As I’ve said before, I mostly do things for the plot and character development. But the other part is understanding and participating in the human experience. Every risk I’ve ever taken in life has somehow been calculated and weighed. And after some questionable life choices, I usually ask myself one simple question, “But… did you die?” So far, the answer has been no. Which means the story continues. I was recently retelling a story about an ex from my early twenties who took

I hate breakups. And coming from someone who has endured more uncouplings than any reasonable person should have to experience, I feel like my character has been sufficiently built. I saw a meme once where instead of giving someone their soulmate, God gives them another toxic relationship for “character development.” Respectfully, my character is overly developed. Let’s move on. Since this is a Lent post, let’s go back to the desert of Kansas. I had taken my LSAT. Applied to

One of the hardest things about starting over is that people remember you for who you were. They remember the capable version. The confident version. The strong version. They don’t always know what to do with the version of you that is lost. Quiet. Uncertain. Unrecognizable. And sometimes, neither do you. When I left everything familiar and went to Kansas City, I wasn’t becoming something new yet. I was deprogramming myself from the life I had built. Untangling my worth from