kinds of relationships. The one we have with God, our spouses and significant others, our families, our friends. That's not to say that you should just brush ya shoulders off every time someone is a jackass to you. But, really think about it. Is there something that you are refusing to let go of, and subsequently, letting it dictate the growth in your relationships?

Sometimes people wrong us. Sometimes people hurt us. Sometimes we grow up without realizing it. Sometimes Mother Nature just won't give me afternoons in the high 60s. With very minimal effort, I can usually find something to complain about. Most times, I'm not actually upset- I just think being generally cynical is entertaining. But once in a blue moon, I am upset. Every so often, I get a legitimate pass to lose my cool, be angry and cry (also, another favorite pastime). However, Steve Maraboli (via @elitedaily) said it best--

"How would your life be different if you stopped allowing other people to dilute or poison your day with their words or opinions?"

A little more grace and a lot more gratitude could go a long way towards a healthier and happier life. Maybe I'm insane or naïve. Scratch that, I know I am both. But, I'm not sure I am wrong on this. Maybe if we all took a little time to stop looking for faults, stop bitching just to bitch, and focused on the good in ourselves, the good in this life, and the good in others, maybe...just maybe, everyone could find a little bigger slice of happiness.

                       Speaking of slice: I really wish I could get some pie delivered to my office.

if you jump, I jump Jack

self·ish [ADJ]: lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

Of all things I strive to not be, selfish takes the cake. Nothing irks me more than blatant disregard for others, for how your opinions, your actions, and even a lack of action affects another. My generation is constantly judged for an insatiable need for instant gratification and an overwhelming selfish mindset. Yet I have met handfuls of people from varying generations that fit the definition above.  I truly believe, as humans, we are innately selfish. Maybe it's our programming or upbringing. Maybe it's an engrained desire to achieve the "American Dream". Maybe it's just how the world remains spinning on its axis. I'll be sure to let you know when I figure out the common denominator. But, however unsuccessful I may be at times, I absolutely try to be as unselfish, as self-sacrificing for the good of whole, as possible. This past weekend, however, I was selfish.

Within the span of five days, literally FIVE, I changed my entire path. For some, that may sound insane... and trust me, i'm still digesting it all myself. I not only interviewed for a position in another city, but I accepted that position and am bidding Fort Worth adieu on Sunday. I am packing up and moving back in with my parents (hope they know or this will be very awkward). I am leaving the city that has made me so much of who I am. I left a perfectly good job. I am leaving brilliant humans who have given me more than I could ever hope for-- love, support, true friendship. The most selfish part of this is that I am leaving my perfect roommate/best friend/little sister to survive 2.5 more months in our house, on our crazy street, in our little oasis alone. The truth is, I am leaving so much of what has made my world bright, my heart full and it's the hardest decision I've made in a long while. But as I sit here in the backyard that has become my sanctuary over the last three years, I've found peace.

"you have to do things
for yourself before you
do things for other people.
love yourself
then love other people.
trust yourself
then trust other people.

be kind to yourself.
be good to yourself.

when it is time for other people,
it will be time for other people.
but right now
you have to save yourself
before you can save other people."
- r.m. drake

no one ever tells you what growing up is like. you spend endless hours studying for tests, completing hundreds of pages of assignments and then you get out, degree in hand with an invincible attitude ready to take on the real world. I've been making a decent run at the real world for a year and a half now. but for the first time in 16 months, I think I've actually got something figured out. scratch that, I know I do. I know that this past weekend, this week, in this moment, I have to be selfish. I have to take this incredible career path and run. I have to pack up my things, sign a new contract, and go for it. Luckily, I live with a beautiful human whose love and support for me runs deep. Luckily, I've found a nice married couple with a spare bedroom. But even if I weren't so fortunate, I would be crazy to not jump at this chance to pursue my calling, to be more than what I am now, to follow my heart.

Eight days ago, I stumbled across an Instagram of this awesome shiplap sign that read "Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created" (Esther 4:14). I saw it and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I snapped a screenshot and tucked it away because I knew there was a reason it resonated so deeply. Three days later, I got the call for the interview and over the weekend, I accepted the position for Constituent Services with District 10 City Councilman, Mike Gallagher. Now all I need is some killer pant suits and I'm basically Olivia Pope.

Strategic Communications majors at TCU have gotten a bad rap over the years. It has been dubbed the "MRS" degree of the school-- the degree that pretty girls who just want to be housewives, but whose parents made them go to college, get so that way they can plan awesome bridal showers and birthday parties. It is so very far from the truth. We aren't just a bunch of Real Housewives in the making. I have met so many men and women Strat Comm majors who have gone on to have incredible careers in all kinds of fields. Some found their success right out of the gate, making those of us who are late bloomers envious and sad that we've somehow missed the window of opportunity. But you would be a fool to think that window is restricted to the first three months after graduation. Opportunity comes knocking everyday. My opportunity showed up this week.

A year ago this weekend, I was making my way back to Fort Worth after *the incident* with my brain. I could have stayed in San Antonio. I could've found my way into a job there and not come back. But I would've regretted it. This last year has been one for the books-- full of so much fun, life lessons and yes, a big dose of love. I wouldn't change one moment because my mother is right: every single thing that happens in this life is part of a bigger plan, part of God's plan. There are good things that happen and there are bad things that happen, but they all matter; they are all part of the plan. I didn't think that I would be here, at this crossroads, but here I am, steadfastly following the plan.

I am so humbled by everything the last five and a half years has brought me. I am so grateful for the people I have met, my friends, my mentors, my anchors. So much of my heart will always be in this city. But while my wings have taken me to a new place full of some of the very best people in this world, my roots are where I belong. So, to San Antonio I go with a new job, with my cool new roommates, with my phenomenal boyfriend; it's time I don't have to finagle my travels for Fiesta.

In the eternal words of Logan Huntzberger, "It'll be fun, it'll be a thrill. Isn't this the point of being young? It's your choice, Ace. People can live a hundred years without really living for a minute. You climb up here with me, it's one less minute you haven't lived."

Thank you TCU, Fort Worth, my friends that have become my family-- I am who I am because of you. Promise you'll visit-- San Antonio has better Mexican food.

Judgment Day

Being a "Millennial" is by far one of the most fascinating plights of my life. As if navigating through the real world at 23 isn't difficult enough, the ideology of Millennials has erased centuries of precedents. Anything goes. What was once deemed "taboo" is now basic. What was once deemed "right" is no longer the standard. It is a different world the one we live in and I couldn't be more grateful.

@betches instagrammed this today:

The caption read: "This is the most millennial headline ever" and IT IS SO TRUE. I am "liberal" when it comes to social issues and unconditionally accepting of however anyone chooses to live their life, but I didn't even know "sexually fluid" was a thing. Now I know and all I gotta say is "you go girl".

You see-- this is our world. There aren't rules of society to abide by. Stereotypes are for the weak and ignorant. This world, our world, driven by Millennials, is about breaking barriers and not just accepting, but praising the differences in each of our lives. We get to make the rules and our number one rule is the oldest adage there is- do not judge a book by its cover. I would think that would be hard to argue against, but I am disappointed to report that so many have not seen the light of acceptance and respect.

Despite this world we live in being rich with change, not everyone has jumped aboard. People suck. People are mean. And the most frightening and heart-wrenching is that people actively CHOOSE to hurt others. Luta said " You can be as "traditional" as they get. Know the stories, sing the songs, and suffer for the people; but if you can't stop gossiping, bringing people down and treating people like they are below you- our traditions mean nothing."

I have three tattoos. I like a stiff drink on an occasional week night. I curse more than I should and some days, I don't wash my hair. But I never show up to a dinner party empty-handed. I still send proper thank you notes in the mail. I strive to always be respectful and gracious. And my heart is as big as the ocean is deep. So which of those matter more than the others? I think they all matter. I think every facet of every human matters. Just because the cover is untraditional does not mean the content is unworthy. There comes a point in every human's life where they have to realize that they will never be 'good enough' for some people. The question that I beg you to ask yourself is this: Is not being 'good enough' your problem or theirs?

Please don't be fooled by the soapbox I am standing on today- I am not perfect. I am all kinds of judgey on a good day and it's not something I am proud of. But I am human. However, I would like to believe that I truly do not disregard another person's worth because of their "cover".

SCOTUS said this on marriage rights: "No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization's oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right."

Whether we are discussing marriage, friendship, or general humanity, the reality of the world we live in and should so desperately cling to is that EVERYONE deserves equal dignity. What Millennials, myself included, are fighting for in this world is not instant gratification and the abolishment of authority. We just want the people around us and generations before us to give us a chance to prove our worth despite our covers not fitting an outdated standard.

The reason people say that you find love when you least expect it is not to give false hope to singles swiping on Tinder. It is the clichéd truth-- you find love, friendship, success and fulfillment when you stop looking because then and only then have you let your guard down, become vulnerable and open to any possibility. We should not judge a person whose burdens we have not carried, whose challenges we have not faced, whose battles we have not fought, whose path we have not walked. We should only love and pray for them. We only know what life is like in the shoes on our own feet. Even Jesus knew that.

There are only two remedies I have found for battling the wrath of judgment:
            1. Surround yourself with good, kind-hearted people who respect you and the path you walk
            2. Know your own worth

If you keep the good hearts around and truly believe that all you are is worthy of love and respect, you will come to realize that those who don't see your worth are the ones missing out.

unbecoming

Life is a funny thing-- one minute it is this beautiful blessing filled with unicorns, good wine, all of your favorite people and jaw-breaking smiles; the next moment you are sitting on the floor sifting through the proverbial shambles wondering WTF just happened. Life is funny and fickle, but mostly, life is filled to the brim with light and love... if you know where to look.

Today is Monday August 3, 2015. Today was like most Mondays- manic, mind-numbing, slightly disheartening, hotter than the depths of hell and worthy of a very cold beer. But as I sit here listening to pop hits and watch Sam the Lab desperately rip apart something that used to resemble a shoe, I can't help but be grateful for all that today was.

Three hundred and sixty seven days ago, things were a little different. For most of you, I imagine if you looked back to where you were at this time last year, you would be keenly aware at how much can change in less than 400 days. Around this exact time last year, my sweet sister and former Merida Mate, Ashley, was heading out to Dallas for what became her evening shift at Zale-Lipschy University Hospital. She would come, armed with her iPad and Nalgene bottle and often dinner, and most evenings would just sit beside my hospital bed, while my mother took a much needed breath of fresh air. It wasn't a day full of meetings that could've been emails, 6 cups of tea, software training and no lunch hour. That day, like most that would follow it over the next few weeks, were stacked with constant vital checks, blood draws, catheters, and some sassy attending doctor asking me obscure questions to gauge my cognitive progress.

By now most of you are well-aware and probably so sick of hearing about that time my AVM burst and bled out into my brain. It's okay to think that-- some days I get sick of the story too. I get sick of trying to evaluate if my head hurts or if I'm having another stroke. I get sick of bad hand writing days. I get sick of forgetting things and being a little moodier than before. I get really sick of falling-- of losing my balance and legitimately falling. Last week, I was walking into the house with a HUGE jar of pickles from Sam's Club, only to lose my balance rounding a doorway and smashed the damn thing all over the floor. Luckily, it was my parents' house so I wasn't alone to wallow in self-pity that I just destroyed a concession stand jug of pickles that I planned to eat all by myself; but I fall at Merida more times a week than I will ever admit and each time it sucks. But if I am being honest with you and with myself, what I am most sick of is that tiny, nagging feeling that creeps in when things go awry and all my mess of a brain can muster are thoughts of incapability.

Please do not misunderstand me. I got lucky. I was saved. I have made a miraculous recovery and to the general onlooker, you probably wouldn't have guessed that last year I was a bed-ridden, mumbling, stroke patient who desperately needed to wash her hair. But grief and trauma are messy. They live essentially undetectable 90% of the time and then one tiny thing triggers a tidal wave of emotions. 3pm Saturday was that wave. I was sitting outside at a super rad bar, Javelina, in Austin waiting for my boyfriend to return with more drinks, and when 3p hit, the exact moment of the bleed, I lost it. I called my mom and all I could say was "I love you" in between ugly sobs. My precious father called a few minutes later, parallel to the time he called last year to see if I was still conscious/alive while waiting for the paramedics. By the time I hung up with El Jefe, the waves had crashed and I was reeling myself back to shore. Jakob set down the drinks, reclaimed his seat, immediately noticed the ugly tears and sweetly inquired about exactly what I was feeling. For the first time, it truly wasn't sadness. I wasn't sad about the setbacks I had and continue to experience. I wasn't sad about the version of myself I lost. I was truly so happy. So happy to have had my incredible friends text me with a range of messages from "you're an inspiration" to "glad you're still alive"-- all appreciated in their own context. I was so happy to have opened the hotel door earlier that day to a stunning bouquet from my best gal pal. I was so happy to have received a fabulous bag of goodies and two bottles of champagne from my parents for our weekend in Austin. I was so unbelievably happy to be alive and to be celebrating all that this last year has brought to my world with my best friend/brilliantly caring and supportive boyfriend who let me laugh and cry and feel all I needed to feel as the reality of this "anniversary" set in.

*crying is an ugly look for me, but I felt prettier because it was driven by joy and hidden by Ray-Bans.

A few weeks back, my mother shared a graphic on Facebook with a quote that read: "Maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything. Maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you, so you can be who you were meant to."

 I lost several months of my "normal life" in hospitals and rehab and general recovery and there are some things that will never be the same. There is no mistaking that I am a different person than I was last year leading up to the bleed. I am more sensitive (or as mom says "moody") and a little wobbly on my feet. I am stronger in my faith and even closer to my family than most could ever imagine. I hug tighter, laugh louder, love harder and smile more than I frown. I am still insanely flawed and definitely human, but my heart is happy. That quote is right-- last year, a lot was taken from me and my family and so much had to be rebuilt. But being forced to start over from scratch was a beautiful, perfect blessing in disguise. Learning to walk and talk and write and drive is hard at any age, but they said I was lucky because I was young and healthy (haha, OKAY super healthy with a bleeding brain? good one, docs). PLOT TWIST-- starting over as a twentysomething means battling an engrained sense of invincibility. Thankfully, I had to walk through HEB in a caftan with a cane and if that doesn't humble you, nothing will.

This last year has been exactly that quote- a year of "unbecoming". It has been a year of tearing down walls and expectations. It has been a year of starting over. Without the bleed, without being literally and metaphorically broken down, I may still be on a journey, chasing a person/dream/life that wasn't meant for me. There aren't words that do my gratitude justice for all who saved my life, rescued my family, who went through and are still going through it all with us. I am Eternally grateful for "our world" and that is where I find my light when the tunnel is especially long and dark.

 I wouldn't suggest an aneurysm to anyone, but "unbecoming" has been an enlightening, profound experience. I say you should never underestimate how or when you find your happiness-- just be grateful for the opportunity and never let it go to waste.

When Left to Her Own Devices

I remember this day last year distinctly. It was a week after graduating, a full seven days since walking the stage, cap and gown and goofy smile all on worn proudly. My high school graduation was filled with more nerves, having had to give the ceremony invocation as Senior Class Chaplain, praying to God that when I prayed to God out loud on that stage, I didn’t royally screw up. It went well if I recall correctly, so thank to the Big Dude for that one. But graduating college was a different experience entirely, at least for me. The coliseum was under construction so our entire class graduated at once in the middle of our massively impressive (for us) football stadium and it was HOTTER THAN HELL. I sat with my gown completely unzipped and used my program as a makeshift fan. And to be completely honest, no one really knew how this whole singular graduation outside was going to go. It was a free-for-all. People were up and all over the place; I watched a kid order pizza, leave the stadium to meet the delivery guy and bring the box back to his row. But that’s how things worked with my class. We were a hot mess and we still are… or at least Hilary and I are. But a year ago today, I was sitting there wondering why I didn’t feel any different. I remember feeling more accomplished when grades came in and we all knew we would get to walk than I did a week later, diploma on display and a full week of work under my belt. But that’s where graduating college gets tricky.

You spend four years chasing this dream, working hard and probably playing harder. You soak up every last memory you can, never missing a trip or happy hour. You do a multitude of now-pointless papers, prepare for endless interviews, and hope to God you can pass as a decent adult. And then all of that hard work ends with a piece of paper, the prized TCU Alumni car sticker and hopefully a full-time job. (let’s be real—any sort of job at that point will do).  But then what? No one actually prepares you for what the real world is going to be… or better yet, what it won’t be. No one tells you that your once standard 1am bedtime would quickly be traded in for 9pm. No one EVER tells you what a hangover is like at 23. No one tells you that being an adult will be boring and kind of hard and mostly anti-climatic for a while.  

There are some people I know who excel at being a young professional. They have a really, really snazzy job and more money than they know what to do with. They have a killer group of colleagues that appreciate weekly happy hours and spend their weekends off gallivanting at musical festivals #nochella. But for the rest of us, being an adult is just a thing we would rather not do. Oh what we would give to be 20 and only have to worry about reading quizzes or finding a decent formal date.

But to be honest, I haven’t been this happy in a really long time. They call college your “formative years” and that cliché rings all too true when I really sit down and think about who I was rolling up to Fort Worth five years ago. I recognize that girl, but only in some aspects. I have changed in more ways than I could’ve imagined. And while I give my collegiate years the credit they deserve for getting me to where I am now, the real game changer has been the last 12 months.

It’s been one hell of year. I worked so hard that summer following graduation; months of nonstop working for two cool ladies and a neat company. And most of that was because I thought that’s how this post-grad thing went down. You go to college for a degree to get a good job and then you work, a lot. In high school, you work really hard to get to pick the university of your choice, to determine the kind of experience you want for those formative years. I picked TCU for a lot of really good reasons and I wouldn’t trade that alumni car sticker for anything. Hell, by December, I will have lived in the same house behind campus for three years. I really do love my alma mater and this town. But August 1, 2014 took that world I was desperately clinging to and turned it upside down.

The three months following the aneurysm, better known as Kimmy Jyon, sometimes doesn’t even feel real. But then I remember braving HEB with my mom, my first real outing since getting out of rehab (the kind for stroke patients, not Lindsay Lohan), hobbling behind her with my cane, and it gets real very fast. Humor is really my strongest defense mechanism and I’ve worked hard since August to keep things light when it comes to my brain. No one wants to hear the tragic parts about that. Last week, the oldest girl I used to nanny, Jordi, texted me as she was driving through Dallas, passing my hospital of residence for most of August, and said “remember that time you almost died?” My response was “remember that time I didn’t wash my hair for three weeks?” It’s funnier that way. It’s easier to deal with that way. But the reality is, August kicked my ass. So did September. So did October, even as I made my way to that first football game of the season I could physically attend. There are days even now that are more challenging than I would like. But life has this incredibly funny way of humbling you, of bringing you to a perspective that you never anticipated. And for that, I am Eternally grateful. Don’t get me wrong—I’m totally grateful I didn’t die, too, but I do have faith that had things gone south, it would’ve been a very fun funeral (party theme, open bar, cover band, the whole shebang).

So yeah, I remember a year ago. I remember the post-grad dream I thought I was supposed to achieve; the life I thought I was meant to lead. Some days, I miss that dream. Some days, I miss the path I was on and the person I was. Some days I sit and think about how much easier things would be, had my brain kept its shit together, had I stayed with Consuro at the pace I was progressing, had the “dream” panned out. But if the last 23 years have taught me anything, hell- the last 12 months, it’s that “easy” does not an extraordinary life make. Everything that I was last year, everything that I thought I wanted, was all really lovely and fun and would’ve been good. But because of these last 12 months, I am a much better version of myself. I made a huge career jump, one that was scary but fills my soul daily with goodness. I have some of the most incredible friends, ones who appreciate how embarrassing I am 99% of the time and like me because of that. I am in love with a truly great man who never ceases to make me laugh, to challenge me, and who brings a light to this world I didn’t know I was missing. And just when I thought I couldn’t be any closer to my family, I am. They are my life line, my heart and soul, my greatest blessing. San Antonio has never felt so far away as it does now.

When shit hits the fan, the people who step up without being asked, who show up unannounced, who never give up on you, are the people you should go to the ends of the world for. If nothing else had come out of the last year except those people, I would still consider myself the most blessed.

To those who are a year or more into this post-grad daze, I challenge you to think about what you’re doing and who you are doing it with. I challenge you to look in the mirror really hard and be sure you recognize and LOVE the person looking back at you. To those newly graduated, I challenge you to look at this next chapter of your life with fresh eyes and an open heart. I challenge you to not absent-mindedly accept “the dream”, but to actively pursue a fulfilling life. The most incredible thing about this life is that it is capable of changing on a dime. It most likely will flip a switch on you and that’s when who you are truly meant to be will surface. It may be a choice and it may not be. But one day, it will all be clear and that’s your moment to relish in, to seize.

I often say that I really shouldn’t be left to my own devices. When I’m alone, there’s no telling the kind of overanalyzing I can produce. But every once in a while, it’s good to be alone, to overanalyze and it be sure that you are still growing. Just because the time spent in college is the coined “formative years” does not mean the rest of your life is meant for standing still. Extraordinary lives are possible if you let go of what you think it should look like. I beg you to keep growing, keep exploring, keep loving and hoping and fighting for yourself. No one is making you recycle those Miller Lite cans, but at least try not to be wasteful when it comes to your Earthly life.

YOLO, my friends, YOLO.