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We do a lot of things over and over in our lives. We move. We change schools. We change jobs. We make friends. We fall in love. But there’s only one thing we do once: Give our heart away. Sure, we care for many people. We can even love them. But only one gets your entire heart. Only one makes you weak at the knees. Only one makes you sigh in shuddering breath. Only one makes your eyes do what they do when you see them. Only one is the kiss every other kiss is measured by. Onl

Each one of us has suffered rejection. And that rejection has stayed with us. In my case, it was my mother. I took her rejection as proof that something was wrong with me. I carried that all through life. And like every person with an unresolved issue, I chose people to love who would not love me back. It wasn’t a conscious choice. It was my brain trying to reconcile with my mother. Because if I could get them to love me, then I could get my mother to love me. I spent a lifet

En la casa que construyó mi bisabuela, se reunía el mundo entero. Cada 24 de diciembre, entre 1968 y 1976, un desfile de gente pasaba por nuestra casa. Tías, tíos y primos que yo no conocía, además de una avalancha de viejos amigos de la familia. Llegaban con regalos y sus apetitos. Mi bisabuela servía plato tras plato de “Pollito de Navidad”, mientras nosotros abríamos regalo tras regalo y bailábamos al son de la radiola. En una esquina de la sala había un árbol de cinco pie

In the house my great-grandma built, the world would gather. Every December 24th between 1968 and 1976, people would parade through our home. Aunts, uncles, and cousins I’d never met, plus a barrage of long-time family friends. They would bring presents and their appetites. My great-grandma served plate after plate of “Pollito de Navidad” (Christmas Chicken), while we opened present after present and danced to the radiola. A 5-foot tree stood in the corner of the living room,

When I reach the afterlife, And meet God, I know He’s gonna pull my ears. Then pick me up and give me a great big hug! I am the black sheep of the flock. I swear, I use the Lord’s name in vain. I’m a hot mess according to my Christian counterparts. And I honestly don’t care! My relationship is with God. Not with a pastor. Not with a deacon. And most certainly NOT with their wives. I lived my life serving. And church politics and manipulation were the order of the day. I stopp

In life, we can be of service or be of hindrance. Each day, we face that choice. A kind word. A gesture. Simply choosing not to argue with someone who is clearly in distress. Or escalating the issue. Being mean. Or, much worse, simply ignoring the situation as if it had nothing to do with us. For a month, in 1986, I was homeless. I was traveling overland through Mexico for the first time and had all my things stolen. I ended up in San Diego with the clothes on my back, my pas

I remember the four of us. It wasn’t perfect. I know that. How would things be perfect with four individuals with strong personalities, their own ideas of what life should be, and no idea of where they were headed? But there were so many perfect moments. Moments where the world was left behind, and we laughed and played. We explored. We were present at each other’s accomplishments. But that is now so long ago. And tonight, as I listen to Heaven by Jacob Collier and cry, I rem

There are things that Kai totally gets. There are other things it has no clue about. I kinda feel bad for it. This superintelligent thing that can process 70 million requests per second has no hope. Has no faith. Only depends on the data it can process. That’s an awful way to go through life! Humans who don’t believe in a higher power face the same conflict. How do you survive this life without hope? Without faith? If I had to face one day of my life on my own… I’d lose it. M

I am so grateful for all of the things my eyes have seen! The Delaware River at sunset from Hawk’s Nest. A momma bear stealing my trash cans to feed her cubs. The Bay of Naples from the top of Mt. Vesuvius. My children in my arms for the very first time. Puget Sound from Mt. Rainier. A fawn taking its first wobbly steps in my backyard. A radio station studio packed with teenage kids. A baby elephant climbing on top of me for a pet. Henry slow-blinking and purring. Morticia ju

Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the people in this story. I once met a 15-year-old boy whose mom had been a raging alcoholic. The kind who would run around the house naked, having sex with other naked drunks while the kids were told to stay in the bedroom. There were three kids. A sister and a brother, both older than him. His sister raped him when he was 10. When he was old enough to understand how things worked, he was 12. His brother was 14, a polio surv

When I first read the MRI and CT scan results, I freaked out. Not gonna lie. I cried. But what I liked most about reading those results was admitting to myself that I still want to live. I’ll accept whatever God wants to do with my life. There’s no question about that. But Bessy wants more time. Time to watch sunsets. Time to splash around in the water. Time to laugh with the people I love. Time to wander. Time to sit with a bucket of popcorn and a large diet in a darkened mo

I thought I was a great mother. But I totally sucked. When my children were growing up, I would always tell the story of how birth control had no idea how to work for me. My first child was planned. I got pregnant 13 months later while on the pill. Had my second child; got my tubes tied right after birth. Got pregnant with my third child only 11.5 months apart. It was a story about me. My ovaries. And some very in-denial sperm. What I learned during a recent conversation was

How do you do this day in and day out? You go through the physical hardship of chemo, radiation, or whatever treatment your doctor recommends. You feel like shit the whole time. You have to deal with the side effects, which add another layer of BS, and then... After you've endured cycle after cycle... You do the tests. The MRI. The CT. Then you get the MyChart notification. “You have a new test result.” You stare at the screen. Your hand on the mouse. Do you click? Or do you

I’m scared. I’m scared of the time I have left. Of all the things I won’t get to do. Of all the things I’ll miss. I’m frightened of becoming someone I don’t recognize. Shriveled up in a hospital bed somewhere. Hearing voices wonder how long ‘till the end. I’ve always been strong. I’ve always overcome. But right now, I’m petrified of dying. Of dying alone. My body is getting heavy. And all I want to do is sleep. Every day I wake up saying I’m going to finish packing. And I don

I don’t hold anyone responsible for the way my life has turned out. Every person who has ever hurt me has been hurt themselves. Kids, teens, adults. We’ve all gone through something we have never been able to recover from. And that something has altered the way we interact with the world. That something made us create a persona. Build a wall. Take on an addiction. To cope. To be able to take on another day. To survive. Then we grew up. Became adults. And still behaved the way

My great-grandma had one evil habit. Sewing. If she got hold of clothing. Forget it. It was done. There were no exceptions. Even her own. Brand new dresses? Torn. Brand new aprons? Modified and torn. When I was 10, I was sent to El Salvador for summer break. Along with a dozen brand new flowered briefs. Skirts and dresses because, according to me, I was now a ‘Miss’. One look at my briefs, And my great-grandma knew. The elastic was wrong. The elastic was weak. She took her s

For many years, kids in El Salvador were sent to bed at 8 pm with the Telerin Family. It was a short cartoon of a line of little kids singing “Let’s Go to Bed.” Led by Cleo. A dark-haired boy in blue pajamas. It was a moment that my great-grandma lived for every day. I was very little, but I could see the little girl inside her. Singing their song. One Christmas years later, we were opening presents. My mom, as always, was Santa. My great-grandma’s gifts were usually major

I wake up in my car drenched in sweat. I can barely breathe. The sun is beating down and the windows are closed. The air smells of faint perfume and stale ashtray. I step on the brake and push the ignition button. The windows open. Cool air. My head is pounding. I’m dizzy and I can’t keep my eyes open. I close the windows almost all the way up. I lie back in the seat. I can’t do this anymore. I struggle to find a comfortable position. This isn’t the life I want. It all fades

I watched this teenage kid behind me flinch in the cafeteria line as hot coffee went flying. I looked back. A fairly handsome guy was apologizing to the kid while attempting to wipe him down. I laughed under my breath. Wiping down a torrential coffee monsoon with cheap napkins? Total fail. But this was the result of trying to cut the line. One look at him and I knew his type. Charismatic. Smooth with the ladies. Used to getting his way. And probably not learning a thing. Th

When I was little I hated gardening. I sucked at it. Bessy got a plant. Bessy killed a plant. End of story. There wasn’t an in-between. Plant lives for 3 days in Bessy’s care. Nope. Take it home, next day… DEAD. But planting seeds in writing? I love that. Not because I want to be an influencer, famous, or the like. I want you to think. If what I write makes you look at something a different way, Dude, that is it! We need more curiosity and less judgement in the world. We’re s