Ladies and gentlemen, snag your lip balm and ready your smackers—holiday season is upon us. Between an opportune mistletoe encounter, or a New Year’s Eve spit-swap at the stroke of twelve, there’s something to be said about a powerful peck.
It is inevitable that the people I love the most will disappointment or hurt me. This statement is not rooted in pessimism—it’s a statistical fact. Those with unlimited access to my heart are the ones with the greatest probability to cause harm.
In all facets of love, we are the most vulnerable.
As a creature of the sun, I hold a deep appreciation for some of life’s finer offerings made possible by warmth; open windows, seasonal produce, and near-nakedness. And you know, being warm. For approximately five months a year, wool and central heating are long forgotten, and I’m free to prance about my apartment wearing nothing but skin and mane with no threat of hypothermia.
One swipe of the thumb and Facebook wildly scrolls through what looks like a digital bridal publication. Alas, this is not a trendy wedding mag—it’s my news feed. Settling into my mid-twenties, I’m coming to terms with the inevitable life shift affecting my peers. We’ve arrived at the age of engagement—engagement in marriage, in home buying, in babies.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent an hour digging through plastic bins full of artwork, grade reports, stories, and relics from my childhood. Aside from the warm fuzzies provoked by nostalgia, it was incredibly funny revisiting my youth from my teeny, first-person perspective.
Wikipedia describes your stereotypical Type A personality as “ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status-conscious, sensitive, impatient, takes on more than they can handle, wants other people to get to the point, anxious, proactive, and concerned with time management.” With the glaring exception of ‘anxious,’ I am guilty of nearly all those traits.
I was 13 years old when The Italian Job hit DVD in 2003—this was a pivotal moment of my youth. When Charlize Theron pulled the e-brake of her red Mini, gracefully launching it into a parking space, and exited the vehicle with a confident, back-handed click of her key fob, my life changed forever.
Gary Chapman, author of “The 5 Love Languages,” believes there are five different ways to express and experience love; words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. Chapman argues that, emotionally, people need to receive love, and that by identifying and understanding our primary love language, we’re able to help each other feel deeply loved, and wholly appreciated.
When I was young, I built forts in our living room using our dining chairs and bed sheets. But these weren’t your typical couch-cushion shanties. If MTV “Forts” was a thing, I have zero doubt the network would’ve featured my hand-crafted oasis for their pilot episode.
I have three homes; my dad’s, my mom’s, and my own. My mom’s home, conveniently located a mere 2.8 miles from my dad’s, is my childhood dwelling. It is in that three-bedroom ranch that I built forts from dining room chairs, lost teeth, acquired a taste for vegetables, and brought to light the Santa Claus Conspiracy.