riveting.

read more should have been one of my new years resolutions because i'm really taking that goal by the reigns. currently reading {instead of writing, clearly} the goldfinch by donna tart. i'm sure you've heard the buzz by now. the best part is that it's set in new york so i can actually envision the places the author is describing. i'm only on page one eleven and it's absolutely riveting. i love that word, don't you? i mean, how often are you riveted these days? i'm going to use it every chance i get when asked about this book.

seven hundred and seventy one thin pages long with tiny font means i'll be at this one for a while. join me, won't you? we can discuss! happy reading. and for the record, i miss you.

how wild it was, to let it be.

i'm quite the meticulous reader. i like to make sure i read every. single. word. and so, i end up going back and re-reading pages a lot, and hence, take a rather long time to finish a book {at least that's one of the reasons}. i'm also somewhat of a book juggler. i like to have multiple going at once, which often times leaves me a third of the way through for months. exhibit a, gone girl. yes, guilty as charged, still trucking {many have taken priority!}.

anyhow, cheryl strayed's wild was one that took {a short} three months to finish {lots of plane rides this summer!}. cheryl is one of my favorite writers of all time as you might remember from when i saw her in person and when i gushed about her other book. in wild, she tells her story of hiking the pacific crest trail from california to oregon alone while she was twenty six. it's an unfathomable journey and yet she makes it seem achievable, as i felt like i was with her every step {literally} of the way, waiting to see how it would all unfold. she's an inspiration, and while my {new york} adventure is much less scary than hers, i couldn't help but find a few parallels along the way.

i thought i'd share some of my favorite quotes that left me in awe of her words.

i knew that if i allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so i chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. i decided i was safe. i was strong. i was brave. nothing could vanquish me. insisting on this story was a form of mind control, but for the most part, it worked. every time i heard a sound of unknown origin or felt something horrible cohering in my imagination, i pushed it away. i simply did not let myself become afraid. fear begets fear. power begets power. i willed myself to beget power. and it wasn't long before i wasn't afraid. 

and, as part of her last chapter, a good life lesson...

it was the the dream of a common language. i'd carried it all this way, though i hadn't opened it since that first night on the trail. i hadn't needed to. i knew what it said. its lines had run all summer through the mix-tape radio station in my head, fragments from various poems or sometimes the title of the book itself, which was also a line from a poem: a dream of a common language. i opened the book and paged through it, leaning forward so i could see the words by the firelight. i read a line or two from a dozen or so of the poems, each of them so familiar they gave me a strange sort of comfort. i'd chanted those lines silently through the days while i hiked. often, i didn't know exactly what they meant, yet there was another way in which i knew their meaning entirely, as if it were all before me and yet out of my grasp, their meaning like a fish just beneath the surface of the water that i tried to catch with my bare hands - so close and present and belonging to me - until i reached for it and it flashed away.  
it was all unknown to me then, as i sat on that white bench on the day i finished my hike. everything except the fact that i didn't have to know. that it was enough to trust that what i'd done was true. to understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was. to believe that i didn't need to reach with my bare hands anymore. to know that seeing the fish beneath the surface of the water was enough. that it was everything. it was my life - like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. so very close, so very present, so very belonging to me. how wild it was, to let it be. 

she learned to let it be. to accept what was and trust her life exactly as it was. let that be a lesson for all of us. it's a must-read, my friends!

p.s. they are making a movie and reese witherspoon is starring as cheryl!

write like a motherf*cker.

there are some incredibly rad women on this plant. many of which i've written about here... oprah, anna quindlen, and brené brown to name a few. and among them is ms. cheryl strayed. i picked up her book tiny beautiful things back in the fall and read the majority of it while i was galavanting abroad {aka on long flights}. she also writes the ever popular wild, which is on my to-read-as-soon-as-possible list.

this past sunday i was fortunate enough to see her speak in person and she was as captivating in real life as she is in her books.

cheryl spoke with such authenticity and stoicism. that's what i love about writers - especially those who write memoirs - they are comfortable with vulnerability by owning their words, feelings, and life experiences. the thing is, someone can always relate with pain and raw emotion.

i couldn't help but want to be on stage as the interviewer. do you have a writing sanctuary? what is your writing routine? how do you create titles to your work? what is your favorite part about being a writer? alas, just an audience member. someday! oh someday i'll get to have conversations with the greats.

one of my favorite {and subtle} things she did on several occasions was refer to herself as an artist. and that's what writers are, yes? beautiful and eloquent word stringing artists. may you bring out your inner artist and as cheryl says, write like a motherf*cker.

incandescently happy.

one of my very favorite movies of all time is pride & prejudice and i am thankful that this christmas eve it was the movie of choice. i could watch it over and over and catch a new line that's so easily missed in those old english accents. the humor is subtle yet witty, and i don't want to miss a beat. i find myself paying extra close attention, completely fascinated with the beauty of proper english and can't help but think how we've debauched it.

there are several moments in this movie that i think to be the greatest of all time. one is when mr. darcy's hand trembles after he helps elizabeth into the carriage. another is when they meet in the field and finally the moment she admits to her father that she is in love with him. i am a sucker for raw, vulnerable true love accompanied with big words.

i think my favorite scene of all time is the dialogue at the end when mr. darcy and elizabeth are finally married.

mr. darcy: how are you this evening, my dear?
elizabeth bennet: very well. only i wish you would not call me "my dear".
mr. d: why?
e.b.: because it's what my father always called my mother when he's cross about something.
mr. d: what endearments am i allowed?
e.b.: well let me think…"lizzy" for everyday, "my pearl" for sundays, and…"goddess divine", but only on very special occasions.
mr. d: {chuckles} and...what should i call you when i'm cross? "mrs. darcy"?
e.b.: {smiling} no! no. you may only call me "mrs. darcy"... when you are completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy.
mr. d: {chuckles} how are you this evening... mrs. darcy? {kisses her forehead}
mr. d: mrs. darcy {kisses her left cheek}
mr. d: mrs. darcy {kisses her nose}
mr. d: mrs. darcy {kisses her right cheek}
mr. d: mrs. darcy {they kiss}

swoon! we all know i go weak in the knees for terms of endearment. if you want to watch the end scene for yourself and fall in love a little bit, you can check it out here. may we all find the love we are looking for, and may it is inspired by an old-fashioned, classic romance.

gone girl.

anyone else hooked? i'm on the edge of my seat...

the last time i read a mystery was babysitters club, stacey and the missing ring. oh, please tell me you read it too. i miss the days of stoneybrook, connecticut and living vicariously through kristy, mary anne, claudia, and stacey {i always wanted to be stacey when we made up fake names for ourselves!}. you can revisit your childhood here if you like. i was just momentarily transported back to the fourth grade.

enjoy!

*picture via.

tiny beautiful things.

i originally picked up this book when i spotted it on my girl tp's instagram {and oh thank heaven for instragram! i know you're all with me on that one}.

cheryl strayed is a bit of a luminary in my book {no pun intended}. she also wrote wild, a take of her trek up the pacific coast trail alone. she's one of those writers where you simply can't wait to get to the next word because each sentence is filled with such wisdom and honesty that you know you'll be a better person for having finished it.

tiny beautiful things is a compilation of advice columns cheryl wrote in response to hundreds of letters she received at the rumpus. yes, she's an advice columnist. dear sugar...

i'm only sixty pages in, but i knew this book was for me when i read this...

love is the feeling we have for those we care deeply about and hold in high regard. it can be light as the hug we give a friend or heavy as the sacrifices we make for our children. it can be romantic, platonic, familial, fleeting, everlasting, conditional, unconditional, imbued with sorrow, stoked by sex, sullied by abuse, amplified by kindness, twisted with betrayal, deepened by time, darkened by difficulty, leavened by generosity, nourished by humor, and "loaded with promises and commitments" that we may or may not want or keep. the best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of love. 

my most favorite writers are speaking to me, i know it. i am secretly incredibly envious of their ability to articulate thoughts, that i want to devour every single ounce of every single word they've ever written in hopes that their skill will seep into my being and enable me to do the same with my own voice. because, articulation, oh it's the hardest part of this whole writing thing. i want you, my dear readers, to feel as if i'm speaking to you, just as i feel these authors are speaking to me. i owe it to you!

so, pick up a copy today, you won't regret it. and p.s. check out one of her many interviews with oprah. in honor of cheryl's token endearment, goodnight, sweet peas.

you had me at hello.

we all know i'm a sucker for kate spade.

my latest treasure is the kindle cover, because obviously i needed it. we can't have that precious device cracked as i toss it so roughly in my purse. {i am a total kindle convert p.s. i used to be all i will never use it! i only read books with pages! well, boy was i mistaken.}

and don't forget the book light that i also threw in my amazon cart. you know, for reading under the covers. very important business.

now every time i go to read i will be greeted with such kindness... hello! oh hi, i'm ready to indulge in my guilty pleasure that lies beneath that innocent case. fifty shades of gray. oh no she di'int!

the view.

reading a good book is a gift, don't you think? i must admit, i have trouble fitting it in. between hectic work days, being active, writing, socializing, and getting enough sleep, i find myself only able to squeeze in a quick twenty minutes while in transit. which doesn't pan out so well seeing as though it turns out that being prone to car-sickness translates to bus-sickness, too. who would have thought?

anyhow, there's no real point to this post except to say that i'd like to take advantage of my reading nook more. see, i have this little day sofa that folds nicely down on both sides. it so perfectly fits at the base of my two large windows that overlook none other than the bay herself. and that bridge. and alcatraz. and even the top of the palace pokes her head through.

  
how did i end up here? i think to myself.

it's important to stop and take in the view, yes? i frequently recall the ending of one of my favorite books by anna quindlen, a short guide to a happy life. 

i found one of my best teachers on the boardwalk of coney island many years ago. it was december, and i was doing a story about how the homeless suffer in the winter months. he and i sat on the edge of the wooden supports, dangling our feet over the side, and he told me about his schedule, panhandling the boulevard when the summer crowds were gone, sleeping in a church when the temperature went below freezing, hiding from the police amid the tilt-a-whirl and the cyclone and some of the other seasonal rides.

but he told me that most of the time he stayed on the boardwalk, facing the water, just the way we were sitting now, even when it got cold and he had to wear his newspapers after he read them. and i asked him why. why didn't he go to one of the shelters? why didn't he check himself into the hospital for detox?

and he stared out at the ocean and said, 

"look at the view, young lady. look at the view."

 and every day, in some little way, i try to do what he said. i try to look at the view. that's all. words of wisdom from a man with not a dime in his pocket, no place to go, nowhere to be. look at the view. when i do what he said, i am never disappointed.

may you find the time to indulge in a good book and no matter where you are, take in the view. hugs! 

*reading found here.

8,789 words of wisdom.

i've had this book on my shelf for years, traveling with me from one living space to the next. it's one of those great, quick, pick-me-up-and-read-a page-or-two kind. most likely purchased at anthropologie.

well, i haven't opened it in ages, but tonight i randomly flipped to page two hundred and sixty six. and, low and behold, lie none other than a few simple words of wisdom to share.

tell people only what needs to be done, not how 

you are part of a big world and even bigger universe 

you may regret what you say but never what you do not say 

difficulty strengthens the mind as labor does the body 

laughter and crying sound the same in all languages 

a journey begins with a single step, and a road map 

all cats look alike in the dark 

don't weight yourself every day 

good posture means better health 

a drop of ink may make a million think  

remind friends of their own worth 

life has a certain responsibility code 

there are some qualities in life that cease to exist once we realize they are happening 

learn to let go

bolded ones are my fave. happy monday, my lovers. may we have weeks full of wisdom.

love your experience of solitude.

i sometimes think that blogging is saving my life.

how else am i supposed to find my voice? even when i'm so tired it hurts i feel the need to visit you.

one of the most important excerpts you'll ever read {in my opinion}.




be whole. love wholly.

seven reasons why there's nothing to worry about.

one. you can't get happy, you can only be happy
two. you can have true love
three. you're not fat
four. you're not your daily grind
five. you can change your world
six. you will never die
seven. you can be yogic, and to the yogi, everything is bliss


*happy yoga by steve ross.*

on becoming fearless.

in the spirit of my new adventure at aol, i thought i'd pick up a new book.

on becoming fearless...in love, work, and life by arianna huffington.

since aol did purchase her company - huffington post - for $315 million dollars, the woman behind this endeavor must have something pretty powerful to say.




i love that the message of this book is written to her two daughters and how they can live their lives with a little less fear and worry. now that's one mother to live up to. i'll be sure to share some great insight along the way.

i'd love to become a little {a lot} more fearless.