“The Hardest Part of Falling in Love”

Maybe staying in love, the fear that you can fall out of it one day, or that maybe you won’t have the courage to leave when the love has already gone.

It’s easy to fall in love, to find someone who is brand new to you, who makes you feel brand new. I think maybe that’s why it’s so thrilling, because you kind of get a second chance or third, or fourth– at finding that happiness that you lost with the first.

You can be a better partner, lover, friend. Each relationship draws out something essential in you- the parts that aren’t so easy to detect on first dates. These are your flaws- the things you don’t want to bare until necessary ; these are the parts that the right person will understand, will love, will treat like your silver lining- the part that makes you so unmistakably, essentially human.

But you see, that’s the scary part of falling, this sense that you trust someone with that very important and integral part of you- and hoping they will catch you when you find yourself there. Suspended in midair; somewhere between loving yourself and loving another.

So again, the hardest part in falling in love? It’s not the falling, it’s everything that comes after. And I still choose to do this with you.
Will you catch me on the way down?


Like There’s Only Today

You’re the very best outcome
in this crazy scenario
that we find ourselves in.
I don’t know where we’re headed,
or what we are trying to do-
but right now
I’ll ride this phase out,
this one that we’re coasting through.
Dancing like some fools
in the rain
on the dance floor
and in the passenger seat
of your car.
We’re losing our minds
over getting it all
real good,
real right.

I guess what I mean is that there are no rules.

So lets sit cross legged under lantern lit skies.
Always kiss like it’s the last time.
Say goodbye when there’s no more love.
But lets try a lil’ bit of love first-
lets see how this tastes on our tongues,
how it sits on our hearts,
how it plays out in our worlds.

It’s all the best outcome, I like this day with you.


California Was for Lovers

How warm does the California sun feel on your skin?

Does the beer taste any sweeter on the West Coast?

Is the Padres crowd igniting all your senses?

Does the sun sink down behind you in a slow serene dip?

Because I can’t help but wonder, if the three time zones, and miles apart

brings me closer to the person I know,

Or farther from what we built under languid summer skies.

But all I know,

Is that there are days that separate you from me,

And miles can take the place,

And time can fill the space,

But you are the first thing that sits on my morning mind,

The last thought that leaves the pillows at night.

Missing you is just as fickle as the tide

and I have to ask-

Does the shore echo that longing in you too,

While you look at the Santa Monica Pier?


(originally written 9-8-16)

it was 2:00 in the morning, and the world was strung together by trees and crashing waves and the view of the pier. you shared this with me, and I never told you, but it was my favorite moment shared with you.

I cherish your inspiration and all that happiness we created, most.

Late to the Party

We’re fourteen and sitting side by side through the days. Lunch, classes and locker life talks are all a blur. We ride the wave of being so young, so unsure of what we’re doing. We’re friends, and I like the way you laugh at my jokes, and the fact that everything is so serious. We aren’t tainted by the people we will both love. We are here and it is steady.

We’re seventeen and the world is bigger now. We make playlists in the cold of winter, but the solid strum of guitars make me prefer this state- a deference for the darkness keeps our bones warm and our hearts beat out to the way Foo Fighters intended.

We’re nineteen and some couple hundred miles away, still singing to the sounds of something sunny. I know we’re still thinking about clever titles for playlists. Thousands of songs fill my stations, but the angst of Paramore still reminds me of you. So we reach out, we hold on, we give it another round of songs that say everything we couldn’t dare.

We’re twenty one, and we know that the world is ours. Separately, we’ve done all we could. We listened, we learned, we kept on living. We sat side by side again, the steady hum of the road beneath us. We traveled through the night, and I was fourteen again. But it was only then, in the middle of a dark room, where the music stopped, and our voices filled the spaces- we poured out our hearts.

We’re aging, slowly against the tides of life. And maybe we’re not ready for it all. And maybe we’re waiting to hear just the right string of words. Just know, I’ll be listening with ears wide open. I got it though, I realized then; I don’t need confetti, I’ll take the party for two.


Get Busy Living | Two years, and a home grew here


It’s the end of an era, in this tiny back bedroom of apartment  123.

Slowly, we take down the photo’s, decorations, the small trinkets and Polaroids that make this apartment ours, and this room mine. Once the fan stops turning, and the lights go out one final time, it won’t belong to me anymore. I’ll turn in the keys, and get that deposit back.

But right now, one last moment in here, it’s still everything. It’s still my escape.

I’ve made memories in this little room. I fell in love in this room. I’ve made love in this room. I’ve lost and found myself again within these four walls. If they could speak, how much they’d say- what stories they’d have to tell to the next person who unpacks their life.

So many sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, laughter, binge watched TV shows with my best friend, the outfit changes, the growth. It all belongs in here. It all happened here. And eventually it will all be left here.

The girl who lived here for two years will be washed away, steam cleaned, spackled, repainted and polished. In the midst of every morning, she became. She became strong, confident, bold and whole. These walls were a foundation, a place to land unsteady feet. A place to experience life, and herself.

So the splotch on the carpet by the window- spilled coffee from a restless morning.

All the places where the paint has lifted from the walls- pictures of her favorite faces and places used to hang there.

She loved this room. This corner of the world. She wrote stories in these walls. She read stories within these walls. How they took her on adventures. How every day in this home, was an adventure.

And oh how she loved, and oh how she learned.

I look around this room one final time.

Watching ghosts of her, me.

I’ll miss this feeling. I’ll remember this feeling. I’ll pack away this feeling.

This is how it feels, to live.¶

Get Busy Living | You’re doing just fine

It’s three in the afternoon, and I’m sitting in the middle of campus. Trapped between the smell of roasted coffee and the hum of college life. I feel my flighty nature kicking in. I’ve been at the library far longer than any one person should be. I feel the monotony of a routine starting to make me itchy and anxious for something brand new.  I feel the borderlines of this town slowly closing in. Because I’m looking out the window, and wondering when will be the next time I feel that ‘I’m coming alive again’ kind of feeling.

When I entered college, I thought I had the world figured out. I thought that my major would carry me through four years. I thought that wanting to graduate would be enough. It wasn’t until I started taking classes and being less than interested, that I really began to question everything that I had solidified. I was floating for the first time, at a point in my life where decisions were meant to be finite and definite. Everyone was making plans- and although I had them, they didn’t feel like enough, they didn’t feel like me. So that was the day I changed my major. Three hours with an adviser, trying to pick something that spoke to me. And that wouldn’t be the last time that I spoke with her, and that wouldn’t be the last time that I changed my major.

Four is the number. I changed my major four different times. I was indecisive for entirely “too long” during my college career. But eventually, I found something I was good at. That challenged me. That I enjoyed learning about. I was finally becoming that person again; someone who has plans, and something that resembled solid ground, something I could stand on. But at times, I will still ask, am I chasing purpose, or am I chasing passion?

And the truth? The truth is that I’m walking the fine line between each. But for a long while, I was chasing neither. My writing streak had dwindled. I stopped writing for a good portion of my first two years in college. I stopped putting effort and creativity into my blog- the very two things that makes for good content and great writing. I stopped fueling my passion, because I allowed for practicality to rule my life. It was only when I started to write again, keeping a journal each day, that my writing began to pick up- to take shape and purpose.

The meaning for all of this is that if you feel like you can’t find your purpose- choose to chase and nurture your passion. Understand that when you are passionate about something- it allows for you to fulfill parts of yourself, that practicality and reason are unable to do. Choose to follow the road that is unpaved, less traveled, and new. Choose this because above all else, when you find something that speaks to the very parts of you, that makes waking up every day so easy- and continues to shape your very self- you are choosing to find your purpose. Always keep the most genuine parts of yourself, alive and well.

Chasing your passions, will open up so many doors to finding out what you were meant to do, and who you were meant to be.

So if you’re lost, and you’re wondering if you’re okay. Let me tell you, you’re okay. You’re doing just fine. Life is about choices. Your life is made entirely of your own choices. So choose well, and choose often. Choose what you love, each time, every time- you’ll never be disappointed. You’ll never be lost. ¶

Get Busy Living | What I couldn’t put on my resume

I’ve approached the point in my life, where a resume is something I keep on my person at all times. I’ve become more of a list person within the last several months- than my entire life- if that’s even possible. What skills do I have? Writes down a few things. Is proficient in Microsoft Office even impressive anymore? 

Wrapping up the last year of my college experience, has had me waxing nostalgic about all the moments, people, and things that have made a difference in my life. When I started my freshman year, the possibilities for change were endless. I was finishing up old chapters that had to be left behind in my hometown. Along with half my closet, and everything that decorated the walls of my room. A place that I had called home for the last 18 years. Where everything that was familiar, comfortable and homey to me, was being abandoned. Left behind for something bigger, stepping stones, and the opportunity to begin again.

They don’t tell you when you leave for college, that uprooting your life is a hard adjustment. Even when you know it’s coming. You have to learn a new city, and acclimate to the weather, the people, and the change of pace. The food isn’t as good as mom’s cooking, and you begin back at the bottom of the barrel. But what fuels you to continue, is the promise of a shiny, and exhilarating time for being who you always wanted to be.

This is titled,  What I couldn’t put on my resume, because you can’t list what it means to grow. To experience things for the first time. You can’t describe the people who have impacted your life in such profound ways. Or how joining organizations, really changed your outlook on college and eventually, the world.

All these things, I gained throughout the past four years, I am unable to sum up in bullet points. Because they are worth so much more than a piece of paper. When I moved into my dorm freshman year, I had been paired with a random roommate. She was kind, a little shy, and we went on an awkward dinner to Chili’s, to get to know each other. We talked about our hometowns, what we were involved in during high school. The entire conversation I remember just being homesick. We walked around the fair that was being held on campus. Even documented our first night in college with a photo of us standing uncomfortably far from each other. Each night in that tiny room, with our extra long twin beds, we grew closer, and became each other’s secret keepers, and life coaches. By the time winter break rolled around, we were already missing that 10×10 room, and each other’s company. Now as we finish off our college career, she is my best friend, and someone I could never have survived the last four years- let alone life- without.

Another item on my checklist for college, was to join a student organization. To push myself outside of my comfort zone, but also to meet new people. I found myself doing volunteer work with a small group of students, who had just founded the organization the semester prior. No one really knew what they were doing, and I enjoyed being a part of something new. As the year went on, I grew closer to the members, which inspired me to run for a leadership position.

Three years, and three different positions later. I am exhausted. I have cried. I have gotten angry. I yelled. There has been sweat, and maybe even some blood along this path. Our organization has seen five members, and we have grown to an astonishing 45 members. Collectively, we have rebuilt and revived something from the ground up. We learned what it meant to believe in something that looked hopeless. We have gained friendships, we have suffered loss and we have introduced something to the community- together. Something that has fed the homeless, farmed produce, raised money and hope for children battling illness, and twenty four sleepless hours of the most rewarding relay.

The moments that you can’t even begin to share about being selfless for others. The feeling of complete success and awe of what you created with like minded people. Watching an idea come to fruition. A dream realized. Accepting failure, and encouraging success. These things will continue to be a part of me. Realizing we made a difference for someone else, because all we wanted to do was spend our extra time well. Making time when you thought you didn’t have any. Seeing the world. Meeting people with stories that are nothing like your own. Becoming a person. Becoming whole.

How do you even begin to tell someone, that beyond the bullet points, and the expensive piece of paper; that in four years, you became someone who wanted to change the world. Maybe not all at once, but slowly, and steadily. That in four years, it wasn’t always within a classroom that you learned about life and everything that encompasses who you are. You became the kind of person you used to admire.

This is what growing feels like. This is how personal success reads. This is what I couldn’t put on my resume.¶