God help me.

Help me like the idea of things less and the actual things more. Help me to not just make good choices, but to make good mistakes too. Help me remember that when a life isn't full of mistakes, it's probably not much of anything.

how do i explain?

Is it wrong for me to admit that I didn't miss home when I was there? That I didn't want to come home? That I don't want to BE home? That "home" feels farther away now than ever before?

hard to witness, easy to love

I find it incredible, and a little ironic, that these people, who are living in the midst of some of the most horrifying poverty in the world, can have this outlook.

holy-day (funny times on my sunday flight to kenya)

Something I realized right away is that I am AWFUL at understanding people with different accents.

i’m the black sheep. the anomaly. the outlaw.

It's like I set such high standards for myself, like I'd rather spend all my energy proving that I'm actually an alright person. That I'm funny (even when I'm not). That I'm not awkward (even when I am). That I'm not the dumb blonde sorority girl. That there actually IS a brain in there and I'm not just some obtuse, flaky dunce.

i just haven’t met you yet – an ode to the single people

As vulnerable as it makes me to admit, I'm really just an anxious wreck who wants the fairytale.

dude. chill.

Let's be real...unless you're trying to protect a secret nuclear bomb, or you're creating a cure for (no, not cancer), the obesity epidemic, the future of mankind doesn't depend on you and whether you check everything off this week's to-do list.

out with 22, in with 23 (africa update!)

Even though I'm only a day older than yesterday, and only a year is added onto my age, I think I like the 22-year-old version of the single, still-haven't-graduated, still-living-at-home, me, a lot better.