Lindsay Detwiler's Blog, page 2

Afraid of Making the Wrong Big Choice? Read This.

What if I make the wrong choice?

It’s a paralyzing question so many have faced in our lives. 
We ask it when we’re considering new jobs, new houses, new states. The question plagues us when we’re deciding on life partners, on what’s best for our kids, on which puppy to pick. We ask it when deciding what outfit to wear to the Eras Tour, when thinking about what haircut to get, and all sorts of other smaller decisions.

The truth is, most of us are paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice. But I think if you switch your perspective just a hair, you realize an earth-shattering realization: there isn’t really a wrong choice.

As long as your choice is made with a pure heart and intention (meaning you aren’t seeking to hurt someone), then there really isn’t a way you can go wrong. Sure, you might make a choice and realize it isn’t for you. That new job might be a “grass is always greener” kind of vibe or that house you bought might have horrific neighbors next door. That school you picked for your kid might not be the best fit, and that dress you wore to the concert might be kind of uncomfortable. The haircut might not be your favorite or the car you bought might end up doing terrible on your winter commute. 

Things might not work out like you want them to–but that doesn’t mean you chose wrong or should beat yourself up about it. There is learning to do in every situation. Every choice puts you in front of new people to influence your path. Every choice teaches you a lesson about yourself, about fulfillment, and about who you really are.

And more importantly, even if that choice doesn’t turn out perfectly, so what? The beautiful thing about life that I think we sometimes forget is that you can always change your mind. Always.

You can pop on a T-shirt you bought at the stand mid-concert. You can save up and find a new house in a couple of years or apply for a new job if this one isn’t the one for you. You can let your hair grow and explore new schools. It won’t be easy, sure. But neither was the first choice, was it? 

Life isn’t easy. But it also doesn’t have to be as hard as we make it with all the pressure we put on ourselves to “get it just right” the first time around. There are so many paths we can take, but there isn’t a wrong one. Sure, we might get down the road and understand more fully that perhaps the other path would have been better for us. But I think a lot of us need to move beyond the idea that we are “stuck,” that our decisions are a “one and done.” Because even on the “one and done” kind of decisions, we still can adjust down the road. We can’t go back, sure. But we can move forward with more knowledge, clarity, and the ability to make the next decision with more knowledge than we had the first one.

What if you make the wrong choice?
You can’t. Because even if you make the “wrong” choice, you’ll learn, you’ll grow, and you’ll head down a path you wouldn’t have. You’ll understand life in new ways. 

After all, I’ve come to believe that the only “wrong” choice is the choice to stand still and stay miserable because you let fear get in the way. 

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How Miep Gies Reminds Us to Be a Light

“Even an ordinary secretary or a housewife or a teenager can turn on a small light in a dark room.”

These are the words of Miep Gies, a secretary who worked for the Frank family and then went on to hide eight Jews from the Nazis in the secret Annex. Recently, Gies’ story is the focal point of a Hulu series “A Small Light.” This show does a deep-dive into the figure many have come to call a hero, but there’s something absolutely stunning about the show’s portrayal of Miep: They show that she probably wasn’t the person you think she was.

Miep Gies is portrayed as a bit reckless, a bit lost, and a bit blunt. She takes the job with the Franks out of desperation and takes quite some time to prove herself. The series follows the ups and downs of her relationship and marriage, her friendships, and her own fears. In short, Gies isn’t portrayed as a saint or the most likely woman to be a hero. And that’s what I loved so much about this series.

It really highlights in a way that is emotional and easy to connect with the point that heroes aren’t perfect or made of a different stock. Just like us, they have doubts, fears, impulsivity, love, tears, and everything in between. Miep Gies wasn’t the most likely candidate to do the brave thing she did–but she made the choice to do it. And in a dark world, choosing to be a light is the biggest choice we can make.

This series underscored the risk and the daily struggle Miep went through. Everything from getting food in a society that was rationing to not being able to trust anyone were daily battles Miep faced. Through it all, she fought for two years to protect the Franks. We all know the story didn’t turn out in the way anyone would hope for. Still, Miep’s tale demonstrates her quote in a way we can’t deny–anyone, anyone, anyone can be a light in a dark world. 

So often in modern times, we forget this. We think that to have purpose or meaning in our lives, we have to start a nonprofit or donate millions or give up our jobs to devote ourselves selflessly to charity work. Miep shows that everyone has the ability to make choices, although sometimes difficult ones, to use their daily lives to help others. She reminds us that there is always a way to make a difference, even when it feels impossible.

Her story has stuck with me long after the last episode and will stick with me I think forever–because in a world that is complex and fiercely dark sometimes, Miep Gies reminds us that we all have the chance to do the right thing.

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The One Surprising Sentiment Ruining Your Happiness.

You can do it all.

Variants of this inspirational quote adorn throw pillows, Instagram graphics, and T-shirts. At first glance, the sentiment is admirable and even motivational. As a big dreamer, I think it’s healthy to remove mental blocks and limitations. I hope everyone can find the courage to strive for their wildest dreams. Nonetheless, I also think if we do a deep dive, this sentiment can be dangerous to your overall dreams and fulfillment.

I do believe you can do it all…but you shouldn’t.

The problem with this quote is that without us realizing, it seeps into our daily lives and poisons our fulfillment. What’s meant to inspire us to dream big actually chains us down to a life of monotony and lists. 

We think we should have a home worthy of a magazine AND be the best mother AND the kind of friend who does weekly brunches AND surprise our husbands with romantic date nights AND climb the social ladder AND master how to make perfect enchiladas everyone will love AND do glam makeup everyday AND have mastered silky, shiny hair AND have a hair free body every single day AND do an hour of pilates five times a week AND make sure all the appointments are made AND be spiritually enlighted.

AND AND AND.

We think we should do it all because we can.

The list is never-ending. We run through a rat race believing there is something wrong with us when we are crying in our imperfect bathroom that isn’t spa-like as we think about how tired we are–and how we are failing. We can do it all. It’s clearly us that’s the problem. We must be too stupid or too clumsy or too disorganized or too lazy. Our lives should look effortlessly perfect like we see on social media and from celebrities and from the moms at school pickup. We can do it all if we want to–and so we convince ourselves we want to. We tell ourselves we have to. We dig deep, wipe away the mascara staining our cheeks, and we throw ourselves at the merciless to-do lists once more.

The need to do it all is an inferno we cannot escape once we let it infiltrate our lives. On our relaxation days, we look around and see all the things that aren’t quite right, all the to-dos. Instead of soaking in the sunshine, we look at how the deck chairs need washed. When we’re spending quality time with the kids or the dog, we think about how we really should be taking those perfect photographs to get made into that scrapbook we’ll do someday. We shame ourselves for caving and eating fast food and running out of energy to do our insanely rigid workout schedule. We scorn as we look in the mirror because we didn’t use enough self-tanner and we missed a spot shaving and our eye shadow is lackluster.  We are hard on ourselves and see every missed item on our list as a failure.

We critique. We critique some more. We try to do more because we think that’s the problem.

And eventually, all of that “do anything” attitude becomes a life of monotony, a life missing passion, excitement, and happiness. We wake up in our lives that still don’t have everything mastered and feel inadequate, unfulfilled, and like failures, yet we keep trudging along on the hamster wheel that is quickly spinning of its axis.

Thus, the thing I think we need to talk about is this: yes, you might be strong, powerful, and smart enough to do it all. Still, that doesn’t mean you should.

Doing it all leaves you depleted. You have finite energy, and if you try to master everything at once, you just do a little bit of everything half-assed. 

More importantly, trying to do it all is a fool’s errand. No one, no one, no one does it all alone and well. 

No one has perfect, spotless baseboards and clean sinks while trying to work full-time.

No one has a perfect body while running the kids to seventeen activities, managing a stressful work schedule, and cooking dinner every night.

No one has magazine-worthy hair, makeup, and outfits while being a hands-on mother and making sure the appointments are all made.

No one has celebrity-worthy interior design, meals, bodies, makeup, outfits, bank accounts, careers, vacations, and lives like social media wants you to believe.

In the real world, most of us are hanging by a thread. We have dirt on the baseboards, we fed our families ham sandwiches while forgetting the dentist appointment and trying to get to work on time. 

We are cleaning up cat barf while trying to put on a swipe of mascara and blot away some of the grease in our hair as we wolf down a yogurt we hope is healthy.

We are trying to iron the pants for the school play while ignoring the layer of dust on all of the surfaces in the house and hoping the squats we did while brushing our teeth count as a workout.

We are hoping no one knocks on our door as a surprise visitor because it’s Thursday and we barely made it through the work week let alone picked up a single item strewn about the house.

We’re all hanging by a thread. We’re all trying to do everything–and realizing we’re not doing it well.

I think the problem is this, though. I think the problem is we all are keeping up the ruse that it’s possible to do it all. We’re all clinging to that “can do” attitude and smiling through as if we’re not all exhausted. We’re swiping the dust away and hiding the remnants of our life in shambles. We’re getting it together just enough to convince everyone around us that we’re doing it all effortlessly. We’re convincing ourselves and our friends that yes, of course we wash the sheets every few days and manicure the lawn and make sure the kids are eating only organic food. We pretend we’re not all dying inside trying to wear fifty hats instead of just the ones we want.

We convince ourselves that the world is going to fall apart if we prioritize and let some things go. We tell ourselves we’re being lazy when we want to relax instead of tackling the window washing or the tax spreadsheet or the list of phone calls.

We keep up the facade that we’re happy doing all the things because that’s what we’ve been taught. Still, the “can do” attitude is a thief of happiness if you let it be.

So I propose that this week, we all take a deep breath and ignore the gunk from the dog on our kitchen wall or the crayon mark on the table. I propose we resist the urge to wear a full cut-crease eye look every day or iron the slightly wrinkly shirt. I propose we don’t feel guilty if we feed our families bags of chips and peanut butter for dinner or if our hair has been in a bun for a week straight. I propose we all take a breath, take a moment, and ask ourselves:

What really matters most?
Even though I can do all the things, what do I want to do?
What will make me feel successful?

Certainly, we all have to do things we don’t want to do. But that doesn’t mean we have to strive for impossible standards in all areas of our life. There are seasons for everything. Seasons to work on our killer body, and seasons to cut back to maintenance mode where a walk or chores counts. Seasons for killing it at work and letting the spring cleaning slide. Seasons where we serve all homemade meals, and seasons where cereal is a food group.

We have to learn to be okay with not doing it all and instead, doing all the things that feed our soul, that make us feel alive, and that remind us of who we are. We also have to accept that life ebbs and flows, and that it’s okay if our vision of perfect in one area morphs in the next season of our lives. 

Furthermore, we need to remember that we can do it all–but we shouldn’t have to do it alone. We need to ask for help when we need it and find support systems. We need to be honest with our friends and co-workers and stop pretending this adult thing is easy. We need to stop showing up in the world as these extreme multi-taskers who are wearing a cracked smile over their dead–inside visage. 

We need to be brave enough as a society to say yes, we are kickass, powerful warriors who can do it all–but are smart enough not to. Who are intelligent enough to know that it isn’t sustainable to do all the things, isn’t fulfilling, and isn’t what this life is about. 

Thus, we need to change the quote in our minds to: we can do all the things that really matter most–and all the rest can wait.

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Don't Stop Believing in Magic When It Comes To Your Dreams

When I was really young, I would sit in the grass for long periods of time, combing through the stalks for four-leaf clovers. My brown eyes would study inch after inch of grass, searching for the elusive, seemingly mythical magic that could be found in the four-leaf shape.

I don’t think at five or six I really knew why I needed the magic of the lucky clover. I’ve long since lost touch with the wild imagination of that girl, but I’m guessing she probably would have thought the four-leaf clover would allow her to talk to cats or change her Barbies’ hair to pink with one touch or reveal the real Smurf village.

Nonetheless, one day, I eventually found one. My mom laminated it, and it did, in fact, feel like a magic moment. But I still couldn’t talk to cats or pet a unicorn or anything truly exciting. I forgot about four-leaf clovers. I grew up.

And then, one day when I was thirty, I found myself once more looking for four-leaf clovers. Sitting on the edge of our deck, my bare feet planted on the ground as I sought a moment of clarity and peace, I found myself scanning the grass once more for the magic of the plant. It was silly, I knew. Still, after my husband had lost his job, after our first dog had died leaving me in the darkest depression, and after life just didn’t feel magical anymore, I suppose I just wanted to believe that magic could still exist. I told myself that if I found a four-leaf clover in the grass, maybe things would be okay.

Day after day, I’d sit in the grass, a quiet reprieve from the complexities of life. I’d sit in the quiet, searching for the four-leaf clover that I hoped the universe would send my way as a sign that it would get better. That I wouldn’t be heartbroken forever. That I would one day stop crying in the shower over Henry. That my husband after years of searching would sort out his career and identity. That things would stop being so hard.

I never did find that four-leaf clover. But I’d argue I did, in fact, find a sense of magic. Because slowly, as time went on, I found myself thinking of Henry with a smile again–mostly because our crazy Great Dane left me little energy for grief. After many jobs and years of being a little lost, my husband found himself again in his career. Things stopped being so hard.

I write this because I know somewhere out there, someone is hoping for that four-leaf clover. They’re desperate to find the magic. We all search for our version of a four-leaf clover at some point in our lives. We’re all desperate to feel that possibility once more, to remember that life will be okay again.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned: the real magic in life doesn’t come in four leaves. It comes when you understand that you are capable of not only surviving hard times but thriving. It comes when you realize that there is always possibility and hope for a better tomorrow. Most of all, it comes when you know deep within that you are capable of figuring it all out and changing what tomorrow looks like.

You don’t need to find a four-leaf clover to find the magic you need–because what my five-year-old self didn’t understand was that the magic was simply in the believing magic existed.
​
Be the Magic.
Lindsay Detwiler

Why You Need to Actually Love Yourself

​You stare at the photograph from ten years ago and realize with frustration you don't look the same.

Your skin is looser, your stomach is bigger, your legs are chunkier. Your arms are thicker now, and you wouldn't dare squeeze into an outfit like that. Maybe the scale says you're heavier. Maybe you can't fit in those jeans anymore. You are not the same, and it irks you to the core.

So you do what the media has taught us to do. You say no to the birthday cake when you want to say yes. You cut calories so you go to bed hungry. You make yourself dizzy, all in the sake of calorie deficit. You deny yourself any joy when it comes to food. Maybe you try a diet where you cut out a certain group of foods altogether. Starvation is your new mantra, even though life feels joyless. You are not the same.

Maybe you start counting your steps obsessively, and even when your body screams for rest, you push it anyway. You lift weights until your shoulders ache. You skip fun dates or time with your dog or dinner with friends because you can't miss the gym. You take up running even though you dread that alarm clock every single morning because of it. If you didn't sweat enough, you're not worthy. You have to earn rest. You are not the same.
You cover your body everywhere you go. You change your outfit twenty times because of the way your shirt clings to your stomach pooch or your leg cellulite shows in those shorts. You are not the same--and that is your deepest, darkest secret you hide at all costs.

You worry about what others think as they peruse your social media. You're terrified of being "that girl" who let herself go, who looks bloated and chunky compared to who she was.

You are not the same.

But you know what? You're damned right you're not the same. Because after all these years, you really shouldn't be. You've lived life. You've had successes and failures. You've fallen in love, dealt with heartbreak, lost, loved, lost again. Maybe you've had babies. Maybe you traveled the world. Maybe you learned new skills or took up new hobbies. You've made new friends and taken new jobs. You've survived. You've failed. You've conquered. You've learned.

You've done that thing you never thought you could do. You showed up when you didn't want to. You made life better for others. You saw that sunset that you can't forget about. You got on the stage, you stood up for what was right. You had surprise after surprise, some good and some bad. You lived through countless days of wonder.

You've grown in so many ways in the past ten years that no, you're not the same. You've outgrown that girl you used to be in all the best ways. You are wiser now, smarter, more mature in some ways. You are more open-minded yet also more grounded in who you are and who you want to be. So of course, you are not the same. Isn't it crazy we would expect you to be?

You are not the same--celebrate that, not just emotionally, but physically, too. Stop seeing the changes in your body as something to hide. Celebrate who you are, right now, today. Celebrate every beautiful inch of yourself. Stop hiding. Stop trying to "get back" to the size or shape you used to be. Stop looking back.
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I think the sooner you learn to love yourself, to love the skin you're in right now without comparing yourself to yesterday--that's when life opens up. That's when true joy settles into your bones. That's when you can exhale, live your best life, and be truly, 100% healthy.

A Neck Wrinkle Taught Me To Start Living

I was a few weeks shy of my 35th birthday when, staring into the mirror, my eyes landed on a prominent neck wrinkle and saggy skin that I hadn’t noticed before.

Chest tightening, I ran my hand over the skin to find it droopy, dry, and scaly—the dreaded turkey neck, the epitome of aging signs, had appeared, and much earlier than I ever was prepared for.

Promptly, I studied photos from the past months to see if I had been living in some state of oblivion, blind to the fact my neck had become a blinking sign for my elder millennial status. I squinted and studied, trying to find the exact month it had happened. Then, my Enneagram 3 personality kicked into high-gear as I tried to conquer the situation. I read about neck creams, perused reviews, and ritualistically slathered on potions that seemed to make it worse. I spent so much time staring in the mirror for several weeks that the “You’re So Vain” song seemed to be my mantra. I Googled whether turtlenecks were spring and summer appropriate.

And then, one day last week, I asked myself: Why does this bother you so much? Because let’s face it, I am nowhere near celebrity status or a catwalk. And how many times do you actually notice the status of someone’s neck skin? I’m willing to bet rarely—unless you’ve recently become attuned to your own sagging situation. In the scope of things, a neck wrinkle does not matter. But to me, it did. And I know exactly why.

The neck wrinkle, the aging skin, it was a sign that my denial of the birthday cake candles tell in recent years. I’m getting older. That, in itself, isn’t a terrifying thing. But do you know what is? Realizing you’re getting older and you haven’t really lived the vibrant kind of life you want.

There it is. The truth haunting me—but I suspect it’s plaguing many women my age, too. The realization that you did all the “right” things and kept your head down. You sorted through until you could find a relatively stable life, if you were lucky. You got to a place where you can exhale because the choices have been made and roads have been followed.

This is where you’re supposed to be, that voice inside tells you as you put in the top knot to do laundry on Sunday mornings before your required steps on the treadmill to hit your watch’s demand. And then, you look around at your Live, Laugh, Love plaque and the carefully organized utensils in the kitchen. You study your filled calendar of things that even sound mundane like “Tax appointment” and “Vet check-up.” You stare out the window while you do dishes for the fiftieth time this week, studying the dead grass, the abandoned lawn chair, and the view that never would make it to a postcard. And you ask yourself: Is this it? Is this the epitome of living?

I think for me, the neck wrinkle was a wakeup call that life is going by—and I haven’t gotten around to the exciting stuff yet. Where was the sense of wonder, the sense of adventure? Where were the once-in-a-lifetime moments and exciting new sights and smiles worthy of Instagram? Or the unexpected surprises, the cocktail hours, the big wins, the monthly escapades to new locales? Staring in the mirror at that neck wrinkle, I felt a little shortchanged. At 35, my life wasn’t a bold, fun adventure worthy of a travel blog. It was taking out the trash on Thursdays, showing up to the office with coffee, my lifeblood, in hand to trudge through the workweek. It was figuring out what was for dinner and getting the mail and walking on the treadmill to try not to get too out of shape. It was surviving, in so many ways.

But when we’re faced with this revelation, the question becomes: What can we do about it? There are bills to pay, and flights are expensive. We have responsibilities of different varieties and only so many PTO days. And while giving it all up to travel the world or start the bakery or Eat, Pray, Love it sounds wonderful (and some have inarguably pulled it off), for many of us, it just doesn’t feel like the right choice either. I’m all about bold choices, about chasing big dreams. But a girl’s gotta eat, too. And although I love the van turned home in theory, my Great Dane is a bit too big to squeeze in there along with my shoe collection, cats, and bookshelves.

So how do you find the balance? How do you live a life that supports your dreams and excites you without giving everything up? How do you find a way to bring joy and passion back to your life so you don’t have nightmares about the regrets you’ll have in thirty or forty years?

I don’t know that there’s an easy answer to this question, but I do think it’s possible to find a sense of adventure, a sense of living boldly, without whisking away to a private island or disappearing into the wilderness like an explorer. At least, I’d like to believe there is. I’d like to think there’s a way to find a sense of magic, of wonder in a somewhat mundane life without having to do something worthy of turning into a Netflix movie. I’d like to think, in theory, there’s hope for all of us with our rigid morning routines and dinner schedules and budget Excel sheets.

After stepping away from the obsessive studying of the neck wrinkle for a few days, I’ve come to believe that for many of us, we need to sit back and ask ourselves: What really would light us up? Because maybe it’s not even as extreme as converting the van into a travel home or splashing in a waterfall or seeing a rare bird on another continent. Maybe it’s taking a ballroom dancing class we feel silly signing up for or that pole class that makes us turn a little red at the thought. Maybe it’s taking up a new sport, even if we might suck at it. It could be changing up our wardrobe and working in the dreaded crop top or making Sundays a day off from the morning routine we’re obsessed with. It could be joining a new group or going to a new coffee shop to explore. It could be going a town over and wandering around aimlessly on a weeknight, something you never do.

In short, I think part of the answer is just letting ourselves be free from the routine, just for a while. It’s about searching for what makes us excited and being willing to try new things we normally wouldn’t. it’s about getting away from what we should do or have to do … and doing something just for the sake of doing it. Those are the moments that we remember. Those are the times that we understand in our bones what living is all about, big and small.

I don’t think you have to spend a million dollars to live boldly, to live a life you’ll be proud to look back on someday. I think you just have to get out of the routine sometimes. You have to take the Curling Class at your local ice rink or get the tattoo you’ve been putting off. You have to say “yes” to that festival your friend wants to go to that you think might be strange, or sure to that jacket you love but think people might hate. You have to get a little wild in your choices, a little out of the norm. You have to break free of the mold society tries to put on you in order to break free a little bit. I think that’s where life really begins. These small changes, these tiny steps, can help us build the courage to perhaps, if we feel called to, take the bigger, riskier steps toward a life of passion. The job changing kind of steps. The new house or new purpose kind of change. But until then, the tiny swaps in our routine can be enough o bring the spark back and to help us realize that aging isn’t the end of excitement, not by a long shot.

I’ll be honest with you—I still study my neck from time to time in the mirror and in photographs. But lately, I don’t have as much time to peruse it and analyze it like I once did. I’m too busy going to that new bakery a half hour away on Sunday and signing up for a horseriding session. I’m too busy taking my dog to a different park and trying that coffee shop that’s out of the way but seems fun. I’m busy on Pinterest looking for a new outfit I never would’ve dared try out before and painting my nails a color way too loud for the office. I’m busy living my life, in essence, turkey neck and all.
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It started with sagging, drooping skin on my neck and a wrinkle I hadn’t seen before. But that’s not where it ends. Not if I have anything to say about it—which I’m learning, I do.

How Handwrytten Can Improve Your Business Connections With Thank You Notes

As a business, it is crucial to connect with your customers and communicate in meaningful ways. However, with the ever-changing business landscapes, it can be difficult to efficiently and authentically send written notes.

Over the past few years in my own business journey as an author and a boutique owner, I've learned this: personal connection is crucial to building brand loyalty. Plus, it's always important on a human level to actually make meaningful relationships. I don't want my readers or customers to just be a number to me. I want them to feel connected.

For a small business like me, writing thank-you notes or personal notes to fans and customers isn't too consuming of a task. What happens, though, when you begin to scale your business? What happens if you're running a business that has thousands of customers? How do you maintain that personal touch?

In the world of technology, handwritten notes have become too burdensome for most companies to incorporate into their strategies and relationship building. This is truly a loss, though, because handwritten notes connect with customers, clients, and potential customers in a personal way. People remember handwritten notes. They feel emotionally connected to them in ways email cannot establish.

​This is where Handwrytten comes in. They make sending written notes to customers as easy as sending an email. Using patented technology, the company is able to write over a thousand notes a day. The company takes care of the notes, the envelopes, and even mailing them out, freeing up valuable time for your business.  The handwriting styles vary and look realistic. For an extra fee, you can customize your handwriting to match your own. Handwrytten also allows you to incorporate gift cards into your mailings.

For businesses needing to connect with customers in a very real way, Handwrytten can level up your personal connection to customers in a quick, convenient way.

For companies doing international business, you can even take things a step further. Handwrytten features an article on how to say thank you in multiple cultures, which gives you a different perspective on how to use the thank-you note appropriately. This one is worth a read for anyone as it helps you be culturally appropriate and meaningful when working with or connecting with other cultures.

Looking for a stress reliever? Check out these Free games

I before E except after C.
Tying shoes.
How to be polite
Math. Reading. How to write a thank-you.

Growing up, they taught us a lot of things--but they didn't teach us this one thing: Adult life is hard. Really hard.

I think somewhere in our 20s, most of us realize that keeping up with all of the responsibilities, worries, and finances of adult life is exhausting. Add to that the pandemic we have been handling these last few years and the constant changes, most of us are facing anxious, stressful times.

There are, of course, many ways you can try to alleviate these stressors, for better or worse. Some of us turn to self-help books or meditation. Some of us try exercise (and some of us struggle to stick with it). Some of us have picked up a habit of a glass of wine every night or other comfort foods to help us relax. There are all sorts of ways to check out from "real life" for a little while. I think the most important thing, though, is to actually do it. We all need and deserve down time. We all need to quiet our minds and simply have lighthearted fun.

​One thing I've turned to in the pandemic? Online games. There's just something about escaping for a while and playing a game. It's even better if it's free. I love that it's something I can squeeze in for a few minutes if I want to focus on something else.

I think sometimes in adult life, we forget something we knew so well in childhood: playing is fun. Below, check out some of my favorite free games I've been hooked on lately. There's something for every type of gamer.  1. If you like search and find games I love a Where's Waldo? kind of vibe to a game, so this Hidden Objects game has been a great distractor for me during the pandemic or stressful days. It's engaging enough to help me forget about all the worries stacking up but also relaxing as I click through the levels. There's a sense of accomplishment when I clear a level, which does the mind some good.

​For this Hidden Objects game, you get several choices of backgrounds. I started with the Chinese temple. There are ten levels total, and each level has three rounds of play. There is a traditional find the object level, which must be completed within ten minutes. Shown below, you have items to find and get points for finding them. Then, the same background has a find the number level where you find numbers 1-31. Finally, you have to spot the difference. If you can accomplish all of that within time, you can move to the next level.

I love that the levels get challenging and give me something to work towards. Also, from a practical standpoint, I don't have to download the game. A few clicks, and I'm in.

I appreciated that the first level was easy enough for me to get used to the game but still had some challenges. I will say the number rounds are very challenging for me. The numbers really blend in (I am partially colorblind, so that might be why). I tripped up on these rounds several times.
2. For the Word Smith As an English teacher and a writer, I'm all about word games. Truly. Sometimes, a good old crossword can be really great if I want to escape the world a bit but still feel like I'm doing some learning/working my brain.

However, my favorite type of game is definitely a Letter Scramble. I love trying to find as many words as I can in mixed up letters and seeing if I can beat the clock.

The version I've been playing (link above) is really fun because it's not your traditional word game. The letters fly out as you play, which is both exciting and distracting. It makes it harder to think because you feel the pressure of making words before the time runs out AND before the board fills up. If you let too many letters pile up, it can get really confusing. However, you do get more points for longer words, so I try to let some pile up. You also get points for how much time you have left (each level gives you a number of words you have to make, 20, 30, 40 for example). 
3. For the logical mind (with a sense of humor) If you are a logical mind with a sense of humor, The Daily Dog Pooh Game is perfect for you. This game of logic is sort of a spin on Sudoku. The rules are simple, but I found the game to be quite challenging:

*Each cell must have a dog or a poo
*You can't have more than two dogs or poos in a row (or above each other in a column). 
*Each row and each column must have the same number of poos and dogs. 

​This game was so tricky, but I got really absorbed in it. I like that the rules are simple so I can really focus in on the logic part of it. I also like how it made my brain work in a different way. If you like puzzle games (like Minesweeper) this one would be your go-to.
Let me know if you try any of the games, and what you think?

The Sound of Violet

I am so excited to have received an ARC of The Sound of Violet by Allen Wolf. This book is going to be a movie in 2022, so you'll want to check it out now. It's great for anyone who loves young adult reads and romance. Check out more info below, including the first chapter!


About the Book:

Desperate to find a soulmate, Shawn goes on one awkward date after another until he encounters the alluring Violet. He starts dating her, but his autism keeps him from realizing that she’s actually a prostitute.
Shawn thinks he’s found a potential wife while Violet thinks she’s found her ticket to a brand new life. This hilarious and dramatic award-winning story takes all kinds of twists and turns and has been adapted into a major motion picture.

What Reviewers Are Saying:


“Entertaining, well-paced, and highly visual.”
“Wolf, an award-winning filmmaker, has adapted this first novel from his own original screenplay, and its cinematic potential clearly shows. The high-concept narrative is entertaining, well-paced, and highly visual. It’s a charming, humorous, and hopeful tale. A quirky, touching love story that offers insights into autism, religion, and personal tragedy.”
– Kirkus Reviews
“A wonderfully well-written, funny, romantic love story.”
“Unique and inspirational. The Sound of Violet is not your average romance. Rarely do I find myself so captivated by a book that I cannot put it down for nearly two hours. Pick up this book and get lost in the beauty of their relationship. My only complaint would be that the story had an ending, as all stories do, and I did so want to keep reading on. Most highly recommended. The Sound of Violet is simply remarkable.”
– Readers’ Favorite
Read Chapter One Below... ​CHAPTER 1
 
IT’S STORMY
 
 
Shawn didn't feel like an adult because adults were married, and he struggled to get through a date. He was twenty-four years old and looked like a man, with his powder-blue eyes, a trim physique, and a handsome face on a well-shaped head crowned with light brown hair. But he had never quite gotten used to his long arms and legs. When he walked, it looked like Shawn was carefully stepping between raindrops, especially when he started noticing all the colors around him.
The bashful sun peeked out from behind a gray curtain of clouds, kissing the Manhattan skyscrapers. Perfect dating weather. Shawn accompanied his latest date along a path through the High Line, a park that snaked above 11th Avenue, formerly abandoned railroad tracks that were transformed into a popular park years ago.
Emily looked pleasant but unremarkable as she trudged along, towering over him. She glanced his way, but Shawn couldn’t peer into her eyes or anyone’s eyes for that matter. When he did, it felt like he was staring into the sun. He’d force himself to do it, though, since people got uneasy when he darted his eyes away. But Shawn couldn’t keep looking for long. The connection felt too electric, like he had jammed his finger into a wall socket.
The trees around them swayed in the wind; their branches collided against each other, clanging like wind chimes on a blustery day. The melodic tones transfixed Shawn.
Emily cocked her head to the side. “Are you even listening?” she asked.
He wasn’t.
She knocked on an invisible wall between them. “Hello?”
Shawn broke out of his trance. “Sorry. I get distracted sometimes. By all the colors.” He looked up at her height. “You must be good at basketball.”
Her eyes narrowed. This wasn’t Shawn’s first awkward comment of the night. “And you must be great at miniature golf.”
Shawn kicked the ground. “Not really.”
“You’re gonna ask me how the weather is up here? I’ll save you the trouble.” She popped the cap off her bottle and splashed water on his face. “Stormy!”
Shawn stood there, water dripping off his face, his mouth hanging open. His stomach ached as Emily stomped off, shaking her head. What did I do this time? Maybe she doesn’t like basketball. She disappeared into the crowd of people surging around him.
Shawn sat on a park bench and logged into his online dating profile. Time to set up his next date. This was definitely a numbers game.
Later that week, he met Anna at the High Line. She was in her thirties, lean and frail-looking. Friendly, but needy. Pictures of cats covered her rainbow suspenders. Her profile emphasized her love for all things feline, and Shawn hoped there would be more to her. He was getting less picky. Shawn led her down the path.
“Whenever I look at a cat, I try not to think about how lazy it is,” Shawn said.
Anna raised her eyebrows. “They aren’t lazy. They like to sleep.”
“For seventy percent of their lives. Male lions sleep twenty hours a day, so you can tell they’re related.” Shawn had many more cat facts up his sleeve, but this one didn’t land the way he thought it would. He hoped she’d find the rest of them captivating, so all the preparation he did for this date wouldn’t be a waste of time.
“Cats are more intelligent than most people I date,” Anna said.
“Then, you’re dating the wrong people.” Shawn peered at her face. “You know, you look different from your profile picture.”
She slipped her hands into her pockets. “Confession time. That’s actually my sister. I get a lot more interest when I use her pic. We’re pretty similar, though. She’s just more photogenic.”
“No, she’s a lot prettier than you.”
Anna shrank back. “Are you for real?”
“Very,” Shawn said. “She’s the one who got the looks in your family.”
Shawn’s thoughts often raced out of his mouth, unedited. He knew people had to get used to that, or they wouldn’t stick around for long. Anna blinked a few times as if she didn’t know what to say. She scoffed, shrugged her shoulders, then hurried down one of the stairways that led to the street below.
Shawn knew better than to run after her. That had never worked on his previous dates. He peered at the red petals of the snapdragons circling the tree trunk next to him. The petals shivered and hummed, sounding like sustained chords of a violin.
On the following Saturday afternoon, he met Lindsay at the High Line. She looked identical to her picture, and he was relieved. She was in her twenties, with delicate features and dark hair pulled back from the planes of her face.
Their conversation began with how their days were going (fine) and about the state of the world (worrisome). They progressed to how expensive it was to reside in New York City (shockingly so, though technically Shawn didn’t pay anything to live here). Then, the conversation detoured to how people perceive colors. This was Shawn’s opportunity to shine. He fought to keep his thoughts on track as he strolled down the path with her.
“The light receptors in our eyes transmit messages to our brains about what we’re seeing. Newton first observed that the surface of what we see reflects some colors and absorbs the rest. So our eyes only perceive the reflected colors.” He forced himself to stop, a skill that usually led people to talk with him longer.
Lindsay leaned into him. “You’re a walking Wikipedia.”
Shawn beamed. The sunlight sparkled off the brook next to them as it bubbled down the path. He lost himself for a moment in the melodic stream of the water. Lindsay nudged him.
“You there?” she asked.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” He searched for a new topic. “The other day, I read an article about how this place would’ve still been an abandoned railroad track if someone didn’t have the imagination to make it this beautiful.”
Lindsay flicked her hair back. “So true.”
“When it opened, people called it a secret, magic garden in the sky.”
He started walking with a spring in his step. Lindsey reached over and held his hand. Startled, he shook her off. She stepped back with widened eyes. Shawn looked down; his arms hung to his sides.
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Sometimes touching can be too intense for me.”
Lindsay poked her tongue against her cheek. “Oh.”
“You look like you swallowed a lemon.”
“And your profile didn’t say, ‘don’t touch me.’”
“It used to, but I didn’t get a lot of replies.”
Lindsay bit her upper lip. “Are you on the spectrum?”
Shawn hesitated, then nodded. Whenever he told someone about his autism, their reactions were a mysterious mixed bag. Mysterious because Shawn couldn’t understand what they were thinking. Sometimes those dates didn’t last long after he brought this information to light, even after he explained he was high functioning. His brother, Colin, thought Shawn should keep his autism a secret for as long as possible. Or at least until the second date. But whenever Shawn kept those details in the dark, his dates seemed confused by how he would react to the world around him.
Shawn looked past her at a tall woman with black curly hair and olive skin dressed in a flowing wedding dress, holding a bouquet of purple and pink roses. The bride intertwined her hands with her smiling groom, who kissed the top of her head as a photographer snapped pictures of them holding each other. Shawn took in the moment. This was special.
Lindsay checked her watch. “So…”
“We should grab some coffee,” Shawn said.
“Not a coffee drinker, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t notice that on your profile.” Shawn swallowed.
“You know what? I should get going. Need to meet someone. Don’t know how I let that slip my mind. Sorry to cut this short.”
“They look like they won the lottery,” Shawn said, pointing to the couple behind her.
“It was so nice meeting you.”
“Should we go out again? I like how you smell like laundry detergent.” He realized he shouldn’t have mentioned her scent. His brother always reminded him to keep olfactory observations to himself.
“I’ll call you, okay?” she said, stepping back from him while keeping up the mask of her smile.
“I’ll wait for your call,” Shawn said, confident that day was just around the corner.
Her plastered grin continued as she made her way down the path. As Shawn watched her leave, the colors around him roared back to life. Tree branches clanged. The water tinkled. Petals hummed. The evening sun dazzled brightly. Shawn shielded his eyes and hurried his way back home.
 
e
 
Shawn shared a large condo with his grandmother on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where the kitchen, dining room, and living room all enjoyed inspiring views of Central Park. Black and white oil paintings of scenes from the city—wet seals basking in the sun at the Central Park Zoo, the triangular Flatiron building dominating its street corner, a couple caught in intimate conversation in front of a boxy florist shop in SoHo—hung on the silver-gray walls. All these were proud creations of Shawn’s grandmother, Ruth, whose spotless home could be easily confused with a museum if the furniture went missing.
A golden birdcage hung in the corner of the room near the window. Inside, the yellow and green lovebirds, Sunny and Cloudy, nestled against each other. Shawn dropped a large spoonful of cooked lentils into their feeding trough. His grandmother liked to stick her fingers into the cage to caress their feathers., But Shawn only dared to feed them. Nothing more.
Shawn kicked his feet up onto the walnut coffee table and tried to sink into the red velvet couch, but it never let him. It was too much like his grandmother, stiff and proper. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until he settled on a black and white movie, where a woman gritted her teeth while a seamstress worked on zipping up the back of her wedding dress. The woman turned toward a mirror, and her face lit up. The seamstress dabbed a tear from her cheek.
Ruth’s voice echoed from her bedroom down to the hall. “Shawn, I can hear your feet on the table.”
Shawn quickly moved his legs off the table. “You can’t hear feet.”
Ruth glided into the room in a vintage robe. She was in her seventies with curly auburn hair and a slim body, a gift from her years of swimming. Her stateliness masked her artistic side. She never traveled without putting her face on, as she called it.
“Bore me with the details,” she said.
Shawn looked away from her inquisitive eyes at the darkening clouds outside. It felt like the sun was forever setting on his dating life.
Ruth tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”
“Same as always…”
Ruth frowned. “You didn’t look into her eyes, did you?”
Shawn looked at the floor. “No one’s going to marry me.”
“Marry? We need to get you a second date.” She straightened one of the paintings on the wall.
“If I don’t get married, I won’t have anyone after you die.”
“I’m still ticking. And when I’m not, you’ll have your brother, whatever that’s worth.” 
“Sometimes, to keep myself going, I picture you lying in a casket.”
Ruth gasped. “How dare you say that. You know I want to be cremated. So no one can screw up my makeup.”
“Maybe I should start picturing you as an urn.”
Ruth shrugged. “Whatever works.”
Shawn glanced out the window. A breeze rustled through the trees in Central Park. A drizzle fell in sheets from the sky. “I miss Grandpa.”
“Yeah? Me too.” Ruth filled a silver teapot with water from the sink and set it on the stove. “He’d love to ask me about my day and then turn off his hearing aid.” Ruth snickered. “Once, he told me the best part of growing up was getting less and less peer pressure since all his peers were dying.”
“He died so suddenly. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“That’s sweet, Shawn,” she said, walking toward him. She took an unsteady step and grabbed a nearby chair to get her balance.
“Who’ll buy my cereal? Or help me pay bills? Or…”
“Glad I’ll be missed,” she said with a wry smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep the urn polished.”
“Of course.”
Shawn returned his attention to the TV. The woman was dolled up for her wedding day, gliding down a sweeping staircase. The groom’s smile stretched from one ear to the other. Shawn imagined himself in that white suit, waiting for the love of his life.
“Tell me about your wedding day again, Grandma.”
Ruth didn’t answer.
Shawn looked over and saw her slumped in her rocking chair, looking like a marionette without its strings. “Grandma?” His mouth went dry. He rushed over and shook her, but she only flopped around in his hands.

Up Your Curb Appeal On A Budget

As we transition seasons, many of us are thinking about sprucing up our outdoor areas. After you get your weeding, painting, and landscaping done, one way you can up your curb appeal game is lighting.

Oftentimes, we overlook lighting outside because we feel like it's too expensive or won't make an impact. However, thanks to Vont , I got to try out their solar spotlights. These spotlights are extremely affordable and high quality. I loved the ease of installation--you can literally just pop them together and put them in the ground, or you can mount them to the house with the hardware it comes with.

Once you set them up, you can pretty much forget about them because they are solar power. You don't have to worry about batteries or using electricity, which is a plus. More importantly, they really take your curb appeal up with their gorgeous lighting effects. They really make your outdoor landscaping look better with minimal effort and cost.

I definitely recommend these lights for anyone looking for an easy, affordable upgrade. Do head over to  https://www.vont.com/ to check out your options. They carry a lot more lighting options for your home as well.

*Thanks to Vont for their free product in exchange for an honest review.