Make the decision

By consciously deciding 
how you will live the rest of your life, 
you can create a life 
that is extraordinary.

- Robin Harris
photo: walkway in Somerville, MA taken via my Instagram


Work Hard & Passion Will Follow

"Growing up, we were told by guidance counselors, career advice books, the news media and others to “follow our passion.” This advice assumes that we all have a pre-existing passion waiting to be discovered. If we have the courage to discover this calling and to match it to our livelihood, the thinking goes, we’ll end up happy. If we lack this courage, we’ll end up bored and unfulfilled — or, worse, in law school.
To a small group of people, this advice makes sense, because they have a clear passion. Maybe they’ve always wanted to be doctors, writers, musicians and so on, and can’t imagine being anything else.
But this philosophy puts a lot of pressure on the rest of us — and demands long deliberation. If we’re not careful, it tells us, we may end up missing our true calling. And even after we make a choice, we’re still not free from its effects. Every time our work becomes hard, we are pushed toward an existential crisis, centered on what for many is an obnoxiously unanswerable question: “Is this what I’m really meant to be doing?” This constant doubt generates anxiety and chronic job-hopping....The alternative career philosophy that drove me is based on this simple premise: The traits that lead people to love their work are general and have little to do with a job’s specifics. These traits include a sense of autonomy and the feeling that you’re good at what you do and are having an impact on the world.”
- Interesting article from the NY Times -


real love

‎”We are all a little weird

and, life’s a little weird, 

and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, 

we join up with them 

and fall in mutual weirdness 

and call it love.”

- Dr. Suess


More pretty surroundings, spending the rest of the afternoon working from my corner @sarrastudios

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look

Kim Addonizio

Pretty surroundings


i adore this chic sweatshirt.


In pretty pink. (Taken with Instagram)


Word. (Taken with Instagram)


eager for some solid caffeine

I never thought I’d say this, but I can taste the difference in coffee. And I want good coffee from now on. 

When my parents would comment on coffee when I was younger, “oh my, this is so strong,” “ugh, so weak,” “what is this crap,” I wouldn’t get it, I didn’t understand how they could tell a difference from one cup of joe to another.  Wasn’t coffee, coffee? 

But then again, I was just sipping my Dunkachino….

It’s similar to when my Mom would be disappointed that a particular fruit or vegetable was out of season: “the produce just isn’t’ fresh anymore” she’d lament. I would wonder if the taste difference was really that noticeable. 

But once you live on your own, once you purchase and prepare your own produce, you notice.  Tomatoes don’t taste like delicious juicy tomatoes in the winter, they are pale and watery.  Strawberries are white in the center, not ripe, beautiful red.

And my plain jane, cheap grocery store brand coffee, brewed in my simple Mr. Coffee machine, tastes like crap. I follow the directions precisely, but the coffee is either burnt or watery.  I can taste the flavor differences from coffee shop to coffee shop. Some taste  watered down to me, others are too sweet. 

Maybe I just like strong coffee. Starbucks does it for me. It’s smooth and rich and dependable. But I can’t afford to go to Starbucks every day, so I need to recreate this in my own living space. And while I’ll give their bagged ground beans a shot with my simple coffee maker, I have a feeling I may need a nicer appliance.

And while investing in an espresso machine of sorts makes my wallet wince, I like that my taste buds are maturing. I’m growing up and my flavors are catching up with me.  

So here I am, being an adult, living on my own, and demanding good coffee and fresh fruit.

Pumpkin treats mandate a sweet glaze (Taken with Instagram)


can we please?!


being a “good american?"

tonight is the vice presidential debates.

i should be a good american and watch them.

i am not.

i watched the first round of presidential candidates debate last week, and was unimpressed. the name-calling, the trash talk started early it seemed with this election, and i’ve personally come to the conclusion that it is all a pile of lies, and everyone twists and turns the “facts” however they choose.

i like to think that there are some, or at least one, candidate who is honest. who i can trust. believe in. and maybe there is.

but until i really know, i’m going to make my vote based on various factors that are important to me, and the candidates specific stances on them.

but tonight i am not going to watch the vice presidents debate. people will tear it apart and i won’t even know who said what, who meant what.

instead i sit here,glass of wine in hand, and watch the PBS documentary i DRV’d earlier this week “half the sky” about oppressed women around the world and those that are actually doing work to help.

i sit here inspired, remembering my favorite column to ever run in glamour magazine: the interviews that Mariane Pearl, wife of slain journalist Daniel Pearl, conducted, profiling women who suffered and rose above. to this day, i remember those columns.

with those reminders and this documentary, i sit here, feeling inspired, motivated, eager to help in some way.

i think this is a better use of my time than that debate.


Candy corn is an addiction that I fully embrace. (Taken with Instagram)


six months

What a difference six months can make…

Six months ago in April my parents came to visit for Easter. 

It was wonderful to see them and spend time together, but I was on edge

the whole weekend.

As I sat down to dinner on the night they got into town, 

my Mom commented on how upset and tired I looked, 

having arrived late, running from the office, 

eager to escape.

Sunday brunch, I collapsed into tears at the table, 

unable to hold in the stress and tension any more, 

releasing everything to my family.

I couldn’t take my 24/7 assistant job anymore.

It was taking a physical, mental and emotional toll.

While I loved the industry I was in, 

the position was no longer one I wanted to be a part of, 

the environment one that I no longer believe in.

I tried “just letting things go,”

I tried “getting a thicker skin,”

but unless you’ve been in my shoes, it’s hard to understand, 

and when overall health and happiness are gone, 

no job is worth it anymore.

And as I sat there, tears streaming down my face, 

I let some of the stress go.

Decision was made, 

I was going to look for a new job, 

and my parents supported me with their love.

I don’t know if it was the tears, the hugs, 

the amazing chocolate croissants and coffee, 

or a little of it all, 

but I left brunch with a little weight off my shoulders that spring day.

And now, six months later, 

I am in a completely different place, a very different person.

Much more myself.

I found that new job, and I left the old one, 

never looking back, taking some lessons learned

and running with them.

I was actually able to enjoy my summer this year, 

full of weddings and beach trips

and weekends with people I love.

I moved out of the city, 

and in with the boy.

I’m rediscovering myself, my interests, 

finally having that little bit of extra time in the day

that allows one to read a great book, 

devour my pile of magazines, 

bake some apple bread with newly picked Macintoshes.

And write. It’s been shaky, 

trying to refine my new schedule, with all the changes in the recent months:

new job, new apartment, new roommate, new car, new time.

But I’m eager and excited to write more consistently, 

post more inspiration, 

and reintroduce myself to the world of words.

It really is amazing what a difference six months can make.

It’s actually pretty awesome.


And when you’re needing your space
to do some navigating
I’ll be here patiently waiting
to see what you find

‘Cause even the stars they burn
some even fall to the earth
we’ve got a lot to learn
God knows we’re worth it
no: I won’t give up


i found my season

“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay…That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.”

- Ray Bradbury

quote discovered via Meg, the Wily Brunette

It’s only been a couple days into the month of October, and today was depressing: cloudy, drizzly, damp…legging, sweater and scarf weather.

And yet, my love for October doesn’t waiver.

I love fall. The change from summer to fall is refreshing, revitalizing. I’ve been out of school for many years and yet autumn makes me want to reorganize, gather up some new notebooks and start fresh again.

I love pulling out my cardigans, ballet flats and scarfs.

I love all the cliches, the pumpkin lattes, the apple picking, the candy corn.

I love the new smells, the feeling of crispness that surrounds you.

It’s a month to let go of so many summertime superficials, the lack of seriousness…those days have passed for a little while. It’s time to gather around a stronger meal, with friends and family. It’s time to come home and sit on the couch under a fantastic blanket and let yourself watch a great movie or read a book, with no the-sun-is-still-out guilt.

Lots of people love summer. I do too, but it’s not my season soulmate.

Give me some cider and cheers to fall.

I’m one of the autumn people.

Some late night homemade apple crisp (Taken with Instagram)