When I was twelve, I read the book The Giver by Lois Lowry. A sort of Brave New World for the tween set, it’s about a confined society in which everything is Just So all the time. A society that’s been converted to “Sameness” – a plan...
“I can’t do that kind of yoga. It’s too slow.” She stared at me with an ice sheet over her eyes, a look that darted back and forth and when it hit me it seared right through and past me. If you do yoga every day, or every week, how is this kind...
It’s only the beginning of the month, and we’ve got a first-class case of the Januarys: that extra-special cocktail of optimism, hope, frustration, and grit with a sprinkle of self-loathing and dash of cynicism on the side. It’s what ramps up gym...
It was almost a decade ago but I hear the words like minutes have passed. Sobbing on a friend’s couch, head buried into his sweatshirt-covered shoulder, after he called me up and told me I needed to take a second look at my life. I cried at the realization, I cried at...
When I was twelve, I had a secret dream: I wanted to model. Maybe it was my blossoming baby-feminism that made the desire to model seemed like a goal I shouldn’t share with others; the idea that as women, we’re worth more than just the way we look. But...
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