How to Live like an Anthro Girl on a Target Budget

(An instruction guide.)

Let's say you have realized that your collection of fabulous dangly earrings has overwhelmed your little pink jewelry box.


This arrangement is decidedly inconvenient, most especially for your roommates, who have difficulty finding just the right pair to borrow as they're sprinting out the door to work.

SO: you decide you should invest in one of those screen-door-picture-frame-y things, like you've seen offered at Urban or Anthro. HOWEVER, since you know it's absurd to invest $40 on something that would probably not suit your exact needs anyway, you should probably try to make one yourself.

It's the 21st-century, girlfriend. Get out your hammer.

STEP ONE:

Pay a visit to your local friendly thrift store, and find a cool picture frame.


Never mind the creepy green-ish girls who currently inhabit the picture frame. You'll be getting rid of them imminently. In fact, let's make that our step two.

STEP TWO:
Get rid of the creepy greenish girls. To do this, you'll need to pry up the staples on the back of the picture frame. With what, you ask? You might feel inspired to try a steak knife first. That won't work. You might feel compelled to try a fork next; this attempt will also be totally ineffective. This blogger recommends you abandon the cutlery altogether, and work with a nail and hammer to get under the staples and pry them up.


You can do this in a sundress by the way. Also, you should probably take cheese and cracker breaks.


(Cheese and crackers do wonders for a woman's fortitude.)

STEP THREE:
Once you've got enough staples pried up, you can knock the greenish girls out by force. It's okay if you want to grunt and make ferocious sounds.


Make sure you take a moment to revel in your success.


STEP 4:
Get out the wire screen you already purchased at the hardware store.


You showed especial foresight at the hardware store by using their wire cutters to cut holes for the picture hanging loops to fit through. Nice work thinking ahead!


Lay the wire screen across the picture frame, and prepare to nail it down.

STEP 5:
Now, if you have a staple gun, this would be the time to get it out. However, if you do NOT have a staple gun, you'll need to make do with what the hardware-store-lady recommended you try instead:


I forget what these are called, but they're basically thick staples that you're supposed to be able to hammer into wood.

However, at this point, you will discover that these lame-o hammer-staples DON'T hammer into wood. In fact, they get all bendy and crooked.

Prepare to get reeeeally frustrated by all the stupid lame-o bendy staple things. You will probably need to make many unsuccessful attempts.


LOOK at these stupid things! They don't even start OFF straight! Their ends are different lengths, they start off splayed, and the metal is as soft as a paper clip!


SEE?


At this point, you should give yourself a hard time for not owning a staple gun.

STEP SIX:
Okay, that's enough pouting. Time to figure out another approach. Try hammering in the staple-thingy just far enough for it to make two little dents in the wood.


Then use a nail and hammer to create deeper holes where the staple-points need to go.


Be careful when you're pulling the nail back out of the wood though. Don't fling it. STOP FLINGING THE NAIL!

After you've made the two holes, try hammering in the staple-things again. It'll work better, but if you're still muttering curse words, God would understand.


Ooo, good one.

Kay, now do that a whole bunch.

STEP SHAMEFUL:
You may be tempted to radio out for help.


Stop that!! Pull yourself together woman! You can do this!! Persevere!

It's okay to take juice breaks though. You're probably sort of sweaty by now.


STEP SEVEN:
Since the staple-thingies really ARE pretty ineffective, you should reinforce the wire screen with thumb tacks.


You're so resourceful, handy-girl. I admire you so.

And now: LOOK! You've done it!


STEP EIGHT:
All that's left is to hang it on the wall, and fill it with the afore-mentioned danglies!


And now, you have an entirely unique, entirely functional jewelry-hanger-slash-piece-of-wall-art, for an entirely reasonable sum of money.



Nice work, chickie. I never doubted your success for a second.

Random, Hilarious, and Great

I am now in Denver, CO with my best friend ANNIE. It took three frickin' days to get here, but Annie was well worth the trip.

And today...! We had an experience that may never have happened, if not for the magical fairy dust that seems to be sprinkled over this entire trip. And indeed, as the blog post suggests, it was indeed random, hilarious, and great.

Also, it ended with five people singing in dramatic operatic vibrato, "Humble thyself in the SIGHT of the LOOOORD...!"

You should probably just check out Annie's blog. She has pictures.

Speaking of, more road trip pictures are coming, but not at the present moment. I am a sleepy pumpkin, and not inclined to watch spinning pinwheels mock my non-sleeping impatient-for-uploads-to-finish self.

Wisdom from a Bunny

Randomly, on my drive down to San Diego, I got a call from Peter-- an acquaintance from Seattle who I don't actually know that well. "Greta! I saw your facebook status that you're coming to San Diego! Do you want to come sailing?"

Peter and his Dad own a tall-boat-- i.e., a sailboat that looks like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. God has demonstrated a knack for bringing me into ridiculously awesome circumstances on this roadtrip, and Peter's invitation was just further confirmation of the fact. Peter-- one who WAS an acquaintance, now a friend-- graciously said I could bring darling Natalie along. Natalie is someone I used to mentor when I was doing college ministry with Pepperdine students, and has remained a favorite. We giddily boarded Peter's pirate ship, and good times were had by all.







Afterwards, Peter's Dad-- Captain Denton-- invited Natalie and I down to view the cabin. There was a Navy Seal onboard who took full advantage of this moment to make colorful comments. "Rooms for the mermaids, eh Captain?!" Natalie nervously told Peter's dad that she tended to get claustrophobic in ship cabins.

"You won't in this one," he said. "I promise." Natalie skeptically descended the ladder and then acknowledged, "No-- it's that smell. I can't do it." However-- she quickly changed her mind when Steve brought out HEIDI:


Natalie didn't mind the cabin smell after that.

Heidi-- not my sister Heidi, but the bunny Heidi-- lives on board the "Amazing Grace" and is the Denton's ship mascot. Steve adores her.


He laid her out on the table, on her back, and kept a firm grip on her belly as he petted her. In that repose, she began to fall asleep. "When we first got her," Steve said, "We could only hold her for five seconds before she started to freak out. Then we put her down. We didn't force her-- as soon as she started to freak out, we just put her down," he said. Then he looked at us and said proudly, "She's up to ten seconds now. Little by little-- she's started to trust us more."

I looked at him and said, "That's POWERFUL."

And-- silly as it may sound-- the account of such a simple beast learning trust over time and incrementally building faith in her care-takers was such a sweet inspiration to me. It gave me faith in all the good, truthful things.

I've spent the last three days getting from San Diego to Denver... it was quite a trek. However, I've seen some incredible things and have been totally astounded by the beauty of the country I live in.

Too tired to post all those pictures now though... If you're my facebook friend, check them out. If you're not-- stay tuned. I'll get them up sooner or later.

Supply and Demand

Last night I met up with my old theatre friend, Angela, who invited me to tag along to an acting class with her. I've met up with no less than three actor friends this trip, and they've all raved about their respective acting classes and how phenomenal their instructors are. Going to an acting class seemed like an essential part of the L.A. experience, and after my extended Hollywood-curb-sit, where men walked by yelling "I didn't f---ing touch her!!!" and women walked by looking terrified... I was all about trying to get the true L.A. experience.

Therefore, after being served Italian food by a beautiful but dim-witted clone of Jake Gyllenhall, Angela and I went to class.

To be perfectly honest, the instructor seemed more narcissistic than phenomenal. He launched into great big long stories about his various experiences and his hilarious antics, and at times, micro-directed his acting students, correcting them on things as minute as their tone of voice or their posture. Still, it was fun for me to be back in that environment. "Let's play," the teacher would say before calling students up. And that's what we were doing. The teacher graciously let me "play" too, and had me do first a monologue, and later a scene with him. I had fun.

When he was getting me ready to do the scene, he said, "Okay, now here are the rules: I need to know what you're feeling so that I know how to respond. The words, the script-- that's incidental. The words could be anything. What matters is what I'm getting from you."

In high-school, when doing script work in theatre classes, my directors had us identify an objective for every single line.

"What do you WANT?" they'd ask. "What are you trying to GET from the other person? That desire for something needs to fuel every line!"

We'd have to write those objectives down in our scripts, followed by the different tactics our characters employed to get those things. It became an ingrained understanding in me that human interaction is about trying to GET something from someone else.

Or at least, it is if you want to create good drama.

Last night in that acting class, I realized that I don't want to operate under "seeking an objective" anymore. I don't want to have conversations that depend completely on what the other person gives me. I don't want to operate under that selfish mentality-- that notion that someone is only worth what they're GIVING me. I've realized, after a lot of processing, that I've inflicted and incurred a lot of pain by asserting this pattern of communicating. I've NEEDED, now GIVE ME, this is what I WANT from you. That voice doesn't come from a strong, free, centered person. Right? Seeking "objectives"-- basing my behavior solely off what another can person give to me-- sets me up to be dependent on someone else, and means my interactions with other people are selfishly motivated. AND, as I'm pullingpullingpulling, they're forced to either give under pressure, balk under demand, or join in the game to get something out of ME.

Drama, indeed.

Being in L.A. has once again confirmed that it was the right decision to pursue teaching in Seattle rather than acting in L.A. This place gives me heavy boots. Actors who want to "make it" must create an identify that is marketable-- something that people want to buy and sell. They are praised and criticized on how well they can pretend to be someone else, and succeed or fail based on how well they play the game. L.A., as I've been told, is alllll about networking. Who can help me here? Who can I meet that will connect me with this person? What can this person do for me?

Another friend I met up with during this trip is Elijah, who's pursuing music here. At first, I thought Eli was trying to play the game just like everyone else. But that's not the case. Eli told me the main reason he feels like he's supposed to be in L.A. right now is to reject "the game" and talk to people like PEOPLE. He told me about conversations he's had that he ends simply with, "Well this was great. Hope to see you again soon." He said people are always surprised by that-- they're waiting for his sales pitch, waiting to be told what they can do for him. But Eli just has a good conversation with them, and leaves it at that. He told me that his music career has taken a far back-seat to just having conversations with people, and trying to help them escape the game for a little bit.

And I thought that was so cool.

Before we headed out to a pub to catch up, Eli played a song on my guitar, called "Grace." It shattered me-- it was so beautiful. Hit me in that place that makes you sad and lifted and transported all at once. And his song was all about affirming this other person, and expressing the hope that they would experience grace. It was a GIVING song.

I fear that this blog will ultimately come across as highly judgmental. I don't want to tear down L.A. or the people that are trying so hard to make a living within it. As with any place, there is beauty here and there is darkness. And people are doing incredible things-- Angela's monologue in class hit me the same way Eli's song did-- it was breath-taking. Still, some of the idiosyncrasies of L.A. led me to look inward and consider...

I want to give words to people that don't demand anything in return. I want to be myself. I don't want to shape-shift so that I can be bought and sold. And I want to just be free and centered enough that I can say, "Well-- this is where I'm at," and not need the person I'm interacting with to respond in a certain way. I want to give-- not demand. I think that would be beautiful.




Now, off to San Diego.


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It's a good thing that I'm taking this road trip.

These are the reasons why:
1.) I am meeting people that I've never met before, and having incredible conversations about life, and having brand new experiences.

This is Kristy, aka Wreckless Girl, who Annie (through her blogosphere connections) put me in touch with, and who turned out to be an instant friend. She's a professional photographer who let me pretend that I was a supermodel by ordering me to stand around in fancy poses while she discussed the lighting. We found ourselves in remarkably similar heart situations-- and discovered a lot of healing words in one another's company.

Or these folks:


My San Fran hosts. Zac is on the left, who taught me the Sign Language alphabet, climbed things with me, and made funny jokes. Brett is in the middle: Young Life Wonder Whiz, Nicest Guy Ever, and Tour Guide Extraordinaire. On the right is... um... I don't know the other guy.

But THIS girl was another San Fran hostess-- Rachel is Brett's girl and took me with her to my first Bikram yoga class, which I LOVED. Rachel is impossibly good at yoga. She also sang me songs in her incredibly beautiful voice, finally doing my Martin guitar some justice, and listened to me talk about my feelings, and talked to me about her feelings so that we had feelings-company.


Reason Number 2 for why it's good I'm on this road trip:
I am learning new things like Bikram Yoga and Sign Language and how to look for nice lighting when taking photographs.

Number 3:
I am seeing things that make me wonder and marvel and feel thankful that I live in a country like this, and feel amazed at the God who created these things.









Numero Quatro:
I am able to pull over whenever the heck I feel like it to take pictures, eat whatever/whenever the heck I want, make friends with whomever the heck I want, listen to whatever heck music I want, cry if I hecka feel like it, play guitar if I hecka feel like it, and go skinny dipping if I hypothetically felt it would be a nice idea.

Number 5:
I am giggling at sights like this:





Number 6:
I feel really, really looked after. Feel like God is totally looking out for me and making sure I'm okay. That's a great feeling.

Number 7:

It is a good idea for me to be taking this road trip because that is what Living in the Now is telling me to do.

And finally, Number 8:

I'm having fun. Even though it sometimes gets lonely... I'm having a blast.

The Long Way

July 5th marked the embarkment. Let the road trip officially begin.

The first stop on the agenda is (was) my hometown: Vancouver. I've driven this stretch of I-5 more times than I can count and it is abysmal driving. No matter what kind of weather or day or time... it's traffic-ridden and gross.

This road trip is not supposed to be about traffic-ridden-gross-ness. This road trip is supposed to be about discovery and whimsy and beauty and air. Therefore, I determined I would forsake I-5 in all its trafficky squalor and take the 101-- the scenic route. The long way.

It turned out to be the right choice. 101 was lined with wildflowers, and coastal views, and rustic buildings, and gorgeous sights.










I kept pulling off the main highway so that I could follow skinny little roads until they ended, which was delicious.



And there were wildflowers EVERYWHERE-- they were so beautiful! In fact today I went to Home Depot to buy wildflower seed packets, so that I can scatter them from my window as I drive.


This all prompted a thought. I am about to be honest now-- prepare thyself.

When I tell people I am going on a road trip by myself, they typically exhibit one of two facial expressions-- or both, if they're especially talented and adequately free of botox. The first implies: "Oh wow-- that's so sad." The second: "Oh wow-- that's bad a**."

It's a little of both, I suppose. One of the reasons I'm going on a big solo road trip is to process through a recent break-up-- a hard break-up. The fact that I'm alone on a road trip-- so often a duo-endeavor-- reinforces the fact, I suppose, that I am not with this person. It further reinforces the fact, in a season of countless weddings, engagement parties, and bridal showers, that I don't have a person I could have invited to come along with me. At least, not one that I'd be ready to share this type of trip with, in all its intimate soul searching. This is the "that's so sad" part.

However, the second part is also true. I think a solo road trip is pretty bad-a**. I like adventures. Furthermore, I will pat myself on the back in this moment and say: I'm good at adventuring. I have played my guitar in London markets. I have danced on Irish moors, and found the literal end of the rainbow. I have climbed to the tops of Mayan ruins in a Belizean jungle, and snorkeled with schools of manta rays. I think I got to a point right around 21 where I concluded, "Well-- so long as I'm still single, I better make the most of my independence." That has resulted in countless, FANTASTIC adventures.

The pictures above are evidence of me seeing the world through my own eyes-- they're evidence of a self that is free to pull over exactly when she wants to, and take pictures of exactly what she finds remarkable. I'm adventuring by myself, and bottling up my own ideas of beauty-- and I think that's both brave (bad-a**, if you will)-- and exhilarating.

Some people don't take the long way. My older brother and younger sister both found their life-loves at a young age; Shane is only a year and a half older than me, but already has a 4-year-old and an almost-2-year-old. He took a "quicker" way than I did--- and I can't begin to describe how beautiful my niece and nephew are. The manifestations of Shane's "way" are breath-taking. Likewise, to see my sister Heidi and her husband make their way together-- it is an incredible, inspiring way to watch.

But that's not the way I'm taking.

I'm taking the long way.

And after passing wildflowers, ocean, and glorious views... I'm beginning to realize that that's the only way someone like me should take.


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Bubble Magic (road-trip preface)

The other day, I walked down to Greenlake to blow bubbles. The best part about blowing bubbles is that I almost always make new toddler friends, and this day was no exception. A two-year-old and a four-year-old crowed and clapped and danced all around me, stomping the bubbles that rested on the ground, while the other bubbles lifted and dodged the chubby hands of their would-be assassins.

Getting ready to leave, I had a sudden impulse to give the bubbles away. Another little girl walked by with her dad. "Does your little girl want some bubbles?" I asked.
The little girl looked at me shyly. "No thank you," she said.
I smiled. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
The dad smiled at me and nodded. "Thank you!"

I was resolute on giving them away at that point though. Had determined: the world needs more bubble-blowers. Tried to discreetly evaluate the various couples and roller-skaters and stroller pushers as they walked by, thinking to myself, "Do you need these bubbles?" Took a break to kick off my flip-flops and climb out on a tree that stretched over the water. Stayed there for a little while, just thinking.

Walking home resumed. Finally, approaching a bus-stop, I saw a morose looking teenage girl, dressed all in black, with her chin in her hands and her hair covering her face.

I cheerfully walked up to her. "Hi! Do you want some bubbles?"

The transformation was instant: she straightened up, her face split open into this HUGE smile, and she said "THANK you!!"

And then the world suddenly became magical-- it was like I'd found the magic key to get into another more sparkly world by picking the right girl to give bubbles to, and once she had them-- the world seriously transformed. EVERY person I passed by made eye contact with me and smiled. Drivers waved at me. Motorcyclists yelled nice things to me from their bikes. Seriously! I was suddenly friends with the whole world!

This is why I blow bubbles.

(I mean, among other reasons.)

THIS:-- forging brief, powerful connections with strangers-- is one of my very most favorite things to do. I'm about to leave on this great big road trip-- a 3-week road trip-- and I'm going by myself. Which means that most people I interact with are going to be strangers.

So I'm hoping for more bubble moments.

AND: I'm hoping for more tree-climbing moments. Hoping for lots of road-side pull-overs so I can just get out of my car for ten minutes and marvel at the world. Hoping for whimsy, and beauty, and lots of reflection. Hoping to make many new friends. Hoping for lots of good prayer, and for gradual healing in the sore spots.

Before I leave though, I have to do all kinds of hideous tasks. I have to learn TWO new pieces of technology today-- my camera and my blue-tooth. I have to try to clean out the hard drive on this computer so that it might actually work when it's on the road. I have to get road trip snacks. I have to have someone look at my car (this is what I'm dreading most) to make sure it's going to survive this trip. (What if they say I need a new transmission??) I need to get a working CD player. I need to get a new front tire. I need to pack.

AND: I need to get another bottle of bubbles. Because I gave my other bottle away, and because you never know when you might have a bubbles-emergency.

First stop will be staying with my family down south in Vancouver, WA. After that will be Ashland, San Francisco, L.A., and San Diego-- then on to Denver... then to infinity and beyond.

Stay tuned: traveling blogs to come.

Forgiveness

I forgive myself for having a messy room more often than a clean one.

I forgive myself for being weirdly obsessive about punctuation.

I forgive myself for not yet having developed a conscientious habit of tracking the money I spend.

I forgive myself for looking younger than I am.

I forgive myself for not being over it yet.

I forgive myself for sometimes breaking the rules that I should follow, and for following rules that some think I should break.

I forgive myself for not having played guitar in a long time, and for not having written a new song in an even longer time.

I forgive myself for not planning trips the way other people plan trips.

I forgive myself for being scared to try unfamiliar technology.

I forgive myself for constantly steering conversations towards deep issues, and for having trouble maintaining lighter ones.

I forgive myself for being one of those people who talks a lot in discussions.

I forgive myself for being bad with RSVP'ing, and remembering names, and keeping track of birthdays, and keeping track of any kind of a calendar at all.

I forgive myself for not being a girl who likes watching sports in her free time.

I forgive myself for getting scared sometimes.

I forgive myself for writing the letter, even though I still feel bad about it.

I forgive myself for not being married yet.

I forgive myself for wanting to be married some day, and for wanting to be a mom.

I forgive myself for trying something out and realizing that it might not work.

I forgive myself for having good days and hard days.

I forgive myself because I know I am forgiven, and because I know I am deeply, emphatically, passionately loved for being just as I am.

And I forgive myself because it means I am free and can try again.

A Rant which concerns an entirely innocuous yet still exasperating aspect of modern living

There is a unique aspect of modern day living that entirely befuddles me.

That is:

Automatic bathroom technology.

This is the most confounding part: I have never, not once in my 26-and-almost-a-half years, been in a bathroom where the flusher, the faucet, the soap, AND the towels were all automatized.

Why is this perplexing? I will explain.

In theory-- this is my theory; this is also the theory that I assume was employed by building project heads considering the automatization of their bathrooms-- automatic bathroom technology is meant to guard against GERMS. If there are no hands turning the faucet on, see, if there are no manual flushers requiring a germy stomp with a foot, if there are no germy fingers soiling the soap dispenser with their pre-cleaned, post-bathroomed stickiness, if there is no touching whatsoever of the bathroom apparatuses-- well then, we ushered into a new, Utopian-type era of germ-free living. NO TOUCHING MEANS NO GERM PROCREATION.

We must stop the germs from having babies, see.

But now you see why I am befuddled by the lack of a COMPREHENSIVE AUTOMATIZED SYSTEM OF BATHROOM TECHNOLOGY. Sure, maybe the toilet flushes by itself, maybe the faucet spurts on after an awkward torso undulation, maybe the soap spits out foam all by its lonesome, but you will not get out of this modern-day bathroom without using your GERMY HANDS to get the paper towels.

There is always a weak link, a germy weak link. Always.

The other thing that drives me crazy about automatic bathroom technology is that it typically refuses to acknowledge my existence. As I stand in front of the sink, trying to assert an imposing figure, I am rebuffed with a silent faucet. I wave my hands in pitiful desperation... and am rejected. The faucet-- if you will follow my ever-anthropomorphic thinking-- deigns not. "I see no small blond woman. I acknowledge no frenetic hand-waving."

Or at least it doesn't, until I've sufficiently humiliated myself by performing jazzercise in the 2'x3' area in front of the bathroom stalls. This is our new rain-dance. Instead of dancing on open plains like our (not mine, but some one's) Native American ancestors, to the tune of dignified drum beats and in the shadow of a crackling ceremonial fire, we convulse and shake and gesticulate in front of a porcelain deity, just to get some frickin' hand soap.

I miss the days of germ-filled manual living. Give me germs, or give me ready-faucet-acknowledgment.

That's all.

Jubilant

This was the word that popped into my head as I walked back home from Greenlake today, beach towel in hand: jubilant.

I feel jubilant right now.

AND I LOVE SUMMER VACATION.

I love sleeping in. I love reading for fun. I love getting to wear whatever I want and not having to worry if it looks too young or if it might look somehow too alluring to a teenage boy. I love staying up until 1AM on a Tuesday night and not needing to worry about the consequences of doing so. I love getting together with friends on a weekday. I love weather that's warm enough to accommodate a 10PM dock sit. I even love being single again-- didn't think THAT sentiment would arrive for a while, but lo and behold-- I love getting to, once again, be a young, flirty 20-something.

Jubilant, of course, comes from the word "jubilee." I've always enjoyed the word "jubilee." I remember, when I lived down in Malibu doing college ministry at Pepperdine, I started working my way through the "One Year Bible." On my birthday, I decided to treat myself to beach-Bible-read, so I drove down to the beach, skipped along Zuma, found an vacant adirondack chair, dug my feet in the warm sand, and happily started reading out loud to myself, doing lots of different voices. The Old Testament entry that happened to correspond with my birthday discussed the Year of the Jubilee-- the year in which all slaves become free, all land is returned to its original owner, the land is given a year of "rest," and people basically celebrate freedom and provision. Every time I read the word "jubilee" I crowed it: "jubileeeee!" I cracked myself up, reading the Old Testament to myself there on the beach. "Jubilee" is just the happiest sounding word.

In fact, if I ever marry someone who harbors any hippy leanings whatsoever, I think I'm going to try to convince him that we should name our first daughter, "Jubilee Grace."

I just love the concept, you know? That idea of declaring FREEDOM for all-- "Jubilee" is like a decisive, celebratory, universally agreed-upon reset button.

And you know what friends? I have so long been in need of freedom. And I don't mean freedom from people, or freedom from some sort of authority figure-- I mean I've needed freedom from myself, and the shackles I've clad around my soul in the name of fear, and insecurity, and pessimism. For so long, I've submitted to those demon voices-- in the midst of towering waves of troubling life circumstances, I've clung to fear as though it were a life preserver, instead of climbing into the waiting ship called Trust. I've needed freedom.

And-- I'm starting to get FREE!

It's a wide open field, it's a long white beach, it's wildflowers tossed in the breeze, it's the confidence that things will be all right, no matter what-- it's forgiveness, it's that reset button, it's allowing myself to be imperfect, and allowing others to be imperfect because they feel pain too-- it's compassion instead of anger, it's empathy instead of judgment, it's bare feet, it's a crinkled nose, it's letting go, it's a buoyant lifting off and lifting up and looking towards heaven.

It's a summer for the soul.

I feel jubilant today.

Wheeeee!