I text a dead squirrel photo, my mom calls me sick, my dad congratulates the dog, and my brother eulogizes the squirrel in Old English.
This is how all families converse, right?

I text a dead squirrel photo, my mom calls me sick, my dad congratulates the dog, and my brother eulogizes the squirrel in Old English.

This is how all families converse, right?

I spent the weekend in Dallas with my sweet grandmother, who turns 96 next month and is still smarter, funnier, and more full of life than 99% of the people I know. Also squeezed in some time for some cold drinks, warm sun, and a good friend. I call that successful weekending.

Cakes have gotten a bad rap. People equate virtue with turning down dessert. There is always one person at the table who holds up her hand when I serve the cake. No, really, I couldn’t she says, and then gives her flat stomach a conspiratorial little pat. Everyone who is pressing a fork into that first tender layer looks at the person who declined the plate, and they all think, That person is better than I am. That person has discipline. But that isn’t a person with discipline; that is a person who has completely lost touch with joy. A slice of cake never made anybody fat. You don’t eat the whole cake. You don’t eat a cake every day of your life. You take the cake when it is offered because the cake is delicious. You have a slice of cake and what it reminds you of is someplace that’s safe, uncomplicated, without stress. A cake is a party, a birthday, a wedding. A cake is what’s served on the happiest days of your life.
- Jeanne Ray (via shetakesflight)

(Source: the-healing-nest, via nogreatillusion)

I think we can agree that all Easter Bunnies are creepy. But these are just amazing.

The other day I had coffee with another editor and magazine writer. Toward the end of the conversation a few names came up of guys I think of as some of the best magazine writers alive today. He actually knew them. I just stalk them on social media and via their articles in Esquire.

We were discussing prizes in the profession and he made the point that even those guys—the very best—will tell you that they’re not as good as others. They’ll point to problems in their writing and insecurities with their creativity. They see all the flaws.

This really struck me. The people at the very top of my profession aren’t satisfied.

One of my favorite writers, Donald Miller, actually wrote an entire book about this. He called it “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years,” but he could have called it “I Got Everything I Ever Wanted and Then Realized That Wasn’t the Point and That Was Really Hard So I Had To Reevaluate My Life and Make Some Major Changes.” The title wouldn’t have been quite as catchy, but I think people could relate.

Anyway, Miller makes a lot of good points in that book (can’t recommend reading it enough), but my general take away was that it’s really important to intentionally set the right goals in order to live the right story. I constantly realize I’m doing things that are exhausting me, but not working toward my true goals. I have to reevaluate a lot. And sometimes I forget to for long periods of time.

I see those writers as the best. The pie in the sky goal. But for me it’s a good reminder to know that they’re not satisfied at the top. Because it reminds me to enjoy the ride, stop and smell the roses (with word plays like this, I have no idea why Esquire isn’t banging down my door), and other brilliant metaphors for relishing the moment in which you’re living.

ffinicks: whatissweeter:

I’m at that awkward age where half my friends are engaged or having babies, and the other half are too drunk to find their phones.

Yes. I have had this conversation like 127 times in the last month. No one ever warned you about this stage of life. My Facebook feed is the weirdest conglomeration of potty training toddler tips and drunk bar photos. I ask one friend to grab dinner and she’s like “Can’t get a babysitter in time” and another is like “I’m still hungover from that concert on Wednesday night.” I feel like this has some kind of Huffington Post listicle material all over it. “Top 30 Things No One Tells You About Your 30’s.”

(via live-to-the-point-of-tears)

Success, it turns out, correlates just as closely with confidence as it does with competence.
-

The Confidence Gap, The Atlantic

Read this article yet? Because it’s kind of amazing. Basic idea: People who are more confident (not mere bravado, but truly confident) are more successful across the board in life… There are an increasing number of studies showing that women are less confident than men… I think you see where this is going. 

It’s fascinating. And ultimately, hopeful. The writers point out that confidence can be self-perpetuating. As in, feel confident and you’ll be confident. And you’ll ultimately be more successful. I like that plan.

Leonardo DiCaprio. MGMT. Coachella.

For me, this video that evidently went viral yesterday is actually NSFW.

Since I blogged about how good this book was yesterday, it felt pretty validating when it won the Pulitzer today. I wish this kind of thing would happen with all of my opinions. Like, I declare something really great and then the absolute highest human authority does the same thing. Basically, what I’m saying is when I say that Rosie is the greatest animal that ever lived, I could really use some professional back up.



It was one of those sunny spring weekends that make you never want to go inside. And I pretty much didn’t. On Saturday morning I had a long run, which was followed by spending about five hours on the balcony of friends who threw a Masters viewing/afternoon brunch party. (Full disclosure: I saw about 0.2 seconds of the Masters. However, I thoroughly enjoyed the brunch side of the party—specifically the Bloody Mary’s (with bacon!), deviled eggs, and pimento cheese sandwiches.)

My favorite moments of the weekend though were on Sunday morning. My friend Katie and I headed to a local bakery for breakfast, grabbed hot coffees to go, and spent an hour wandering around uptown Charlotte before settling in on a park bench in the city’s most historic urban neighborhood. We watched joggers and couples with strollers and sat in the shade and talked and I laughed really hard and remembered how good it feels to have a long and easy conversation with someone who really knows you. All weekends should be this good. 

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