Run. Gallivant. Savor.

After a brief (okay, a month-ish hiatus), I have returned to the Blogosphere for your viewing pleasure. A lot has happened in the last month or so. I hope you have your...reading...pants on (man, I envisioned that sentence being much cleverer. I got nothin'). My life of late can essentially be broken down into three main themes: Run. Gallivant. Savor.

Run. 

A week ago today, I had the glorious opportunity to visit the City of Champions and reunite with some very dear friends for a nice long run in the sun. The logistics and planning that went into this adventure required the inner Supply Chain monkey in me to come out and play. The weekend did everything in its power to insert stress into the mix, but was inevitably unsuccessful and at the mercy of the monkey. In fact, the weekend really could not have been more of a success. As a good buddy of mine loves to say, "Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?" Why yes, yes I do. 

This is what happens when you don't update your Active online account for a few years.

The biggest wrenches in the logistics plan were as follows:

• The race was cruelly scheduled for a 7am start on a Sunday morning.
• Hotels were filled up by October 2012...for a race in May 2013.
• The race goes straight through the city and crosses 6 bridges...meaning major road closures...and therefore major difficulty getting into the city to park, and out of the city to, well, go home.

To mitigate said wrenches, I decided to stay with the old broski about ten miles north of the city and then meet up with my homies in the morn' at their hotel before the race. Luckily, the plan I eventually settled on (I believe this was plan #6...?) worked flawlessly. I decided to wake up at 4am and drive into the city before anyone else was awake. This solution was ideal for many reasons. First of all, I slept in a comfy bed in a quiet apartment. Secondly, I actually slept. Anyone who knows me at all know that this is near earth-shattering. Thirdly, I had 3 hours to digest an apple, a bagel, and a banana...and 3 hours to wake my ass up. Fourthly, I was able to easily sneak my car in the parking garage below my friends' hotel, a mere 1/2 mile from the start line. BOOM. And, not to mention...the weather was absolutely perfect. A crisp 50 degrees at the start, ample sunshine, slight breeze = big smile the whole way.

**Side note - I have no idea why the font is randomly small, but rest assured it is driving me bananas that I can't change it back. That is all. **

The wonderful Half Marathon crew.

Awaiting the arrival of our badass full marathoners.

My current state of mind.

And THEN...a mere two days after the race, I had one of THOSE runs. One that just transcends time and transports into another realm. It sounds unbelievably cheesy, but it is absolutely real. A run in the most seemingly unpleasant circumstances, where all of those "supposed to be annoying" things line up like planets and cancel each other out. It was a long day at work (and by long I mean not only time consuming, but also straight up soul crushing). It poured all day. The bike path was soaked and filled with craters of water like gravy in mashed taters. It was dark, gloomy, windy and that in-between temperature where long sleeves is too hot and short sleeves is too cold. I got home from work around 6 and normally would have simply gone downstairs to the gym, but after locking my door, I reopened it, tossed my cell phone, iPod, and bag back inside, and decided to just GO. I ran with nothing but my thoughts, the sound of my feet splattering the ground in sync with the pellets of rain, and the unsettled rushing river beside me. It was spectacular.

My inner Forrest Gump is finally returning. And not only in the running sense. The past few months have made me think of so many Forrest Gump quotes that I'm starting to mix them up with my own self-generated thoughts. On the trying days of late, I have found myself thinking, "Sometimes, I guess there just aren't enough rocks." Sometimes it's okay to just throw rocks (imaginary rocks, of course) at whatever is bothering you until you've exhausted your frustrations. Sometimes it's necessary to go for those long runs even when you know you may regret ignoring the impending knee pain and the toenail that is clearly on its last leg. Those things are worth the cleanse and peace of mind that ensue as a result of that run and the internal rock throwing.

On a similar note, "Mama always said you've got to put the past behind you before you can move on" has rung true in a good way recently. A very good way. Gump's Mama was right. And when you reach the other side of said "moving on," whether it be moving on from a bad day at work, a past relationship, a regrettable burrito for lunch...it feels damn good.

And probably the Gump quote I resonate most with on a regular basis, but especially lately: "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time" And I gotta say, when I look at where I am in terms of what truly matters to me, I like the breeze I'm floating on right now. 

**Side note - Oh hey, the font size has returned to normalcy. THANK GAWD.**

Gallivant.
One thing I have exponentially enjoyed as the years have passed is the chance to gallivant. Wander, traipse, meander...nothing puts me more at peace (with the exception of a good run) than exploring a new place (or the hidden nooks and crannies of a usual place). Some of my fondest memories of this are the irreplaceable summer days in Florence when zig-zagging my way through narrow, maze-like cobblestone streets for hours on end with nothing but my iPod was a daily occurrence.

At the end of April I took my first big trip of the year. Hopped on an aero-plane to Chicago for two days of training. I planned my flight so that I arrived in the city around lunchtime...meaning an entire afternoon and evening to stroll down Michigan Avenue, across the waterways, and along the lake.

The Dark Knight Rises? Where is Bruce Wayne?

I was fortunate enough to have a marvelous crew accompanying me (Team Fluff) to make the roaming even more fulfilling. It was a little funny (and sad) that we were finally reunited in Chicago after a long hiatus of not seeing each other in DC.

Team Fluff

We did a handful of the usual touristy things. Millenium Park, The "Bean" (which is apparently meant to be a cloud?), etc. just because.

And here is what I learned about Chicago whilst in its underbelly:

• Tell me it wasn't deemed the "Windy City" because of the wind all you want. It was friggin' windy and I will forever call it the "Windy City" because it is friggin' windy.
• Deep dish pizza is hereby my favorite pizza. But not because of the oodles of cheese, overflow of toppings, and general pizzalicious flavor...but rather because it is chock full of dough. Which, as a self-proclaimed carbo-holic, is conveniently the only part of pizza I actually enjoy.
• It is frowned upon to admit the above in Chicago (or anywhere, for that matter. I have been scorned many a time for not being a pizza-holic). 
• Eating a smorgasbord of pizza dough after hardly eating all day is not conducive to a good night's sleep.
• The Bean could really use a little cleaning.
  
• Not once while I was in Chicago did I remember that I was in the state of Illinois. Outside of Big Ten sports, I often forget that Illinois exists (same goes for Iowa and Indiana).
• I did not go to the Hancock Tower because the perspective I got from the airplane provided me with a better view...and a complimentary beverage (as opposed to a $20 one).

  

  Chicago, begging to be Instagrammed.

 

Prior to my Chicago adventure, I put on my tourist shoes for a weekend of pre-peak Cherry Blossoming in DC. Something to note: good company can successfully mitigate potential crowd rage (a thing I have developed having resided in this area for almost a year now...it is usually related to the roads and the Metro rails, but venture into the city during the Cherry Blossom Festival and you will anxiously tailgate more slow walkers and accidentally saunter through more photos than you ever thought possible). HOWEVER, it is the one weekend where the Metro is not undergoing ANY track work...so cheers to the small victories!

Fortunately no one walked through my photos...suckers.

My boo, Roxydu5 (yep, former AIM screen name...no shame)

This particular weekend was solid proof that relaxation and exhilaration can, in fact, happily coincide. In addition to checking out the ol' cherries, I also wandered through Old Town, Alexandria (my hood), awkwardly stuffed my face at a shady pizza buffet as it was closing at midnight, and ventured out to the new Union Market in northeast DC. If you've never been, it is absolutely worth checking out on the weekend. Be forewarned, when you get off the Red Line at NoMa, you will undoubtedly think you are in the middle of a sea of abandoned flea markets in Nowhereville, but when you finally happen upon the recently renovated warehouse that is the Union Market, you will be pleasantly surprised and then some.

Not only does this gem boast fine cheeses and wines, delicious brews, an oyster bar, local tastes, and the like...but it also has various stands featuring food truck grub (including the infamous Curbside Cupcakes). Again, good company is a solid plus on this front. And good company I had.

And this conveniently brings me to my final encapsulating thought...

Savor.

All of the aforementioned things (and a handful or unmentioned, but posititively wonderful things that I am electing to keep to myself) have forever (hopefully) imprinted the word savor into my noggin.

I want to savor every run because it is the best form of therapy I have found and also serves as a constant reminder of the basic fact that I can run. I want to savor every "accidental-like breeze" because it could very well be that whole "destiny" thing. Or it could just be a darn good random doohickey that ends up creating a new "destiny" thing. Either way, it matters. I want to savor every place I gallivant through and every person I gallivant with. And I want to savor every upcoming moment, every old moment, and every current moment, because, seriously people! If there is one cliche you should absolutely buy into, it is the fact that LIFE IS SHORT. And life is GOOD. 

So be good, do good, live good.

Lovin' every minute 'cause you make me feel so alive.

Love Ya G-Ma

Celebrated my G-Ma with some pretty special people today. Was honored to have the chance to say some words about her at the reception. She was a pretty snazzy lady.

I know it's cliche to have monumental realizations only upon losing someone, but even so, that doesn't change the truth. The past few weeks as I've been thinking about my Grandma (a name I never called her, she was always G-Ma to me), I've felt a weird connection to her that only made me wish that I'd been cognizant of a lot more when I had the chance to tell her.

I went for a long run the other day and my pace was unbelievable...and that's because the whole way I was flooded with memories and little nuggets of my G-Ma that I wanted to get down on paper as fast as possible before they escaped the fuzzy walls of my mind. What I truly came to realize the more I thought about her, was how grateful I am that she rubbed off on me, even in the smallest of ways. We had a lot more in common than I realized.

• For instance, we shared a love of the classic TV show, Boy Meets World. Though, admittedly, I do think her love was more tailored toward Mr. Feeny than the show itself, but I can't fault her for that. He was a wise man. In one of my favorite scenes he says something that I feel like encapsulates the essence of my good ol' G-Ma: "Believe in yourselves. Dream. Try. Do good." To this, Topanga (a name my G-Ma hated BTW) replies, "Don't you mean "do well"? "No, I mean "do good." Even as an English major and a wordy, I think that my G-Ma placed far more emphasis on doing good than doing well...and she nailed it.

• Going off of that, I think that I have her and my subconscious to thank for my love of reading and writing. Two things that besides running, keep my sanity in check (Notice I didn't say keep me sane, mom...we all know that's a bit of a stretch). Some of my fondest memories of my G-Ma are doing crossword puzzles with her every morning while my parents gallivanted around the globe on business trips without me and my poor brother. Crossword puzzles were to be done in PEN, she would stress. If you're not sure of an answer, don't write it. If you're not sure of something in life, don't do it. Simple as that.

• She taught me to play Hearts on her old school Dell desktop computer. I remember every time the Queen of Spades would pop up and make that ominous noise, we would blame the computer. "This thing is an imposter!" (For those of you who didn't know her...her first name was Del)

• She was my feisty partner and crime, and also my feisty nemesis at times (all in good fun though). She had a stash of chocolate gold coins from the bank that she had swiped waiting for me every time I came over because she knew I loved them. On the other hand, on more occasions than one, she snuck sausage into her famous Thanksgiving stuffing (which is what my plate was typically 95% comprised of). I remember the first year she did it, I mentioned a hint of spice. "There's a funky spice to it, but it's still delectable as always." A few more bites in, we noticed the sausage. "G-Ma! You can't go changing things up on us like this." So the next year, no sausage she said. Next year came around...and thanks to a knack for detective work that came from the Sherlock Holmes books we would read together, I found the sausage. Sneaky, finely chopped sausage nestled in between the bread. I distinctly remember the smirk on her face as she slyly said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I can't see any sausage." A clever choice of words...she couldn't see it, but she could taste it, because it was there. But I digress.

• She made up for sneaking things I didn't like into my favorite Thanksgiving dish by always saving me a stash of her famous sweet pickles. Those of you who knew her well were probably lucky enough to get your hands on some of these coveted pickles. But don't go raising your hands or anything...I like to think I was part of an exclusive group.

• As my parents well know, one of my lifetime dreams remains to own a golf cart. Every Christmas list when I was a kid started off with the same two things: "Golf Cart and lifetime supply of French Fries." I am not making this up...my parents can vouch for it. Now, looking at those two things...the two things I wanted most in life as a spry under 10 year old...I think we can all agree that one was more feasible than the other...a golf cart would be much easier to obtain. My G-Ma knew this, and this led to some of my favorite moments with her. Speeding along the back 9 in a golf cart, my foot the only foot on the gas peddle (which inevitably meant it was pushed in all the way) and both of our fingers linked together on the steering wheel. Well played, G-Ma.

• Lastly, what I admired most about my G-Ma and strive to live up to, is her abundance of wonderful friends. Friendships she cultivated and maintained for a lifetime. I often say that I feel you can tell most about a person based on who they surround themselves with...and I don't think her circle of friends could get any better...which speaks so strongly to the woman she was. Let's face it, she was a rock star.

And finally, what I am most thankful for from my G-Ma...my Pops. I could ramble forever about him and how unbelievably lucky we all are to have him, but I think I can sum it up in one sentence: He is the best person that I know. And I can say that with complete and utter confidence because I've never meant anything more. And I have my G-Ma to thank for that.

Someone very dear to me said recently "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOOHOO, what a ride" 

I have no doubt that my G-Ma entered those pearly white gates with some scars and a devilish smile, before announcing, "all right, I'm here...you ready?" And while there certainly was no Chardonnay, there was absolutely a Pinot Grigiot in one hand and a White Zin in the other. 

Love ya G-Ma.

The DC I Love & The SC I Miss

Thinking about the goods today. The goods that come with calling somewhere home. Obviously, two places in particular resonate with me, as they are really the only two places I have had the pleasure of calling home to this point in my nearly 23.5 years (well, years on this planet, and in this life, anyway). They are my current home, Washington, DC (and all that is captured in its ginormous radius) and my forever home, State College, PA.

This is a bit of a follow up to a previous post outlining my conflicted relationship with my current abode and all of its quirks. I'm feeling visual today, but this time, no gifs, no Google, no BS; all photos are authentic and my own. For better or worse.

So let's get to it, shall we?

DC:

I love that I see more people on my morning commute than most people see in a week. Yes, I am a bloody hypocrite for this one. I bitch and complain about the sheer volume of bodies, cars, egos, and the like...but for a people-watching connoisseur, it is a bit of a people-watching mecca (not to mention a people-meeting mecca, which I also quite enjoy).

I love cops on segways (bonus points if the cop is handing out a citation in the wee hours of the night while perched on said segway). I ACTUALLY WITNESSED THIS OVER THE WEEKEND. To say it was awesome would be an understatement and a pure injustice to America.

I love public transportation...especially because of the signs at the Metro. While it is stupid expensive, always undergoing "track work," and is made up of stations that smell like fish markets (someone is going to have to explain that to me sometime...though I'm not sure I really want to know why that is the case), the DC Metro is pretty solid. It's relatively clean, relatively reliable, and saves my soul from being further tarnished by the demonic traffic that permeates every nook and cranny of this friggin' area.

I love the dive bars that squeeze slyly between da clubs and hoity toity joints and boast unapologetic signs like these.

I love the clichéd feeling of awe that comes with gazing down Pennsylvania Avenue at night. Despite how annoying government employees, government contractors, and the government in general may be, AMURICAN pride is rampant...and pretty awesome.

I love that this is not an unusual thing to observe...at the grocery store no less. So many people and personalities...for all we know, this could be Justin Bieber. I mean minus the heels, it looks just like him from behind...and I didn't get a look of this person from the front so there truly is no way of knowing.

I love the moments when I happen upon a bar with "cheap" prices. And yes, this is about as cheap as it gets around here. Cans of PBR have become a staple...fight or flight, I tell ya.

I love the abundance of Mini Coopers that surrounds me. There is a street not far from my apartment that I fondly call "Mini Cooper Row," as 4 houses in a row have their respective Mini Coops parked tantalizingly out front. I have to consciously not run into trees or trip when I run by due to the sheer senses of awe and admiration that overwhelm my entire being.

I love my Roxy. Nothing like being reunited after four long years bogged down in a separation-anxiety laden long-distance relationship. Keep an eye out for our upcoming reality show: "Survivor: Real Gingers of DC."

State College:

I miss running up Orchard Road, cutting through the open farm fields, and gallivanting around with the horsies.

I miss sunset hikes up Mt. Nittany and Shingletown with good friends and Camelbaks of wine and brewskies. Fewer things are more refreshing than a nice muscle burn, a tasty beverage, good conversation, and cool air swiftly sneaking in as the sun retreats on a hot summer day.

I miss running with friends (and chasing them finish line). Obviously I can run with friends anywhere, but the runners and r*nners of dear old State are tough to beat (in every sense of the word).

I miss family photo bombing on a regular basis.

I miss these two party animals.

Moral of the story, friends:  Home is not places...it is love.

Yeah, Our Bodies Age...So What?

Sooo, it's been a while. I know. I'm sure you, my loyal readership (ahem, my mama), have been aching to no end waiting for the latest from the gibberish spewing depths of my mind. Surely the past few weeks have left you feeling empty inside. So here goes...this is what's on my mind...RIGHT NOW.

So many people have been telling me recently, "Tara! Live while you're young!"

Live while I'm young? What comes after young...? What age serves as the dividing line between living, and just going through the motions. Maybe it's just me...but I fully intend to live while I am ALIVE...not just while I'm young. My body may age, and I may mature, but I don't ever want to stop reacting to life's wonderful moments like a little kid:

I recently made an impromptu trip home to State College. Like an 11pm Thursday night decision to come home on Friday. Looking back it feels a little like fate made that happen. My grandma has been pretty sick, I found out my brother was going home too (mind you I found this out after already deciding to make the trip), and something just literally compelled me to make the trip. And it ended up being a fulfilling weekend with family and a chance to reconnect with with some wonderful people. I needed that.

It just so happened that it was also THON weekend at Penn State. I admittedly have never been too involved in the THON scene, but for some reason, this year in particular had me mesmerized. The people who waited in line for hours in the frigid cold, the families I met from all over the country, the passion emitted when I heard friends talk about the THON beyond individual Penn State groups wearing bright colors and competing with one another. Maybe being separated from the Penn State community for a little after having spent my whole life engulfed in it...and maybe because I my perspectives, outlooks, and priorities are evolving daily...maybe that is why for the first time it truly, completely, hit me. One friend in particular said it best, "You go up for those last few hours and you will cry. There's no avoiding it. You will cry. But you will feel more love and inspiration that you can imagine." Not only does that make me even prouder to be a Nittany Lion, but sweet baby Jesus, I'm proud to be lucky enough to know so many great people involved in so many great things with so much friggin' love in their hearts. The chance to be surrounded by love is an irreplaceable and unexplainable thing. In other words:

People: You rock.

Penn State: You rock.

Life: You rock.

On another note, I also recently had the privilege of living as a hipster for a day (check that off the old bucket list). I ventured to Brooklyn, NY with some wonderful friends to see Mumford & Sons. Brooklyn + banjo wielding band + flannel attire...we owned our 24 hour case of hipsteritis. Whether you're a fan on Mumford or not, they were hands down the best live performance I have ever seen in my life. They go hard, sound better than any recording, have a stage full of instruments, and most of all, the music they make combined with the lyrics they write is straight up phenomenal. One song in particular has nested in my head recently...to the point where it's painting the walls and laying down hardwood floor in my mind.

"Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in it's place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste"

Those few ending lines are just friggin' invigorating (no, not in the Neutrogena face wash sense). That notion of "letting things go to waste" just ain't cool. And there is something about that last line in particular...something that just makes me nod my head and think, "Damn. Yes. That." So yeah, I'm gonna do that.

This past weekend brought its own set of lessons (and fun) as well. That whole "work hard play hard" thing has merit to it, folks, I think we all would admit that. But it's exhausting, yeah? In my humble opinion (well, maybe not so humble), the ratio of work to fun is rarely 50-50...and I don't know that it necessarily should be anyway...I personally would push for more of a 40-60...but I digress. We all preach how GD short life is all the time, right? There are only so many hours in the day and we spend the vast majority of them working, thinking about work, and stressing about work. Don't get me wrong, work is good (for lack of a more eloquent phrase). Work spurs inspiration, motivation, dedication (all the 'ations') and that is a damn good thing. I honestly don't even know where I am going with this paragraph, but the meat of it is that what matters most...what really counts in the grand scheme of life is: personal fulfillment, emotional connection, people, hugs, high fives, living in the moment, seriously considering going to IHOP at 3 in the morning and not feeling guilty about it, love, cognizance of the beauty around you even if that beauty is merely the way the light reflects off of your phone as you sit in your 9-5 cubicle...we often get so caught up in the big picture that we forget about the little details that come together to create that big picture.

I know I preach a lot in these things, but I am truly, truly, truly, trying to live up to this whole living thing. I may not have balls in the most technical sense, but that won't stop me from going balls to the walls. While there is no avoiding the aging of our bodies, and while mature development is a good thing, there is no reason to let the notion of 'maturity' prevent you from letting yourself have fun...letting yourself really live. Being straight-laced and politically correct all the time is overrated anyway. Sometimes embracing weird and letting go is the catalyst to a FULL life. 

Sincerest apologies for the rambling and all over the place post...but I figure it's only appropriate to ferociously type up exactly what was on my mind this past hour and click "publish" without rereading it. I'll post something more coherent and clean next time. 

Until then, embrace the weird, y'all.

Write Your Own Rules

When I was a kid, I remember pretending to like root beer for the longest time. At birthday parties, post-soccer game pizza outings, sleepovers...if there was root beer, I was all over it. Root beer was cool. But I hated it (still do). I thought that I could learn to love it. Learn to love...oh how that theory morphs into bigger and badder things with bigger and badder consequences as we age. I didn't learn to love root beer. I didn't even learn to tolerate it.

We are too often so wrapped up in conforming to every opinion but our own, and yet our growth and personal evolution is dependent on our interactions with those around us. A pickle, indeed. As such, writing your own set of rules does not necessarily mean going against those around you, rebelling if you will. The decisions any thoughtful person would make are with those that they love and respect in mind.

First and foremost, don't listen to what I, or anyone else, tells you is right for you (okay, I recognize that sentence is a contradiction in itself, so if making your own rules isn't your cup of tea, by all means, carry on your merry way).

Stop caring so much about what other people think ALL THE TIME. Loosen the filter, say what's on your mind, pull a Jennifer Lawrence.

If you are unhappy with your life, live it differently. It's easy to preach the extreme of these notions (i.e. "If you're unhappy with you job, change it!" "If you're unhappy in love, get out!"). We all know that these things are so much easier said than done, but that's because they are processes. That stuff doesn't happen over night or even in the course of a month. The first step is changing the game. Add an inch of progress every day. Keep moving no matter how small each step is. Keep going so long as the direction you are going is in the direction of what you are headed toward. Walk into a job you hate with a new set of rules. A set of rules that enables you to find a niche that you do enjoy. Or enables you to either feel like you won when you got fired, or quit gracefully with well wishes and solid recommendations. Or, if circumstances call for it, like this...

We are groomed to remain in the lanes of the orchestrated route generated by the LIFE GPS. The route to anticipated success and happiness. The goulash of life includes pinches of "marketable" degrees, "respectable" careers, marriage by 'x' age, babies by 'x' age, etc, etc. There is nothing necessarily wrong with this hearty life stew--maybe goulash is your dish of choice--but let's be real here, goulash isn't for everyone. Not every digestive tract is made to support the ingredients of said goulash. No one should be forced into unwanted flavors, bouts of nausea, or unexpected gas.

Why is it that more often than not, what we are truly passionate about, the things we live for, are what we allot 10% of our time to...if we're lucky?

Why is it so hard for us to realize that trying to impress people is just all kinds of bass-ackwards? This is especially true when it comes to relationships. Why would you want to be with someone when a requirement of the relationship entails being on point at all times in an elaborate facade? Even if it is only a teensy facade...why bother? And not just romantic relationships, but friendships too.

What would you honestly say if asked: "What do you have to say for yourself?" And not even in a hostile way...just what do you have to say...about you? Who are you? What are you doing? Why?

I am not claiming to be a saint in the theories I am preaching AT ALL. I'm as guilty as the rest of you. But one thing I can say, for better or worse, I am fairly comfortable in who I am. This was not always the case...in fact, not even close. But now I can proudly say that I am more often than not, unafraid to SOUND MY BARBARIC YAWP OVER THE ROOFTOPS OF THE WORLD:

So here are just a handful of my rules: 

Don't be afraid to "say the first thing that pops into your head even if it's full of gibberish."

Don't be afraid to admit things like not particularly caring for bacon (guilty).

Don't be afraid to call out the duck faced camera-kissing ladies by taking it to the next level and adding morning hair shock therapy.

So hawt.

Don't be afraid to boogie...wedding, bar, coffee shop, living room, street corner, cubicle...you name it. For me at least, if muh jam is on you best believe I be jammin'.

Don't be afraid to take a leap of faith even if you may flop.

Don't be afraid of a shameless photo bomb...not even in Vatican City.

...or the kitchen.

Don't be afraid to giddily stuff your face when circumstances call for nothing less.

 

Don't be afraid to run gleefully through the streets, no matter how you may look doing it. 

Perhaps the boiler plate just so happens to be the right road for you. Perhaps it's not. The point I'm trying to make, which may have gotten lost in the mud, is don't settle. Don't settle for anyone else, and moreover, don't settle for the written path you've allowed the world to convince you is the right one. 

"We are fools for worms, lads..."

Make your lives extraordinary (you'll notice that the word extraordinary...extra-ordinary...does not necessaily mean extravagant. Small changes can go a long way).

And finally, as my good ol' hero, Amy Poehler says...