Most days, I’m more comfortable interacting with characters in a book than actual humans. Some people call it introversion. Other people call it being a nerd, I suppose.
Contrary to what you may hear, there are a lot of pros to being an introvert/nerd. But one of the cons is that it can be difficult to make a new friend. So a lot of my friends are books.
But you know what’s even better than being friends with a book? Being friends with a library. And that’s just what happened to me recently.
“…they were accepting each other back, and that feeling, that feeling of being accepted back again and again, of someone’s affection for you expanding to encompass whatever new flawed thing had just manifested in you, that was the deepest, dearest thing.”
—Eber in George Saunders’s “Tenth of December”
I used to have a pair of blue corduroy pants that didn’t fit right. During the years I owned them, they went from being too tight to be fashionable to being too baggy to be fashionable. Some days during college, if I felt like I was getting overly concerned with how I looked, I would make myself wear those funny pants. Forced humility through a little self-humiliation, I guess. We humans are odd.
It’s a Friday afternoon
Or maybe a Thursday
Sometimes it’s hard to say
I’ve felt a fog throughout
However many days
Have happened so far this week
We are small town people
Living in bigger towns,
Pretending we’ve always been.
Good Wednesday to you, friends.
If you happen to be new to the Internet, there’s a thing called Pandora that’s kind of like radio, except that it plays songs you like instead of playing “Pillowtalk” by Zayn again and again.
Good Wednesday, friends.
I’ve been thinking a bit about houses. Most of us rent one or own one or sleep on the couch of a friend who does. And in most cases, these houses have funny little quirks about them, things that don’t quite work the way they’re supposed to. Maybe you have to lean your shoulder into the door to get the lock to catch, or maybe you can’t use the microwave and the hairdryer at the same time without blowing a fuse, or maybe you get a lot of ladybugs in your upstairs every spring.
Yesterday I turned 30 years old.
I think that milestone seems scary to some people, but so far it feels just about right to me. So often in life, it doesn’t seem like anything is really happening, but then you look back over a big chunk of years and see that things have indeed changed. Somewhere along the way, you became more of the person you are becoming. It may not be happening on the timeline you envisioned, but it’s happening nonetheless.
“Did I offer peace today? Did I bring a smile to someone’s face? Did I say words of healing? Did I let go of my anger and resentment? Did I forgive? Did I love? These are the real questions. I must trust that the little bit of love that I sow now will bear many fruits, here in this world and the life to come.”
Some words for my own insides and yours on this dreary February Wednesday…
Well, we’re far enough into 2016 that most of us have stopped writing 2015 on our checks, which is the sign of a true adult. Or is it owning a checkbook in the first place that’s the sign of a true adult? More likely, the sign is that when you sit down to write a blog, the first idea that pops in your head is to start with a couple lines about writing checks. Yikes I’m getting old. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking about change for the last ten years or so. Continue reading