When I was younger, I was a voracious reader. I read everything I could get my hands on. (At one point, I started in the A authors of the mystery section at the library….I read all the way through the Cs before stopping…Agatha Christie enthralled me, as did Lilian Jackson Braun and Rita Mae Brown.)

My mom would give me the monthly issue of Readers Digest, which I would digest immediately. I loved the tiny print and compact nature. When she switched to large print, I was somehow quite disheartened. It wasn’t the same. The pages weren’t as glossy; the text didn’t have the same glimmer and appeal as it once had.

Much like the romance novels I’d read when I was out of reading material, my mom would mark certain things as “off limits” for me. Generally, I’d read those first, my fingers holding the places eagerly, while all the while trying to play the part of the obedient child who swore she wouldn’t read stuff. (This got me in trouble once, actually. They gave me a book of murder mysteries when I was like 12 that terrified me. I read one that involved something horrible and I had to hide the book in a drawer because I couldn’t bear to look at it; I was so freaked out. To this day, I remember that cover. I couldn’t sleep.) (Side note: the first romance novel she gave me may have ruined me for life; it was such a beautiful love story and I remember crying and crying. Now, when I think about love, this one phrase is just burned into my brain: something something “never have enough of her.” Ugh, even now, I go on dates and I’m like, damn, I want to feel to feel that way about someone.)

I was 11 when she got the issue with an article about female genital mutilation. It was the horrifying story of Waris Dirie, a Somali model who had undergone female genital mutilation when she was a child. I can remember it now: the description of her being led to a field, a rock, a woman, her passing out from the pain. I’m cringing internally as I type this.

The way in which her body was treated appalled me. At 11, I was struck by the visceral descriptions of the mutilation itself; now, as a 27 year old woman, I remain struck by the implications of the act. That you can lose all sources of pleasure and incur such physical pain and recurrent reminders of the act during your monthly cycle remain horrifying to me.

I was brought up in Catholic schools with quite conservative values, and even with those, I understood the innate vulnerability of the women and young girls who lived in the African countries where Female Genital Mutilation was a common practice. I’ve since grown, studied gender studies, and become far more liberal in my approach to female sexuality, and I’ve come to realize that while these institutions were a social norm, they were not a social norm that served anyone; rather, they served to cultivate a subservient attitude and served to reinforce patriarchal control over the women in the affected communities.

This is not an act that can continue in any society for any length of time if that society wants to contort and present itself as a modern society. For any economy to prosper, they need to embody at the very least semi-modern values and those values certainly don’t incorporate the mutilation of women. We’ve come a long way, but we certainly haven’t gone far enough. This law serves to enable women to feel safe in their own societies; to feel protected by their own government; to feel as though they value, they matter, they are important. These are things that aren’t debated, shouldn’t be debated, and yet are, everywhere. We struggle with abortion rights (for our own bodies, for birth control, for the decisions we MAY want to make) in the United States and we often forget that elsewhere, bodies are condemned, regulated, and violated in worse ways than we could ever imagine.

I’m about to go for my second round of the Mirena IUD….I get to do that, legally. And I’m beyond grateful. It has changed my life. I’m so pleased, blessed, and humbled that I have that opportunity. I can’t wait to see how the world opens up for these young girls who are about to be spared from female genital mutilation….I can’t imagine my life if I were to have to have had to endure the procedure, and quite frankly, I’m glad I never had to. I’m blessed. And we need to fight for the women who aren’t so blessed. We need to struggle for the ones who don’t have a voice; we need to protect the fragile bodies of the young.

This afternoon, I got to leave work early.

I put on mascara in the bathroom at my office – I don’t wear makeup to work, but for my upcoming appointment, I definitely wanted to have my face on.

This afternoon, I spoke in front of a room full of judge, magistrates, family court facilitators, and sherlocks (…that sounds cool, what do they do?) about what it’s like being a child of divorce and how the court-mandated custody agreements affected me and my life.

it’s not something I think about often anymore, but for a long time, divorce was the center of my world. I sat with four other panelists in front of the room and we all watched a short documentary called “Split” which is heartbreaking and beautiful and so insightful – it’s just divorce as told through interviews and artwork. It’s entirely children featured in the film, so it’s honest and adorable and gut-wrenching.

Then we dove in.

I’m actually great at public speaking. I have a natural humor about me, so even when I’m talking about horrible things, they generally turn out to be slightly humorous. At least, that’ the plan. I introduced myself and I was shaking. I hate that I’m so pale, because I naturally blush so very easily. Ugh. So I’m blushing and shaking and of course, my mouth is so dry. I’m trying to sip water like a lady, but I could have easily overturned the pitcher and just drank the whole thing.

The first question was about how we were protected from the collapse of the marriage. I laughed, not at all. When my parents used to fight, Mike and I would huddle together and whisper about whether or not this one was going to result in the “D” word. We never harbored any hope that our parents would stay together. (I guess, except for like three months after mom’s first brain surgery….everything was so calm for a minute there.) I also told them that the first thing my dad said when he got served the papers was that it was my fault. They laughed then, because I explained that I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.

The next question was about the difficulties that arose when traveling between two homes. We used to have duffel bags…mine was green. I explained how the cleaners worked and how if you didn’t get it before they closed, you were out of luck until after the weekend. I explained how hard that was and then recounted the one time that the police came, and I thought I was going to be arrested at twelve. (For a brilliant twelve year old, I should have known better — what could I possibly have been arrested for??)

After that, it was what resources were made available to us. I told them about the time we went to therapy with that therapist and she told us to draw a family tree and use the colors that we were feeling…and I told her that this wasn’t worth $200 an hour and called her a monkey butt and walked out. That got another laugh. The therapist was the first person I was ever openly rude to…I’m impressed, and appalled, and so aware that I needed therapy all at the same time. I did tell them that later, when I was 23, I found a real therapist who doesn’t make me describe anything using colors for feelings and that that’s gone a long way.

Then came the parenting plan. I told them how complicated it was, and then told them that when I was 16, I moved in with my mom and ignored it. And how I regret leaving my little brother. And how he did the same thing when he was 16.

The next question was how did your day to day change? Like, college, friends, school, etc. I told them that it all came down to money; that my mom was a wizard with tuition expense management, and that I went to school as far away as I could get. I also told them that it was hard to want to do things because I didn’t want my mom to have to pay for the stuff, like shoes and whatnot if it was sports or whatever accoutrements go along with whatever you’re doing.

Then they asked about new partners, and I told them that since my parents divorced at the advent of internet dating, my dad went crazy for it. I then told them that I’ve been meaning to get my mom online to find a companion. The way I phrased it was cute. I told them thank you for the reminder. Good laughs there. I told them how grateful I am for my stepmom and how a relationship with my dad wouldn’t be possible without her and how she’s made him a better person and how much I love her. I almost teared up then.

The last question they asked was about whether or not we had gotten to talk to the judge or whether we’d wanted to talk to the judge. I told them that it was interesting, because I’d never thought about it but that I probably would have wanted to talk (I love talking….), but that it would have been nothing more than a regurgitation of what my dad had been telling us at the time, which in hindsight, was not an accurate reflection of the situation.

One question that wasn’t planned that came up was whether or not we’d lost family or culture as a result of the divorce….I almost cried then too. I answered that yes, I’d lost my dad’s family. I told them about how hurt I was when we were disinvited from Christmas at 7pm on Christmas Eve one year, and how when I confronted my uncle about it, he told me how much they’d had to accommodate us over the years, and how powerless I felt, because I was a child. I didn’t get to choose that we were at my dad’s at 4pm one Christmas and 8 am the next…I didn’t get a say, and to have him throw that back at me cut me so deeply. I told them that I still don’t know why, but that I think it’s because they assumed that I was closer with my dad? Or that there had been some falling out that I don’t know about? I did tell them that many of my own tears have been shed over it. That was raw for me.

My parting words were that divorce custody agreements are already arduous enough — all of the panelists agreed that it’s better to get them over quickly — but I urged the judges to really look at the situation and to think of the things that might not be so obvious (duffel bags…..never should have happened). I also reminded them that nothing is as it seems and that each party is presenting their best selves, and that it’s often a lot more complicated than they realize. And then I assured them that I understand that they realize it, since they deal with it every day.

Overall, it was a super emotional experience. I was supposed to see my friend Jacob tonight, but I’m worn out. I’m just grateful for the supportive family that I’ve had over the years. I am so grateful that I was able to go to college and that I’ve been lucky enough to get to bond with my brother. The divorce made us an inseparable pair — of course we still fight, all the time, but he’s my best friend and the first person I’d call if I needed help.

Divorce is a horrible thing. Watching families torn apart by anger and greed is horrible. I so badly want to have a happy, lasting marriage/relationship like some of my uncles and aunts do, but honestly, I’m terrified that I’m never going to be able to do it. What if I make the wrong decision? What if I can’t keep us happy? What if kids tear us apart? What if we can’t do it? The what ifs are never-ending.

I was finally able to have an honest conversation with my dad a couple of months ago about how much I’m affected by how he was when we were children. How my relationships are horrible, how my self-esteem is shot, how I feel like I was let down in so many ways. It was really beautiful, because instead of being defensive about it, he was open to it and receptive and he apologized. It was really healing. I told him that no matter what our relationship is like now, I can’t make that somehow change how the past is, and that the wounds I carry from childhood are the wounds I’ll carry forever. I told him that I”m so glad that we have both done the therapy thing and that we’re both able to enjoy each other’s company, and I told him how grateful I was to have him in my life.

When boyfriend and I broke up in January, my dad showed up that day with a flower for me from the fancy flower shop where they got their wedding flowers done. I was so grateful and I felt so loved in that moment. I know my dad cares and I know that he always has, and I’m just glad that now is the time when I get to have both parents….not together, not anything like that, but just both parents…people who love me and support me and want what’s best for me. And people who I can honestly trust and respect.

Divorce is a horrible, awful, life-changing/destroying thing….but in this case, it was one of the best/worst things that ever happened to us. In her intro this afternoon, the moderator said that she understands that no decision can ever be as good as the original home, but that she wanted them to make the best decision possible. I wanted to stop and correct her, because the decision we had may not have been perfect, but it was definitely better than the original home. And honestly, we’re all stronger for it. I may have been acting too old for my age at 12, but I have had my fun, done my wild (with some semblance of restraint) adventures, and grown and become resilient in ways I never knew possible.

Mom, we used to make fun of you for that book called “Raising Resilient Children,” but you did just that, and I’m eternally grateful for your enduring love and support and compassion.

I’m going to wax nostalgic (not really – wax enthusiastic, perhaps) about my love of DOTA 2.

I wasn’t ever allowed to play video games growing up, and so I developed this weird disdain for them. It’s actually one of those ongoing weird social drawbacks because I don’t understand pop culture references (so much blank staring happens, or the slow head nod and the “yeah, that” even though I have no clue what “that” is) or even how to play – I just end up wiggling levers and stabbing blindly at buttons.

I never understood the allure of video games; I found them violent and ridiculously expensive and time consuming. (You’ll have to remember that I came of age during the early years of Grand Theft Auto, a game that delighted youngsters while simultaneously horrifying parents and profiting obscenely from the pixelated glorification of the obscene. I was also the squarest square you’ll ever meet. I embodied purity and good intentions. I wouldn’t kiss my boyfriend when I was in 8^th grade — and I told him this – because I had “morals and ethics.” You can imagine how fun I was at parties.  – ha, that’s a joke. I never got invited to anything but birthday parties.)

That was until I met DOTA 2.  (I really like the way that reads, even with the random bit about birthday parties in there….as though somehow my affiliation with DOTA now gets me into all the sweet parties. It does not.)

The ex was an avid DOTA player when I met him. I was annoyed by the lack of attention, which eventually gave way to a curious analysis of the mechanics and strategy, which gave way to the strong desire to compete. I had no idea what I was getting into.

How do I explain DOTA? Hmm…there are two sides (the Radiant and the Dire – think light vs dark) to which you and nine others are randomly assigned. You and the four others on your team (5 vs 5) hang out and defend towers in three lanes. It’s much like capture the flag except not like that at all. Your goal is to knock down three towers in each of the three lanes (9 total) to get in to their base and destroy their ancient (it’s a big thing that has no real purpose other than to serve as the goal/endpoint of the game). Each game lasts about an hour. You have a hero (a character) that you play, and you have unique skills and attacks to use in combination with your teammates’ skills to crush (or get crushed by) the other team. It’s fast-paced, so overwhelming, and requires a surprising amount of skill. There are other things, too, like creeps, which are little creatures that you kill to get gold and experience, which allows you to level up and increase your power.

The ex used to say that starting to play video games by playing DOTA is like walking into the NFL with no football experience. I don’t think that’s an inaccurate representation. I started playing against robots. Even that was nearly insurmountable. Trying to look at a tiny map in the corner while trying to walk and keep the screen centered on the right places is so much harder than it looks. It’s funny, because women are generally seen as so much better at multi-tasking than men, but I was miserable at trying to walk and click and look and hit buttons. (Still am…shhh.)

I’ve played 570 hours of DOTA 2. That’s insane. That’s 23.75 days of my life. I regret nothing. (#noragrets — google that for the image of the guy with the neck tattoo. Kills me every time.) I spent most of my first year playing against robots. I had literally no idea how to manage any of it.

My strategy at the outset was to find a character that I liked and stick with it – getting good at one hero when there are over 100 to choose from is hard. But having that as a goal really helped me to be able to utilize the skills in a manageable way that let me be a viable teammate and sometimes formidable opponent. I find that not only am I not afraid to join matches, I’m also pretty solid at the jobs I set out to do.

Now I’ve got more than one hero I can play well. I’m not afraid to join team fights. I’m still working on not being out of position during the mid and late game – that’s when you just get picked off by roving groups of the other team. It’s frustrating and avoidable.

Last fall, the ex built me a PC so that I could stop using his to play, because my MacBook won’t handle it. I have my own mouse with 12 little buttons on the side that correspond to things within the game – skills, items, whatnot. It’s super nerdy and I love it. I’m still mostly thumbs, but I’m a master of hitting the 7 and 8. I make sure to put my most important items there so that they’re easily accessible in the middle of a hectic battle. Super nerdy.

We used to drag our PCs over to our friend’s house so the four of us could all play together. We’d spend hours there, playing game after game. They were all way better than I was, of course, but it was good practice.

About a month ago, I was at a bar, bored while one of the dudes I’m dating was playing pool, so I went outside and started talking to a group of people. As it turns out, one of them plays DOTA as well. We exchanged numbers, and Steam IDs (it’s how you find someone in the internet world of the game), and now we play DOTA together. It’s pretty cool to have an internet friend that I met in the real world. He’s way better than I am – he’s like level 165 whereas I’m like level 15. I feel bad when we play together because they match you based on your skill level and we’re usually up against a tougher group than I usually get matched with, so I’m limping around getting killed way more often than I should be. Definitely the weak link there. But we have fun, and he’s not super serious about it (at least with me), so it’s nice. And playing against better people makes you better, so it’s a win for me too.

That got longer than I anticipated, and I’m sure most of it bored you all nearly to tears.

I will say that it’s been interesting to become involved in a mostly male-dominated world. DOTA 2 is huge – there’s a big tournament every summer that has a prize pool that reaches over $8 million dollars. There’s a documentary called “Free to Play” about how it’s affected the lives of a few of its star players. It’s intense – the teams that play professionally are incredible. Their knowledge of the game and the fact that they’ve been able to turn it into a viable career is wild.

When I play, I very rarely use the microphone. I don’t draw attention to the fact that I’m a woman. Instead, I will just type if I need to say something to my team. I find that it’s far easier that way, rather than highlighting the fact that I’m a woman. It’s pretty rare to find another woman who plays. That might just be because we’re very rarely open about the fact that we play. Perhaps it’s because I just assume that my teammates and opponents are men. But mostly, I know that we’re few and far between.

I do have one friend who I met through DOTA because she was talking over the microphone. I was really excited about that the fact that there was another girl playing, so I friended her and we spent a few nights playing together with some other people. We’d all get on Skype so we could talk to each other and then we’d all join the same matches and play together as a team. I enjoyed that – playing together with people you’ve played with before is nice, because a more cohesive team leads to a better outcome every time. Fractured teams lose games.

I’ve also learned to develop a thicker skin. I’m a super-sensitive person, so I’m usually reduced to tears pretty quickly, which doesn’t fly in the internet gaming world. There can be insults flying back and forth, all around you, and you have to ignore it. Once, I was having a particularly bad game, and I was getting tons of abuse heaped on me, and I just started crying. Crying and clicking. I should have quit while I was ahead that day, but I am proud to say that I haven’t cried since. Haven’t even had the inclination to. It no longer matters. It’s not about you. (Actually, it might be, if you’re terrible…but you can’t help that.)

Sorry for so many words about something you most likely have no idea about. I love DOTA. I want to go home and play all day. I want to nerd out and hone my skills and get better at it. It’s nice to have something that’s mine, a way to let out energy and steam, and something that gives me immense satisfaction. When I play well, I feel great. When I play poorly, I realize what I need to work on – how I can get better. I think if anything, it’s a nice outlet and a fun secret habit to have. Some people knit; some people practice calligraphy; I go home and nerd out online in a way that would absolutely horrify my 14-year old self. That secretly makes me happy.

The air in our office building went out about a month ago….for almost a month. I’m not talking just air conditioning, I’m talking no moving air. Which is awesome, because we’re all in essentially one giant room. And when you’ve got twenty-five people in a single giant room with no moving air and the coming spring heat, you get a giant 80 degree petri-dish.

Everyone started getting sick. I wasn’t getting sick. I was thrilled. I kept thinking to myself, damn, girl, your immune system is on point!

Then two Fridays ago hit. I had an earache. I thought it was just a weird wine hangover. It was not.

Saturday brought the chest symptoms, the low-grade fever, the coughing, the aching. Then it all went downhill. I didn’t go to work last Monday. I went on Tuesday, and for half a day Wednesday, before my throat starting absolutely killing me. I got in with the doctor and was diagnosed with strep. I started taking meds.

I did not get better.

I went back to the doctor yesterday. I explained all 800 of my symptoms. “You’re a mess!” he said. Yep. He even made a Van Gogh joke when I complained about my ear pain. I do adore my doctor. He listened to my lungs, proclaimed them horrible, and told me that no X-ray was going to change his diagnosis and that the only way we’d know if he was right is if I got better.

Pneumonia, he said. And an ear infection. On top of strep.

That’s never happened before. I’ve now missed five days of work in two weeks. I’m not the only one either. I’m looking forward to finally feeling better and to getting back in the groove. I hate being down!

I have a lot of Olivia Pope moments. I’m a delegator, a negotiator, and a cooperator, but mostly, I am a handler. I take care of the things that need to be taken care of when they need to be taken care of. I’m that guy. I’m the one my friends call when they need something, because they know that I’ll make it happen. I’m really great at doing it for other people, but I also manage to keep all of my ducks in a row.

I’ve got the bills paid, the plans made, and the arrangements taken care of. I live for that. It’s weird. I’m so not a type A person – you should see how cluttery my life is, but when it comes to stuff – the important stuff – it’s all done. Don’t even have to worry for a second.

Today, I got called into the CEO’s office at work. I gulped. I went through a mental checklist of all of the things that I could have possibly done wrong and didn’t come up with anything substantial. I started off down the hall, then stopped, did a U-turn, and put a Band-Aid on my nose ring. He hates nose rings. Which is funny, because putting a bandage over it does not mean it’s not there. It means it looks like I have a nose-herp situation happening.

Regardless, nose Band-Aid on, I strode in, all jello inside. I sat down.

He opens. “I hear you’ve been killing it.”

I reply honestly, “I have been.”

I tell him about a huge client compliment I got last week, and he’s thrilled, because apparently, he is the one who signed them. I’m pleased. I love it when clients love me. I live for that feedback, for the mutual satisfaction of a work relationship that’s both positive and productive. I go out of my way to get that. I’m polite, knowledgeable, information seeking, advice-dispensing, and prompt. Generally, that is exactly what people want.

Since I took over my clients, I’ve gone the extra mile in order to make them happy. I even gave one of them my cell phone number so she could call me about an employment matter. She and I ended up talking for like a half an hour during one of my rush hour commutes. Now she calls me “hon” and calls me for advice all the time. Which honestly makes me laugh because I’ve been at this for like five months. But I adore her, and I always have an opinion about everything, so it’s all good.

The CEO tells me that there’s a raise happening. I’m floored. It was more than I was expecting. Granted, it’s where I should be, for sure, but I’m super pleased. So happy. Now I can probably afford food AND health insurance! Woo, adulthood!

I’m so grateful. I’ve been loving every day – it’s that client interaction that thrills me, and I just got a new client who came to us specifically for that. During the setup meeting, I laughed when I heard the reason they’d come over. I know they’re in the right place. We’re already good; we’ve communicated back and forth quite a bit and I feel like we’re off to a great start. It just takes enthusiasm and competency. And emoticons. Seriously. Sprinkle those things liberally all across your emails and you’re set. The right use of the exclamation point can also convey upbeatness (that’s a word, what?) in the best way. People dig that, subconsciously. Kill them with happiness, that’s what I always say. (Not really, but I should.) Even when it’s very serious, bend in the right way. Use the language they want, use decisive, strong verbs, and then get them with the “I understand.” That’s the combo.

I’m so happy right now. I’m loving most of my clients and I’m loving how different my work is. I’m never bored, which is a good thing. And I get to walk out of there (most) every day knowing that I’ve just absolutely put 100% in and I’m rocking it. I swear, that’s so confidence-boosting. It’s uplifting, fulfilling, intellectually stimulating, all of the things.

Sorry. I’m not trying to brag. I’m just so freaking happy right now. I’ve been digging through stupid statutes all week, and I’m pleased to see that it’s paying off.

I spent the better part of the past two years in an apathetic stagnancy. I was alive, but I was not living. I was very sedentary in a multitude of areas – my work aspirations, my social self, my general being.

Over the past few months, the nearly forgotten sense of joy in all things has returned, renewing my spirit. I can’t even attempt to verbalize the visceral sensation of feeling so full of life after having lived in an essential flat line for so long. .

I honestly thought I had lost the luster. The dark places, even the gray ones, are so blinding because you slowly lose the memory of the physical sensation of peace, that effervescent blissful calm that comes with the experience. To feel it radiating through me once again is nothing short of delightful.

I was hiking with my favorite five year old this weekend, and at one point, waiting for her to race to me down trail, I took a minute and stared up into the cloudless deep blue sky and savored the moment, letting the joy rise inside of me.

I think proximity to children always helps with optimism. They are so free because they’re not weighed down yet, and their worldviews are so precious. Five year old and I sat in the car on at least three occasions to finish listening to songs, singing along (poorly) and dancing. We raced to the playground, we cartwheeled, we explored. Then we decided to go hiking. We found a spot, checked out some birds, walked to a river and spent the better part of fifteen minutes throwing sticks into the current and hopping on rocks. I could spend hours doing that. We found some trash and hiked it out. I felt the exhaustion of a sun-drenched day well spent. That’s the best feeling.

Sunday was much of the same. We biked to the park, played frisbee, and soaked up the sunshine. I love watching Denver come alive in the summer. All the biking, hiking, and general outdoor playing is the best thing. Mom, I realize Mike does not want your grill, but I do. I’m going to learn how to grill things, just to round out my outdoor skill set.

Monday night, I was in Boulder with a friend and we were discussing the manifestation of positivity in our lives. I’m one of those people who thrives on good input. I live for it. But we get what we put out into the world and the only way to keep the positivity coming is to be a source of it as well. The best part about that is that just keeps building. When you’re emitting good vibes, the good vibes float back from all sides. It’s entirely sustainable and with practice, it becomes second nature. Even when I’m grumpy as all hell, I still try to smile at strangers, because my grump isn’t theirs.

The best compliment I have ever received came from Tobias. He told me that I radiate light into the world. I carry it with me everywhere I go and I will continue to be pleased about it until I die.

I’m starting to sound like a broken self-help record, but I’ve been cultivating radiance lately. I realized that the clouds had lifted one day in January when I was on my way to work and realized I was just grinning. Grinning for no reason is the best thing. Lately, I’ve been allowing myself to laugh deeply, giggle often, and have been making terrible jokes. It’s magical. I am where I wanted to get back to in that respect. I think my natural state of being is best when I’m settled into a happy comfortable place.

I’m back. I’m really back and I’m beyond jazzed about that.

I checked, procrastinatively is the correct form of procrastinate as an adverb. Huh. I was going to go with procrastinatorally, which I think I prefer. Ah, well. I’m not the boss of these things.

I’ve got an article due this weekend. As usual, I have no plan. My last article was rather weak; it centered on appearance as a marketing tool and was essentially a cautionary tale. I did manage to slip in an anecdote about my father’s hair, which is nothing if not a cautionary tale in itself. I repackaged that age-old wedding advice about not trying crazy makeup that you’d never be caught dead in for your wedding day. It all stemmed from a post about a self-help guru who had a billboard somewhere and my god, he looked terrible. I’m going to try to find that image again, it’s worth it. His hair is thinning, yet he’s still dyed it and then had it styled like a 90s boy band member/skateboarder. It’s so awful. I don’t know why anyone let him do that. That’s a situation where someone should have stepped in and intervened before the public humiliation happened.

Anyway. At the time of my last article, there was a billboard for a well-known local attorney posted up near my house, and in it, he’s got that fourth-day scruff. I’m not a fan of beards to begin with, but I find that the in-between is almost worse. If you’re going to go facial fur for a billboard that’s going to have your face six feet high, please go all the way facial fur. Don’t go “I’ve been partying in Vegas for five days and I don’t know where I am” fur. It looks reckless. I don’t want my attorney to neglect his facial hair situation any more than I want my attorney to neglect my legal documents.

So my last article was about that. It wasn’t the strongest article I’ve ever published, and I want to come back with this one full force. Full facial fur force. (I’m enjoying the alliteration a bit too much this morning, can you tell?)

I’ve toyed with the idea of discussing software trends, but I’m concerned that I’m too far outside of the legal industry now to have a good idea of the pulse of legal software. I mean, granted, most legal offices are about five years behind on the adoption of technology, so I could make some recommendations and assessments and most likely still be spot on. I am also in the mood to incorporate my experience with other industry software (you’ve seen one database, you’ve seen them all) and discuss the maintenance and upkeep and general outlay of a solid working database. People dig that. People dig database design, because if you do it right, you’re set for the life of your database. If you do it wrong, you will regret it every day for the rest of your time using that database until you have to throw tons of cash at some kid to redo it. And no one wants to mess with data conversion, because it’s not the building of the database that’s the problem. It’s everything that lives inside of it.

I found an article years ago about the use of negative diction as a tool of persuasion. It talked about motivating people to take action based on creating a small amount of negative anxiety, creating a protective or adversarial response in the prospect. Rather than “Do you want to win this case?” you’d say something like, “Call because someone you love was hurt,” in order to stir up that need to solve the problem. That was a terrible example. I’ll have to get something better.

What I really need to do is find that article. I swore I bookmarked it, but bookmarks tend to slide into the abyss. What I miss the most about college is the unlimited access to scholarly articles – I’m going to have to make my brother give me his password so I can read all of the articles I want while he’s still in school. My increased access to knowledge will be an added benefit of all that tuition. 😉

Side note – I have been thinking a lot about diction lately. The guy I’m seeing is incredibly intelligent, which is fantastic, but he’s also very observant, which doesn’t seem to be working in my favor. He’s picking up on things in my speech patterns that I’d not noticed were even there, and I think it’s negatively impacting his perception of me.

If you know me, you know I’m a super pacifist, yet my speech is littered with very aggressive and violent assertions. Nothing like a legitimate threat, of course, but a lot of hyperbole. I think that’s how I need to explain it to him. My speech lives in a hyperbolic state at times as a way to express the extent of my care for what I’m speaking about. If I’m saying, “I’ll kill him,” it’s not like I’d ever actually do that, it’s a reflection of the state of my concern for the situation. It’s unnerving to know that we’re all unintentionally sending signals out with our speech. It’s unnerving because even though I know exactly what I mean and am feeling, it’s not translating out in that way, and the risk of miscommunication intensifies with every crossed signal.

Regardless, I’ve been more cognizant about my speech lately, and perhaps now would be an excellent time to spend time thinking about how diction does affect people’s perceptions and motivations, and craft a thoughtful piece about how lawyers can increase their responses to calls to action through a simple shift in dialogue.

I can dig that. Let’s change the course of the conversation intentionally. That’s manipulative. But then again, that’s marketing.



My little brother is 25 today! 

My brother has always been a rock of reason and a pillar of resolute determination. His positivity and willingness to let go of the negative is something I try to emulate every day. Try being the operative word there. He’s always been a good balance for me; I’m the frenetic blur and he’s the observant center. We’re a great team that way. I do big picture and administrative; he does details, planning, and organization. 

I always laugh because his life advice is always straight from the Dalai Lama or the Buddha…..or from reality shows depicting prison life. I will never forget the time I was watching one with him and I heard one of his quotes – “Too blessed to be stressed” – come out of the mouth of an inmate. I turned to him, aghast, and he got that sheepish grin face he gets when he’s been caught doing something mischievous.





We have been together through so much and our adventures have been the very best. 

Here are a ton of highlights:



My first big high school dance! 

The day we closed on our house. We promptly donned painting coveralls, Breaking Bad-style, and painted everything. Arduous but so fun. 



My mom’s very utilitarian Christmas presents – matching shovels. I do love that steel edge, though. Mom always knows what’s up. 



ew, this is why I don’t wear hats.

tennis lessons! 

fishing. It’s his happy place and my least favorite place. 



South Africa will always be one of the happiest, wildest times of my life. 



 Cape Town from Table Mountain 



Johannesburg 



I want to say cape of good hope. Southernmost point of Africa. Or just a rocky outcropping and the ocean. Either or. 





Moving out of Chicago in 2010. He got to Chicago and I wasn’t packed. He rolled his eyes, made me throw so much away, and packed Simon the civic like a pro. We made it back with all the important things plus the cat, and he taught me how to spit sunflower seeds on the way. 



Omaha. 

My first Cubs game, courtesy of Mike. 

I hope his year is full of magic, whether it’s exciting next steps, like graduation, or wonderful fishing adventures. Now that we have so many new power tools, hopefully it will be full of home improvement, too. 😉

A very happy birthday to the worst guy, my best friend, my little brother. I love you so much and can’t imagine my life without you.