Hocus Pocus Halloween Hype

Disclaimer: Although I’m obsessed with the month of October, Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays. Maybe it’s because it means that this beautiful month is officially coming to an end (I think I just shed a tear admitting that to myself in writing) or it could be because I lack some serious creativity and artistic ability which results in all of my costume ideas/ attempts of costume ideas being complete crap. Either way, October 31st just isn’t my favorite day. Sue me.

Does that mean that I didn’t dress up as a child? No. Did that stop my parents from embarrassing me year after year with cute costumes that only adults found adorable? Absolutely not. Do I hate them for it? Ehhhhhh. Kidding–of course not! I’m just eternally traumatized and still in therapy for it. But no big deal. Here’s a peak at a few of my favorite costumes as kid. I hope you get some enjoyment out of them; if not, the mortification was 100% not worth it.

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For the last month (and the last three at Costco), everyone’s been prepping for Halloween. Those creepy Spirit stores have opened in just about every abandoned warehouse and bankrupt store in this country (please excuse my political science commentary, but–given the recent economy–they’re quite bountiful), and Diddams and Party City have been selling overpriced, too-small pieces of cloth sewn together that they consider ‘costumes.’ Being the product of a Catholic school education for 13 long years, I render this horrendous. But (as always), you do you. No judgement here.

After giving far too much thought to the (very odd) tradition of dressing up for Halloween (mostly thinking of why I should actually dress up to procrastinate thinking of what to dress up as), I decided it’s absolutely silly. Everyone makes a huge deal about putting on a costume and pretending to be something that they aren’t. But isn’t that what we do on a day to day basis, anyway? We are constantly trying to change ourselves; we’re never enough of anything–pretty, smart, popular, thin, successful–for us to love and appreciate ourselves, just as we are. I’ve yet to meet one person who’s in love with every part of themselves. And our society’s view of self-love is so skewed that I guarantee you if I did meet someone who was, I’d probably think that they were narcissistic and incredibly annoying.

We have an obsession with wanting to be who we aren’t and having everything that we don’t. Halloween is simply a day when it’s socially acceptable for us to forwardly show that. And no, you obviously don’t want to be a Elsa or the Grim Reaper in real life (and God forbid a slutty referee or a half-naked Cesar in a toga–let’s readjust our life goals here), but we also don’t want to be ourselves. And if you ask me (which you obviously didn’t, but you’re about to get my two cents anyways), it’s so so sad.

We’re all incredibly unique and different. We should want to be ourselves! There’s not one person in this world that is exactly like you in every way. Not one. Not even your twin, all you identical babies out there. You’re the definition of original. So work it, rock it, own it. Be you because you’re pretty damn awesome.

Be safe tonight and eat so much candy that your parents would hesitate to claim you as their child.

Keep doing you.

Oh, and Happy Halloween (I’m not that bitter, I promise) 😉

-Megan

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Take Care (of you and your hair)

My hair is falling out. In large quantities. And often. I don’t know if this alarms you as much as it does me (if it does, you need a more exciting life), but I’m freaking out. Fun fact (more like annoying fact): our hair falls out in response to you being under stress six months prior. So what in my life was so straining this past April/May? Finals and PAC 12s. Basically the most stressful times in both my academic and athletic careers.

There is (literally) nothing more annoying than being tickled by your own hair. You have no idea where it is, you know it’s there, and you grab at your skin aimlessly in hopes of getting it off of you (which you usually fail at)—all of which results in you looking like an absolute idiot because no one has any idea what you’re doing. Yeah, well that’s been my life for the last week or so, and it’s driving me nuts. Maybe I’ll just shave my head… because that’s obviously a logical solution.

So what am I going to do about this fatal (and I mean fatal) situation? Well, seeing as I don’t have a time machine to go back six months and tell myself to cool it, absolutely nothing. But it makes me ponder (how academic of me): when we’re extremely stressed and under a lot of pressure, I don’t think we realize the toll it’s taking on our bodies. Sure we’re tired and need that extra shot of espresso (or two, or three…), but it’s not until later on that we really notice the damage that we’re doing to ourselves (aka why I have no hair). It’s so important that we take care of our bodies and our minds; everything we do today affects who we’ll be tomorrow. Everythinggggg. Daunting? Well, sort of. But you need to take care of yourself today so that you’ll have a tomorrow.


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Obviously my hair will grow back. That isn’t my main life concern at this exact moment in time (although it is up there); that role is currently being filled by my immense hunger as I sit in my Urban Planning class watching West Side Story (I’m sorry, what is life?? Odd, I know). But my larger concern is this: there have to be so many effects of my current life that I won’t see until much, much later—both good and bad. It’ll take years for me to appreciate the effort I’ve put into a (mostly) healthy and (sometimes) balanced lifestyle; it won’t be until I get my first job/ promotion that I’ll come to understand the importance of higher education; and I won’t know how crucial it is to build relationships with people until those relationships are my lifelines.

But it’s also not until we’re ignored that we regret mistreating others; it’s not until we aren’t trusted that we wish we hadn’t broken promises and told untruths; it’s only when the negative results of our actions are evident that we truly wish to change. It’s usually far too little and far too late, as my mom would say. It’s so imperative to our happiness (both current and future) that we live our lives with the utmost honesty and purity. And, no, I don’t mean purity as an attempt to allude to any belief system (I can feel the awkward onset of this post, just bear with me); I mean purity in a sense that we all should be striving to lead clean, wholesome lives that are true to ourselves. That’s all I’m saying. What you purely or unpurely decide to do in your free time? You do you.

You’re your own best caretaker; no one will take care of you as well as you do. And ladies, if he does, hold on tight and never let him go. (That’s what we call a keeper!) You owe it to yourself to make every attempt to live a good life. You deserve it.

Keep doing you.

-Megan

The Effort to Look Effortless

Being a girl isn’t easy. You know it; I know it; but he will never know it. Why? A. Because that’s the point of trying so hard (so he won’t know we’re trying) and B. Because even if he did know how much effort it took, he still wouldn’t understand. The amount of time (not to mention money $$$) that it takes to make us “miraculously” look gorgeous is unreal. That could easily be translated into an extra hour of sleep every night. Any takers? Cause I’ve got one over here on this side of the keyboard. (Not to mention Alyssa who’s currently sleeping on my shoulder with a full face of make up. Tired yet beautiful. Case in point.)

Poll question: What’s more beneficial, that extra hour of beauty sleep or beautifying your face to cover up for your lack of sleep? Since most of us don’t have the courage to experiment by sleeping in and going to work naked-faced, we’ll probably never know.

But regardless of what’s actually most efficient in making us look beautiful, I think we first need to define what ‘beautiful’ actually means. My definition is simple: you. Why? Because you’re you. How? Because you’re you. You, me, our moms, our sisters, our grandmas, our aunts, cousins, nieces, granddaughters, best friends and acquaintances. We’re all incredibly stunning. Oh and that really annoying girl who continually drives you unbearably insane? Well, she’s beautiful too; just like you, and just like me.


“Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.”

-Marianne Williamson


Who are we to decide who’s pretty and who’s not; who gave us that power? No one. We’ve just somehow come to think that we’re entitled enough to make such decisions. News flash: we’re not.

The real women of this world are the ones who are building others up, not putting them down; we all have so much to be thankful for and so much to celebrate. Simply being happy, charismatic women and striving to have a positive purpose makes us beautiful. And not just like a really nice bouquet of flowers kind of beautiful (unless they’re daisies, obviously). I mean beautiful like a mother holding her newborn baby for the first time, or an old couple holding hands walking down the street (even after 50 seemingly endless amazingly crazy years together), or (my personal favorite) watching a parent graduate from college before you because they want to give you something to strive for. (A note to my mama: Mom, you’ve always been a better role model to me and Lauren than I could ever ask for; you never cease to amaze me with your talents and accomplishments. I love you.)

There’s no greater definition of beautiful than our everyday actions and who it is that we are consciously choosing to become. We’re continually defining what it means to be beautiful, and we have the power to redefine it; but it has to be a choice, and it has to be for you.

So go grab those funky pants you’ve been dying to rock (you know, those patterned ones from JCrew that have been staring at you for the last month); try that new hairstyle from Pinterest that you’ve been too self-conscious to debut; decide that today, you’re going to be 100% yourself. How could there possibly be anyone better? You’re pretty perfect already. And did I mention beautiful? Sure there’s always room for a little tune-up here and there, but that’s no reason to not be you.

If we all pledge to love, if we all pledge acceptance of each other, then what is there to be afraid of? Okay, snakes. And maybe spiders. But somehow that’s incredibly less daunting than malicious gossip and unending judgment. Yes, it’s an effort, but it has to be a universal one; no one can start this movement alone. Everyday we have to choose to love ourselves, love the person next to us (whoever they may be), recognize both our own beauty and theirs, and actively remind each other that we are beautiful. Because we absolutely are.

Something else that’s beautiful: the San Francisco Giants. Let’s take this series, baby!

Keep doing you.

-Megan

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#TogetherWe’reGIANT

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you

Blogging makes me happy. Like so happy.  Like to the point where I can’t even talk about it (actually, I can’t shut about it, as this post will show). What gets me through most of my life these days is knowing that each day is going to end with my exhausted booty plopped on my bed surrounded by an excessive number of Apple products doing what I love doing most: blogging.

It’s been almost three months since I’ve started [insert title here]–people are still cluelessly asking if I’ve thought of a title yet–and since I’ve done so, I am a completely different person. And I don’t mean that in the dramatic, “OMG, this blog changed my life because I’ve never had real feelings or thoughts before,” type stuff. I mean, I am genuinely a happier and more content person since I started putting my thoughts on paper my hard drive. Everyday I wake up and think to myself: I wonder what will inspire me to blog today. But the greatest feeling is being sure that something will; something always does. I am so #blessed.

I’ve started paying closer attention to all of the small details of my life–from 5:30am bike rides to practice, to listening to others’ conversations in the Starbucks line (…creepin?). But since I’ve become more attuned to my surroundings, I’ve also come to be more grateful for very essence of my life and all of the little things that make it so breathtakingly beautiful.

This morning I posted a photo to Instagram and Facebook and–for the first time–included a link to my blog. I’ve had over 130 views today alone; I’m completely overwhelmed! It means the world to me knowing that I’m writing for more eyes than just my own (and my mother’s, obviously). And although it’s 100% impossible, I hope that you enjoy reading my posts as much as I enjoy writing them.

This next week, I challenge you to take just 30 seconds out of your day to recognize one thing that you’re thankful for in your life. I guarantee you’ll be blown away by the number of incredible, minute moments that–together–create your complex, everyday world.

Today, I’m thankful for you; you’re awesome and inspiring in every way.

Keep doing you, kiddo.

-Megan

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Selfless Sunday

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If you sit by the sea, it’s easy to see,

it’s so much greater than just you and me.


It’s 2014, a time filled with incredibly advanced technology and just about every social media platform. We’re more connected than we’ve ever been, and information is readily accessible at any given moment (except when you’ve got that 1x extended network driving down I5… literally the worst). But–like anything–the great benefits of social media come with consequences, too. The biggest one? Narcism. We’re in an age when every age (5 year olds have iPhones… um, what?) thinks that everyone else cares about them and what they’re doing at every moment. So much so, that “Selfie Sunday,” is actually a thing. Human kind, these are the times (along with a few others) when I’m embarrassed to say that I’m a member of this species.

So given it’s Sunday (and given that Stephanie’s birthday is tomorrow), I decided to take a new approach to Sundays: Selfless Sunday. Today isn’t about me. It’s about Stephanie; it’s about the drivers in front of me and behind me (no honking today, for a change), the barista at Starbucks, and every other person that isn’t me. Too often in this life do we use words like: I, me, my and mine. We need to start frequenting words like: you, your, yours, and theirs. I am constantly thinking about how all 7+ billion people coexist on this planet, yet how individually motivated we all are. We have so so much strength as one–as humanity. But if we’re constantly walking this earth alone, then we’re ignoring one of the greatest and most inspirational gifts that we’ve been given as humans: unity.

After getting home from Sacramento last night (this morning) around 2am and not getting some much needed sleep, I (unhappily) got up this morning to have a “Stephanie Day” in Malibu. That alone is probably more selfless than I am on any other given day. We did “the usual” and made our way to the farmers’ market where Steph slyly informed me that Patrick Dempsey was buying produce with his two kids. Let me repeat that: Patrick Dempsey. I know, I know. Calm yourselves. I would post a photo of us together buying some bougie organic celery or something, but I decided that, well: it’s not about me. He was shopping with his kids at the local farmers’ market; in no way is that my place to interrupt his serene Sunday morning. When I’m famous someday (clearly it’s Daydream Sunday, too), I would hate people constantly disturbing my everyday life. I didn’t want to be that person. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that the name ‘McDreamy’ is so unbelievably appropriate.

After catching the breath that Patrick Dempsey so effortlessly took away, we moseyed on down to the beach. As we admired the mansions that line the shore of this beautiful, golden coast, we hit the panic button thinking about about how disheveled and uncertain our futures are; basically, we know exactly what we want (houses in Malibu), but we have no idea how to get there (uh… Patrick Dempsey?). But with the combo of one anxious almost-22-year-old and one self-proclaimed motivational speaker (I like to talk? What?), we somehow manage to talk each other off the ledge. We eventually decided that the only thing more important than our futures was figuring out what was for lunch (we ain’t missin no meals); in the spirit of Selfless Sunday, we decided on shellfish.

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Stephanie’s birthday dinner was equally as selfless because no animals were harmed in the process of its consumption; Real Food Daily has the best vegan food. Their service? Insanely slow. But their food is literally unReal (Food Daily). I’d write the waiter a bad review about how awful he was, but if he was perfectly attentive, then his world would have revolved around me for the hour and a half that I was at the restaurant. And today isn’t about me… So I’ll just leave it at that.

Shout out to my incredible cousin Kellie. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEAUTIFUL! Twenty-four never looked so fabulous. I love you beyond words.

Keep doing you, even though it’s not always all about you.

-Megan

Throwback to a Throwdown

Since it’s Thursday (and since I’m on a charter bus to Sacramento with 40+ twenty-something-year-old girls and have absolutely nothing better to do), I’m going to take this opportunity to be completely original and do something that no one has ever done before: throw it back. The two girls next to me are currently discussing an upcoming wedding, which naturally makes me want to go to a wedding. But again, since it’s Thursday, I’ll throw it back to a wedding instead.

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Who doesn’t love a good photobooth?

On September thirteenth, one of my absolute best friends in this world married the love of her life. Katie is probably the boldest and most unique individual to ever grace the planet. She is who she is, and she isn’t afraid to be herself—100% of the time. Which is great considering that she’s an incredible human being; she’s so witty, too sarcastic for her own good, sharp as a tack and more than anything, she cares so so deeply for others.

After just about the craziest week of my life, I somehow made my way up to my favorite family spot—Trinity Alps Resort—for a beautiful wedding weekend. Although I missed the rehearsal dinner (Megan missed a meal… I know right?!) I woke up on the riverbank of the Stuart’s Fork River to the sound of rushing water below my porch. If that’s not heaven, then I don’t even want to go.

Yes, it was nice to escape the sometimes-overbearing Los Angeles (more times than not), but that’s not why the weekend was so amazing. Family is my everything, and being able to share such a beautiful (and not to mention life-changing) event with them means so much to me. Katie, I would walk across the country barefoot, in the middle of December, wearing nothing but a bikini if it meant being able to see you marry the love of your life. Crazy? Maybe. But it’s my responsibility. For the amount of support and love that my family has given me in my twenty years, I owe it to them to be there. They’re my mains, and they always will be.

meganandkatieKatie and Chris’ wedding was the first of 24 grandkids in my family, and I cannot wait for the next bajillion weddings in the next 15 years. The weirdest part is that one of the them will probably be mine…

This is getting too weird. And with that: goodnight. Let me go have nightmares about how fast I’m growing up and how I’m basically officially old. AH.

Stay young, friends.

-Megan

Happy Awktober!

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It’s October. Which means sweaters, boots, hot cocoa, fallen leaves in just about every color, crisp mornings, chilly nights, and everything pumpkin. It saddens me to inform you that here in the lovely and (overly) warm Los Angeles, it’s still a constant 80 degrees and–even in mid October–I am unable to sleep without air conditioning or drink my morning tea without breaking a serious sweat. It’s a literal travesty. But even amidst the unfortunate “fall” that LA lacks, pumpkins are the one thing that can still ring in autumn like nothing else.

october22.1Not only has pumpkin flavored everything taken over the Starbucks menu, this festive flavor has stocked just about every shelf of Trader Joe’s. You think I’m kidding? Go check. Everything. And I’m not complaining! Spiced lattes are the greatest, and don’t even get me started on this pumpkin butter from TJ’s. A grilled cheese never tasted so good. Honestly, it’ll change your life. I’m already trying to calculate how fast I go through a jar so I can figure out how many jars I need stashed to last me until next October. Borderline obsession forming over here…

With all this pumpkin hype constantly surrounding me, only to remind me that fall does not actually exist in Los Angeles, I decided to make it exist and to create myself a little autumn of my own. Translation: I bought pumpkins. Stephanie looked up pumpkin patches (in Malibu of course), and this weekend we drove straight into the hills off of the PCH and went on a search for our perfect pumpkins.

We pulled up to the pumpkin patch to find, well, just that: a patch. A small piece of land with a few scattered pumpkins. I don’t know how these Malibu–boos do October, but it’s not how we do it back home. With such limited selection of pumpkins (and my slight OCD), I decided that none looked even remotely perfect enough to A. carve or B. place on my (nonexistent) porch. We headed back down to the highway and found a little “pumpkin patch” right on the beach (aka some imported hay bails and burlap scarecrows–how Mali-bougie).

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As we browsed the piles and piles of stacked gourds, the two workers had their eyes glued to us… the entire time. Um, awkward. And not just like ‘making flirty eye contact with the cute guy across the room as he deliberately looks away and grabs the girl next to him’ kind of awkward. Awkward like dribbling some coffee on an unfortunate location on your shirt (girls, you got me) and having to wear it all day; people see it, you know they’re looking at it, they know that you know it’s there, and no one knows what to do about it. The kind of awkward that makes you stop functioning normally, gives you the slight shivers and makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. Tell me about it.

They watched me pick up at least 50 pumpkins, inspect them closely (obviously that included thumping them obnoxiously) and then place them back down when deciding they just weren’t good enough. (Breaking news: pumpkins and men do have something in common.) And to make it even more uncomfortable, I needed Steph to take photos so I could add them to my post. So there I was, on the side of the highway, all by my lonesome, taking selfies with a bunch of squash. Yeah, Megan. You’re so #cool.

The things I do for you people…

Keep doing you; even if that’s posing with some large (not to mention heavy) vegetables by the beach. It’s more common than you think.

-Megan

It’s never too early to can’t even…

can't_evenI’d like to start off by stating: yes, I’m alive. I know you were worried. And as you were profusely checking and rechecking my blog for updates and new posts, I was drowning in midterms and school work. So I apologize for the lack of posts this past week, but trust me: me not blogging is far more devastating to me (and my health) than it is to you. Let’s just say it’s my way of de-stressing, and during a stressful time, I wasn’t able to de-stress. I guess you could say my roommates hate me, but that would be putting it lightly…

BUT the good news is–actually the best news I could have gotten at 5:00am (besides practice or class cancelled)–is that my absolute favorite author, Sarah Pekkanen, asked me to join one of her creative teams to help with brainstorming and book promotions! I know, I know. You’re puzzled, thinking to yourself: Megan hates reading, so how in the world does she have a favorite author? Well kids, I did hate reading once upon a time (not even sure if that time has passed yet), but the only time you can’t get me to stop reading is when I’m enveloped in a Pekkanen novel–which is whenever she publishes a new book.

*Insider’s Note: She has a sale going on! Here’s a promo I made for her Facebook page!*

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So as I’m making my oatmeal (aka poring hot water into a bowl of instant oats–welcome to college) I repeatedly yelled, “Omg. Omg, Omg, OMG. I can’t even. I just can’t. I literally cannot even.” Even at 5:30am (no pun intended), it’s not too early to can’t even. Correction: it’s never too early to can’t even. The best part of your day (or week, or month or life for that matter) can happen at any moment. Happiness (and the ability to even) knows no time or place.

I hope you have an amazing week with so many moments that take away your ability to even.

Keep doing you.

-Megan

Thanks Mom and Dad… Again (!!)

No matter how old I get, my parents are continually saving my hinny. Even when I’m two decades old. And in college. And have moved out of the house. And live 346 miles away. All on their dime, nonetheless. Hundreds of thousands of dimes, to be exact. I (literally) could not live without them.

I borrowed a friend’s hat last semester; I ended up bringing it back home to Northern California, assuming its return wasn’t urgent. It came time for school, she still hadn’t asked for it, and since my car was filled to the brim with all of my (un)necessary crap, I decided that there wasn’t room for another brim (weak pun, I know, but it’s Friday) . So I left it. And looking back, obviously it was a stupid decision. Because what happened? She texted me this week.

“Hey girl, can I get my hat back?”

“Yeah, of course! When do you need it?”

*anxiety onsetting, eyes glued to her bouncing text bubble, praying it doesn’t say: Uh, like yesterday*

“Oh whenever, just by this weekend.”

… Well, phew, but oh goodness…

So I did what I do when I don’t know what to do (the confusion in that sentence accurately demonstrates my frame of mind in that moment): I called Jules. She’s basically my hero. And a saint (when she’s not mad about my messy room). And basically my life. She called my dad and had him Express Mail it to me. Mother of the Year Award 2014, for sure. Did I mention she now has her diploma? Shoutout to Julie for getting her Bachelor of Science in Fire Science Administration! I guess that means my ‘first generation college student’ scholarships are about to be revoked… oh, wait… they’re not existent.

But back to this package. When I opened this glorious box that came straight to my door at 10am sharp the next morning (and $44.95 later, might I add–daddy loves me), it wasn’t just the hat. Oh no. My family wouldn’t be my family if they only gave me what I needed; they give me what I need, what they think I need (that I don’t know I need), and even what I don’t need (and sometimes what I want). And not just in care packages, but in love, faith and every other facet of this crazy adventure that I’ve decided to label as life.

My AMAZING and COMFORTING and TOTALLY FATTENING magical box of goodies included: an adorable card written by the famous Lauren Linney (aka my boo-thang), a new Reebok Crossfit tank, Crossfit Cadence decals (my computers about to get a serious lid lift), Swedish Fish (they may or may not be gone already), and–the biggest surprise–a baker’s dozen of the world famous Gunther’s chocolate chip cookies (those may or may not be definitely gone). It was the perfect mix of the people and places that I miss so dearly back home; it takes me back to summer workouts and late day brunches and all of the people that make my life so beautiful and blessed.


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Oh, and the hat was in there, too. I know you were concerned.

Thank you Daddy, Mommy and Lauren for being so thoughtful and taking such good care of your babygirl. You’re an amazing #trio and I can’t wait for the #quad to be reunited in a few short weeks.

Keep it comin. I can never get enough of you people.

-Megan

Shoe and Bag Matching Not Required (or Encouraged)

Pretty much everything I know about fashion I either learned from Stacy and Clinton (who doesn’t love a little TLC?) or have yet learn. Considering I spend most of my life in spandex, there isn’t really much time for ‘real people’ clothes; but you can bet that when I do happen to throw on the occasional pair of jeans or that comfy oversized sweater I have hanging in my wardrobe (the one that lacks an actual wardrobe), people flood me with questions like: where are you going, oooooo who are you seeing today, and oh my gosh Megan, why are you looking so fancy?! They’re jeans people! Calm yourself. I decided that I had 5 extra seconds (or minutes depending on how tight they are) to slip (or shimmy) into some denim today. Not solving world peace here, although it does seem almost as miraculous.

Side note: It doesn’t help that I spent the majority of my youth in a plaid jumper and a white, three button polo, escaping any and all chances of learning absolutely anything about fashion.

And as I was biking to class today, I realized:

  1. I wear the same clothes all the time. Which means I’m either ultra lazy, super boring or just really great at picking out the clutch items (I’ll go with the last one).
  2. About 9 out of 10 of my outfits have colors and patterns that are in complete opposition to and in refusal of one another.
  3. I really don’t care that my clothes repeat/ don’t match.
  4. Neither should you.

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I (like most people) live with a constant worry of what others are thinking and if (God forbid) they’re judging me. And come to think of it, everything that we do or don’t do in this world has some sort of social side effect. I mean really: what is normal? Who even came up with the word ‘normal,’ and what on earth does it mean? Normal. Normal normal normal normal normal. (If you say it enough, it doesn’t sounds so normal anymore, does it?) It’s such an abstract concept to wrap your mind around.

Why should I care if my clothes match or if someone notices I’m wearing the same shirt from last class? (Don’t worry, it’s probably *hopefully* clean.) Our world needs a little less focus on judging one another and a little more focus on loving and understanding them. I don’t know about you, but it’s pretty phenomenal that we all (somehow) coexist. One of my friends said something really insightful today: human beings are decent enough not to kill each other, but too selfish to compromise and get along. As humanity, we need to strive to not just coexist, but to weave our lives together–give each other purpose –and be less judgmental of one another. I’ll be the first to say that I, too, am guilty of this, but you know what? Tomorrow I’ll do my best to give everyone a second chance and to make decisions about people based on their character, not their couture. No matter who you are or what life you come from, I promise we’ll find at least one thing that we have in common: we’re human. Even the Bruins.

Every step is a positive movement. It may be small, but it’s something.

Oh and don’t match your Jimmy Choos to your handbag–really. I promise, no one actually cares.

Spread the love.

-Megan