Our dear Brave Tutu is now 11 years old, and she’s got opinions, big dreams, and absolutely no intention of toning down the sparkle!! It all began in October of 2015 and our writing space became a metaphor for the biggest, boldest, bravest life that I could share and celebrate with you– as we, collectively, took courage and delight in small moments.
Read MoreCirca age three, my Great Grandmother Lucille taught me this rhyme and how to pump my legs to use our backyard swingset. This Thanksgiving offered a full-circle moment to that earliest memory.
Read MoreThis week, I had a dream I just can’t shake. And after some reflection and real-life intervention, I don't think I want to. It all makes sense.
Read MoreEvery year, my grandma writes me and my brother Chanukah cards. They’re personalized, filled with love, and usually also filled with gelt: chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil when we were younger, and a small bit of money today. This Chanukah, her card was just what I needed as I stepped off of a rollercoaster of a semester.
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I clip into my spin bike and look around the room. I spot the familiar faces and think, These guys are always here. They must come all the time. Way more than me.
Before I even start the workout, I beat myself up a bit. Why?
The music starts to speed up. I catch my rhythm and try to dismiss the thoughts.
Read MoreAround 11pm, I exited the highway onto a double turn lane. In the left lane, I inched out for a right on red. The truck next to me, pulling a giant trailer, followed in full force. They gunned their gas and I watched as momentum swung the trailer into my lane. I sped my VW Beetle into the opposite side of the double yellow. One car, in oncoming traffic, switched lanes…
Read MoreI circled the packed YMCA parking lot. My anxious pre-yoga pep talk did not go well: “I’m not going to get a spot and I’ll be late for class. There might not be room for me. Even if there is, I don’t want to be that person.”
I took a deep breath and kept circling.
Read MoreAfter family staycations at the Embassy Suites, my twin sister and I thought “happy hour” was actually called “happy time”. Often, we’d take these trips in the fall. Rachel, my brother Joshua and I would swim for hours. We’d leave the warm indoor pool only to procure Shirley Temple and popcorn refills. We’d sloth on the walls of the pool, shoveling buttery goodness into our mouths. As leaves crunch and the weather crisps, it’s easy to get nostalgic.
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