I’ve been single (very single) for quite a while now and until recently, I felt poorly about myself because of it. I would attribute my lack of a boyfriend as the product of some sort of deficit within me. Was it because I wasn’t slender enough? Smart enough? Funny enough? Whatever the alluring adjective was, I decided that they didn’t apply to me because a guy would have picked me up by if these thing were true, right? And so, every time something with a guy didn’t work out, I blamed myself.

Then this past weekend, a guy treated me pretty poorly. I won’t get into what he did, as in the end it’s not important. Usually after an experience like that, I would start pointing fingers in my own direction, citing any missteps I made during our interactions that surely pushed him away. This time, however, was different. I don’t know what snapped within me, but I realized that he just wasn’t the guy for me, nor would I want to be with someone who treated me with such disrespect.

Of course, sometimes someone doesn’t have to treat you unkindly in order for it to not be “your fault” or “their fault.” Blame isn’t always necessary; it’s just that not all keys are made for every lock.

This was one of the hardest things for me to accept. It is part of the human condition, after all, to categorize and define; it helps us make sense of this messy world we live in and likewise we want to know where we belong (or don’t) in the mix. My reference point was always another human (typically one who rejected me). I think it’s only natural to question ourselves after we’re rejected. It hurts being rejected, after all, there’s no denying that. So, we start to doubt ourselves. Maybe we really aren’t that funny, that interesting, or that attractive. But, what I failed to recognize was that these desirable traits people typically list they are looking for in another on their Tinder profiles are incredibly dynamic. There is not one kind of funny or one kind of beautiful, nor is there one kind of intelligent. You just need to find someone who understands and is compatible with yours.

Whether you’re single or taken, you should never stop dedicating time to yourself and what’s important to you. You don’t need someone else to validate what you’re interested in. If you want to check out a movie that nobody else wants to see, go see it yourself! You don’t need a plus-one to go (besides, this way you’ll get all the popcorn.) It is important for personal growth to spend time alone. Without solidarity, we don’t get to know who we truly are because we’re constantly constrained to existence by the validation of others.

I do want to acknowledge, however, that a strong relationship is truly a lovely thing, and just because we want to be independent doesn’t mean we should steer clear of a relationship or date. If someone asks you out, give them a chance. Just because it might not workout doesn’t mean you wouldn’t gain something from the experience.

In the end, if you put your self-worth in the hands of your boyfriend or girlfriend, not only does that rob you of your authority, it also will damage the relationship. That’s a lot of pressure to put on another person. And just remember that there are many things that make us who we are. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t give (or take away) the talents we have, the kindness we give to others, the compassion we have for ourselves, or the passions we thrive on. If you value and build on those things, someone else is bound to notice, too. Only, this time around, you didn’t need them to.

In the morning, as we wake up and stretch, sometimes we’ll recall a weird dream we had the night before (for me, it’s that my teeth fall out a lot). However, there was one dream I had around two years ago that taught me something that really stuck with me.

I dreamt that my twin sister and I were driving along the freeway, with me in the driver’s seat and she sat in the backseat. As we traveled along, I went to look into the rearview mirror. However, when I went to check it, the mirror was completely and utterly crooked; I couldn’t see anything except the distorted view of the traffic behind me and I started to panic.

As the dream progressed, I became fixated on adjusting the mirror. I wanted it to be perfect. I was desperate to see it clearly. I needed to assess what was going on behind me, so I could understand it; prepare for it to crash into me if the cars in front of me stopped. As I continued to mess with the mirror, my driving became erratic. I was swerving into lanes, unable to keep a consistent speed. I figured I messed up the mirror and was completely drunk on the idea of redemption, of making it better. Then my sister spoke up:

“Moll, just focus on the road ahead of you. The rearview mirror is fine. Let it go.”

It was around then that I woke up.

I never was able to fix the mirror.

There isn’t really a known reason as to why we dream. Some think it is just our neurons firing away during the night, painting random pictures between our synapses that we often write off as insignificant. To me, though, this particular dream didn’t fall under the insignificant.

This dream seemed to clearly depict the struggle I’ve had with my former self, my demons, and my past. The rearview mirror I was so keen on fixing remained stubbornly imperfect and always will be, just as will the moments that I leave behind.

We all have things we aren’t proud of. Moments we regret cumulate within our mind and take up an unwelcome residence, turning on their lights at what feel like the most inconvenient moments possible. We meet new people and accept new jobs, but the narration of our pasts try and convince us to feel undeserving; if we already had something similar, why weren’t we able to hold on? Well, to put it simply: because such is life.

We aren’t entitled to a reason for what happens to us; sometimes we will get one, but other times, it’ll evade us, simply because a reason doesn’t exist. For a while, though, we’ll mull over past events, overanalyzing every little moment, hoping that some missing variable will suddenly strike us; so that’s why that happened. That’s why she left. That’s why I didn’t land that job. To do so is only natural, but don’t let it last too long.

That mirror that my mind constructed in the night wasn’t properly aligned with where I was moving in that dream, just as my past doesn’t dictate where I travel to now. It does, however, provide a guide of where I ought not to travel, but it also reminds me of where I will always belong. And for that, I am thankful for my missteps. Sometimes, we just need to move forward.

During my junior year of college, I tore the menisci in my right knee for the second time in two years. I had to wear a bulky knee immobilizer, and had to hobble around on crutches around Michigan State University’s campus (which is not tiny, mind you) for the first couple of days.

During those first few days, I was crutching along to get myself lunch when a man around my dad’s age started walking next to me, limping and holding onto a cane. He turned and laughed and said, “I guess it’s cripples on parade today, huh?”

I laughed and then he inquired to what caused my current predicament. I told him and he responded sympathetically, and started alluding to his own situation. I paused and contemplated if I should ask what happened, afraid it could be taken the wrong way. He seemed open to discussion, however, so I decided to ask.

I’m glad I did.

He turned to me and hit his legs with a cane, revealing the hollow sound that a pair of prosthetic legs makes. He then went on to tell me that he had been struck by a car on the side of a nearby freeway while trying to help his daughter, whose car had broken down, and lost his legs in the process.

I was speechless.

At first, I felt guilty for asking; why remind him of what completely altered his life for the worst? Guilt was soon accompanied by a lamentation for the man he probably used to me. How could someone not lose part of who they are, when they lose something so vital as their legs?

I looked at him to show my sympathy, but he did not seem fazed by his condition. Rather, he was grinning and laughing about it, telling me how it was unfortunate because he wished had been able to put that fateful August 3rd in his planner, so at least he could have been a little more prepared.

I studied him closely, searching for a sign of bitterness; there was no way someone could be this nonchalant, absolutely none. My hunt turned up empty, however, as there wasn’t a wrinkle of despair on this main’s face. There were only laugh lines — scars from an optimistic outlook of pain.

I then told him he was very admirable for being so brave. He smiled and said, “Well, of course it was hard at first because we are never more aware of ourselves than when we are in pain; it is the ultimate awareness and so it is human to initially pity ourselves with that awareness. I realized I had two choices: spend my life bitter or accept it. I don’t want to spend my life bitter, so I won’t.” We continued along a bit more together, wished each other luck, and parted ways.

I’ve never been one to believe in fate and I’m not sure I’m fully convinced yet, but something tells me I was meant to meet that man. It feels too profound to be merely a coincidence. Here is a man, who has all the tools for bitterness, but chooses to dismiss them and keep with the means of optimism he was born with. Because, truthfully, even though I only spent five minutes with this stranger, I have a feeling he was this guy even before he lost his legs. He hadn’t allowed his accident to change his demeanor, and neither should anyone else. Even though you’re, as Brene Brown so eloquently put it, “wired for struggle,” you’re also designed to be resilient; you’re a human being and it’s part of the description.

When you do find yourself prevailing and coming back from hardships, make sure to file away those pieces of evidence into the back of your mind, and be sure to share them whenever you can. Remind others of the strength that flows through them, just as the power you exhibited in those moments; we have a tendency to forget what we’re capable of, after all. Never be afraid to share your story.

No matter what your struggle may be, know that you’re the leading commander of your battle. You can’t control where it happens or when, but you can control your reaction. And you’re always more equipped than you think.

I promise.

In this life, there will be myriad versions of ourselves we’re going to meet. These various editions (usually referred to as phases) will sometimes be fleeting and only exist within particular moments. Other times, these stages will be more stubborn. These persistent chapters, as one would guess, are typically the most fundamental. And sometimes, they’ll be the ugly versions of us, too. And you know what? They deserve just as much love as the people we find ourselves as today.

Today, there is so much discussion on the imperativeness of self-love, and yet the importance of loving our past selves doesn’t seem to receive a lot, if any, attention at all. Scroll through sites such as Pinterest and Tumblr, and you’re guaranteed to see various quotes that encourage us to “only compete with our former selves” and “be better than we were yesterday.”

While these calls to self-improving action are meant to inspire, they can also induce shame and regret, especially in regards to the unsightly past sides of us. There are periods when we’re consistently impatient, judgmental, sad, angry, etc. and we can choose to dissociate with these past versions of us through the practicing and touting of our shame, but let’s ask ourselves this simple question: where would you be without him or her?

In my own life, there are parts of me that I would gladly never want inhabit again; the darkest and dustiest nooks of my soul whose corners are rigid; the periods of my life decorated with my self-doubt, self-loathing, and pain. Until recently, I would gladly have cleared them from my mind Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-style; now I wouldn’t trade them in for the world.

These times of self-doubt, self-loathing, and pain have led to the lessons that have become the cornerstones of mediating my life. Without navigating through these particular components of myself, I couldn’t have learned the importance of not taking things personally. I wouldn’t be able feel my progress and my strength. I wouldn’t understand how imperative it is to not take people and things for granted. Sure, I wish I had been known with the innate knowledge of these things, but (as for not taking things for granted) I don’t know if I would appreciate these principles as much as I do now.

I know in a few years, there’s going to be parts of current me that I’m going to initially look on at with disdain and I’m going to struggle to love these parts. I believe one of the hardest acts in this life is the act of loving ourselves in general, but especially those past components of ourselves. And at first, we might not even know how to love our past self. I suggest starting with writing a letter to 18-year-old you; speak of your triumphs and losses of yourself during that time. Seeing your lessons written out will make them seem less daunting and clearer.

In this life, those myriad versions of ourselves are going to test us, provoke us, and make us feel ashamed. They’re going to prod us to feel unworthy. And they’re here to stay. But once we learn to love and understand them, they’re going to inspire us, teach us, and lead us. Because, most importantly, you can’t love your current self without loving your past self, too.

Malala Yousafzai was only 14 years old when a masked man held a gun to her head. Climbing on a school bus in Pakistan, the masked man asked for her by name. Once identified, he then shot her point blank in the head.

Malala lived, and last Friday was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, alongside Indian children’s rights activist Kailash Satyarthi. At 17, Malala is the youngest ever recipient of the award.

Last Friday, I woke up around 8 in the morning and groaned. I had two internships to attend and an endless supply of homework to keep me busy. And I was really fricking pissed about it.

Logging onto Twitter later in the day, I saw several tweets pertaining to Malala’s victory. I was ashamed. I know her story. I admire her greatly. And yet, I have forgotten what she had taught me.

A year ago, I saw Malala’s interview with The Daily Show host Jon Stewart (if you haven’t, check it out here). Moved, I shared the video on my Facebook wall with the following blurb to go with it:

I decided to take 8:30 AM classes Monday through Thursday this semester and have complained incessantly about it. Then I look at this young woman who was not able to attend school at all and was willing to risk her life to obtain it not just for herself, but also for women around the world. From now on, when I mention my exhaustion from my early alarm, I will remember why I am tired in the first place and that is because I am being educated without any adversity. I do not walk to class with fear of gunmen, I do not do my homework fearing that I may not be able to continue it later because my school may be destroyed. It’s time I start appreciating how blessed I am and I hope Malala continues to make the difference she is making. She is an inspiration.

That was posted October 10th, 2013, exactly a year before Malala won the Nobel Peace Prize. Only a goddamn year, and I’m back to the same mindset — a mindset I will actively work towards never cultivating again.

It’s almost effortless to lose sight of our fortunes. It’s simple to succumb to feelings of entitlement. It’s no problem to let vital lessons escape from our minds. And it’s also easy to find reminders. For me, it’s going to be quotes from Malala hung up by my desk.

Now college is hard — really hard. Deadlines are sneaky, the time commitment is endless, the papers get longer and longer, and math classes are a thing. It’s tough and there’s no denying that! But you’re blessed with that 6-page paper and that quadratic equation. You’re empowered by the 4.0 in your English class. You’re not constrained by your homework schedule; you’re liberated by it.

There’s a little girl somewhere out there unable to read because she isn’t allowed. That little girl couldn’t recognize the lettering of her name, nor could she sign it. That little girl can’t write her own story. That little girl could have the cure to cancer within her, she could be the next leader of the world; she could be anything. And she deserves to find out. The world needs her to find out.

Malala was only 11 years old when she started advocating for educational rights. She has written a book of her story, won the Nobel Prize, and has been recognized as symbol of hope. And she’s just getting started. Thank you, Malala, for the bravery you’ve exhibited, the hope you’ve ignited, and the wise words you’ve provided. I can’t wait to see what you do next.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 23 years, it’s that the human heart doesn’t mend in a linear pattern.

When you break a bone, you’re subjected to some X-Rays and then the doctor will determine your course of recovery. Maybe it’s a cast, followed by some physical therapy and rest. If you follow the doctor’s orders, you’ll be sure to find yourself and your bones okay again.

The heart isn’t like that.

You see, the heart is composed of a peculiar kind of muscle memory and it will react and contract to the simplest of stimuli, stimuli you weren’t immediately aware you had association with. The catalyst could be pieces of your broken heart wedged between the letters of a street sign, a sign that marks where you first realized you were falling in love with the person in the passenger’s seat, which now finds itself vacant. It could be something as cliche as a song on the radio, it could be that godforsaken Facebook post from mutual friends where you see them, smiling and happy, even though you’re no longer in that picture or the pictures to come.

And it’s going to hurt like hell.

And when it’s hurting like hell, you’re going to feel a range of emotions that I can’t predict. I don’t know you, but I do know myself and I know that as humans our experiences tend to overlap so let me project here a little bit.

You’re going to feel like you’ve failed. You’re going to feel like this sadness or anger or jealousy you’re experiencing is no longer valid because the other person is no longer in your life. That you’ve lost and they’ve won because you’re still feeling. And just like that, you’re a few steps backward or to the left or to the right. It is not going to be a straight shot to healed. So then you start trying to comfort yourself. That maybe they miss you, too. That it’s scientific fact that life looks better on Instagram. They’re not really that happy. They’re just pretending like the rest of us.

But here’s a difficult possibility to consider: they are actually that happy. They don’t miss you, not even slightly. They have moved on. Most of their pictures don’t have a veil on them. Their life at that moment is indeed that perfect.

Keep with me, though, and consider the upside: that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve happiness, too. Their great life doesn’t mean you don’t get a great life. Their second shot doesn’t mean you don’t get a second shot or a third shot. They’re just at a different point in their journey, that’s seriously it. It’s no great symbol of how much you suck. It’s just a different life.

I don’t know how the heart becomes free and better and light again; sometimes, I don’t think it ever does, not fully. And that’s okay. Maybe it’s just a sign that you put your entire being into something and it didn’t work out. Maybe the exhaustion we have leftover from the effort we expended is the only remaining particle of a boy who didn’t love us back. Of a boy who did love us back, but life happened. Of a friend who couldn’t be there. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be left with the knowledge that my sadness is the result of a faulty heart that gave its all than feel nothing.

Bottom line: Your heart will not mend in a linear pattern. Your heart will take the backroads to recovery, it will stop and it will take other detours. Sometimes it will hurt and feel light again in the same day and sometimes it will take a little longer. Even though our hearts are never exactly full again, they can love again. They can be happy again. And they can be healed.

1. You happily post your dog as your #WCW or #MCM every week:

Sure, it’s not a cute couple picture where you’re giggling into a camera while he kisses your cheek, but you acknowledge that the love your furry friend can give you is all you need right now.

2. You aren’t embarrassed, but actually appreciate that Netflix asks if you’re still watching:

Because, hey, at least someone is checking to see if you’re still alive, right?

3. You embrace the middle of the bed in all its spacious glory:

Because your future Fabio sure isn’t going to make this possible. You sleep diagonally or spread yourself out like a starfish and sometimes even sleep perpendicular to your mattress because you fucking can.

4. You value the relationships you do have (and don’t get hung up on the romantic ones you could have):

When you’re okay with being single AF, you start to realize and appreciate all the love that’s already present in your life, be it from your best friends, your family, or your dog. Love comes in many shapes and sizes, and not just in the form of romance.

5. You’re more open-minded and carefree when you do go on dates:

Typically when you’re wanting a relationship, you view every date as your savior from Singletown. But this typically ends up putting a lot of pressure on the outing and sucks the fun out of it, doesn’t it? When you’re cool with being on your own, you look at a date as a fun outing and acknowledge that it might be a one-time thing; and that’s totally cool with you.

6. When someone ghosts you, you don’t spiral into a pit of despair wondering why:

Does it suck when this happens? Of course it does. It’s disappointing and it hurts. It’s confusing as hell. But when you’re okay with being single and are ghosted, you don’t try to ascribe a bunch of reasons as to why they’re suddenly no longer there. You take some time to yourself, drink some wine, and then eventually say “screw them” and move on.

7. Romantic songs don’t make you sad anymore:

Before Michael Buble made you aggressive because he had something you didn’t, and now you’re just like “whatever.”

8. You deleted Tinder:

Because, no, you don’t want another unsolicited dick pick or a text at 1am that says: “heyyeyyyyy wanna com over? I have snaks ;)”

No, sir. No, I do not.

In my last semester of undergrad at Michigan State, I decided to take an advanced grammar class with my favorite professor, Kate. I was majoring in professional writing with a concentration in editing and publishing, so I figured the course would be invaluable to my credibility as a future writer and editor.

The first six weeks of class were what was referred to as “grammar bootcamp.” During these six weeks, we studied the syntax, semantics, structure, and the roots of the English language. The remainder of the course would be made up of different modules, if you will, on various subjects pertinent to the study of grammar. One of these was the concept of literacy privilege.

The idea of privilege itself is not unfamiliar to me. I know as a white, straight woman of an upper-middle class family that I have advantages unavailable to other people. If any of these traits hadn’t been mine, I know I would probably not be in the same position I currently find myself in; in fact, I’m positive I wouldn’t be. However, I never knew that by being able to read and write, I had another realm of privilege. To be honest, I’d never even thought about it. It was always just a thing I know I’d learn to do.

I learned to read and write in Mrs. Collins’ first grade classroom. I had a library within walking distance of my house in a supremely safe suburb of Southeastern Michigan, where I was able to check out books and practice my reading. I was lucky. I am lucky.

I am privileged.

My parents, both avid readers themselves, always made sure a book was in arm’s reach and always stressed the importance of reading. With frequent trips to Borders (RIP) and by making me do book reports in the summer, I learned that reading was something to enjoy, something to do.

Literacy privilege goes beyond being able to read Harry Potter, though. It extends to being able to navigate your way through a city. It relates to your ability to obtain a driver’s license. To get access to health care. To help your child with his or her homework (see “Literacy Privilege Checklist” for more examples).

While it’s undeniable by looking at these factors that being able to read and write is something associated with privilege, many still don’t view literacy in this way. It’s often associated with intelligence, of being better than another human being. It’s something you’ve worked for. They’re just lazy, right? If they really wanted to learn to read and write efficiently (or at all), then they would find a way.

This is elitist, ignorant, and precisely the problem.

We need to start a conversation about the illiteracy rates in the United States. We need to talk about making education more attainable to all. We need to discuss and be cognizant of the reasons why someone is having difficulty in becoming literate, be it because of a learning disability, an unstable home situation, or a number of other barriers. And most importantly we need to be kind and recognize the fact that our literacy is a byproduct of privilege, not because we’re better.

1. Having no idea how to talk to coworkers about their kids

Chances are that some of your co workers have reproduced, and these offspring will probably come up in conversation. As someone who was basically a kid themselves three months ago, you’re not exactly sure how to talk them about their little humans; that doesn’t mean you don’t try, though:

“Oh, you have a kid? They’re 6? Can it talk yet? Is it potty trained?” 

You’re literally clueless.

2. IKEA furniture

If you’ve moved into your own place after getting your first job, studies show that 88% of your furniture will be from IKEA. The remaining 12% will be what you’ve copped from relatives.

IKEA is great, as it’s majestically cheap, but it’s also fucking awful because the directions may as well have been written in Sanskrit. Assembling the furniture makes you question whether or not you deserve your college degree because putting together a $13 nightstand took 11 hours and destroyed you emotionally.

3. Learning how to casually drink

Gone are the weekends of beer bongs and the two hour pregame before you head to the bar to dance the night away with your best friends. This is adulthood, baby, and adulthood is all about occasionally going to happy hour with your co workers to slowly sip on a single, overpriced “craft” cocktail with a unique blend of bitters (?) and vodka that isn’t under $7 a fifth.

4. The First Job 15

Never heard of the First Job 15? It’s similar to the Freshman 15, but it happens after you start your first job and spend your days sitting on your ass for 8 hours at a time and eating all the free bagels your well meaning, sabotaging co workers bring in because you’re still used to being in college and eating food just because it was free and not for nutritional value.

5. Coping with the constant fear that you’re going to get fired

Literally everything you do you think is going to get you fired. Did you say no thank you to those godforsaken bagels your co worker brought in because you’re 3,764 pounds heavier because of the first 10? FIRED. Didn’t smile big enough to your boss on Monday? PACK YOUR SHIT. Said you’re proficient in Excel on your resume, but by proficient you mean you know how to make a three column table? BYE FELICIA.

6. Accepting the fact that you’re going to make a shit ton of mistakes in your newly found adulthood, and that’s perfectly OK

You’re going to mess up; you’re going to mess up a lot. You may feel like you don’t know what you’re doing. You may start to feel like you’ll never feel like you know what you’re doing. And maybe you won’t. And that’s okay because what you may start to learn is that nobody really knows what they’re doing, but what separates one clueless person from another is the drive to keep trying to figure it out, even if it means being wrong. Even if no results are guaranteed. So keeping screwing up. Keep learning. 

You’ll be okay. After all, you already are.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

It’s a chilly Wednesday night in mid-December and I’m getting my hair cut by a beautiful, petite woman with perfectly brown hair and a newly placed ring on her left hand.

“No, no.” I replied.

“How old are you?”

“23, about to turn 24.”

There’s a brief silence, the kind of quick quietness that follows after someone has said something sad and you’re scrambling for the right words of solace.

“Oh, don’t worry. You have time! I met my fiance…” says my hairdresser, going off on an inspirational speech about how the right guy will come along and that I’m still young.

I smile politely, nod, and pretend to listen, but in my head all I’m thinking is “I honestly don’t give a shit.”

You see, I’ve been single pretty much my entire life. This isn’t exactly a new thing for me. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. In college, every guy I’ve been involved with on some level has always just dipped out without warning or reason. And now as a somewhat functioning adult, it’s been pretty much the same deal. No guys. Just me, myself, and I.

Part of this chronic singleness I find myself infected with could really just be my fault, potentially remedied by simply letting the dude pursue me for once. Allow him be the one to text first and make him sweat a little by taking my sweet time with a reply.

The thing is, I’m really bad at the whole hard-to-get, mysterious girl thing.

I’m told it’s supposed to help the guy like you or something, but I have no concept of a poker face and you’ll pretty much always know how I’m feeling either because of my expression or I’ll just flat out tell you. There’s really no such thing as an unshared emotion with me.

Whatever the reason is, be it my total lack of enigmatic allure or that maybe there just aren’t any good matches for me right now, I just don’t have a boyfriend, nor do I have any almost boyfriends. I have no one-day-could-possibly-be-my-boyfriend boyfriends. I’m not doing the whole “we’re talking, but not really sure what’s going on at all” thing with anyone.

Sometimes, I start to wonder that maybe I should try a little harder to be dateable and be more inclined to find a boyfriend. After all, there’s nothing wrong with companionship and intimacy and all that. But I’ve also realized this: I have way bigger things to become than someone’s girlfriend.

I want to be a writer. A real writer, one that not only gets paid for my words, but also brings light to things that people may not have seen before. I want to share my story and hope that someday it might help someone else tell their own, or at least feel more comfortable in their own skin.

I want to be someone who helps those who need it the most. I want to work hard enough to support myself, but also have enough to contribute to the causes I care deeply about. I want to volunteer at animal shelters and be someone who takes the homeless out to breakfast and really listens to what it is they have to say.

I want to be the best friend I can be to the people I’m fortunate enough that put up with me on a daily basis. I want to help them through their toughest moments and also be there to celebrate their victories, both big and small.

I want to be someone my family is proud of as their daughter, granddaughter, sister, cousin, or niece. I didn’t pick my family, but I got damn lucky with the people I was given and I want to be someone who recognizes this every single day.

I only get one lifetime to become all of these things I want to be, and becoming someone’s girlfriend isn’t going to give me the motivation, talent, or time to do so. All I have is me and I really hope me is enough.

I think I will be.

1. The ability to laugh at yourself

2. The strength in forgiving those who have hurt you (even if they’re not sorry)

3. The strength in forgiving yourself, too

4. The kindness you give to others, even when you’re having a bad day and aren’t feeling so nice on the inside

5. Treating someone who can do nothing for you with respect

6.The way you can get so worked up over something because of your passion for it

7. Sincerely wishing the best for someone who has hurt you

8. The power to step back and observe

9. Constantly trying to learn as much as you can about the world outside your own

10. Being so deeply immersed in something that you lose track of time

11. Crying when you’re moved deeply by something

12. Patience for shitty drivers

13. The way you can stand up again after being knocked down (even if it took you a few tries)

14. Being loyal to a friend, even when it’s hard

15. Always looking for the best in others, despite them giving you reason to do otherwise

16. Excitement you show when learning something new

17. Getting out of bed on Monday morning

18. Sincerity

19. Being aware of your flaws, but without letting them define you

20. When you’re not good at something, but still keep trying to get better anyway

21. Listening closely

22. Snorting when you laugh

23. Being generous with your heart

24. Being brave with your words

25. Saying good morning (and actually meaning it)

26. Appreciation for your parents

27. Being fiercely honest with yourself

28. Sticking up for the little guy

29. Consideration

30. Compassion for all living things

31. Truly caring about what someone else has to say

32. Giving someone a second chance

33. The instinct to smile at strangers

34. Being happy

35. Being sad

36. Being wonderfully, exquisitely, absolutely human

I’ve always been told that guys like a good challenge, the girl who gives them a bit of a chase. I’m advised that if I want something with a guy to work out, all I have to do is stay away.

The girl I imagine may or may not respond to your texts, and there is only a slight possibility she will hangout with you on Saturday night.

She’s not doing it to play games, though, not always. The girl I’m thinking of just knows better.Eventually you’ll catch up to her, though. You’ll go to dinner or coffee, and you’ll start to hear her story. You’ll learn why she chose to major in political science, and why she ended up veering away from psychology. How she got that tiny scar on her pinky finger just above the knuckle. She’ll talk about being the youngest of four and the only girl. Her favorite book is Twilight and, no, she’s not at all embarrassed to admit that.

But the best part of it all is that she wants to know your story, too. She wants to know how you got your scars. She asks where you fall in your family tree and how this affected you. She’s curious about your aspirations and the dreams you gave up on long ago. And the weird part is you’re not afraid to tell her.

That outing then turns into several more, and eventually you’ll be dating. You’ll meet those three older brothers, each exactly as she described them. She’ll meet your mom and they’ll bond over shitty teen literature. You’ll shake her dad’s hand and say it’s nice to finally meet him.

And then one day it’s three years later and you’re watching Netflix with her on a Saturday night. It’s then you realize how comfortable all this is. How right she feels nuzzled up on your arm and how, finally, you think you might be okay to settle down, as long as it’s with her.

You see, I am not the girl you will chase. I am the driveby. I am a text sent at 2am when you’re stumbling home and feeling lonely. I’m the headache that comes in with the early morning hangover that can’t seem to get the hint that you have shit to do and this isn’t how you can spend your day. I’m the one you’ll send home alone, and you won’t ask me to text you when I get there to make sure I’m alright; though I wasn’t alright when I got there, so what does it matter really?

I’m not the girl you will lose sleep over, nor am I the one you’ll tell your friends about. I’m convenient. Quick and easy. I respond to texts fast and never leave you hanging. I’m just the girl you’ll just eventually forget, but the one who will remember you vividly. The one who learned from you and others that she wasn’t worth much of anything.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

Just like clockwork, as soon as the light switches off, my mind goes into overdrive: Unfinished tasks for work. That stupid thing I wish I hadn’t said to my mom. All the writing that there has to be done and no ideas to fill the page.

Now, I know that it isn’t uncommon for someone to overthink before they drift into sleep. We all have our worries, our fears. Being a person isn’t easy, and that’s a fact ingrained in our humanness. But even knowing this unity of the human condition doesn’t make 2 am feel any less lonely, or make the night sky look less endless.

So instead, I turn to thoughts of you.

Maybe it’s just habit, a muscle memory I never fully unconditioned. Maybe it’s the stubbornness of love, maybe it’s just plain pathetic. I’m not completely sure. All I know is that even after all this time, I still seem to land on you last and remember all the times that have passed and all about what could have been.

I’ll drift back to times where people thought we were dating, and this made me a little happy, but mostly sad because I knew it would never happen. The time we stood in my hallway to say goodbye, only a few feet away from one another, but with our hearts millions of miles apart. Mine had open arms. Yours was walking out the door.

I’ll think of your kind eyes, your calloused hands. Our fights. Our last kiss, the one you don’t remember. I’ll fall asleep to these memories of you, moments that are far buried in the past, and I always wake up feeling more tired than before.

I tripped over another boy’s smile not too long ago. It was warm and it was kind, immediately throwing me off balance and into a longing that could not and would not be returned. It was a familiar scene, a rerun I was bored of watching. An exchange I was sick of having.

Bandaids came in the form of wine and friends, comforting words that I would find another boy whose grin would knock me and my heart over again. I knew they were right.

I would find another. I always do. But they never stay.

One bruise simply just leads to another. One heartbreak expedites the next.

Some suggest that maybe I’m just going for the wrong men, that maybe if I gave the ones who truly cared for me a chance, I would find something to work out. They could be right, but then again they act like we have a choice in who we fall for. That our hearts are rational, steady entities that beat correctly when we command them to. And this just isn’t the case, especially when you have a clumsy heart like mine.

Because when you’re the girl with the clumsy heart, you fall more quickly and more easily.

You always overestimate another person’s commitment or interest, and take a flying leap hoping to land in their arms. But your judgment is always off, and you and your clumsy heart land around thirty feet off, in the thorns of rejection.

And while you’re laying there, you start to wonder why you bother. Why would anyone keep exposing themselves to this kind of heartache and pain? And for a while you may lose hope, but with this hurt comes strength, and with that you give yourself the bravery to stand up and fall again.

And one day you’ll run into another clumsy heart, and the two of you will stumble into a love so wonderfully uncoordinated and sincere that all the other scars will have been worth it. All that hurt, all those missteps led you to him.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for that kind of collision.

So, I’m picking myself back up and getting ready for that beautiful fall. And from one clumsy heart to another, I hope that you feel this way again soon, too.

I know we can’t be forever, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take a little while. We can get lost in cars, on highways in distant states far from where we know to be home. We won’t be scared, though. My hand will be in yours and your hand will be in mine. Being lost is always a little more fun when you have someone along for the ride.

And in our little while, I won’t need fancy dates. But I will need lots of laughter.

I’m talking the side splitting stuff, the kind that leaves you and me on the floor in your room with no one else in on the joke but you and me.

We can get day drunk on beer and sun, the kind of buzz that lasts well into the night as we dance our way to a local dive bar. We’ll stay up late, getting diner food and watching all the other night owl patrons. We’ll have a favorite table, too. It’ll be the one we’ll dash to every Saturday night. A window seat right in the back corner where we can see everything going on, but be seen by no one, just the way we like it.

You’ll recommend movies and I’ll give you books. We’ll learn about each other in the dialogue of the film, through the bounded words of the pages. We’ll discover what makes one another cry, what makes one another mad. I’ll make fun of your morning bedhead. You’ll tease me about my stumbled speech when I’m falling in love.

Because falling in love is the aim of the game, isn’t it? If it doesn’t end in wedding rings, we’re advised not to bother.

We’re constantly told that certain people aren’t worth our time, worth our heartache if together doesn’t end in forever. But I’m starting to disagree.

Because not all love is made for longevity, and that’s perfectly okay. Some of our lovers are merely encounters, fleeting shots at forever that we’ll never make. But we’ll learn and grow together just the same, and while sometimes it ends in heartbreak, I hope ours won’t end bitterly. I’m crossing my fingers that ours will end with the sweet realization that forever was never meant for us, but we were still perfectly happy during our little while.

Shirtless Mirror Selfie

This fellow thinks the way to your heart is through his washboard abs, but little does he know all you really want is a pizza. He doesn’t really understand women and his drink of choice is a whey protein shake. Boring, just boring.

Shirtless Mirror Selfie In Black And White

He’s a tool, but a sensitive tool. He takes himself too seriously and doesn’t share his french fries. Lives by the Wayne Gretzky’s quote about missing the shots you never take and typically messages first. Will be gentlemanly at for awhile, but will most likely later allude to his talented hands.

Featuring A Baby That DON’T WORRY ISN’T HIS!!!!!!!

Ugh. This dude. This is the guy who is trying to manipulate your ovaries by using a baby he didn’t help create to appear paternal and sensitive. Most likely a sociopath. Thinks Ross and Rachel were on a break. Stay away.

Group Pic Of Him And #Daboys

His friends are important to him, which is a great sign. However, if he has no other pics of just him, he’s probably hoping you think he’s the hot friend. Be wary, but also maybe give him a chance because he might have a good personality.

Guy Who Goes On Fucking Fantastic Adventures

Two words: commitment issues. If half of his pictures are him backpacking across Europe, he’s only looking for something casual. He’s fun and relaxed, but takes 18 hours to respond to a text message, so planning to meet up with this man may prove difficult.

Brooding Black And White Selfie

He has so many *~emotions~* and thinks he’s prettier than you. He was probably a philosophy major in college and is a walking Pinterest quote board that knows way more about what you should be doing with your life than you do. Cries after sex. Likes cats. Do yourself a favor and swipe left.

Pic Surrounded By Beautiful Women

He probably got rejected by the first girl he asked to prom, and now wants to show the world that he’s desirable. There’s a chance he’s talking to 30 girls at once and will most likely say something inappropriate to you after the initial “what’s up?”, which you probably won’t respond to.

Guy With His Dog

This is a fun loving dude. He’s loyal and takes you to dinner and not to his apartment on the first date. 374637467364 extra points if the dog is a Golden Retriever. Swipe right, girl. SWIPE RIGHT.

Guy With Dog That Isn’t His

He lies about his penis size. That is all.

One of the times I feel most alone is when I step outside during a Michigan night in February, when all you hear is the crunching of snow beneath your feet. There are no birds chirping, no crickets, nothing that gives you the sense anyone or anything besides you is awake and alive. Loving you kind of felt like that.

And if loving you was a cold winter night, then it was also an early sunny morning in July, with all the hope and promise the beginning of the day brings. We could run around outside, be by a lake. But that day ended with a tornado, crushing all my plans and hopes in its path.

Loving you was a fucking whirlwind.

But in the moments between the chaos of loving you, was laughter. Wonder. Your abrupt laugh made me feel like I earned it. It was in these instances, these shallow shards of hope, that made me feel maybe this could work out.

That maybe loving you made sense.

And this is why I hung on. Oh, did I hang on to every little kind word and smile that made me believe that you weren’t going anywhere. That you would change your mind. That you would realize it was me.

Despite all of the hope these little moments brought, loving you was quiet. It was the text that never came. It was the open seat in the movie theater where I felt like reaching out for the hand that wasn’t there. It was looking right into your eyes and finally seeing you did not, and would not, look at me the same.

Because it was my faulty eyes that saw more than there was. It was my clumsy heart that beat on so strong and so hard that I thought it would burst through my chest and demand that you fix it. But you couldn’t mend it.

After all, you didn’t trick me into love. You warned me.

You told me it was bad timing, that you weren’t ready. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell when hopeful becomes foolish, but I think I know now. I think it looks a lot like me chasing after you.

And as loving you fades into the past, I remember all these things that it was. It was wonderful. It was terrible. Young. Temporary. But mostly, it was lonely. Loving you was the loneliest thing I ever did.

1. You maybe did not conquer the world today, but you did get out of bed and sometimes that is more than enough.

2. You are not for everyone, and that is perfectly okay.

3. Likewise, not everyone is for you.

4. Love is not one thing, nor does it come from a single place.

5. Time does not heal wounds, the steps we take to mend them do.

6. It is okay to ask for help.

7. Being alone does not mean you are unwanted, it is simply a state of being.

8. Life is messy, unfair and unpredictable, but it is all we have.

9. Not everything happens for a reason, but you can learn something from all that has happened to you.

10. You are loved.

11. Even when you are feeling like the ugliest and meanest version of yourself, you still need to try and be kind; it is the only remedy.

12. When in doubt, take a walk.

13. You are beautiful to someone.

14. It takes strength to say goodbye to what is no longer good for you, even if you do so with shaking knees.

15. Just because someone else gave up on you doesn’t mean that you have to give up on you.

16. A supportive friend is a rarity, so treat them well.

17. A broken heart is merely a redirection.

18. Some people become our homes, some people are lessons and some are just jackasses; the art is figuring out who is who.

19. Hard work may not pay off for a long time, but it is always worth it.

20. You are the people you surround yourself with, so be wise in your choices.

21. No one truly knows what they are doing.

22. It does not matter if you are 18 or 36, you can call your parents if you need them.

23. If you need to be lifted up, smile at a stranger.

24. A heavy heart has a lot to give, so do not be afraid to share it.

25. You are not your past.

26. Be kind and patient with yourself because you’re doing the best you can.

You deleted their number from your phone. You removed them on Facebook and unfollowed their Instagram and Twitter accounts. You took down the pictures from your bookshelf, you removed your text message history. You’ve even gathered all of your might to not contact them and haven’t spoken to them in weeks, in months, or even years.

Despite your best efforts in digitally and symbolically eradicating their existence from your life,

this person still seems to occupy a corner of your heart, a little dusty nook you just can’t seem to reach.

Your memories of them, both the good and the bad, sit there, haunting and taunting you into a nostalgic, toxic madness that decides to turn its head at the most inopportune moments.

And it’s not like you like feeling this way. You truly do want to let them go. You’ve screamed and shouted into that abyss of your heart asking them to leave, but these memories and feelings are so stubborn it’s almost cruel.

So you start to feel helpless, and begin to believe that you will never be able to get them out of your mind and your heart. That you’ll feel this way forever. That you must be insane to not be able to break free from someone who, in the end, was not good for you.

But please understand that you are not crazy. You are not weak. You are a human who is recovering from heartbreak, and this is often a painful, long process that makes you experience a whole lot of uncomfortable, terrible feelings that are all necessary to feel in order to move on. After all, pain lets you know what’s wrong.

Pain lets you know where it is that needs healing.

And so you start to acknowledge the aching gaps in your heart left behind by this person. Maybe they provided you with validation and support. Perhaps this person made you realize the strength you always had. Whatever it is, realize that you can cultivate this on your own. No person can make you whole. No person can make you okay. This is all up to you.

And with that, you start to harvest your own strength and begin to let them go. Please understand that you don’t find the courage to let them go in bursting moments of self sufficiency, but in quiet moments, the seemingly insignificant portions of your day when your mind would wander to them as an escape from life’s mundanities. Late at night when your defenses are lower. Running errands that used to be a little more fun when they were there for the ride.

And it’s in these particular instances you must summon all the courage and strength within you to allow yourself to remember them, but to realize that it’s only a memory. It’s only a feeling. It’s only a fleeting moment that will soon dash away as quickly as it came.

Eventually, these passing thoughts will become less painful, less frequent. You’ll build new memories.

You’ll find your own strength.

You’ll meet someone new. And then one day you will pass their little section in the hallways of your heart, and have no interest in peering in.

You won’t say hello. You won’t look back. It’ll be like passing a stranger. You may notice them slightly, but ultimately they have no business in your life and you no business in theirs. It will be bittersweet and a little sad, but mostly it will be empowering. After all, you found the courage to let them go, the bravery to walk away. So keep on moving. You’re free.

Dating is a game and we’ve all played it. We learned the rules young, about the lines of scrimmage and the boundaries in which we could play the field: wait x amount of time after he responds to text back if he took y amount of time to reply to your text; if you asked him to hangout first last time, the ball is in his court now and he has to ask you; never text someone the day after you hookup, otherwise you look like a crazy bitch because it was just sex and nothing serious.

The parameters are quite simple, really. They’re clearcut and easy to follow. So if you break the rules, you should be disqualified. It’s only fair.

And if this is the case, consider me benched, because I break all of them.

You ignored my last text? I’ll text you again a few days later in hopes that maybe you just forgot to return it. We went on a date that went well and the very next day you’re talking about how many girls you have after you? I’m in tears like a jealous psycho. After all, it wasn’t a date. We were just hanging out and I must be insane to think it could have been something more, even though you kissed me and held my hand.

So yeah, I’m crazy. That much is clear. But before you put me away, let me ask you this:

Why is showing that you care and how you feel such a bad thing?

Why is it so wrong to let you know that I’m interested in you from the get go. Why is it so insane to ask you to hang out twice in a row if I want to see you? WHY can’t I pay for dinner without completely emasculating you? And why, for the love of God, can I respect you after we hookup, but to you I’m just a desperate slut that you never want to see again?

Maybe to a sane person, the answers to my inquiries are blatantly obvious, that if I want to date a dude, I need to suck it up and play the game. I need to let him chase me, make him wonder what I’m doing during the 18.5 hours it takes me to respond in between texts because I’m so ~mysterious~ and busy that I can’t take a second to say “nothing much, you?” Now that sounds really fucking normal and like a cool way to treat another human being.

Because really the game is all about power, and the power is with whoever cares less.

The worse we treat each other, the better we score. Simple as. But frankly, I’m sick of trying to learn the rules to a game I never signed up to play. I’m tired of running this marathon I never trained for. I’m exhausted of trying to hide my emotions and be so #chill you freeze. To be honest, I think I’m a compassionate, kind, caring, and emotional woman with a lot to offer. And if expressing these very things that make me who I am scare you off, then so be it. I may be crazy, but you’re just an asshole.