I've published a new piece on this blog every single week for the past 85 weeks. EIGHTY-FIVE! Google and I figured that out together. Isn't it wild? There was spotty and unpredictable writing that preceded this 85-week run, but never before has my writing seen so much consistency. 85 weeks. Hold on, I'm going to remove my hands from the keyboard to applaud myself for a second. This is a big win for me. I've never worried about running out of things to write about. As long as I keep living my . . .
Friends, I'm so excited to introduce you to Leanna today. She is a force—one of strength and kindness and creativity. I admire her authenticity and perspective; I've tried to explain to Leanna how I see her but I feel at a loss for words. She's got that something, you know what I mean? Her authenticity, perspective, force, and that something are why I'm so glad she has begun this work as a photographer. I believe she is doing with her camera what I try to do with my words: Tell stories that are . . .
We are breaking from our regularly scheduled blog programming because TODAY is Darren’s birthday! My Darren—my husband, my teammate, my closest friend. I often tell him that he’s my “best part’a life”—and I really, really mean it. I can’t believe I get to be partnered up with him on this wild journey. Leading up to our wedding in August of 2015, I wrestled with my vows to Darren. I could write them, of course, but speaking them to him, with nearly 200 friends and family bearing witness, . . .
I love making lists. The more detailed the list, the better. (Read: The more chances I have to cross things off said list!) Although I have a deep affinity for creating lists, I do not have a Bucket List—that is, a list of things I want to do before I die. If you have one, I think you’re forward thinking and organized, and I’m a little bit jealous. As of right now, the only item I’d know to add to my informal and undocumented Bucket List is this: 1. Make a Bucket List So I have some . . .
In 6th grade, I tried out for the dance squad at my junior high school. The coaches taught us a choreographed routine, and then we had to perform it in front of a panel of judges the following day. In the horrifying case that we forgot a part of the dance, we were instructed to smile and bounce in place until we could jump in on the next part of the routine. I literally smiled and bounced my way through the entire two and a half minute routine. The whole dance moved so quickly, that once I . . .
My husband and I recently went to a NFL playoff game. I was a fair-weather Seattle Seahawks fan when I met Darren, but marrying him made me an all-weather fan—the kind of fan who drives 7-hours one-way to attend a playoff game in support of the visiting team. We were full of excitement at the opportunity to see “our” team and visit a new city, but I hadn’t thought much about what it would be like to stand as the “outsider” in the Atlanta Falcon’s Georgia Dome. We were not just outnumbered; we . . .