The Power of Nice

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I used to think that “niceness” was a soft attribute. I was heartily convinced that the way to be in life was like Christina Yang–calloused, driven, exceptional and seldom nice. Nice was a boring quality. Nice felt like Comic Sans and an exclamation point. Nice was a pastel butterfly on top of a crib. Nice meant weak. 

That’s not to say I was always mean. I liked to call myself “driven” instead. I was capable of being nice, but usually and especially in high school, nice was not inherent; nice served a purpose.

A Chicago First Anniversary

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Right before I left, Jeremy and I celebrated our first year of marriage in Chicago. It was a little bit of fanfare, because our real anniversary was on Sunday and Latter-day Saints try not to spend money on Sunday, so we celebrated Saturday. Both of us felt like it was cheating a little to celebrate the day before though, so we went ahead and celebrated Sunday anyways. That felt real and wonderful and romantic.

Stop Everything, and Know that I Love You.

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I should probably apologize to any of you who felt the world stop spinning somewhere between 7:00 and 8:00 this morning. That’s because Jeremy and I put the world on pause and just allowed ourselves to believe for a moment that we had all the time in the world to just be. We lapsed into a comfortable cuddle–not the kind filled with pointy scapulas, uneven weight distribution, and a little too much muscle tension. This cuddle was perfect and relaxing as we drifted in and out of sleep, and dreamed together about spending an entire day with the world on pause.