Why is it so hard to graciously accept a compliment? When someone tells me something nice -they think I’m smart, that I do a good job, that my shoes are cool or my hair beautiful (that one never happens) -why do I get embarrassed? Why do I turn red and try to laugh it off?
Just accept it! Say thanks! Smile! Feel pleased that someone noticed something good and felt strongly enough about it to comment!

I got some nice praise at work this week. It really made my day, but also totally mortified me too.

I also received the following delightfully specific compliments from friends:

“you are a silly, a wonderful silly”


“you’re more than pretty enough to make up for having a personality”



Home Improvements

My apartment is small and mostly undecorated. I have a mini couch. I have a bed.

I’m not sure why decorating seems so daunting – even though I know I can always take things down, move them around, I am SO reluctant to buy furniture or hang up pictures.

It makes for a pretty spartan existence.

BUT! Alex and I did a craft project a few weeks ago. We were inspired by Pinterest.

We set up a workspace in Alex’s basement, and mod podged our way to map success.

And yesterday I finally hung up my finished product.

Inspired by my crooked hanging skills, I decided to also hang up some curtains I bought about a year ago.

Yep, these have been hiding under my bed for almost a year. I’m afraid the wild cat will climb them. But I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try it out.

I think that’s the problem with home decor – I don’t want to let myself make mistakes. This is really silly, because it’s not that terrible to say, “oh no, that looks awful!” or “I’ll move this over here now.” I’m not sure why I got it into my head I have to get it perfect right out of the gate – and something usually looks better than nothing!

Here’s to home improvements, little by little.


I went home, to Michigan, last weekend. I flew out Friday night and arrived in Detroit at 6 am on Saturday morning. My parents drove a long way to get me, and then drove me a long way home.

We sat in the sun. We swam in the lake. We went for walks.


We explored the forest around home. We drank light beer and Moscow Mules. I saw my sister and met her dog. I went to the beach and laughed with my oldest friends.


It was wonderful, but also a little sad. I came back to Seattle on Tuesday night, and was reluctant to leave. It’s not enough time, not ever, but especially not when I try to sneak in a weekend trip. I live too far away, the travel days are too long. I can’t just get bored, which is the whole point of going home, after all.

Sometimes, usually after a trip like this, I start to wonder why I live so far away. I’ve grown to love life in Seattle, at least most of the time, but I sort of wound up out here by chance. I like my job, and my friends, but I’m pretty alone out here. The city has a lot to offer, but I don’t take advantage of nearly enough. These are my fears, anyway – alone and wasting time.

At the same time, I’m proud of myself for moving across the country, weathering the storms that followed that move- unemployment, a break-up, loneliness – and making a life for myself out here.  I can do what I wish with my life. I love so many parts of it. But some big parts of my life are hard to get to, my family of course, and my friends, but also the comfort of a small town, the lake stretching out to forever, and the smell of cedar trees and sand.

Going home is a reset button. Four days there makes me question not only where I live, but what I want to get out of  my days. It’s a good thing to thing about.