It's Christmas

It's still Christmas, we are saying--because I need to say that to stave off the blasted decrescendo of post-Christmas let-down.

When I was just beginning to fall in love with writing...back in the day when I ratted my bangs one, two, three times with my turquoise comb and spraaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyed every last dead end of 'em, slowly and evenly, with the tall, cold can of hair spray...back in the day when I'd click back and forth between red ink and blue ink on my four color pen...back in the day when my third grade teacher, Mrs. Clark, told us the world was our oyster and we were its pearl...I met my friends, the Adjectives, and fell hard and heavy for them. They had me at beautiful. They slayed me with delicious. They charmed me with alluring and exquisite and pulchritudinous (yeah, you heard me...pulchritudinous...look it up).

Over-adjective-izing will forever be my problem. Because I like beautiful and amazing and pulchritudinous, and when I'm feeling it? I want to shout them all...to echo from the mountaintop "I'm blithe." "I'm elated!" I'm intoxicated with exhultant joy and, oh for God's sake, I'm so over the top, I'm begging for someone to slap me in the face.

But, I'm going to try and go easy tonight. Because, really, I loved this week. I loved it. It was one of those nothing-special but because of that, so-very special Christmases, all in one. And yes, that sounds very unicorn-and-rainbowish, but I'm a little unicorn-and-rainbowish, so I guess that's okay. And just to confirm that thought, I got up to get a drink a minute ago, mid-post, and my head hit a set of windchimes hung from the door...and it made this little harmonious plllltttiinnnggg sound which kind of sounded like unicorns and rainbows, and well...there you have it. Okay, so now I'm laughing.

It was a beautiful time, you know. A happy one. Not so happy that it was out of touch. No, it was grounded with just a little bit of well, that's life. Because I felt a little sad yesterday, for no particular reason I could come up with. It did kind of have something to do with feeling inadequate and a very small amount of insecurity, when I returned to the past and anonymous critics. But that doesn't distinguish me from any other teenage girl on the planet right now. Happy? Yes. Celebrating all that 2013 has given me, from the people to the places to the experiences? Yes. But due for some closure where I can go to that place again some time with no purpose but for to say "Hey, I'm back" to those thoughts and feelings and make a moment of that something sacred happened there, and then finally, try to let it go...yes. But, that's life.

And with life comes breathing and feeling moments.

My favorite part of Christmas? When the morning spills over into complete calm. Everyone finds a different corner of the house, we test out new gifts, adults rest on couches, the mess on the living room floor dissolves into the setting and everything is quiet and happy and good. I collapsed on the couch late morning, not intending to sleep, but I fell into one of those half awake naps where my eyes were closed and my brain was off duty but I was very aware that I was smiling and listening to the chatter and Christmas songs and everything was as it should be.

For some reason, I was positive that some part of Christmas happiness and cheer and whatnot would make me cry, but alas (term coined from Claire. Thank you, Claire) it did not happen. We didn't even notice when night came. We were busy, happy, making cookies.

And my favorite part of Christmas came next. Mia and Rafa, my little Christmas angels whose presense makes me feel like I could do anything. They wrote me letters and made me feel so wonderful and happy.

And that one? Well, that one made me cry.

We're still in vacation mode. And feeling so thankful for family and home.

To scrapbooks being filled with much love.  Chin-Chin.

Thank You

Can I talk about Twitter? I want to talk about Twitter.

There is an ancient Native American story about an old Cherokee who told his grandson about the battle that goes on within us. "My son," he told him, "Inside every one of us dwells two wolves, one evil, one good. The evil one is angry and jealous, full of regret and arrogance, greed and sorrow, guilt and self-pity. The other is good. He is kind and loving, full of hope and peace, joy and compassion."

The young boy thought about it for a moment. "Which wolf wins?" he asked his grandfather.

The old Cherokee smiled and simply replied, "...the one you feed."

About a year ago, I sat down and decided I wanted a swiftie account, so I changed my account to accomodate that want. It wasn't a very planned decision much like my other spontaneous whims. In fact, I hadn't even really thought through what I'd title it, but when the server asked for a username, my first attempt at pecking out "likeanarmyguy" pulled up an available name, so I took it. Red was about two months old and my heart was swelling uncontainably with this grand appreciation for Taylor Swift and life and moments, and I needed to let the air out somewhere. That and the fact that it was mid-December, I was pretty high on Christmas, and tweeting about my enthusiasm to a fanbase known for its Christmas loving idol was a better choice than duct-taping the Christmas Fig candle to my face for a continuous sniff-fest. So, likeanarmyguy became this place. This place that has grown and stretched and changed its name and challenged both my creative being and my philosophical one.

I've been asked the standard Why do you have a twitter? question a handful of times now, and while my answer used to include all sorts of long-winded responses, it has now come down to a simple answer: I tweet because I enjoy it. I also enjoy clicking "Buy It Now" for a great pair of shoes on Ebay, but tweeting, unlike Buy It Now, gives back. It feeds my good wolf. And after a year, he's a big boy, that wolf. Strong and ferocious, confident and kicking.

We all have our different methods of feeding the good wolf. And when we find our wolf growing with any particular method, we make time amid our busy schedule to continue to feed it. Maybe you're motivated by running or grounded by baking. Perhaps you are inspired by painting or refueled by lunching with friends. Whatever the case, feeding the good wolf is essential for our ever hopeful quest for life fulfilled.

And then there's this bonus that comes with twitter. And here's where you come in. For all the skeptics out there who say the Internet has replaced the beauty of simpler times and is slowly ruining our ability for real social interaction, I beg to differ. Because without the Internet I wouldn't have all of these beautiful, amazing friends who enlighten me and share my passions and are so beautiful and who teach me to be a better person.

In particular, they are these people. (and this is not a particular order, so just search for yours. I'm going straight down my following list)

mochaswift

Grace. I love you, darling. You are funny and spirited, caring and loving and zesty and wonderful. Please never lose that, because it will take you so far in life. Thank you for teaching me to shine and be myself.

distancetimings

Brooke. We don't talk as often as I'd like, and I wish we would. To me you are defined by funny tweets, good twitter packs, and a beautiful heart. I wish we had a closer friendship. I love you so. Thank you for teaching me about being such a kind and lovely person.

classicswift

Serena. I have been so blessed to be able to talk to you these last few months, and you are so heavenly. I absolutely love you. Thank you for teaching me about all of the good and beauty people like you possess.

suckerforswift

Andie. I love your light -- it's one of my favorites. Your determination and knowledge is so admirable, and I love you for all of your little cute, funny tweets. Thank you for teaching me about your lovely light and for helping me to mold my own into something like yours.

inhalingswift

Sofi. Hey beautiful girl, I think you're fabulous. You are so wise and I think you're pretty great. That is all for now. Thank you for teaching me about being strong and insightful, just like you are.

exhaustedstyles

Pauline. You are an angel from above. I love that you live in California and that you always like my instagram pictures and that you are just you. I love that you. Thank you for teaching me to be more confident and fearless.

yearwithoutrain

Omar. You are filled with imagination and love and humor. You make me laugh daily and I am so thankful to have someone like you in my life. Thank you for teaching me about... well, imagination and love and humor. You are insanely perfect to me.

endearingtaylor

Montana. Oh, you are so lovely, and seeing you in pain kills me. I hope your beautiful, funny personality never ever gets crushed again. You are so flawless, just as you are. Thank you for teaching me that it's okay to not be okay.

hurricaneswift

Claire. I don't know where to begin with you. Our friendship is enriching and heart filling. You are uniquely wonderful, beautiful, talented and capable. Thank you for teaching so very much about life, that it would take me an entire post of its own to list everything I adore about you. I love you so.

nightsgotcold

Chesca. Oh my goodness. I can't begin to tell you how much I love you. I can't begin to tell you how wonderful you are, how spirited and lovely your very existence is. Thank you for teaching me about shining my light and being as beautiful as you are. (oh yes, and thanks for teaching me how to make a wrapping paper bow)

ughswifts

Carina. I love your imagination, your problem solving skills, your creativity. I love your funny and sarcastic comebacks to anything we jokingly insult you with. But mostly, I just love you. Thank you for teaching me about laughter and life.

hemmingswifts

Jess. Your heart is so sweet and tender towards others and I want to be as beautiful as you are. Be different, be unique and be proud of who you are, because you are such a heavenly person. Thank you for teaching me about all the magic you hold.

swiftwithsirens

Hudson. Have I told you lately how great you are? You are funny, caring, full of spirit and so all around admirable. I love you a lot. Thank you for teaching me about the way simple words can have a huge effect on someone, like, say, making them smile when all they want to do is cry. You've done that for me, so, thank you friend.

poeticswift

Selina. You are wonderful, you are perfect, and you are exactly who God made you to be. Never doubt that. I love you so, so, soo so very much. Thank you for teaching me about smiling daily -- because you make me smile daily.

CARASWIFTS

Russell, you send the best tweets. Seriously. You know exactly what to do and say to make people happy and you are so adorable I just want to hug you. Thank you for teaching me that your world, and my world and this world, should be a kingdom where happiness never dies.

oxfordswift

Sofia. You are smart, beautiful, capable and colorful. My world is constantly made better by you, and I love you very much. Remember that. Thank you for teaching me about kindness and beauty and love.

coloursinautumn

Taylor. Oh, I love you so much. Your presense in my life is so empowering, so inspiring, and so enriching. You are so beautiful, and I'm just waiting for you to realize that. Please always have confidence in this world that trys to steal it at every turn. Thank you for teaching me that beauty is not something that can be defined -- it's something that's inside of us. And baby, you are filled with it.

GenerousSwift

Chris. I don't think you'll ever understand how much you mean to me, and I miss talking to you. You are funny, amazing, and so deserving of happiness. I love you. Thank you for teaching me that not all guys are rude and disrespectful, some are actually really sweet and great like you.

soundofineedyou

Mary Paige. I love your compassion, your empathy, your generosity, and the way you love -- they are all traits that are so completely beautiful on you. I just love you so much. Thank you for teaching me about one of the ways beauty can be defined: in the form of a red-headed, horse riding, Swift loving, heaven of a girl from Nebraska.

itsruhbecca

Becca. I could never, ever be able to describe to you all that you mean to me. Not if the entire thing was its very own language. I love you so, so much you perfect work of art. Thank you for teaching me about all the good and love in this world.

wonderfultay

Dani. I love you so very much. You glitter my world with life and full on beauty. You are kind and real and you make me smile. I want you to realize your potential, your beauty, your worth. Thank you for teaching me about being confident and shining my light just as beautifully as you shine yours.

DIVERGENTSWIFT

Keryna. Darling, you are so beautiful, it is wonderous to watch. I'm taking this oppurtunity to cheer you on for everything you are -- just as I will always cheer you on. I love you. Thank you for teaching me about self worth, and self confidence.

breaksburnsends

Rafa. Oh, I've been waiting to get to your name. Any attempt at threading words to just how wonderful, how healing your existence is... it seems so small. But I love you. And have I told you today how happy your smile makes me? Thank you for teaching me to breathe and let go when people are cruel or nasty. That was such an important lesson. I love you I love you I love you.

thearmourfalls

Mia. You are the most confident, kind, caring person I know. You are a free thinker and have stood your ground through the toughest of times this year. I always tell you how much I love that about you. Thank you for teaching me about self-worth and self-confidence and self-reliance. I love you.

hisgoodbyenote

Mila. Thank you for being a friend in the most loving way possible. Thank you for your outlook on life. Thank you for making sure your friends feel well loved. Thank you for being so beautiful. Thank you for teaching me more about life than you'll ever know.

Christmas, Intensified

In acknowledgment of the fact that I "forgot" to blog for the 11 days before my last post, I'm going to try to cram an entire 11 days worth of Christmas cheer into one post.

Christmas is in six days. And, to clarify, for Christmas (some of it at least, because I have to go on Twitter. That's a given) we are expoloring the art of nothing. As in every time my tablet beeps, I click it off and ignore it. And, as much as this has always been my place to "feed the good wolf" and get away, the computer's not the place I want to be right now. There's Candyland and cookie dough and another Lifetime movie about a single mother who falls in love with a smoldering mountain man on Christmas Eve and lives happily ever after.

For the first time ever, we are "just us" on Christmas day. No grandmas or grandpas or other speck of extended gene pool. Just us, and we're rockin' it. (although, for the record Claire, if you happen to walk through our door on Christmas Eve to surprise us, I'd die a million deaths and be forever grateful...just sayin'.)

There's a lot I want to say. There's a whole lot of high-on-Christmas stuff flyin' around my brain these days, and I could gush disgustingly right now on just how much I love these days. But, you get it, right?

I've had this problem my whole life of visualizing what I want Christmas to look like. And it's always picturesque in this storybook kind of way almost to the point of ridiculousness. Like the burly father comes in from blustery winds bearing a heap of firewood, and children dressed in Christmas finest are huddled around a piano singing Silent Night in perfect harmony. Cue Mother busting through the kitchen door with rosy cheeks, a plastered smile and a golden turkey garnished with baked apples. And everyone lives happily ever after.

Okay, maybe we're not living in the late 1800's and maybe Laura Ingalls Wilder doesn't write my visions. But I have learned that real life is different from dream life, and I've managed to merge the two over the last three years. The moral of the story is this...If you want it, work hard to create it, but leave cushion for the unexpected and embrace everything outside of that "perfect" vision as good and meaningful parts of your story you would have never had the opportunity to know had you stuck to the script. Ad lib, go with it, swim with the current. In the end, what you will have created, albeit a Christmas memory or life's final script...it will be good.

We made Christmas cookies last night. Or let me clarify. We set out to make Christmas cookies, but one batch in, we fell victim to the charm of a movie and a fire and, forty minutes and a smoky kitchen later, we canned the cookie thing altogether.

But, you know, whatever.

And not to bring this to a choppy ending or anything, but I'm typing from my tablet and it's extremely annoying to do so. Point being, I'm going to Twitter. But you might want to visit this little space again tomorrow... I have a post lined up. A post that has been in the works for over 4 months. And it's really important to me because it's in the honor and dedication of a person who's really important to me. Guys... tomorrow is Mila's birthday. Enough said.

where i am

I don't know where to begin with the whole thankful thing or how to possibly put into words the way this holiday that comes tomorrow leaves me.

deeply grateful.
Last summer, I taped off a little section of my whiteboard, wrote "Today I'm happy for:" in it, and every day I changed, in bright colored markers, the little things I was happy for. smiles from a stranger. free perfume samples. conversations with my twitter friends. It became a game...to see what I was going to write that day, and my family used to tease me: "Seriously Naomi, you're thankful for COLORED PENCILS?" That aside, my insatiable desire to express my love for every bit of life soon wore off and it wasn't long before I forgot to do it. And then, not soon after that, my cat jumped on my whiteboard and it broke, and I completely forgot about writing down my happies.

It's so easy to forget the little things that make life so much better. And even if it's corny, we should always take the time to recongnize small things that make us smile. Things like poptarts, stickers and pizza.

I've started two things recently that I'm excited to share with you all really soon. Like, maybe the words "Happy Box" and "Happy Book" will be thrown around. Enough said.

Anyways, after I started my "Today I'm happy for:" board, my family would give out suggestions as to what I could write.

"Write the names of some of your twitter friends instead of just saying 'twitter friends'." - Savanna

"Scarves and bracelets." - Mom

"Music." - brother

"Meow." - Joel (really, one day I was thinking about what to write and he jumped on to my bed and meowed at me. So, I wrote Joel's meows and his capability to express himself.)

gratitude is contagious.

...and, stopping to really think about what we're thankful for from poptarts to the grander glorious blessings of family and friends happens to be very enjoyable...and therapeutic, might I add.

and speaking of grand and glorious, tomorrow will be just that. I'm so happy for this holiday -- the day that we look at everything and realize just how blessed we really are, even if it sometimes doesn't seem that way.

while tempted to start plunking away a rote list of what i'm thankful for tonight, it seems a bit prosaic for this place i'm at tonight. and it's exactly that--not just a state of mind or an emotion that bears this unworthy cliche' title like 'gratitude' or 'thankful.' no, it seems an actual place. its own little latitude where i have settled and claimed residence and walked its paths and met its people. and it is a good place. a real place with, yes, some dark corners and fixer-upper fields. but, overall there is just so much beauty here...and the more i stay, the more i see.

the place of gratitude...of knowing where we've been and where we're going and in between all that, recognizing that where we are is important.

breathing it all in tonight.
where i am.

so, with all that wonder aside...

i am thankful.

for days like today and the ability to notice their beauty.

for feeling like i'm right where i'm supposed to be every day.

for a family who appreciates the little things as much as i do.

for being loved by so many.

for creative expression.

for bodies that do what we want them to...without limitations.

and i'm thankful for my friends. Both off and on the screen.

the embodiment of so much beauty and love and goodness in my life...and the fullness you all bring to my heart. i get to know you. i get to be with you, or talk to you every single day. i get to be your friend. there's only one friend of yours that's exactly like this...and it's me. I get to do it. I get to know you guys.

i'm so thankful for that.
If you live in the United States, have a very, very, very blessed Happy Thanksgiving. And even if you don't live in the United States... be aware. Be happy. Be thankful.

I love you all so, so, so much.

Enjoying the so-very-blessed holiday.

-naomi

Dear Claire

I don't know that I can type an intro that is worthy of the love behind my friend Claire. The way she loves her idol is magic, but the way she loves the world around her makes me want to be a better person every day.

To me Claire is defined by her heart, the way she loves her friends, her sense of humor, her wit, her brilliant advice, her passion, good twitter packs, being from Nebraska and exploring the world around her with an open mind.

I haven't written a letter to anyone individually in a long time, but as usual, I watch the recipient of the letter more closely than usual, sentimentally aware of how much they've grown since I met them. 

And I haven't known Claire for an insanely high amount of time, but I've known her long enough to know that she's one of those people that only come around ocassionally. She's one of those people that I just admire and look up to so much. She's one of the people who I can talk about and my mom will know who she is just because I mention her so often. Like "I'm gonna go talk to Claire or Rafa or Mia or someone" and she'll reply "Oh, good! Have fun with your sisters."

Sister, that she is. Someone you really want to be around.

Thanks, internet.

Anyhoo, today I'm going to celebrate Claire through this blog post, and it makes me happy.
You know what else makes me happy? My timeline, my DMs, flooding with friends whose names are said many times in her tweets, because she has a deep recognition and appreciation for them. She knows our names and where we're from and what our favorite colors are and who can't eat peanut butter and whose birthday is next.

So I think it's time to rein in the introduction and get to what the title entails.

With no further ado...

****

Dear Claire,

I want to be this friend. The kind of friend that knows how to instantaneously put a smile on someone's face just with simple words. The kind of friend who is selfless, kind, loyal, dedicated, beautiful inside and out. I want to be like you, because that is the kind of friend you are.

And even though I may not be able to do justice to that fact with words, and in the end all of this might just be letters on a page, I'm going to try.

You help me when I'm vulnerable, you give out random compliments like you have some kind of radar that senses when I need one, you remember little details, you really listen, and you really care.

And when I talk to you I just feel like laying on the floor and throwing glitter up into the air while singing the chorus to Sweeter Than Fiction. Or eating skittles and swimming around in hot chocolate, and I feel like half my age.

We started DMing again after days and our forces have finally reunited to bring more moments like this to a floor near you. And half of your age plus half of my age equals something around one whole of us, so the mature moments are bound to happen eventually. The truth of the matter is my back went out this weekend--like I bent down to get something at the exact moment something snapped in my back and I screeched and collapsed and just laid there in some chalk-drawing crime scene position in the kitchen, laughing hysterically because I seriously couldn't move and you had just said something really funny and lying under the stove while people walk around you, pouring coffee and washing dishes completely oblivious to the scene is really, really funny..

So the laying on the floor, singing STF thing serves a purpose really.

Anyways...

I love you. What a beautiful person you are. A cute, funny thing who seeps joy and life and spirit into your little Claire aura. The aura that happens to grow a bit more to me each day. And while all the beauty you hold inside unfolds more each time we talk, I am finding that much like my admiration of you, that beauty is infinite. You don't realize that you're perfect, because you have the ability to be humble, and maybe a little blind to all the wonderful things about you, but you are stunning and amazing. You really really are. Your heart and soul are so genuine.

One of my favorite things about you is your independance and this perfectly balanced brew of confidence and uncertainty.

And the fact that I am in a big old heap of emotions right now, and I'm trying to hold it together as we DM about our crushes, because writing about you, describing you, knowing you is heaven. I just want you to know that if you're ever even remotely not happy, you can talk to me. The pain of seeing you hurt or fail or be sad will crush me because you only deserve to be happy, especially because you have reaped invaluable happiness to so many others.

And all the years I've dreamed of having a friend who I really truly look up to and love, I never would have guessed that it would amount to this here.

You have taught me so many things already.

You've most importantly taught me that loving your character this much has meant living up to everything about you that I wish I was.

I love your sweetness and your attitudes and your style and your instagram pictures and your account and your jokes and your hair and your fangirling.

And I love...you. But you already knew that, right?

Love, Naomi

Halloween 2013

Candy wrappers litter the carpet like loose confetti, my dark-lined eyes have been clean since Thursday night, and the mess in the yard echoes the remains of a good time--orange luminaire bags toppled over spilling kitty litter, tipped bikes where we deserted them, a plastic ghost table cloth torn and flapping in the (gasp) November breeze.

It was a great time.

First, the pre trick or treating preparations...

Kate's mom painted runes on her arms. Kate was a shadowhunter this year.

I was a fairy. Not Tinkerbell, though that's what everyone assumed. Just a fairy.

Bobby was a ninja.

Our trick or treating bags looked like this... "Have your parents check your treats" "Always trick or treat with a friend" "Stay in well lighted areas". Very cheesy. And they all ripped later that night and had to be replaced with pillow cases and Forever 21 shopping bags. But relevant enough.

 

The preparing was anticipation building and excitement inducing.

But the real fun started when the sun went down.

Important note: Our costumes are exactly matched to each of our personalities.

The trick or treating itself was amazing. We got so much candy, and it was one of our best years yet. One old lady gave us each a nickel. Holla.

After we were done, we went to McDonald's because we were in desperate need of some sort of nutrition that did not include sugar.

When we got home, we sat on the floor of Kate's bedroom and sorted and traded candy. Because, as our motto of the night proudly stated, "It's Tradition".

We reaped the rewards.

And, a video. Please take notice of our very inspiring discussion of: Twizzlers vs. Red Vines.

The first of the end-of-year holidays is down. Next up is Thanksgiving. And it's NOVEMBER! (confetti, confetti, confetti)

I am in love with holidays. I dig the whole over-hype and sparkle of decorations and Target setting up a small city of Christmas aisles the day after Halloween. I buy into the great to-do of kitschy bathroom towels embroidered with snowmen and freaking pinecones, and once one holiday is over, I am settin' up the excitement shop for the next one around the bend.

I realize there may be flaws to this philosophy and that real life is the in-between and, oh my, what my thirst for stars on my calendar must mean to some people.

But you know what else I think? To Thine Own Self Be True.

I fly my holiday freak flag proudly and am finding more and more ways to unfurl its enthusiasm on the in-between too.

It is all one, sewing together the nothingness with the spectacular, the ordinary day with the holiday and letting them seep into each other until you recognize and appreciate the magic of both a quiet cup of tea on an uneventful Monday morning and the colorful chaos of laughter around a Thanksgiving table right before the gravy is passed.

And the more you appreciate them both, the more of a master of "all is one" you become, brilliantly ladling the fabulousness of holidays onto ordinary days with spontaneous driveway dance parties and pulling out the good dishes for afternoon macaroni & cheese or rocking out red lipstick and two coats of black mascara for a morning of homework or cleaning your room.

One holds a spotlight to the other. The frenzy of festivities reminds me how I love the calm repose of our home routine and, likewise, the repetition of our beautiful ordinary allows me to plan for the wonder of holiday excitement. It is a good cycle. It is a grand challenge, that merge.

Looking out at the yard with its party remains that call for a clean-up and hoping for a quick decrescendo for my sugar buzz, I am grateful both for a fun night and the fact that it won't happen again for another year. That's the beauty of holidays...absence makes the heart grow fonder.

In the meantime, there's red lipstick and good dishes and dressing up in glittery wings on the day after Halloween.

It's November, Friends. November. With more holidays around the corner and (patting my chest)...beautiful ordinary here right now.

The Solution to Pleasing People: Don't Breathe

I had intended to write something different for today's post, but then I ate a bag of sour Skittles, read through comments and replied to something that many would say didn't deserve a reply. But I had sugar. And Sugar says I think it did deserve a reply. It's not really intended for the one who left the comment, and I want to use this situation as something good - to give my friend Sofia (helloswxft) a post I hope will help her realize how absolutely perfect she is. In fact, I removed the comment and didn't say anything about it to save the drama of comebacks from the mutuals.

I wrote this for myself.
And I wrote it for Sofia.
And I wrote it for you.

Comment goes something like this:

somethingsomethingsomething
Your twitter is supposed to be about Taylor. Not about constantly talking to your snobby friends.
somethingsomethingsomething
A Taylor Swift fan account doesn't mean you're listening to her leaked songs and ignoring everyone who doesn't have 122983738 followers!!
somethingsomethingsomething
I would prefer to see tweets about Taylor.


Well thank you, I guess. I'm glad you have my account figured out for me.


Listen, I had candy.
So a response. For me and for Sofia and for anyone out there who needs a little AMEN in the Be Yourself, Try Your Best category.

Here's a little something I've learned the past few years. It holds true to the non-internet world even more so, but I'll keep it to twitter because--well, when in Rome.

***

It goes something like this:


If you post pictures of Taylor Swift, they'll say you never talk about anything but her so you must be really bored.
If you post pictures of yourself or anything your own, they'll say you're promoting yourself.

So, don't post pictures on twitter. Ever.

If you wear gym shorts to the store, they'll say you look disgusting.
If you wear cute tights to the store, they'll say you care too much.

So don't wear clothes to the store. Go naked.

If you listen to a song before it's officially released, they'll say you're not a real Swiftie and you don't represent the fandom well.
If you don't listen to a song before it's officially released, they'll say you're trying to be "good" for attention.

So just stop listening to music. Completely.

If you tweet about your problems, they'll say you're desperate.
If you never tweet about yourself, they'll say your life isn't interesting at all.

So don't tweet at all. Deactivate your account.

If you smile, they'll say you're fake.
If you don't smile, they'll say you hate your life.

So, get Botox and call it a day.

I've received e-mails that I suck because obviously Mila is my favorite person on twitter and I favor her over my other friends. And I suck because Mia is my favorite. And good God, those poor mutuals, obviously Dani is my favorite! I've gained weight! I'm too skinny! Too much writing/not enough pictures. Too many pictures/not enough writing! I can't believe your friends are okay with you writing about them--way to exploit them! You don't write about your friends anymore, you must not have any!

Here's the awesome thing I've learned about ill-constructed and poorly given criticism: They all cancel each other out!

The lesson in all of this would be: don't look right, don't look left, don't create, don't share, don't write, don't talk, don't breathe.

Well, that's kind of not going to happen.

I do believe in being yourself.
Share.
Make mistakes.
Maybe look stupid sometimes.
Learn.
Grow.
Have fun.
Make things.
Connect.
Take risks.
Find good people who make you want to be better.
Listen to them.
Learn from them.
Read books.
Write journals.
Weed out the bad stuff. You'll know it when you see it.
But always.
ALWAYS.
Be true to yourself.
Be your best.
Be grateful.
Love others.

Here's the other funny thing I learned. If the same people keep coming back to tell you they don't support you anymore, they don't really mean it because they keep coming back to tell you they don't support you anymore.


Oh, I'm a picture girl, and there are no pictures in this post. Okay. Picture a giant field of daisies. And I'm running through it. And I'm wearing cute tights. And listening to Sweeter Than Fiction.

And Sofia's probably running next to me.

She's beautiful and sweet and she's always helping other people. Just tweeting things to make our days better. But what she doesn't realize is that she's unexplainable. No, for real. I can't explain her. She always sends such good vibes and even though she doesn't exactly realize all the perfect things she has to offer, they're there. Her kindness, love and beauty are her most obvious traits. And I love her.

Wait. I have more to say. So, applicable. The next part is, once again, for me and Sofia and you.

***********

Sometimes, when things are fine and good and there’s no good reason to explain it, I find myself stuck in my head, and when I’m up there instead of out here, it’s not pretty. I felt that way a little bit last week, and while we have all these names for it—I’m in the cave, on a funk, Debby Downin’, emotionally jagging—it can only be described as a mudslide of thoughts. What started as “I can’t believe I did that, what was I thinking?" suddenly snowballs into a nice brew of self-loathing poison. I didn’t message her back. I’m so irresponsible. I should do better in school. I can’t believe I haven’t cleaned my room in two weeks. God, how long is it going to take me to finish this? I can’t write. I’m messy. I think too much. I care too much. I don't know what I believe about myself. I'm too loud. Why can’t I be more like her? And if I’m not careful, it can end with a deafening, paralyzing I SUCK. And the worst part of it is that I’ve read enough self-awareness books to know that “I SUCK” isn’t a good place to be, and sometimes I'm silly enough to think I’m bigger than that—that I should be beyond “I suck” days—so then I feel doubly horrible for feeling horrible in the first place if that makes any sense. In equation talk, this is like Horrible² x Horrible² = All sorts of Horrible x Pi. Actually, I just wanted to say Pi because it makes me feel math-y, something I’ve never been—and oh yeah, I wish I was more mathy. See. More horrible.

I have certain proven remedies for specific feelings of mine. For example, if I miss my friends and I’m feeling uninspired? Remedy: Watch movies and bake cookies with Savanna. If I’m feeling overwhelmed with projects and don’t know where to begin? Remedy: Make a prioritized list and cross things off one by one with a fat red marker. If my room is messy and I can’t find my mojo to clean it? Remedy: Watch five minutes of a Hoarders episode, and I’m not only feeling pretty good about my house, but I’m gloving up to scrub my floors.

“I suck” is a tough one though. You can’t just say to yourself “shut up, you do not” because the latter voice tends to be more David compared to the Goliath of “I suck.” There are slingshots and stones though, and I find one of them in my books—the bible—a book that helps to guide many of my decisions, and we’re starting on the basis that it’s full of beautiful poetry. Last week though, I attempted an old Bible trick we used to pull when we wanted God to speak to us. We forced him to by opening our Bible and randomly pointing to a verse with our eyes closed, convincing ourselves that God was leading us to the exact words we needed to hear—like the game we used to play where we’d spin a globe and drag our finger along it until it stopped—and that’s where we’d live when we grew up.

“Speak to me, God,” I’d say. And then I’d open my eyes and read the great words of God meant just for me. And 99.9% of the time, it would be cryptic and unrelated, like “The Amalekites dwell in the land of the south: and the Hittites, and the Jebusites, and the Amorites, dwell in the mountains: and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and by the coast of Jordan.” And then I’d be all, “Um, okay God. That makes perfect sense.” (note to self: try to aim at least for the New Testament with this one because Leviticus might leave you confused)

The cool thing about poetry books is that when you randomly open to any page and point to a sentence, there’s a good chance it will actually be exactly what you need to hear (no offense, Bible). So I tried it last week, and you’re never going to believe where my finger landed. Page 58: “We have an unfortunate tendency to emphasize our failures.” The author goes on to say that when we “lose it,” we should ask ourselves what it is in us that sees that we lost it. “Isn’t it our own wisdom, our own insight, our own natural intelligence?” And when we recognize that, we should celebrate that very fact as proof that we SO don’t suck. Hooray! Put your yellow shoes on, buy a balloon, kick up a dance and feel awesome for self-awareness, for the “Start here” space in the game of Being Better. For being HUMAN.

My twitter friends and I often bond over funny self-deprecating stories, and we’ve been known to clink virtual bottles over tales of “I blew it, how funny is that?” But we’ve been talking about the danger of too much “I blew it, I suck, how funny is that?” and making sure it’s balanced with “How am I going to move towards being better?” Among healthy banter the other night—with a balanced mix of “I blew it,” “I nailed it,” and “I’m working on it”—I brought up a quote: that you are only in control of yourself. Your siblings, your parents, your friends, the world around you—you can affect them, but you cannot control them. But you can control yourself. So I’m going to take that one thing I can actually control, and I’m running with it. Balls to the walls. What can I do right now to feel better, to be productive, to take charge? I can do the next right thing. And then after that, the next right thing again. One by one. That’s doable. I most certainly don’t have to figure out everything right now, and feeling a little insecure or unsure is not necessarily something that has to be fixed right now. The next right thing might be doing something nice for someone (a great way to get out of your head!) or going for a walk or coloring or cleaning one room or making the decision not to tell that gossip or maybe opening up a book to play the “point to the wisdom I need” game.

And since I wrote this, I already feel so much better. Sometimes for me, writing is hugging my feelings. Write it, say it, scream it, kick it, sing it, dance it, release it, kiss it goodbye and thank those feelings, however uncomfortable they may be, for bringing you insight.

And because I’m trying to be better about thank-you notes (but not feeling like I suck for writing them, stamping them and finding them on my dresser two months after I intended to send them), I’ll start with a little thank you to my feelings. It will work for me.


Dear Uncomfortable Feelings of Insecurity and Ickiness,

I just wanted to send you a quick thank you note for stopping by last week. I guess I have to commend you for your consistency because your occasional arrival patterns have proven you to be a reliable emotion. I noticed your steel-toe boots. Even though you used them to kick me around last week (and honestly, you need to see somebody about why you feel the need to do that), they were still nice boots. I’m looking into upgrading my own boots so I can more efficiently kick you back (I kid, I kid). You know, to be honest, I used to hate you. But I think my hate was really more that I didn’t understand you. Don’t get me wrong—you’re completely unpleasant to be around, and when I’m with you I’m usually only thinking about how long it is before you leave. But every feeling has value, and if I really think about it, you have helped me grow and know myself more. I’ve learned a lot about you too—what feeds you, what quiets you, what stories from the past have made you who you are—and learning more about you makes your occasional presence more bearable. Jumping too quickly to shoo you out the door when you arrive isn’t the kindest reaction now, is it? Sorry about that. Maybe we can work out a relationship—with boundaries, of course—where we help each other more. I had a teacher once who made every student stand up and say something nice about every other student in the classroom, and it was really hard to do for some of the students who weren’t very nice. But I think the teacher knew that the exercise was most important for those kids and for the students who were challenged to find the good in them. It changed our perspective. So, if I had to do that about you I’d say that you’re really good at helping me be vulnerable. And you are a good motivator. Maybe you could be a motivational speaker someday. Or one of those boxing coaches who screams at people that their punch is weak.
Anyway, I’m blubbering. I guess just…thank you for helping me grow.

Sincerely,

Me

And I love Sofia, very much.

Be Beautiful.

Dear Ari, Joyce, Keryna, Sofia, the other Sofia, Mia, Mila, Rafa, Claire, Chesca, Carina, Olivia, Michelle, Eve, Daena, Jess, Katy, Bella, Selina, Josie, Lucas, Issy, Yshas, Hudson, Taylah, Kirsty, Chris, Brenna, Mary Paige, Sophie, Kate, Becca, Russell, Saanya, Dani, Pia, Beth, Liz, Ali, Samantha, Peyton, Laura, Gianna, Ria, and about 10 other people whose accounts I love but whose names I do not know,

Number 1: Yes I had to go through my following list to write down all of your names. And they all have capital letters.

Number 2: Spell check doesn't recognize half of your names.

Ok now I'll get to the "lettery" part of this letter.

I wrote this so I could get all of my thankfulness to all of you out. And I can be sappy sometimes, and yes, it sucks that I even have to preface this with that statement, but I'll try to keep it on the down-low for the post.

Anyways...

Dear friends I've met on Twitter, you're all very young. Most of you aren't 13 like me, but you're still really young—the stories of your life just beginning, the first few chapters already filled with people who love you, places you’ve explored and experiences that, unbeknownst to you, have already begun to shape your thinking and strengthen your character.
 
I am beyond blessed to know so many amazing people, each of you so special in your own unique way. And today, I felt like I needed to write to all of you at once, which is really different for me. I write letters to my friends really often, but it's always been a letter for them alone. And now I'm writing to at least 40 people at once and it's a little bit intimidating. But I'm doing it anyways. Now listen to me, guys.


Right now while you're reading this, I hope you have a giant list of people in your life who have modeled what it means to be a beautiful person. A beautiful person is kind, hard-working, caring, curious about life, strong yet vulnerable.  Today, I want to tell you about something else that makes a person beautiful—something important.

Each of you was born with a light inside of you—the light that makes you who you are. All of your talents, all of your gifts, all of the joy and love and enthusiasm you have to give the world; your smile, your laughter, your ideas, your heart is all embodied in that light. Your light is unique to you. There is no other light in the world that looks exactly the same as yours.

So, please. Please. Don’t change that light. The world needs it. Don’t dim it, don’t wish you had a different light, don’t let yourself believe that your light isn’t good enough, don’t listen to anyone who tells you that you need to change. A beautiful person shines their light, just as it is. Please be you..

The world is a great big place with ideas and voices and images and opinions. They can inspire you or they can crush you. Let them inspire you. Take what feels good and ignore what feels bad. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel that your worth lies in anything but your light. It’s not your body. It’s not how much you accomplish. It’s not your grades or your job or your friends or how many people like you or how many followers you have. The most beautiful people know that their worth lies in the most precious thing they have to offer—being yourself. Shining your light.

Looking back, I can’t tell you how many times I've felt awkward, and since I'm only 13 I know there'll be countless more times. Sometimes I felt too loud and spirited around girls who were shy and alluring. So I shrank into uncomfortable quiet to be more like them. Lots of times I felt embarrassed for who I was and wished I could change things—things like my body or my clothes, what I was good at, what I wasn’t good at.  I wish I could go back and tell that girl just to be herself—that the happiest and most beautiful girls are the ones who shine their light and don’t apologize or feel ashamed for who they are. I wish she knew that she was perfect just the way she was and that she could affect the world and those around her most greatly if she just believed that she didn’t have to be anything but herself.

I love all of you so much. I love you just the way you are. I felt your light the moment I followed each of you, and I’ve been blessed to see that light continue to shine through my timeline or my DMs, or tweets we send each other. You are all different in beautiful ways, and I cherish the things that make you unique. I just want you to value those things as much as I do. The most solid, comforting, truthful, reliable thing in this world is what’s inside of you. Unlike money, you can’t lose it. Unlike appearance, it doesn’t fade. You were born with it. You will die with it. It’s you. The you I’ve loved since the day I met you.

Please.  Love that you.  Be yourself.  You will do great things just by being you.
Never forget that.
I forever celebrate you, support you and love you.
Love, Naomi

Sick

I have laryngitis. Really bad. To the point where I open my mouth to speak and, despite all my laborious efforts to will some sound--any sound--to disperse, nothing comes out but a weak, breathy whisper.

And I love to talk...I savor my words. So, it has been quite an experience these past couple days to sit quietly, saving the very few bursts of audible screeches I still have energy to emit for only the most important of communication opportunities...like asking for no salsa on my mexican food. Or, okay... saying I love you to people. But a good experience because, when you cannot, for obvious reasons, spend energy on outputting, you instead enjoy the ride of input. Taking in the sounds around me and expressing myself through other senses--and a few breathy whispers--rather than the occasionally obnoxious loud-ish-ness my character renders itself to.

And the challenge has presented itself beautifully with my friends. They talk a lot, and they always expect you to reply. So by showing them my note that said "Laryngitis -- I can't talk" I've been allowed to leave their comments with purposeful silence as opposed to the verbal onslaught that so often follows. So, the lack of voice has been a bit of a blessing, I suppose...and that's not just some far-fetched attempt to make lemonade out of vocally-challenged lemons. Promise.

 

New People

So, I met a new person yesterday after doing free indirects. I haven't talked to anyone new in a few weeks, so this sort of thing gets me excited, beginning within seconds of the "so-and-so followed you" notification. I'm kind of like an obnoxious child on a long drive, except instead of “Are we there yet?” I repeatedly ask my friends, “Have you met them yet? Have you met them yet? Have you met them yet?”—them, of course, referring to the incoming twitter users who hold my curiosity.

We have a nice thing going on twitter—a group of friends who’ve become like family and all fulfilling an important role. The Adive Giving friends. The Always Have Any Header You Need To Match Your Icon friends. The Sarcastic Yet Sweet friends. The Start A Conversation With Me Any Friday Night and You’re Guaranteed a Good Time friends, who also happen to double as the I Will Sing Messages to You Over Facebook friends, a total bonus. But I'm still always secretly on the lookout for people that are my age, or close to it. Fun people would be great. People that always know exactly what to say to anything. Just please no crotchety grouches who have huge accounts and ignore people and scorn when we tweet them smiley faces or growl when we tweet in caps.

Once word was out that this person had tweeted me, I went on a Nancy Drew clue search, scouting her account for any evidence of "cool person who will make good friend" and "close in age".

Last night, I was like "She's so cool. Dude. 14. That's so close".

This is like the twitter friend jackpot.

I get all fidgety and sweaty all of a sudden, fixing my hair even though she can't see me. Listen, me and my friends weren't the cool kids in school. Ok, most of us are still in school anyways, so moot point. Regardless, I have hopes for a relationship with my cool new friend, and first impressions mean a lot—especially when my account currently says “I don’t really care about anything.”

Katy is really nice. Her username is svperswift, and yep, you need to follow her. She's funny AND she's been to Niagra Falls. I think she's the bomb. I’m feeling some really good vibes here.

Weekend Rambles

So, I had a fun and busy weekend.

Ramble number one - Food.

Pizza. Me and pizza have always had an unstable relationship. When I was younger, I wouldn't touch pizza unless it had pepperoni on it. Then, for 2 years, I couldn't stand pepperoni. For the last 6 months, I've preferred plain cheese, but I could tolerate pepperoni. And now, duh me, I had no idea the pepperoni was made of PORK. So I'm done. Sorry, pepperoni. I hope we can still be friends.

The weekend would not have been complete without the following bit of unearthly loveliness. I actually have to stop and gather my thoughts for a moment because it is quite possible words will not do justice the deliciousness that is--there needs to be some kind of drumroll here--Costco's Hand Dipped Ice Cream Bar. (stop, applaud, bow--it's worthy).

I'd never tried it before and I was feeling adventurous, so I asked for one. It was given to me sitting on a white paper bag, with hot fudge dripping all over it.

I used my finger as a spoon while we waited in line. And after I couldn't resist, and I started eating it before it had cooled down. Only five ingredients--milk, sugar, eggs, cream and chcolate--but more than five amazed exclamations that followed my first bite. And I'm sure it's like the coolest thing ever for a 13 year old to be so capitvated by her ice cream that she doesn't care that it's dripping down her arm. And she's trying to balance not getting hit by a car and shoveling ice cream into her mouth.


Ramble number two.

Cats.

We went to the mall and met the cutest kittens on earth.



Clean slates. Possibility. Happy Monday.

We Caved and Colored

Have I ever told you that I like coloring? Well, I'll tell you now.

I like coloring--so much that often, when I buy a Spongebob coloring book, I've been known to sit on my bed for hours, hissing at anyone who comes near while I'm trying to color Patrick's shorts the perfect shades of green and pink. I color like it's my job--shading, highlighting, scribbling flecks of contrasting color into Barbie's hair or deliberating much too long over Wild Raspberry or Hot Magenta for the stripes in Strawberry Shortcake's shirt. I am selective in my crayon choice and have been known to choose colors based on their names alone. You would understand this if you're familiar with Crayola's Box 'o 96, featuring Macaroni n' Cheese, a warm soft orange, or Wild Blue Yonder, a murky mountainous blue.

I've also been known to throw out a perfectly good picture and start over if I've colored outside the lines or, God forbid, misjudged the intensity of Jungle Green (which, for the record, is far too vibrant for an eye color choice). So it has been a good exercise for me to encourage the freedom of expression that's so beautifully demonstrated by people when they color--sometimes out of the lines, sometimes all one color, but every time, their own style. And while I'm carefully gliding my yellow crayon (Laser Lemon, to be precise) along a flower petal to add depth and my friend's two year old cousin Sophie decided Shamrock is a nice choice for Bert 'n Ernie's faces, I've come to the conclusion that not only is it okay, but it's pretty cool that people do their own thing and stand by it. There are no rules to creativity.

***

Savanna's shattered phone has been replaced, but before she synced her contacts, I mellowed in the peace and quiet of a house with quiet phones--which overlapped to a vacant computer and Naomi caved-in. My mom calls it "the cave"--the secret place we retreat to when we're subconsciously overwhelmed or too busy. It usually involves--without even intention--ignoring the phone, letting Twitter interations stack up and hibernating to the inner depths of our homes where we bake, read books or, in my case, color. Retreating to the cave is a necessary occurance for me--a replenishing inverse from the go-and-do-and-see times. I like both ends of the spectrum--the thrill of adventure as well as the comfort and convenience of routine and feeling settled.

Holidays make me feel settled, and traditions like dyeing eggs connect me to all the puddles of nostalgic happiness, and dressing up in costumes and begging strangers for candy -- oh, that's the best. The holidays are coming up. Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. Pretty soon, you're gonna have to to beat the holiday unicorns away from your timeline whenever I'm online.

I love that there is no reason behind traditions like dressing up and going door-to-door for candy. Or rather, there is, but when I Googled the historical explanation, it didn't excite me as much as "because it's fun" did. And I'm totally cool with doing fun things for no reason.

Happy Wednesday.

That Was The First Day.

The first day of school was today. (well, the first day of 8th grade, that is). I can already tell it's going to be the hardest year yet. I honestly can't believe that I'm in 8th grade. That seems so crazy. Didn't I just start 3rd grade? Wasn't I just wearing my hair in braids every day and wasn't I just stomping my sketchers on the rugs in the classroom so I could see them light up? Which, by the way, is still the coolest thing ever.

So anyways. 8th grade. I just know your dying to hear about it.

It started normally. Everyone read the giant chart in front of the library and found out their first period classes. Me and my friend, Kimberly, went together to read this chart, and I was just one big ball of mixed emotions. Really. It was so bad, I felt nauseous. Nervousness and excitement and "why am I here?"s ran through my veins.

So we got our first period classes. During first period, everyone had that glazed over look in their eye, because 6:30 came too early after 3 months of waking up at noon. My first period teacher passed out our schedules for the rest of the day.

It's good.

Now I feel kind of bad for poor Mila, who had to suffer through my rantings of how I didn't want any of the mean teachers, and how I knew I was surely going to get them. I didn't get any of them. Except for the only 8th grade P.E. teacher.
But that's a given, right?

My math teacher, Mr. Davis, has such an annoying voice. I just wanted to share.

I saw my old friends, and there were a lot of hugs given from me. There were just as many surprise attack hugs from out of no where that were given to me. And there were about a trillion exclamations of "I missed you so much!"

I have so many forms and packets and papers that my mom has to sign.

So here's to hoping this school year is decent.

P.S: I may or may not have thought I was over Hunter, then he said "Hi Naomi" and I changed my mind. IT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED.

it totally happened.

a new start.

do you know what this is?

that, my friends, is steam.
significant steam rising from my apple cider.
steam that dances upon the surface of its apple cider stage because the air around it is slowly cooling, making way for another glorious cold front.

it is a new day.
it is a new time.
it is almost a new month.

guys, it's almost september.
one of the two months that falls before i think my favorite month. november.

do you know what happens in september? the newness of school is slightly exciting, therefore the misery and reality of school has not yet set in. we get to wear a new outfit everyday, and no one judges us, because they're doing it too. we're allowed to straighten our hair one day, curl it the next, put it in pigtails, two braids, one braid, french braids, fishtail braids, high ponytails, low ponytails, high buns, low buns, half up half down. open toed shoes, sandals, boots, vans, converse..... september has so many oppurtunities.

school starts tomorrow..
i'm going to miss twitter.
a lot.
obviously.


my faves are old women who have already graduated school. (i'm sorry, guys. you know I love you, but 18, 19, 20, 21, 22? that's freaking old)
immature old women who have already graduated school, at least.
but really.
i'm going to miss them. so much.

and i'm going to miss having so much time to blog.
i loved my blog this summer.
everything i posted was real, raw and vulnerable.

we're celebrating the joys, the fun, the sad, the goods and the-not-so-goods.
I checked off lots of things on my summer bucket list.

this summer was the best one by far. hopefully this school year will go well.

***

we went to a party yesterday. this'll be mostly wordless, but there are pictures.

i'm standing on the edge of a pool here.

i took this picture looking down at a little water fall that ran into the pool.

when i got out of the pool, i went into the bathroom to change and when i looked in the mirror, i saw that the water had curled my hair and i loved it so much i had to take a picture right away.

after i changed.

curls.

The Key to Failure

As someone who has a blog and a Twitter account, I'm always aware that sharing my thoughts and feelings puts me in a place where I can receive feedback -- sometimes feedback that I don't want to hear. A lot of what I do and write about centers around love and defense. I love so many people. And I love love. That's my thing, and I try to defend and protect my thing, if you will. ("if you will" is a term I coined from my 6th grade social studies teacher. I really don't like him, for the record)

I received a few really really nasty comments recently. Insults coming from someone I don't even know, who was being really confusing and hurtful (first time I ever broke a mutual! Go me). And then there was another person who just didn't like my aura and felt the need to let me know. I know. Spread my happiness on your timeline. How dare I? ....Wait. What's that, right there? What? An unfollow button?

Sarcasm is not the most powerful tool and sometimes just the easy way out for me to deal with something, so I'll rein in the unicorn quips and cut to the chase.

It's a question I'm often asked, one that many bloggers or writers or artists or anyone who puts himself out there faces: How do you deal with negative criticism, mean comments, etc.? This topic spurred by definitely-not-the-first negative comment I received a few days ago, in reference to a post that, I'm sorry to say, contained happiness and positivity. Which is like, blasphemy, I guess. And there I go again, letting the sarcasm creep in which is, in case you didn't know, a little red flag we use to detour people from the hidden truth of Mean Comments Sometimes Hurt Our Feelings. And saying "we" and "our" to make that statement collective is another little red flag we I use to water down the fact that it's personal. That sometimes they hurt my feelings.

I don't always read every single mention I get on Twitter. And it's very rare that I would respond to a negative one or even take the time to block them because I understand people have the right to not only formulate their opinion about me or my work, but they have a right to voice it. 

I pick this particular occasion to write about this because the comment hit a lot of nerves and got me thinking. The people I love usually love me back, and there's a lot of love they show, that--I'll be honest--feels good, even though I think it's important to separate ourselves and our work from feedback, period. Being praised can be just as harmful as being criticized if you're not careful. Your work, your voice, your words, your art, your gifts you have to give to the world--their value has nothing to do with the response you receive from them. Social media can complicate that truth, and good feedback can trick you into thinking "I am good because people like what I put out there." That's not true. Ever. 

Validation is an interesting thing though, and no matter how strong or unphased by criticism we are, there is an undeniable human desire to have people like what we feel passionate about--our art, our words, our stories, our styles, our writing, our opinions. It's why we sometimes feel hesitant to publish or share. 

Writing is an outlet for me. An outlet that, without which, I'd go insane. I've hit the backspace key so many times, thinking "Better not. Someone might think it's rude" or "This might offend someone". I've been trying to do that less, but I still always wonder What will people think?

Let me answer that. If you share, if you publish, if you write, if you speak, if you are brave and decide to put yourself out there, I promise you, someone won't like it. Someone won't agree with you. Someone will misinterpret. Someone will think that you are silly, unqualified and that your work is crap. That you are crap. They might not just think it but they might tell you. And that won't feel good, especially not the first time you hear it. But it is necessary. And it's okay.

My friend Dani (@wonderfuitay if you want to follow) is a fabulous writer. She just recently showed me her Tumblr. She is funny and smart and brave in her writing. I read her stories and think "I want to write like that." But I wonder if she gets bad feedback. If she gets the same comments I do that spell out one thing: "You. Are. Crap."

I don't get mean comments often, but I've gotten enough to be able to say "I get it, I get it, I get it" to my friends when people are rude to them. I promise them that they will grow confidence and understanding faster than a Chia Pet grows sprouts--that it was good and normal they felt this way and that this whole experience would help them own their words, their style, their work and be proud of it. When Mila got anonymous hate, I told her that the hurtful words shared had nothing to do with Mila and everything to do with this commenter's pain or insecurities or desire to do what Mila is doing.

For me, receiving negative criticism has been an important tool in self awareness and owning my voice. I've gone from believing what mean comments pointed out (I am a horrible person and I suck at writing), getting angry with the people who wrote them (You are a horrible person and you suck at leaving comments) and doubting if writing publicly was really something I wanted to do to a completely different place of understanding and compassion--both for myself and the people who are hurting enough to project it in a carefully crafted you-are-crap comment. I have a dear friend, Becca (@zoeiia) who has helped me with this. She talks about pain--how we are all hurting--and she helps me see nastiness in the world as the need for more love. Does that sound unicornish? Maybe, but it has helped me move forward and embrace cutting comments both in and outside of this little Internet, as an opportunity to initiate more kindness. We've all been there--the hurting one. 

Honesty is important too. It's easy to snap back at nastiness with "Sorry you're so miserable," but it's okay to simply acknowledge that, yep, it feels icky to hear or read bad things about ourselves. Sometimes we need to ask ourselves "Why does this bother me?" and to face the answers that awaken--maybe things that aren't easy to face. Growth follows.

Where does it get you in the end? Well, there is no end. And there shouldn't be because when we lose the ability to have our feelings hurt, we are no longer vulnerable. I love vulnerable art and writing and music and sharing. It's what makes it good.

The risk for criticism for any endeavor we take on is guaranteed. You face it bravely. You own your voice. You learn from the good and the bad and you use it to be better. Bill Cosby said, "I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody." I love that quote. I'm learning to live that quote, to teach it to my friends and family. Their happiness depends on it. And it's helped me focus on what I love to do and to navigate the path of "putting myself out there" with confidence.

If you don't agree with my opinions, that's ok. You're good. I'm good. We're going to think a lot of different things, some that contradict each other. But I'd like to think that someone out there needs to hear something that each of us has to say. If you say it's blue, there's someone out there who needs to hear it's blue and you just made their life so much better by being blue. Thank you for being blue, even if I'm not. If I say it's green, there's someone out there who needs to hear it's green, and thank God we can be green together. Blue and green are both good. I'd hate for the world to lose one of those colors.

If you say "I hate you, Naomi! Go stab a fork in your eye!!!" I take that as a reflection of you, and not me. I may not actually stab a fork in my eye, but I will look at your opinion and respect it. That's it.

I like pretty shoes and cupcakes and Taylor Swift and people who are sensitive to the world they're in. That's what I write about. I try to be open and understanding and kind.

My friends, especially the ones I've met on Twitter, they just get that, and I'm so grateful for each of them. (I don't have to name you guys. You know who you are.)

The way this all ties together is, I'm leaving Twitter for a few days to a week (or two) to chill out and chew on what I've learned and what people have told me. By the time I press "Compose Tweet" again, I hope I'll be a more accepting and sensitive person than I am now.

I will be back.

Naomi is out.

Side Note: I told myself I wouldn't address this, but now I feel like I need to. Whoever the anon is on Mila's ask.fm that keeps asking about me, please stop :) You're creepy and Mila has said that she's scared. I'm not jealous of Savanna and Mila's relationship. They're both perfect and they love each other, and I love them. Their relationship is actual magic and "Savanna and Mila" is one of my favorite things. You need to chill out with me, or take off the anon.

Week 701

That's how many weeks I've been alive, by the way. Give or take a few weeks.

I can't write about what I want to because I've had a really bad day so far and this is a scary thing to write about. So now I'm not in my zone and I'm going to babble instead. Lucky you.

Minty Nails

Blonde vs Brunette

I've been told that my hair is blonde, and I've been told that it's brown. I've also been told that it's "dirty blonde". But I don't like the way that sounds. Anyways, this is what my hair looks like in the sun. Decide for yourself.

Gray, Depressing Sky

The sky looks like an ashtray, even though the glass-is-half-full voice that dwells within is begging me to retract that statement or at least change my description to mysterious silver, which is what I believe I referred to a few days ago on Facebook.

Last night me and my mom went to the beach and when we were on the pier, a seal swam up to it and stared up at us :) He had whiskers.

Wendy's

It's been too much of a struggle to actually make the food in our house, so we've opted for Wendy's the past two days. This can't be good.

Joel

"Ok, I'll just see if Naomi's pillow is comfortable..."

"It's so soft!"

"Oh yeah..... I like this. I like this a lot."

"Oh.... am I on camera?"

"This is kind of a bad time, Naomi...."

"Maybe if I pretend to be sleeping she'll go away."



"Seriously?"



I've narrowly escaped getting a needle shoved into my head. Twice.

As my mom tells it, when I was 10 days old, I guess I was acting weird so she took me to the hospital and they're all "yeah she has an ear infection". And my mom was like "Um but this is my 8th kid and I know what an ear infection is and she's not acting like she has an ear infection." So then they were all "Look lady, are you a doctor? What? What was that? NO? Then back off and let me do my job." Ok they didn't actually say that but they did insist that I indeed had an ear infection. So apparently I had to be hospitalized for 2 weeks with an IV. My mom still didn't believe anything was wrong with me but she "went along with it". This is how I got a bunch of scars on my arms: They couldn't find a vein. So they kept stabbing me with needles trying to find one, and I was screaming and freaking out (I still hate needles, btw) and my mom was screaming and freaking out, and together we were one hot mess. So they couldn't find a vein in my arm and they were like "We have to find one in her temple." UM, WHAT? My mom's reaction "What? She's going to have a needle in her head for two weeks?" Yes, that's right. And she almost "went along with it" again. And then a few hours later, we're in my "desolate, cold" hospital room and they're on their way to jam that IV into my head, and my mom said she thought "Take your kid and run like hell, dude." And she did! Whoop whoop! She took me to a different hospital and I HAD NO EAR INFECTION. Idiots.

The second time was when I was 10 months old, and I had a really bad cough, so my mom took me to a different hospital (because obviously she wasn't taking me back to the same place) and I was "diagnosed" with pneumonia. She didn't believe that, either. They tried to put another IV in my head, because I guess I just have veinless arms. My mom dragged me out again, and Child Protective Services came to our house because my mom was being "medically negligent". And my mom said "Uh, actually THEY'RE being medically negligent because they want to put a needle in my baby's head because they assume she has pneumonia." They didn't believe I had it either, and my mom took me back to the other place the next day. Yeah, it was just stupid bronchitis.

Light show, courtesy of God

I felt like I needed to pay someone for tickets or something.

So 'thar you have it. Also, me, Kate and Bobby created a game yesterday that began as me taking Kate's hat and running, and them chasing me. Then it morphed into bikes that were supposed to be horses and we were in the old west and now it's like one freaking dramatic movie with zombies and we're totally improvising our way through it. It's awesome.