I might as well put it out there that I may very well occasionally be eight going on eighteen. I probably consume far too much coffee and far too little chocolate. I refuse to carry umbrellas and I haven't the foggiest idea how to use nail polish. Now that confessions are over - I'm glad you're here.
Denial? Daily deals with the Devil? No way! I’m about to become the most virtuous person you know.
In the meantime, let’s go buy those “Shabby Chic” office supplies. We’ve got big futures to organize.
Error 404: “Will to put on pants” Not Found?
This one’s for those days that seem too sucky for skinny jeans.
Twenty minutes, five dollars, and a quarter of a sweetened cappuccino later, the number of scrapped grand beginnings on the first pages of the legal pad had increased by two.
I told myself I’d sit and write. For two hours, straight. No breaks except for the ladies’ room, for occasional pacing, and for refilling my coffee cup. You know, for the bare necessities. I said that, by the end of the day, (or at least before I sleep,) I’d finish this. Fun fact: it’s not going so smoothly. If this were a razor, it would not get a sexy Venus “smooth as silk” commercial. But I’ve got to do this- I promised.
A little awkward is good sometimes - it gives me opportunities to improve the speed with which I can whip out my phone and scroll through my email with the urgency of someone trying to open their admissions decision from Harvard. Besides, no matter where the awkward moment falls on the “Forgetting-A-Name to Turning-On-Facetime-On-The-Toilet” spectrum, it definitely can’t be as bad as those years nobody bothered to tell Little Masha that not everyone heard colours.
We all have a jar of coins in our apartments. We also all have that “thing” in our lives that’s a nagging, depreciating depletion of energy, time and peace of mind - our “real life” equivalent to a yogurt container filled with nickels.
New Year’s is a time when we tend to think a lot about the stories we’re going to open 2019 with. As the clock struck midnight, we tell the tale of How Much We Actually Really Love Going Clubbing or of How We’ve Always Loved Stilettos More Than Sweatpants. The next morning, we’re going to tell the story of How We Got A Sixpack. Or of How We Stopped Wasting Our Time Watching Netflix. Or Stopped Drinking.
If you’ve ever ridden the subway with a small child, you’ll know that it’s quite the adventure.
But, those kids off to Kumon or to after-school ballet are just looking for something I haven’t found yet. Like the stuffed Mammoth I lost at the zoo. Or an actual reason to put pumpkin in coffee. Or the key to being truly happy. Or, just how to keep my life in balance.
It may be inevitable that we will judge all of our experiences and track the degree to which we’re “living our best life” with more vigilance than we millennials track the value of Bitcoin.I can’t promise that a positive attitude will solve all your problems, but I promise that in the worst case, it will annoy the bloody hell out of enough downers to make it worth it.
Many of us, at some point, have set out to acquire a six-pack, an effortless handstand, fluency in French, an intimate knowledge of up-and-coming alternative rock bands, or some other quality that looks great in a dating-app profile.
Whatever you deem your practice - be it yoga, a musical instrument, nagging your husband about not cleaning the lint screen in the dryer, or always being that annoyingly chirpy co worker who’s always first in the office and greets everyone with “Hey Sunshine!” - that practice must become a fundamental pillar of your existence - like eating, drinking, and sleeping.
Take a moment to think back to a time when you were presented a comprehensive, crystal-clear instruction. Maybe it was: “Do Not Microwave,” or “Do Not Open Door: Alarm Will Sound.” Or, perhaps something along the lines of “Do Not Enter: High Voltage,”or “Warning: Read Instructions Before Using.”If, for a moment, we shift our focus from the generally-skimmed-over text on packing labels to, arguably, the most read text on Earth, we do not escape examples of near-omniscient superiours giving clear instructions that more so “direct mandates,” than they are “bits of friendly advice.”
We live in a world where it shouldn’t be hard to identify someone’s location. It’s 9AM, and I know where all of my friends are. But, do we know how to listen?
Have a drop of mysterious-air-conditioner-liquid fall into your mouth just as as you’re yawning on the sidewalk. Have a Great Day.
So, why do all of these beautiful people look like we just stepped on their foot? Or like their dog just died? Why do supermodels never smile? Do they all just have horrific teeth?
Perfect ideas have certainly gotten us into enough trouble. Communism, Utopias, Subprime Mortgages. Fun times. Searching for perfect people is why we call hopeless romantics hopeless. It’s also why we have online dating. And divorces.
We spend most of our days hightailing it between shockingly few locations. Home- Work- Home. Home- Work- Home. Home-Work-Grocery Store- Home. Home-Work-Liquor Store. Home-Work- Our Secretary's House. Sorry, uh...watching football?
