I got two tattoos this past weekend. Because, you know, I’m cool like that.* One of them was on my ribcage, which, according to some, is a painful location to get tattooed. When the needle hit the thin skin over my ribs, it took my breath away. The artist stopped and looked up, “you ok?”
Tag: moving on
I looked down at my right hand and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My pointer finger was broken. I mean, totally broken in half. So weird, I didn’t feel any pain. But it was clearly broken. It had to be fixed. I had to get myself to a hospital. But there was no time!
I’m reading a book called “The Places That Scare You.” A friend gave it to me, knowing I was going through some changes in my life. In it, Pema Chondron teaches: We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us and make us increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us
I think I’m pretty lucky. I lived in the same house for my whole life until getting my first apartment after college. Even then, my parents remained and I was able to visit any time I wanted. That big, brown house on the end of Jade Tree Lane, full of trees and memories, was such a staple in my life.