#fear of cringe culture had me in a tight grip man

[sketchingstars03]

what a day to remember that I’m basically living 12 y/o me’s fandom dreams

Having a Tumblr account and sharing my UTMV story with other people, and NOT getting hate for it!

Wish you could see this, little Shay.

We’ve come a long way

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH4 PT5

Warnings: More Angst with Vickiboi, some aggravated swears, blood, plot thick enough to make Niki Manaj jealous, sass from Ike, and the all important cliFFHANGER!! :D

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, two, three, and four can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

And an additional note in the previous part of chapter four part three here! (I promise these notes are important)

Chapter four:

Part five:

I backed away from the box slowly, mind racing. Of course the unmarked box was from the man who wants to kill me! Who else would it be from?! Even Sam marks his boxes with cute pictures! That man also knew where I lived! I’ve seen the pictures that he played out in the warehouse! But… 

I whipped my head around to face my windows. How could he have known which door was mine?! Those pictures were taken outside of my apartment... unless… he had already been here before.

“Ike.”

I kept my focus on the windows, avoiding Victor’s call as my mind raced to places out of my control. “Is everything ok?” Victor continued to ask, despite my continued silence. I couldn’t muster the energy to put on a face for him. My mind only filled with thoughts of catastrophe. What if he was listening?! What if he had the place rigged with mics or cameras while I was away?! What if he had gotten in?!... 

What if he was still here?

“Victor, get out.” I finally found my voice. It’s hoarseness barely made it audible but I didn’t have the time to correct myself.

“What?” Victor’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke seriously, “Why? What is it?”

“N-nothing.” My lies were far from convincing as my lips trembled slightly in fear, “I-I just… Don’t feel good and need to lie down. I don’t need you here for-” I felt a hand on my arm. I jumped back and grabbed it quickly. Victor grunted and folded into my grip.

“Ike.” Victor growled, taking his other hand and squeezing mine, “Not so hard!” I quickly let go of him.

“I’m sorry!” I quickly said, reaching out to him again, “I didn’t- You were-... I-” 

“It’s fine.” Victor put his hands on mine, closing them into his palms, “I’m ok. Just... tell me what’s going on.” My beating heart pushed uncomfortably against my chest. I tightened my balled fists in Victor’s hands and looked worryingly around the room. I had to get Victor out of there. He could still be there.

“Ike.” Victor reached out and grabbed my upper arms, holding me strongly and securely, “Breathe.” I shook my head and looked up at him. Contrary to the look of confusion and worry in his eyes, Victor’s expression was firm, and steady. I felt the warmth from his hands push through my shirt. Slowly, my breathing became more and more controllable. Thoughts of logic and calmness slowly started drifting through the chaos I had previously filling my head. Of course he isn’t still here. I am on the third floor. Even if he had planned to corner me on my own, I was nearly healed and could have taken him on. Besides, why place a package at my door when he was already inside? He obviously sent the package to throw me for a loop. He didn’t even have a camera in the box to film my reaction. So he didn’t care how I reacte-… Unless…

He had other means of recording me in my apartment.

I looked around the room again. This time looking for objects that seemed out of place. Victor’s grim loosened on my arms. “Feeling better?” He asked, trying to meet my eyes. 

“...Yeah.” My voice trailed slightly as I only half paid attention to what he was saying.

“Can you think rationally now?”

“Yeah.”

“Great... Do you still want me to leave?” 

“Yup.” I finally looked back to Victor. I grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the door.

“What?” Victor scoffed, “Why?”

“I’ve got some redecorating to do.” I reached for the door knob but was pulled away from it as Victor wrenched his arm from me, throwing me back slightly. I looked up at him, meeting his serious eyes.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Victor’s composure was gradually being replaced with impatience as he glared at me.

“It means I what I want it to mean.” I reached for Victor again. He promptly dodged me. 

“Would you quit being so cryptic? You’ll waste less time by just telling me what’s going on!”

“Why do you care!?” I snapped, my eyebrows falling into a glare, “This is my apartment, my rules. If I want you out, you get out.”

“Not until you tell me what made you panic so much.”

“Victor-”

“Ike,” Victor’s voice boomed over mine as he took an assertive step closer to me, “Whatever secret you’re hiding is not worth your life! I am trying to help you! Can’t you see that?!”

“I don’t need-” I begun, but Victor silenced me with another step closer to me.

“I can’t sit idly by as you destroy yourself over this. It doesn’t matter what it is, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“No I don’t.” I took my own step forward, prodding Victor with an aggressive finger, “You don’t know what you are getting into by asking me this. This isn’t some lame date, Victor. This is serious.” 

“Serious how?” Victor pried.

“Serious-ly not your problem.” I snapped, feeling a familiar burn welling in my chest.

“It shouldn’t be yours to bare on your own.”

“Victor, there is a reason why it has to be that way!”

“What is it, Ike?! What on earth could make you keep this to your-”

“I’m being targeted, Victor!” 

Unable to take it any longer, the words I worked so hard to keep to myself came spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them.  Water quickly flooded my eyes. I snapped them shut and threw my head to the ground. I squeezed my hands together in a tight fist, trying to calm my anxious heart. 

“What?!” Victor breathily asked. I shook my head and held a shaky hand up to my face. “Ike, what-”

I cut Victor off by grabbing his shirt. With the strength of my evol, I dragged him to the door, opened it, and threw him out. Victor fell backwards and banged his head directly on Gavin’s door. He winced and reached quickly to hold the back of his head. I cringed but had no time for apologies. I picked up his shoes and tossed them on to his lap. “I’ll see you on Monday.” I deadpanned as I grabbed the door. 

“Wait-” Victor reached out to stop me but I had already thrown the door shut.

Once I had shut Victor out, I ran right to the windows and closed the blinds. Then I got to work. Soon the sounds of the glass shattering, wood splintering, and the pounding of an obsessive knocker became something of a distant memory as I threw all of my concentration into finding something. Anything. I turned my apartment inside out and found… nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I slid down the wall of my apartment. With my eyes half lidded, I looked around at the mess I had created. The apartment that I tried so hard to keep homely was in complete disarray. Broken glass, fluff, fabric, and flipped furniture littered the apartment, leaving nearly no sign of the hardwood floor under it. 

 I sighed heavily and covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or angry that I hadn’t found anything. That man made me go crazy. Crazy enough to second guess the safety of my own home. 

The sound of a liquid dripping onto hardwood permeated my hearing. I looked down next to me. Blood soaked through my shirt and had begun spilling onto the floor, drenching one of the only places my floor shone through. I groaned. I’d likely reopened my wound with the excessive force that I had used and would have to start back to square one with it. I sighed and pulled off my shirt. There goes my security deposit. Blood is a bitch to get out of hardwood. I gathered my shirt up and wrapped it around my wound. I leaned back against the wall and stared blankly ahead, prepared to stay like that until I thought of a new plan or bled to death trying. 

Something shone from the corner of the room. I lazily looked over to it. The glimmer came from something green under my couch. Curious, I stood up and walked over to it. Lifting the couch with one hand, I looked down at the object. 

It was the mask.

 A large crack ran down the upper left part of it but the mask, stopping at the scarab in the middle of it’s forehead. The scarab itself looked unscathed, shining the same way it always had.

 I threw the couch aside and carefully picked up the mask, staring at it intently. I had felt so many emotions while I was tearing everything apart. Anger, anxiety, pain, regret, but, in that moment, I felt practically nothing. All I could do was recall all the events that led up to that moment. From the hitman, to the warehouse, to my company… it all started with this mask. This one mask threw everything I thought I knew out the window… 

...and now, I have that mask in my hand.

I shifted the mask in my hands examining it closely. He had given me the thing that had brought everything together. Whether he did it on purpose or not, I had something that connected to the case. Something I can examine. 

The man targeting me had given me evidence.

I brought the mask closer to my face, inspecting every detail of it. The mask itself was incredibly undetailed. With a velvet finish, it mainly looked like a background to the main attraction, the green scarab in the middle of the forehead. It didn’t look like cheap plastic nor did it look expensive. It looked like a type of hard, scratch proof glass. Glass that shimmered brighter than any diamond I had ever seen.

I hummed to myself in thought. The scarab had to mean something. And the term, Operation Montu. There had to be something connected there. I knew scarabs had something to do with Egyptian culture, but what of it? Who do I know that would know anything about that subject? Instantly, a name flashed in my mind.

I quickly ran to my landline I had tossed aside when I rummaged through my bedside table. After an easy reassembling, I was able to hear a dial tone. I nodded and looked around until my eyes landed on my phone book laying sprawled open on the floor. I quickly picked it up and flipped through it. After I had found the right number, I punched it in quickly and held the phone up to my ear. After a couple of rings, the line was picked up.

“Historic Animated Adventures Hotline. This is Christopher speaking.”

“Chris, it’s Ike.” I breathed a sigh of relief when my older brother picked up, “I have a question for you.”

“Ikie!” Chris’ usual happy tone sprung over the receiver, clashing dramatically with the anxiety still lingering in my stomach, “I’m glad you called. I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick you up today. Things have gotten busy and-”

“Don’t worry about it.” I rubbed my eyes in annoyance, “I got a ride from... a coworker- Listen. I have a question for you. About Egyptian culture.”

“Oo, what a way to pull me from work!” Chris excitedly mused, “Hit me!”

“What does the scarab represent?”

“Immortality, resurrection, and transformation.” Chris said quickly, as if I was quizzing him on some sort of tv show.

I hummed to myself in thought, “Alright… and one more thing. Does the name Montu have anything to do with Egyptian culture as well?”

“Yes! He’s the Egyptian God of war. He is the embodiment of the scorching of the sun by the sun God, Ra. Some believe that, because of an association with raging bulls, that he manifested himself as a man with a bull head!”

I hummed and pondered to myself quietly, I knew it! But, what could I have done to anger the Egyptian god of war?

 “Now, it’s my turn to ask a question.” Chris said in a slightly teasing tone, “Why the sudden interest in Egyptian culture?” 

“Just… preparing for a new show.” I lied as I looked around my room again, an idea coming to mind, “Bart had this idea where some lady disturbs a god in his sleep. He mentioned the name Montu but I had no idea who he was. Thanks, Chris. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“No! Don’t let me go back!” Chris whined, “Hey! Do you need a consultant for the show?? I’d be more than happy to take the job!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” My voice trailed off the more I spoke, “I’ve got to go, Chris. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright.” Chris sighed, “Later!” 

I hung up the phone and tossed it aside. I quickly walked over to my bookshelves, now stripped of books, and reached behind it. A large, rolling, whiteboard slipped out easily sending loose papers to my already messy floor. Familiar chicken scratch and pictures met my vision as I pulled the board completely away from the shelf. 

The last time I had brought that board out was when I was a bounty hunter and I was targeting the Fozzy family, a family of mobsters that had been controlling a small, broken part of Loveland. I was able to find and capture the last member before my retirement and, with no other place to put the files, shoved everything behind my bookshelf, never to be seen again. Until now.

I ripped the remaining photos off of the board carelessly and threw them on my bed, which was upside down and sliding down against a wall. I used my hand to wipe the writings and long awaited discoveries like it was nothing. I took a magnet with a protruding front and hung the mask right in the middle of the board. Satisfied, I went to my bookshelf and squatted to the bottom drawers. With the doors already thrown carelessly open, I reached to the back and pulled away a fake backing, revealing a small secret compartment that only I knew existed. I used that compartment to keep the incriminating details of any case I had been working on. Just in case my apartment got broken into and my plans had been found out. I had also tucked away the last of my bounty hunting gear there. 

Keeping that in mind, I reached for the box of dry erase markers and pulled it out. The Fozzy Case file flopped over, disturbing the layer of dust around it and coating the gear and weapons around it. I waved away the dust from my face and secured the fake wall back into place. After making sure that it’s placement would go unnoticed, I walked back to the white board and popped the top off of one of my pens. Reaching for the top of the board, I wrote in big bold letters, 

“WHO IS MONTU?”

Then I got to work.

>>>

I had spent the rest of the weekend with my eyes glued to that white board. Only stopping to eat, clean my wound, or to clean my apartment. But never once had my mind wandered from the case. People had called and come to my apartment to check on me, only to be shooed away as I dismissed them at the door, telling them I was alright and that I couldn’t chat because of an nonexistent headache. Sam was the one who tried the hardest to come and see me, calling me continuously and stopping by with treats and movies to watch together. I waved him away, not wanting him to see what had become of my apartment. Or more, what had become of me.

Victor had made no attempt to make contact with me since the day I had thrown him out. The food that he had left me with still sat in my fridge, untouched and ignored, along with his still rotting pudding. 

I tried not to think about how aggressive I had been to him that day, snapping back to him the way I had and literally throwing him out of my apartment. I never wanted him to get hurt but, in protecting him, I ended up being the one hurting him. It was for his own good though. One day, he’d thank me.

I stood at my place in front of the whiteboard, reading over what I had written for the thousandth time that weekend. I had taped the ‘Get well soon’ card, the copies of photos and testimonies that Gavin had supplied to me beforehand, and written what I had found out from Chris on to the board. It was neatly organized with facts and evidence. But it was still empty of proof or suspects that might give me a lead. I had only pieced together what I knew and I really didn’t know anything. I especially didn’t know why this Montu was targeting me, or how he knew me in the first place. He knew me well enough to throw a bomb at my place of work, send a package at my home address, take pictures of me in hidden places, and map out every route I took. How did he get that information? What had I done to make him angry? And why did he choose me? For all I knew, he could have just picked me for the hell of it. But, despite all that I didn’t know, one thing was certain,

I had just spent the last three days without sleep and I had work the next day. 

I sighed and flopped backwards onto my newly fixed bed and looked up at the whiteboard in dismay. “I can’t believe I actually want Montu to make a move!” I groaned, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hands, “At least then I could learn something more about him!... Other than he is the reason I am speaking aloud to myself in an empty apartment.” I sighed and dragged my hands down my face, “At least I could take my mind off of this and back into work.” I paused my hands over my mouth. “...Oh yeah. I’d be going to my new office in LFG. I would likely be working right beside my employees, watching what they’d be doing up close. They’ll have to listen to me if I sit mere feet from them.” I sat up in bed and looked out my window. I wonder where Victor put my office…

>>>

“This is my new office?” I stood slack jawed and dismissive at the scene in front of me, “I thought my company had their own floor!”

“They do!” Goldman, who had shown me to my desk, stood smiling nervously next to me.

“Then why, of all places, do I have to work here!” I flashed a glare to Goldman, “In Victor Li’s office?!” Victor’s office hadn’t changed much from the last time I had seen it. The only thing that was different was the folding table with an expensive looking laptop and landline sitting on top of it, and a classy rolling chair behind it. Not to mention it was only-

“Ten feet away from his bleeding desk?!” I huffed, gesturing to the ugly sight before me.

“It’s what the boss wanted!” Goldman held up his hands as my voice rose, “He specifically asked for it!”

“How do you expect me to get anything done this close to-”

“This close to who?”

A voice came from behind us. I quickly whipped my head around to see Victor standing at the door with a mug of coffee in one hand and his other in his pocket. He arched his eyebrow as our eyes met. I felt my eyebrow twitch. Emotions from several days ago came flooding back to my chest. I gulped them back and faced him straight on, adjusting my posture to one of  professionalism.

“To anyone.” I growled, glaring at Victor, “Victor, I have phone calls to make, meetings to conduct, a business to maintain, and you do too. We can’t rightly use the same without one being a distraction to the other.”

“Any business owner should be able to know how to maintain order in any situation they are placed in.” Victor’s cold, trained voice reverberated through the room as he strode haughtily into it, “This relocation is merely temporary. There is no need to get so worked up over it.”

I clenched my teeth together, stifling a comeback as I looked over at the scrawny folding desk. I could keep arguing with him, fighting him until I got what I wanted... but…

A wave of exhaustion hit my chest. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I really didn’t have the energy to fight with Victor. If this is where he wanted me, fine. It was only temporary after all. Besides, he really was doing a nice thing by letting my company stay in his building for the time being. The least I could do is tolerate him and go with whatever he had planned for me.

“Thank you for the new desk.” I said, moving to sit in my new chair, “I’ll try not to be a distraction to you, sir.” Victor’s movements noticeably stalled from my peripherals. I paid no mind to them as I placed my briefcase next to me and opened the laptop on my desk. I looked up at Goldman, who was still standing awkwardly in front of my desk with a look of confusion in his eyes.

“I don’t recall hiring you as my PA.” I deadpanned. Goldman jumped to attention and nodded to me.

“Right! Sorry!” He nervously chuckled. Goldman bowed then left my desk and briskly to Victor’s. I watched him leave for a moment. My original tactless tone almost seemed out of place. It really had been a while since I had been back on the job.

“What would you like me to do today boss!” Goldman asked eagerly. There was a silence. I placed my hands on top of my keyboard… then paused. I turned to look at the two men, both of which were looking at me. Victor in an emotionless stare, Goldman in a confused glance. 

Once I had locked eyes with Victor, he turned to Goldman. “Bring me the day’s reports.” Victor said to Goldman. Goldman quickly obeyed Victor’s orders and quickly walked to the door. Victor turned back to me, catching my eyes before I turned them back to the computer. “You look like you’ve gotten thinner.” He said, voice noticeably lower than before, “Have you been eating right?” I felt my eyebrow twitch slightly.

“Yup.” I lied, turning back to my computer.

“Did you eat all of the food that… I advised you to eat.” Victor said carefully. I looked over to Victor then to Goldman. Goldman had paused, one hand over the door.

“Yeah.” I said, catching on to Victor’s hint, “I did.” The last thing we needed were rumors being spread about Victor and I. Sharing an office was enough. Having people know we went shopping together was going to send waves in places I couldn’t manage.

Before the conversation could go any further, the door opened and was thrust into Goldman’s face. Goldman yelped and held his nose. A familiar head appeared from the door, holding a mug in his hand and a worried expression. “Oh geez.” Minor quickly squeezed through the door and tended to Goldman, “I’m sorry, dude! I didn’t see you there!”

“No, no I’m fine!” Goldman waved him off, laughing at his own stupidity, “I shouldn't have been standing so close to the door. My apologies.” 

I sighed with annoyance. 

So had Victor. 

We flashed each other surprised expressions. I blinked at him but quickly redirected my attention to my desk. Damn it. That was awesome.

Goldman finally left the room, allowing Minor to hold the door for him as he did so. Minor shut the door, then his eyes immediately landed on my desk. “Hey, Boss!” He beamed, walking to me with arms outstretched, “Long time no see! How are you?”

“I’m alive.” I sighed, “How are you?”

“I’m great!” Minor gave me a squinty eyed smile, “I got away from the fire with just a minor burn. And it’s all thanks to a certain someone!” Minor sung his last words, making it obvious who he was talking about. I hummed, locking my eyes on the mug in his hand.

“Is that my coffee?” I asked, a little too eagerly. Minor nodded and handed me the mug. I gladly accepted it and immediately took a swig of the drink. It burned my tongue as I drank it but I didn’t care. No amount of temperature was going to stop me from drinking that beautiful nectar of the Gods.

“Ya know,” Minor mused as he looked around the office, “When I was directed here, I almost couldn’t believe it!”

“Me neither.” I grumbled, “How is everyone doing? Are they settling in okay?”

“Yup!” Minor chimed, standing proudly in front of me, “We have all settled in with no problems!...” I arched my brow, “... Okay. Some people have complained about how cramped it is-but! It’s okay!!” Minor waved his hands frantically in defense as he flashed a worried glance to Victor, “It beats working in a combusted building!”

“I would have been fine with either.” I sighed, turning back to my computer, “After all, any business owner should be able to know how to maintain order in any situation they are placed in.” I looked over to Victor. He was taking a drink from his mug. An obvious curve hung from the corner of his lips.

Minor leaned closer to me. “You know,” he whispered, “there is an open desk next to Bart in the offices you could have.”

“Oh really?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Victor, “You don’t say.” Victor set his mug down and paid no attention to Minor and I. From the distance that I had sat from him, I could see that he had straightened up since last we met. His clothes were ironed and his hair was well kept. He looked to be that same man from our first meeting… except the bags under his eyes had deepened and his cheekbones looked sharper than usual. It was obvious that I wasn’t the only one that had lost sleep over the weekend. A wave of guilt crashed into my chest. What if I had really hurt him when I threw him out? What if he couldn’t sleep because of the pain?

I shook my head and turned back to Minor. “I’m fine here for now.” I said, hopefully quiet enough for Victor not to hear. Minor frowned at me.

“Boss.” He whispered, glaring at me, “Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for your Boss! What would Gavin say?!” A wave of heat washed through my face.

“Would you cut that out!?” I flicked Minor’s head. He yelped and stumbled backward, “Quit assuming things are happening when they aren’t!”

“You’ll have to tell Gavin that.” Minor huffed, rubbing his forehead. I glared at him. Minor waved his hands in front of his face, “Ok! Ok! I yield!” I huffed and, after making sure he meant it, straightened myself in my chair. “... So!” Minor threw his hand to his hips, positivity brimming his lips, “What’s the agenda for today, boss?” I thought for a moment.

“Get Bart.” I said, regaining my professional demeanor, “We need to discuss the progress of the new show since I have been gone. And remind Claire that she still has a report she needs to turn into me. She may have been on vacation for a few days since we last spoke but that is no excuse for a late report.” Minor nodded determinedly 

“Aye aye captain!” He said with a large smile. Minor turned to leave the room. I turned to face my computer. Readying myself in front of my desk. I heard the door to the office open…

“Hey, boss?” Minor called. I looked up. He smiled kindly to me, “Thank you. For saving me.” I blinked, slightly taken aback.

“...It… was nothing you wouldn’t have done.” I said nodding to him, “You’re welcome.” Minor’s smile brightened. I cleared my throat and looked back to my computer, “We don’t have all day. Go get Bart.” Minor nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. I flashed a glance to Victor. He was still looking at the door, eyes vacant. I paid no mind to it as I looked back to my computer. After a moment of silence, Victor spoke up.

“You are well liked among your employees.” 

I ignored him as I opened my email.

“I don’t think any of them blame you at all for the explosion.”

I froze.

(Next)

[vee-angel]

First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles), part 2

Second Subject: Gym Class

Ricki had tried to meditate for the first time in an attempt to calm her nerves. She didn’t exactly know how it was done, but she knew that the likelihood of some magical deus ex machina swooping in to rescue her was close to nil. She was going to have to learn to live in this world whether she liked it or not. Besides, it’s not as if the other girls seemed like they were particularly unhappy. 

She stayed away from the window, but some of the girls crawled out to meet with other girls or boys. Best she could tell, aggressively kissing one another is how girls greeted each other. While they addressed males by sort of facing them with downcast eyes for an expectant moment. Sometimes the men engaged them in conversation, some groped them, while others snapped their fingers to command the girl onto her knees or into other positions. It seemed that there were some universally understood hand-gestures that directed girls into one position or the other. Ricki tried to appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this new culture, but she couldn’t fully dismiss her anxieties as she watched Sharaje being anally hate-fucked by two guys in a row. They both used her mouth afterward. 

After a few minutes, there was a tone that seemed to signal that they should make their way to the next class. Ricki had managed to make it all the way to second period with her virginity intact, but she had a feeling she may not make it to the end of the day. 

Sharaje quickly retrieved a mirror and some wet-wipes from her bag to clean her anus; she angled the mirror to check that her rear-entrance was picture perfect before fixing her hair and lipstick with expert speed. She then bounded happily up to Ricki and took her hand, “Sorry for making you wait, stupid. My asshole is a really popular place for men to cum.” 

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand down the hall, “Do you know where we’re going, or are you too much of a retarded fuckhole?” Sharaje asked. 

Ricki wasn’t sure where they were going, she hadn’t been given much information, other than where her first class was; she was led to believe that Sharaje would get her up to speed from there. “Umm, no, the man in the front office didn’t tell me much.” 

Sharaje stopped short and her expression went stern. She gave Ricki a firm, corrective slap in the face. “Ricki! I know you’re new to the outside world, but it’s never okay to blame your failures on a man! I’ve been assigned to take care of you, and if you get declared a feminist within a certain period of time, I’m going to be punished. So let’s try this again, why don’t you know what class is next?” 

“Because I’m a retarded fuckhole.” Ricki spoke with the tone of a girl broken. 

“Again.” Sharaje demanded. 

“I’m a retarded fuckhole.” She repeated in a lackluster tone. 

“Don’t act like you’re being forced, shit-lips.” 

That particular insult made Ricki cringe. She knew it was a reference to her dark labia that had been mercilessly mocked by the class a few minutes before. She decided to use the hurt to speak decisively, “I’m a retarded fuckhole!” She spoke loud enough that a few other students passing by in the hall snickered at her. 

“That’s a good cunt.” Sharaje said as she rubbed the side of her head as if petting an animal, which Ricki supposed was the best way women could be regarded here. Her mind latched onto something her “friend” had said. If she failed to assimilate and got sent to one of the feminist “repositories,” Sharaje would get punished? Was she only being mean to try to get Ricki accustomed to this society as quickly as possible? Because something really bad might happen to her if she failed?

Maybe the two of them really could be friends. Maybe Ricki was actually lucky in a way. After all, it seemed like Sharaje was thriving in this world, maybe she could learn how to thrive, too.  

The two girls continued walking together to someplace that Sharaje either forgot to or intentionally neglected to tell her. She noticed that all of the female students and many of the male students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Eventually, they made their way out through the large double doors that opened upon what appeared to be a large athletics field. Just beyond that was a waist-high fence and then a busy street. It seemed like every girl in the school was out here. 

She got lost briefly trying to figure out what was going on when Sharaje gave her a firm, yet somehow friendly slap between the legs. “Over here.” She pointed to several rows of square lockers. Ricki followed as she made her way to a particular one. “We can share mine until you get your own.” As she spoke, she hooked her fingers under the bottom of her shirt and flipped it off in one swift motion. She opened the locker, folded the garment neatly, and placed it inside. 

Ricki was stunned. She knew by now that she shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t a locker room or a changing room. It wasn’t a room at all! It was just rows of lockers on an exterior wall. She could see lines of cars going past just a few dozen feet away. Along with pedestrians of various ages. Some of whom stopped to watch as a few hundred teen girls all stripped publicly naked in unison. 

She knew that resistance was hopeless. At least this time, she wouldn’t be the only one exposed. She began to undress and placed her shirt and bra timidly in the locker next to Sharaje’s things. Sharaje, meanwhile, had produced a small bottle of solvent from her bag and was painting it onto her butt to dissolve the glue that ensured the spreader-jeans kept her holes perpetually exposed. It was an irony that taking her pants off would actually allow more modesty in her case. 

The two girls had just finished undressing when Ricki noticed a girl emerge from the double doors. She had apparently taken her time on account of the fact that she was already naked as the day she was born. She also looked strong… really strong. She had this vibe like a bad-ass lady superhero from old comic books. Except a more teen-aged version. 

Her and Sharaje exchanged a grin that wasn’t entirely friendly and the new girl walked over. Sharaje spoke first, “Hey Loose Caboose, ready to tongue kiss the tightest asshole in the school?” She turned her hips to spread her ass in the muscular girl’s general direction. 

“Well, I would kiss the tightest one in the school, but I’m not flexible enough to reach my own yet.” The tone suggested a friendly rivalry, but in Ricki’s mind, she had to process for a moment. Their rivalry was about who had the tighter anus?? She had a brief sinking feeling; is that what all the girls were going to be doing today? Testing how tight their buttholes were??? 

She’d tried to hold her tongue for fear of saying something wrong, but she had to ask this time. “Umm, excuse me, cunt?” she tried to speak to other women disrespectfully, but it still felt awkward, and she was certain it sounded as such, too. “What are you talking about? What’s happening today?” 

Both girls stared at her, but thankfully Sharaje didn’t let the silence linger too long. “Oh, this is Dephile. She’s a rapist!” 

“I’m not just a rapist. I’m the best rapist in the state.” Dephile declared proudly. 

“Only for high school.” Sharaje shot back derisively. 

“Choke on a dick, you fat slunt, I have scouts for college rape teams all over me.” 

Ricki was confused. “Wait, what do you mean she’s a rapist?” The question was addressed at Sharaje. 

“Wow, your stupid cult didn’t even let you watch tv?? Rape has become pretty much the biggest sport over the last, like, ten or fifteen years. Two sluts get into a ring and try to win points by penetrating each other’s holes. There’s like a different number of points for-” 

Sharaje was interrupted when Dephile slammed her forcefully against the lockers and leveraged her arm against her back. “Maybe you should let an athlete explain it, soft-bodied whore.” 

Dephile’s body was extraordinary, watching her exert herself to hold a struggling Sharaje in place allowed Ricki to see the smooth, defined muscles writhe beneath her skin. She continued her explanation. “A rapist wins point by violating the holes of her opponent. That can be done through penetration, like the stupid skank here said,” Dephile then demonstrated by jamming two fingers dry up Sharaje’s asshole. It was clear that she was clenching hard to resist, her body thrashed but Dephile’s strong grip kept her pinned against the lockers, the powerful fingers dry-forcing their way inside. “Or she can win points by defilement, like so.” 

Dephile performed a maneuver so quickly that Ricki wouldn’t even begin to be able to describe it, but it ended with Sharaje bent back on her knees and her face clamped between Dephile’s legs. Her mouth was pressed firmly against the strong woman’s cunt as she began to piss, with impressive accuracy, straight up Sharaje’s nostrils. She began to choke and cough, but Dephile was using her smooth cunt to gag her, ensuring that there was no way to get air without sucking urine through her nose. 

When she’d finally emptied her bladder onto Sharaje’s face, ensuring that a decent amount ended up in her lungs, she finally released her face from the death-grip of her thighs. She went to stand up, but Dephile apparently wasn’t done with her, yet. After a sweep of the legs, Sharaje was face down with Dephile kneeling on the small of her back. “Of course, double points are awarded any time a rapist can force a self-violation.” She demonstrated this by gripping Sharaje’s hand tightly and wrenching her arm back so that she could sodomize the girl with her own fingers.” 

Finally, she released the thrashing Sharaje and took a step backward to allow her room to stand. “I have a match after school today. You cunts should come cheer for me!” 

Sharaje stood and wiped the piss and snot and tears from her flawless arabian features. “Gee, thanks for explaining, Dephile.” Her words oozed with sarcasm, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ricki.” 

“Umm, thank you!” Ricki said, seeming almost surprised by her own words. 

It was about this time that all three girls noticed that nearly everyone else in the class had lined up near the fence of the school. By this point, Ricki was able to deduce that the purpose was to place the girls as close to the public as possible to maximize their humiliation. 

A group of middle-school aged boys leaned on the fence casually a few feet away and just admired the wall of naked teen girl-flesh as they chatted amongst themselves. 

There were a few women who looked old enough to be teachers standing in front of the line facing the girls. But it seemed that most of the instructors were simply athletic students. Dephile had a group a bit farther down. Once all the girls were in position, the naked girls acting as instructors prompted them all to go through a course of basic calisthenics. 

Ricki was sweating and out of breath after the first few exercises. She looked around to see that she was seemingly the only one. While not all the other students had particularly athletic-looking physiques, they were apparently all unquestionably in-shape. The exercises continued. The line of naked sluts extended, flexed, bent, and twisted in enough different directions to ensure that every muscle in their bodies was lithe and supple. The others made it look easy, but Ricki was actually getting light-headed by the time they were told to go for a jog around the perimeter of the school. 

Ricki was the last one of the group to make it back to her position, having spent the last ten minutes staring out over a sea of slick, jiggling asses moving progressively farther from her. It took all her strength not to collapse on the spot. She was dripping with sweat and wheezing. Sharaje and the others, she noticed, had nearly caught their breath by the time she returned, and their skin had a healthy glow of faint perspiration. Ricki thought she must be more out of shape than she realized, and hoped that there would be a break soon. 

Thankfully, the next segment of class seemed to center around stretching. It was a chance to get her heart-rate under control. Although her profound lack of proficiency soon became apparent. Ricki never thought of herself as stiff, but these other girls had a level of limberness that seemed more appropriate to dancers or gymnasts. While Ricki could touch her toes, most of the other students had their large fleshy tits bulging out as they pressed their chests against their knees. When they were instructed to lay on their backs for a groin stretch, Ricki seemed to be the only girl she could see not doing a full split. Sharaje actually had her feet pressed to the ground roughly in line with her shoulders, legs spread well past a hundred-eighty degrees. 

Ricki had caught her breath, but the lightheadedness still hadn’t totally faded. She did, however, have to admit that this society certainly promoted a much higher level of fitness than the Compound ever did. Maybe that’s why all the girls seemed so happy in spite of everything that was going on? She remembered reading about how stretching can stimulate happy chemicals in the brain, and these girls certainly seem to do a lot of it. 

She was shaken back to attention by the P.E. teacher explaining something about testing and ranking their holes? A part of her really hoped that wouldn’t be a horrible, humiliating, degrading experience, but she expected that it probably would be. 

The teacher led them all to a different section of the field. The first thing she noticed was a bunch of rectangular blocks about knee high and roughly four feet long. The second thing she noticed was the very prominent scoreboard that spanned one of the school's higher walls. On it seemed to be the name of every girl in the school. Actually, she noticed, every girl’s name was on it twice. The left section was labelled “Anal” and the right section was labelled “Vaginal.” From top to bottom had a smaller label that read “tightest” at the top and “loosest” at the bottom. 

Was this really happening?? Was this school really going to test how tight her asshole and pussy were? And then post them up on a scoreboard for…. not just the whole school, but also anyone who happened to pass by?!? The thing that made her most sick to her stomach was the knowledge that if she performed as badly on this as she did on everything else, she’d almost certainly rank at the bottom. Her eyes darted to the very top of the board. The anal side had two names she knew. In first place Sharaje, just beneath her, Dephile. The vaginal scoreboard was reversed, with Dephile seeming to have the tightest cunt and Sharaje coming in second. Then she noticed Sharaje’s name again, in what appeared to be a place of honor above both lists. “Tightest hole: Sharaje’s anus” That must have been what the two of them were teasing each other about earlier. Sharaje’s taunt of “Loose Caboose” made more sense now. Ricki inwardly giggled at the immature wordplay. 

Still the prospect made her feel a bit lightheaded. Each of the teachers read off a pair of names from a list, and two girls approached them. They each took their place on the wooden platforms on their hands and knees facing away from one another. 

The instructor pulled a few supplies that seemed to have been stored inside the base of the platform. A peculiar rope, a bucket, and sturdy looking box. She grabbed the thin rope, it had a two-inch metal ball on each end. She roughly shoved the ball on one end into one of the girls vaginas and then did the same to the other, so that the rope hung between them, suspended by their cunts. 

She then hooked the bucket over the midpoint of the rope, which was indicated by a red line. From the sturdy box, she pulled a small metal brick, about the size of a brownie and dropped it in the bucket. 

As nervous as Ricki felt, she was still fascinated as she came to understand the process. A rope was held up by each girl’s hole, and weight was added to the midpoint. The first girl to release the rope was the loser. Furthermore, one could approximately rank tightness by knowing how much weight caused each girl to fail. Ricki guessed that the list of match-ups was determined by previous testing so that girls were going up against competitors of similar tightness. 

“You’re gonna be at the bottom, loser.” Sharaje’s voice came from behind her, confirming her fears. The statuesque goddess followed up by grabbing Ricki’s pussy and roughly shoving a few fingers inside of her. She mockingly jerked the fingers side to side, causing a humiliatingly loud, wet noise with her genitals. A few of the girls nearby looked at her and laughed, some mocking how wet she was at the prospect of the whole school knowing that she was a used up slut with a sloppy cunt. She wasn’t actually wet at all, it seemed that Sharaje just had a certain expertise when it came to embarrassing other girls. “Yup, definitely last place,” Sharaje concluded as she used Ricki’s hair to wipe off her fingers. 

Ricki tried to push her anxieties to the back of her mind and observe the bizarre challenge. Pairs of girls competed against each other to see who had the tightest cunt and asshole. Sometimes the winner would aggressively mock the girl she’d beaten, other times she’d boast and be congratulated by her friends on the victory while the loser was ignored. 

Eventually she heard one of the teachers call a pair of names that prompted everyone to silence. “Dephile and Sharaje, you’re up!” 

Sharaje bounded up girlishly, her perfect fake tits bouncing as she went, she faced her opponent with the typical arrogant “mean girl” smile. Dephile marched forward, her bare feet slapping the asphalt as her dense, muscular form took her place. She glared back with humorless menace. 

The teacher commanded them to their places on the wooden platforms. The rest of the girls quieted down and crowded around to watch the top two girls compete. The two naked forms struck a perfect quadrupedal pose, backs arched to spread their asses; ensuring their holes were proudly displayed. 

Their cunts were first to be tested. Each metal sphere was pushed into their perfect pink holes. Dephile’s puffy labia seemed to be just about the only part of her body that displayed any softness; even her artificially enhanced tits were taut. 

Both girls had an expression of focused cockiness as the instructor hung the bucket from the midpoint between them. The dykey looking naked P.E. teacher didn’t waste time at the beginning; she tossed the iron blocks in as quickly as she could count them for the first twenty or so. After that she started slowing down a bit, adding one more before pausing for a count of five, then adding another. The time was to give them a chance to fail each time another weight was added. This went on for more than a minute; eventually the bucket was close to overflowing and the dyke twenty-something needed to quickly grab a second bucket that she hooked onto the rim of the first. 

Ricki had to admit that she was kinda impressed. A few of the other girls had managed to get their bucket almost full before they failed, but these two were obviously way ahead of the other girls, and neither seemed like they were about the crack. Another full minute passed with the second bucket being almost half full and then it happened! 

There was a loud sound of spilling iron as the bucket tumbled to the ground. “NOO!” It was the slightly butch voice of Dephile, who’d released first. Sharaje hopped to her feet and threw her hands in the air triumphantly, the rope still hanging from between her legs. After striking a victory pose for her classmates, she pulled the ball from her orifice and rubbed the cunt-juice saturated piece of metal on Dephile’s face mockingly. The muscular woman was clenching her teeth so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t crack one; Ricki could tell that it was taking everything she had not to beat Sharaje to within an inch of her life. 

Ricki studied the encounter, it seemed almost as if there were unwritten social rules regarding when women could behave abusively toward one another. In this particular circumstance, Dephile needed to behave with deference. Was it because Sharaje had proven superiority? Did females in this society have complex rules of a perpetually shifting hierarchy? That seemed consistent with a lot of what she’d seen so far. 

The teacher declared that they’d have a two minute rest before “testing your backdoor strength” as she put it. The sporty instructor seemed to be good-natured, and seemed to have a tattoo on her lower back that Ricki had been trying to make out. As she was re-setting some of the iron blocks from the buckets, she was finally able to make out that it said “Dyke 4 Dick” in a beautifully symmetrical script that framed her perky little ass. 

There was a bit of a murmur from around Ricki. It seemed they were wondering if the rankings would be reversed this month, since Sharaje apparently had the tighter cunt for the first time. Ricki got the impression that Dephile had held that title as long as anyone remembered. 

The two minutes were up and the cute lesbian whisled at the girls to resume their places while the rest of the girls watched. There had been a couple other pairs of girls being tested during their first round, but it seemed that the teachers and student-teachers respected that this was a big deal. So at the moment, all eyes were on the two naked sluts as the two-inch metal balls were shoved into their asses. 

Dephile’s confidence seemed to be wavering, based on the scoreboard, her shitter had lost to Sharaje’s in the past. After all, it was the body part Sharaje was known for; hell, she was even named after her anus. 

The teacher elected not to start from scratch, but simply hung the first full bucket from the mid-point in the rope. Neither girl seemed to have much of a problem. The second bucket was hooked to the rim as it had been the first time and she began counting in weights. 

Both girls' assholes were tightly clenched around their respective ends of the apparatus, they seemed to have a deep sense of determination as the second bucket slowly filled up over the course of the next couple of minutes. When no more could fit in the second bucket, the dyke teacher looked back and forth between the two girls with the iron assholes. They both seemed to be showing signs of exertion, with Sharaje having a slightly greater sheen of perspiration. She waited a few moments to see if either of them would fail, but neither let go. She quickly rushed to get a third bucket, something she seemed utterly unprepared to need. 

She returned and was preparing to attach the third bucket. Ricki found herself honestly rooting for Sharaje to win. She may have been a bully, but she was the closest thing Ricki had to a friend. Her heart sunk as she saw the arabian beauty’s face contort in exertion, she was reaching her limit. Then there was the loud clang of spilling metal that almost made her ears ring. 

“Winner! Sharaje!” the teacher declared. Ricki looked to see Dephile with the ball having dropped out of her anus. She angrily punched the platform hard enough to draw blood on her knuckles. Sharaje sprung up from the platform, still breathing heavily from the exertion and let out this giggle-scream of triumph. She hopped over to Dephile, who had just reluctantly stood up, wound her arm back as far as it would go, and slapped the muscle-bound bitch hard across the face. 

“Get ready to spend the next month kissing my asshole, you fucking loser!” Sharaje punctuated the sentence by grabbing a handful of Dephile’s hair and spitting in her face. Dephile looked broken, a combination of anger and shame washed across her face and threatened to flood out of her eyes in the form of tears. “You know, actually? You’re such an ugly jock loser that you don’t even deserve to kiss my asshole yet. I’m gonna have you beg to kiss every other girl’s asshole and tell them how much better they are then yours. Then, maybe when you’ve had some practice I’ll allow you the honor of pressing your lips against my perfect, superior hole.” 

Sharaje seemed absolutely prepared to spend the remainder of the class period publicly humiliating Dephile, but the teacher stepped in and dismissed them back to their places so that the rest of the students could be tested. 

For a moment, Ricki almost forgot that she would eventually have to be subjected to this same violation and humiliation. But she noticed a pit in the bottom of her stomach and her knees felt weak. She also became distinctly aware of the fact that the dizziness she experienced after the jog still hadn’t subsided. She wasn’t sure if she was really just that out of shape or if the stress of the day was really having that much of an impact. She elected to try to put her worries out of her mind and just focus on her breathing for a little while in the hopes that she’d be in better shape by the time her name was called.

She wasn’t. 

Her heart was racing even before the dyke teacher called her name. It’s just nerves, she told herself, everyone else here is doing this and they’re all fine. This is normal here, it’ll just take some getting used to. 

Ricki’s knees almost buckled when she took a step forward, but she managed to catch herself. She was paired off against the asian girl who was dressed like a slutty anime character in first period; the outfit was gone, but the hair and make-up still made her memorable. 

After a few tries, Ricky managed to climb up onto the platform and assume the position. Though she nearly fell when she lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat from her face. I’m still sweating? She didn’t feel hot, in fact the air on her naked skin was beginning to give her a bit of a chill. 

She felt the metal ball pressing into her vagina, it took a bit of force for the teacher to get it in. After all, Ricki had never had anything bigger than her fingers inside herself, so maybe that’d work to her advantage, she thought. The metal ball wasn’t particularly big, but it’s bulk was still enough to cause a bit of pain when it was forced in. The teacher behind her hooked the bucket onto the midpoint of the rope, and Ricki immediately felt the cold metal mass withdraw from her and hit the ground. 

There was a smattering of laughter from the other girls. “She’s so loose, she couldn’t even hold the empty bucket!!!” One of the girls shouted. Ricki turned her head to see who spoke but all she could see was a blurry mass of pink and brown flesh. 

She felt the teacher’s hand gently on her bare shoulder, “I know this is your first time, fuckpet, but you need to clench a little bit at the beginning and then go harder as I add the weights, okay? Do you understand?” She sounded legitimately kind and encouraging. 

“I understand. I… I’ll try better,” Ricki replied. She sensed the teacher moving behind her again, and felt the cold metal once again penetrate her. It fell out again almost immediately. She heard the other students taunting her again but they were starting to sound really distant. Her dizziness was getting worse by the second. She had a vague sense of the teacher at her side speaking to her again, but there was an encroaching blackness at the edges of her vision. 

This wasn’t just nerves, something was wrong. Ricki was feeling really bad. She decided to try saying something to the teacher. She took a deep breath and as she tried to speak, everything went black… 

[bulbpix]

If You Just Listened - Chapter 6

You picked up the small container from your vanity, squinting at the label on it. You put this stuff on your face nearly every other day, but you didn't even know what was in it! Maybe it was important. It would be worth knowing, it was your face it would affect after all. What if there were harmful chemicals in it? What about toxins? It was time to be educated. You cleared your throat, focusing in on the ingredient list.

"Ethano....ethano-lay-meen? Ethano-la...Ethanolamine?"

You suddenly remembered you weren't a chemist. You were barely able to pronounce that chemical, and you were much less knowledgeable on what it actually did.

'Well that was hardly helpful.'

You shrugged and twisted the top off the container, scooping a generous amount of clay on to your fingers. You leaned on your vanity, watching your face in the mirror closely as you did your best to evenly distribute it on your skin.

You woke up early this morning (for once), giving yourself a couple free hours before work. And you intended on using those hours to pamper yourself. Your hair was wrapped neatly in a towel around your head, and you had your softest robe on. The radio was tuned to your favorite station, you had a pot of tea heating up on the stove, and you had some toast and jam waiting for you on your kitchen table. You sighed in contentment, when a devious thought popped into your mind...

    The only thing that would make this morning even better was a little cigarette.

You grinned. You made sure to only smoke when you really felt like you deserved it. And you did. Hell, your feet were completely calloused from standing for hours in heels at Pogo's. One cigarette wouldn't hurt.

You rubbed your hands together in excitement and skittered over to your purse, digging out the box of Marlboros and accompanying lighter.

'Voila!'

However, there was one problem - you didn't want the smell of cigarettes stinking up your place. And judging by your current outfit, you weren't exactly ready to go for a walk.

'Hm... Ah!'

You had a brilliant idea. You made your way to the only window in your apartment and quickly pushed it open, the cold air whipping your skin. You shuddered at the dramatic temperature change, pondering for a moment if smoking on your fire escape balcony was a good plan.

'Ah, fuck it.'

You grabbed the window frame, carefully pushing yourself through it. First, your head. Then, your shoulders. So far, so good. You just needed to reach out to the balcony railing to give yourself some leverage and all would be well...

Unfortunately, you forgot to clean the facial mask off your other hand. As you reached out, your grip slipped. Your eyes widened, you were barely able to make a sound. Your arms flailed wildy, trying to get a grip somewhere, but finding nothing.

You braced for impact as you fell out of the window, your body hitting the balcony floor with a loud, metallic CLANG! You groaned, rolling on to your side in pain. Your cigarette rolled out of your hand, and fell through the steel grating under you.

'Well, looks like the good luck train has left. Back to reality.'

You winced as you pushed yourself up, not realizing how much damage that tumble had done.

There was a shuffling from the balcony beneath yours, your drop clearly startling whoever was there. You looked down to find an alarmed Arthur looking back up at you.

"Good morning, neighbor," you heaved as you struggled to pull yourself up.

Arthur quickly made his way up the steel steps, wasting no time. He knelt down beside you as soon as he reached you, taking your arms and helping you up despite your protest.

"Arthur, please. Thank you, but I'm fine. Really," you assured.

He looked you up and down, scanning you for injuries.

    "You're bleeding," he said in the most serious tone you've ever heard him speak in. He pulled his way through your window hastily, and turned to you. He held his arms out, ready to help you in.

"Bleeding? This is ridiculous. I'm not bleeding. I just fell." Arthur looked past you, and stared at the balcony railing. You looked at him in confusion, before seeing what he was looking at - a small area of grating was red with blood.

"What... I didn't even... How did..." you stammered, before feeling something drip down the side of your neck. Your hand instinctively went up, trying to find the source. You winced, feeling a sizeable gash in your scalp. You realized you must have sliced it on the railing during your descent.

"Come," Arthur directed, reaching his arms out even more. You nodded, hanging on to him as he pulled you inside.

You were surprised by how much you were bleeding, considering how little the cut hurt in comparison. You sat on your bed, watching as Arthur rushed around your apartment looking for a first aid kit.

"Under the bathroom sink!" you called out.

He dropped whatever he was searching and rushed to the bathroom, stumbling as he did. It made you smile, knowing someone in Gotham actually cared about you this much. He was a good neighbor.

He finally made his way back to you, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"You know, I'm not dying Arthur," you joked, trying to loosen him up.

He didn't seem to hear you, as he placed the kit on the bed and began rustling through it.

You cleared your throat. "Hello, Earth to Arthur?"

Suddenly, his face was right next to yours. He was so close you could practically feel his breath on your cheek. You looked away from him, puzzled, your face beginning to redden.

"Uh..."

He brought his hand up, tilting your head to the side as he closely inspected your wound. He softly pressed a wet cloth to it, cleaning off the excess blood.

"Okay. This part is gonna sting a little," he said softly, pressing an alcohol wipe against the cut. Your face scrunched up, the sting was a little worse than you expected.

"Agh!" You pulled away, the bite of the alcohol being a bit too much.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's almost done," Arthur reassured, pressing the wipe into the cut again. You sighed, taking the pain as best as you could. He finally finished up, leaving some ointment on it.

"Okay," he breathed, standing up straight and wiping his forehead. "All better now."

    You smiled up at him, and glanced towards your bedside mirror. And just like that, your smile vanished just as quickly as it came.

    The towel around your head was gone (you assumed it was pulled off by the railing when you took your tumble). Your wet hair was pointed in every direction, completely matted in the area you cut your scalp. Your face mask was now imprinted with the grid of the grating from the balcony. And on TOP of that, there was dry blood all over the base of your neck. You raised your eyebrows.

    "Jeeze..." you began, cringing at the sight of yourself. "This is not how I envisioned your first visit at my place."

    Arthur grinned, scratching his head. "I'm just glad you're okay." He sighed, and began heading towards your door.

    "I'll let you continue your morning now."

    You shook your head. "No, no, no. Where do you think you're going?" You stood from your bed, wincing a bit from your newfound soreness.

    Arthur turned back towards you, confused. You were about to continue speaking, when you noticed his pajamas. You never really got a good look at his body, now that you thought of it. Every time you had seen him, he was wearing layers of sweaters and jackets. But this time, he wasn't.

    He was wearing loose sleeping pants and a somewhat tight long sleeve shirt. The closer you inspected him, the more concerned you grew. The man was practically skin and bones. His ribs were clearly visible for starters. Every segment of his spine stuck out like the edges of a saw. Hell, his shoulders were clear cut angles with practically no roundness to them.

    You thought about saying something. But you didn't. You knew it would hurt his self esteem.

    Arthur looked side to side, not understanding your sudden silence.

    You shook yourself out of your train of thought, trying to conceal your worry. You put on the brightest smile you could.

    "I was gonna say... You can't just leave after helping me out so much. At least let me treat you to some breakfast."

    He shook his head, "No, I couldn't . You already paid for so much the other night. I'm just paying you back."

    You put your hands on your hips, unwilling to back down. "Well then now we're even, so you can have breakfast with me."

    Arthur smiled, holding his palms up and feigning defeat. "You got me there."

    After cleaning yourself up and setting your small kitchen table, you and Arthur spent the morning together, drinking tea and eating a considerable amount of toast with jam.

    It was fun, and incredibly therapeutic. You vented to him about all you frustrations. Your job, your income, your apartment (which he empathized very much with), learning to assimilate into Gotham culture, and your fears of disappointing your parents. All of it was laid out on the table. Arthur never interrupted you. He listened closely, never switching the topic or giving the impression that his mind was elsewhere. It was like a breath of fresh air, having someone who was invested in the conversation, who just... cared.

    Once you were finished, it was Arthur's turn. You shared much more frustrations with him than you thought you did. He ALSO had crappy coworkers, nor was he happy with his apartment. He struggled to keep his mom happy and healthy. And although he lived here most of his life, he wasn't very fond of Gotham (or the people in it) either.

    "But honestly..." he continued, taking a sip from his mug. "Just talking about it with you now has already made me feel better. I have a person that I talk to, but..." he trailed off, looking out the window.

"But what?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know, I think people doing social work in Gotham have too much on their plate to care about their clients. I don't blame them."

You nodded, staring into your cup of tea. Arthur had a lot more on his plate than you initially thought. No wonder he was so thin, he barely has enough time on his hands to even think about food. You sighed, bringing your cup to your lips.

"Wait, what time is it?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Um... 12 I think."

"Crap, I better start getting ready for work," you groaned. You stood from your seat, walking Arthur to the door.

"This was nice," you said, smiling as you turned the doorknob.

Arthur grinned. "Yeah, it was."

You watched him exit, feeling your energy begin to grow faint. You felt strange admitting it, but you really enjoyed his company, knowing this visit was over was sad. You knew you would see him around Pogo's again but his visits were becoming less and less frequent. You leaned on the doorframe, trying to think.

You tightened your lips, unsure whether you were making the right decision or not.

"Hey Arthur?"

He turned around, just before he entered the apartment stair case. "Yeah?"

"You should come over for breakfast in the mornings. That sound good?"

He paused for a moment. He stared at you, as if he was contemplating what to say.

You shook your head, "Sorry, sorry. Was that weird? It was weird, wasn't it? Yeah, just pretend I didn't say that-"

"No, that sounds good," Arthur finally responded. He was doing that "cool guy" voice again. It made you smile.

"See you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," you said, imitating him. "Bye then."

"Later."

After closing the staircase door, you could hear him loudly whispering "Yes! Yes!" to himself, and a couple loud THUMPS that you assumed were caused by him jumping down the stairs. You giggled, closing your apartment door.

'Silly clown.'

A/N - TRICKS ARE FOR KIDS. anyways-

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH BREAKFAST WITH ARTHUR AAAAAAAHHHHH I FUCKING LOVE HIM

[chouetteffraie]

the art of decadence [dazatsu] {vampire au}

read it on ao3!

---

Decadence

dec·a·dence

/ˈdekədəns/

noun

moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

-

Brown strands dangled lightly over his bare shoulders as he tilted his head, grinning invitingly. Atsushi watched them tickle his pale skin as they swayed ever so slightly, muscles wound so tight he felt like a spring. He mustn’t ponce...he mustn’t pounce...he mustn’t.

Every part of Dazai was beckoning for him to come closer. Atsushi wanted to run his fingers over Dazai’s skin, play with his hair, just touch Dazai without hurting him. He wondered how Dazai would react to his lips running down his neck and shoulders gently without expecting the sharp bite of his fangs. A pang of guilt shot through Atsushi’s stomach, eliciting a grimace. He desperately wished that Dazai didn’t have to associate his touch with pain. As adept at putting on masks as the man was, he couldn’t hide the few tears that fell after a particularly harsh bite from Atsushi. In the seconds before the pain, when Atsushi placed gentle kisses on his neck as if he were a doctor cleaning the area for a shot, he could practically smell his fear, punctuated by the sudden increase in his blood flow at Atsushi’s ear. Every time Atsushi pulled away, wiping his lips after drinking his fill, Atsushi always wondered why Dazai so eagerly volunteered himself for Atsushi’s feeding. After all, Dazai hated pain- why did he so willingly face it for Atsushi?

Even in the dimly lit room, Dazai could see how apprehensive Atsushi seemed, unease apparent on his features in the grayish early morning light. He physically beckoned him closer, holding his hand out curling one finger like an inchworm. “Atsushi-kun, you look so tired~” he mused. “And thirsty. Could you not find enough strays to sate your bloodlust?”

Atsushi cringed at that word, another reminder at the monstrosity he was. Though he knew Dazai was only teasing him in good fun, after the tiring night of hunting with little reward, everything felt like a blow. Head bowed, Atsushi trudged over to Dazai’s spot on the edge of the bed and collapsed in his arms, itching to feel his familiar warmth. He missed the calming heat of blood rushing through his veins, a sensation the monster that turned him robbed from him. Feeling so cold all the time, topped with how empty his stomach was, made Atsushi feel like little more than a hollow shell.

Dazai wrapped his arms around Atsushi and placed one hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair before slowly pushing Atsushi’s nose into his pulse point. His bandages had been loosened and he was shirtless- it was a hot, summer night, Atsushi noted- leaving his skin exposed for Atsushi. Without really meaning to, Atsushi took a sharp inhale of Dazai’s scent: the remnant of cologne he neglected to wash off, his shampoo from his barely-damp hair, and the most intoxicating of them, his blood. 

Dazai felt Atsushi clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging in so tightly they might leave a mark, and responded by loosening his grip on his head. “Atsushi, go ahead and bite me. You need it. I’ll be okay.”

“N-no,” Atsushi stammered, trying to pull further away from Dazai. He hated that Dazai was so willing to be used with little regard for his own well being. Atsushi wanted to care for him, protect him from everything he could. Yet Dazai seemed dead set on being Atsushi’s own personal food bank with an eagerness that sent Atsushi’s dreams of normalcy crashing down. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, anyway. He was a vampire, a monster. There was no salvation for those like him, no paradise to retire to. Even a relationship they managed to find solace in came with the price of hurting their partner when in need of blood. Surely starving to death must be a better end than draining your lover of life. “What if I hurt you? What if I accidentally turn you? What if I drain you completely?”

“You won’t, Atsushi,” Dazai reassured, rubbing circles on Atsushi’s back. “Besides, I rather like being useful.”

“Useful?” Atsushi all but scoffed in disgust, spitting the word out as if he hated how it tasted. His lips brushed gently against his skin, running across a scab from the last time he bit Dazai. “I don’t spend time with you because you’re useful.”

“Ah, of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t strive for it,” Dazai murmured. Atsushi made no signs of movement until Dazai gently urged him closer. Atsushi’s body followed gladly, desperate to be as close to Dazai as possible. All but his brain found comfort in the proximity. Dazai stopped him before he could form another sound argument with a firm, “Eat.”

“N-no, you don’t really-”

“Atsushi,” Finally Dazai leaned away from Atsushi to look him in the eyes, a stray moonbeam illuminating his face for a moment to show the determined look in his eye. “You’ve spent a long time hunting for your food and you’ve come up with nothing. You’re hungry. You deserve a break. Now, eat.”

There was a brief silence between the two of them, hollow and still. Atsushi’s hesitance sent a sharp pang through Dazai’s gut, akin to a wooden stake. It would figure the boy before him was one of the sweetest, most conscientious people he’d ever meet. Despite having no soul, Atsushi proved to have more heart than anybody in the city with how gently he treated everything. Maybe losing your life made you appreciate it that much more. You never know what you have until you lose it, Dazai supposed.

Still, Dazai wished that, when compared to a soulless, undead creature, he wasn’t the one that seemed like the monster.

“Are you sure?” Atsushi asked one final time, acquiescence clear on his features.

“Of course. You like human blood much more than animal blood, right? You’ve been such a good little vampire, Atsushi-kun. I think you deserve a treat.”  Dazai leaned with one hand on the bed, tilting his head away from Atsushi to provide easier access for his fangs. The other hand found itself tangled in his silvery hair again, distracting Atsushi from the words of admiration and trust he could’ve said. “Let me prove to you how useful I can be, Atsushi.” If you like my blood so much, surely I must be human. Let me prove how human I am. Let me use you to feel human.

Dazai let out a sharp gasp as he felt Atsushi’s fangs pierce his skin, the familiar tingling taking his mind off the pain almost immediately after. He felt Atsushi’s soft lips close around the wound and tightened his grip on the boy’s hair, which earned him a small grunt. How he wished he could enjoy being the target of Atsushi’s affections, indulging in the gentle smiles and soft kisses Atsushi seemed so fond of giving. He felt completely and utterly detached, however, a fact that hurt more than the boy’s fangs in his neck. No matter what he did, Dazai would never be able to truly receive a good gift, even when it was too stubborn to leave him. Dazai knew he didn’t deserve such a blessing, yet he took it and tainted it anyway. To keep Atsushi to himself and use him for his own selfish whims was decadent and monstrous, two words Dazai felt paired nicely with his own personality.

Atsushi pulled away suddenly, startling Dazai. Wiping his mouth of the blood with the back of his arm, he watched with wide eyes as Dazai gave him a loopy smile and fell back. Truth be told, Dazai wasn’t as lightheaded as he pretended to be- though his mind was blurry, he felt more like his head was cast iron with the degrading thoughts bouncing around his head. He allowed Atsushi to help him onto the bed correctly, ignoring his barrage of concerned questions. He merely pulled Atsushi down next to him and held him tightly, using him as an anchor to prevent his thoughts from straying too far. It normally didn’t work, but that didn’t stop Dazai from trying. 

“Thank you,” Atsushi murmured into Dazai’s shoulder once he seemed content that he was alright. “I hope I didn’t drink too much.” Dazai hummed in response, ignoring how he only felt less human after making Atsushi worry for him. As the sunlight started to trickle in the room, Atsushi closed his eyes and let love professions die on his tongue, trying to forget how the warm blood in his stomach seemed to only make him feel emptier.

[tacitoru]

All That Glitters (m)

pairing: Taehyung x Reader

genre: smut

warnings:  dragonhybrid!Taehyung, sugar daddy au, slight humiliation, spit play (i really don’t know)

synopsis:  A “strictly business” relationship quickly breaking its own boundaries. You’re in denial and Taehyung has had enough.

notes: of course when I finally write something I think is worthy of posting it turns out to be just pwp. But hi, I’m back bitches.

Call him a stereotype, but Kim Taehyung has always loved pretty things.

He had a natural eye for beauty, for things that not only shimmered and shined in the sun but glowed with an inner radiance of their own. Whether that glow was from the pride of its maker, the spark of interest from the story behind it, or the price tag that would make simple mortal cower, Taehyung knew beauty when he saw. In the modern world, it had become less of an obsessive tendency to hoard and more of inherited hobby passed through his bloodline. It had been long since his gallery surpassed mere gems and gold coins; he had become a Laura Croft of sorts; minus the violence and cultural intrusion, mountain climbing and manhunts. He never touched anything of cultural importance, never went out of his way to take from those who held a much greater value in particular items than he did. As young as he was, Taehyung had considered himself a having done a fine job in keeping himself in line.

However, that itch to take – to have – came back every so often, just like that rainy night so many months ago. And that night he wanted you.

He’d never felt it so strongly before that night, the need to possess – let alone possess someone. He prided himself in being a man aware and respectful of other’s limits and boundaries. And to top it all off, you had initially refused! Of course, his delivery hadn’t been the smoothest, but after some clarification, it hadn’t taken long for you to be persuaded. Money; you needed it and he had too much of it. And so began a partnership of sorts. He had the honor of dotting you around on his arm as company for dreaded public events and you attended university sleeping comfortably each night knowing your tuition for grad school was long paid off. It had been a careful balancing act for many months, simple conversations slowly transforming into something a little more, heated glances in silent car rides doing nothing short of burning a hole in Taehyung’s chest. Over time, you had gone from one of Taehyung’s favorite accessories to someone dear to his heart - his little gem. Until tonight, when the tightrope you both had been balancing on was strung so tight it snapped.

Although you were the one to back him into the wall in a frenzy, Taehyung is quick to put you in your place. His hand finds its way to your hair, and in one rough jerk, he tugs your head back to a expose the skin beneath your jaw, his mouth sucking a new pattern of purple down your neck. You groan in indignation, yet his firm grip restricts you from moving too far away. Taehyung laughs, lips ghosting your collarbone.

“You often speak so indifferently of me - at parties, company functions, to your friends - renouncing your feelings at every chance you get, and yet-.” His laugh is one of bitter amusement, whispering against your skin, yet the slow movement of the other hand that had fallen from your throat instill the very opposite of fear in your bones. “And yet your body is strung tight like the strings of a violin because even it acknowledges that this-,”

His free hand moves to your left breast, just above your heart.

“-this-,”

It travels further, palm circling your belly button to your navel.

“-and this-,”

You choke on a gasp of his name, elicited from a rough hand cupping your clothed mound, having maneuvered its way under the hem of your dress. Without a doubt, he can feel the warm moisture seeping through the fabric on his fingertips. “-Are mine.”

As though he senses the beginning of protests forming on your lips, he grins. Pretty white teeth glinting in the light of the moon. “As I am yours.”

You go just about boneless in his hold, grappling at his shoulders as you fall into him. Fingers moving on their own accord, you begin scrambling to undo the shiny buttons of his dress shirt.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, nipping at your ear in retaliation and – much to your dismay – releasing his hold on your hair. “Slow down little gem, we’re in no rush.”

“But Tae-,”

“Y/N” If the firm tone of his voice wasn’t enough to render you still, the golden glint of his irises do. “On your knees, hands under your thighs.”

Albeit reluctant to obey, you sink to your knees, wincing when met with the texture of the tiles of the kitchen floor. Taehyung pays no mind, a single hand wrapping around your jaw to squish your cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. It forces your lips into an awkward pout. You attempt to glare up at him in irritation as hard as possible in your slightly humiliating situation.

“Aw, is baby upset? Don’t worry sweetie, patience is virtue,” he coos, thumb stroking your cheekbone. With the other hand he slowly undoes his belt and suddenly your attention is otherwise occupied, annoyance dissipated with the quiet clink of metal. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. When you fail to immediately adhere to his command, he presses against your cheeks, firmly working your jaw open in his grasp. “Now be a good girl and stay put. I have a quick call I need to make.”

You cry out in disbelief as he pats your right cheeks and walks off with a smirk, belt swinging loosely from the loops of his suit pants. What kind of game is he playing?

“No moving!” He calls from the direction of the bedroom and a whine builds up in your throat. It doesn’t take long for an ache to grow in your hands and knees, blood circulation nearly cut off at the wrists. The tile floors become more and more uncomfortable by the minute. Listening to the deep timbre of Taehyung’s voice on from the other side of your apartment, you’re quick to realize that this is a test. He’s testing to see just how far you’re willing to go, pushing your limits with his commands. You’re perfectly capable of closing your mouth and getting up right this instant, yet-

And yet you don’t because of the realization that some part of you has been craving this. The burning flush of humiliation in your cheeks, the taunting look reflected in his gold-flecked eyes. Relinquishing control for a few blissful hours. It sends a delicious thrill down your spine. So you sit in the middle of your kitchen floor, knees burning and fighting the temptation to swallow the saliva gradually pooling in your mouth.

Around the time he finishes his call, you glance blearily at the clock on the stove; he’s left you for a good ten minutes. By now the joints in your jaw ache as well, and you’re thoroughly soaked down to your neck in your own dribble.  You hear Taehyung before you see him, the soft padding of dress shoes on your shabby carpeting before met with the tile of the kitchen as he rounds the counter and comes into view. His appearance makes you nearly gag on your own spit; having discarded the belt and undone his dress pants, the dragon hybrid approaches you with his cock half hard in his hand and a self-satisfied, expectant smile. His gaze makes you feel twice as small.

“Well just look at you,” he chuckles. His hand returns to your jaw, unflinching when some of the warm fluid in your mouth spills over your bottom lip onto his hand and the palm of his hand is met with the sticky residue at your chin. “My little gem. Such a good girl for me, Y/N,” A reluctant sigh. “You can get off your hands now.”

Exhaling in barely concealed relief through your nose, you pull your hands out from under you, wincing at the realization that they’ve fallen asleep. You drop them in your lap, having been practically rendered useless for the moment. However, the new discomfort is the least of your worries as your eyes take in the sight before you in incredulity. True to his dragon heritage, Taehyung is big and most certainly more daunting in length and girth than what you’ve taken on before. He slowly strokes with his free hand, and if you’re eyes hand been so caught on the motion, you wouldn’t have missed the adoring smile on your benefactor’s face.

“It’s big, huh? Is it too big for you to handle? Baby girl looks worried, do you think you can’t fit it in your mouth?”

At this, your eyes shoot up to his face in surprise, cheeks burning red from not only the exertion but the filth of his words. You imagine that he’ll barely make it halfway down before you’re gagging, and the thought makes you just as turned on as you are intimidated. As if knowing you wanted to object, Taehyung’s grin grows even wider.

“Look at you, already drooling; you want it anyway, hmm?”

Not really looking for an answer, the hand on your chin slides up to squish your cheeks again, this time resulting in an overflow of warm liquid spattering onto the bare skin of your thighs, revealed from the gradual riding up of the hem of your dress. The feeling makes you cringe, your automatic reaction to recoil from his hold to wipe yourself off. Taehyung is having none of it though, quickly switching hands to keep a hold on your face with the opposite while stroking his length with the soiled one. “Not so fast,” he grunts, and the idea of swallowing anyways just to piss him off flickers through your thoughts. The buzz of excitement is slowly becoming overshadowed by your own growing impatience. He waited this long, why wait any longer?

“Keep it wide open for me,” is your only warning before he pushes his way into the warm cavern of your mouth.

[real-life-catgirl]

Aurora Boraelis (s.r.)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: slight injury description, reader has light manipulation, fluff, slight cringe :)

A/N: pre-iw!cap, even though the gif says otherwise! also, im changing up my writing style a bit (was it obvious?) so I've removed summaries but I am starting to add word counts, and adding the genre of writing in my warnings! I feel like summaries give away too much imo but lmk how you feel about it!

——

"Alright, Nightlight, your turn," Stark's voice resonated through your comm. 

You briefly huffed at his nickname for you, which was almost as degrading as 'Reindeer Games', before Tony initiated the Flashlight protocol, (not unlike the code green protocol, the Avengers used it in desperate times of need), charging up his energy repulsor at Cap's shield aimed at you, he shot and you quickly absorbed the light particles as your fingertips began to glow, the colour of what would appear if you shine a flashlight on the back of your fingers. 

Along with the tips of your digits, the pupils of your eyes expanded so much your eye had no traces of E/C, just pure black, before they flickered back and forth between a bright, almost luminescent, blue (since that was the colour of Tony's beam) and back, ultimately shifting permanently to the bright colour. As soon as you began to chant your Latin words, the lights cut off, completely removing the bright glossiness of your features. Your head pounded from the fast switch of light to dark, and as you cleared from the spinning, you heard a deep, unfamiliar and maniacal chuckle from within the storage garage. 

"You really think I didn't come prepared?" You raised a brow at your teammates, confused, who mirrored the look. Last you all checked, you weren't fighting a supervillain. 

"You really thought I didn't think about your shiny, cultural flashlight? Your secret weapon? You didn't dub me that dumb, did you?" 

Your head jerked back in offense, and you were about to retort when a pair of hands, multiple pairs of hands, grabbed your body, held you up horizontally, and pulled. Your screams of pain were held back by your pursed lips, as the agony of your tearing muscles and joints began to become unbearable. 

Your mind instantly kicked into fight or flight mode, and as much as your flesh fought against it, you began squirming around in whoever this was' grasp. It hurt, and after a few seconds of struggling, you heard a loud crack! and a horrifying feeling filled your entire torso. At this point, any sounds of anguish had slipped, and your deafening shriek of excruciating pain practically rang through all of America. 

As you felt your entire body begin paralysing due to your spine basically disconnecting, the instincts your abilities had given you took over, and even though you could only use your power with a light source nearby, it seemed like your senses kicked up 10 notches as everything in you searched every crevice, crack, wall, door and electronic for a source of illumination. It eventually found a closed door with a crack small enough only an ant could fit through at the bottom, and it tubed all particles back to the host, quickly regenerating your cells and giving you enough energy to mutter your chant lowly, and your attacker dropped your body as a haze of yellow, almost fire orange light glared into their eyes, blinding everyone else in the room temporarily. Your back popped continuously as it healed into place, though you were still sore and couldn't move. 

Tony, Natasha, Steve, Thor and Clint seemed to jump out of their previous stupor, Steve going to your aid while the others took care of the man with the multiple bionic arms. “You okay, doll?” The fact he had gone from Captain America to Steve Rogers, as temporary as it was, almost had you forgetting the horrible sensations. Almost. 

You groaned defeatedly, recoiling into yourself at the throbbing sting rushing through your body. “I don’t—ugh—I don’t think I can walk,” you truthfully answered your captain, huffing and puffing.

Steve sighed before crouching down, elbow creases tucking under your knees and head, before heaving upwards, all the pain in your system increasing tenfold.

He noticed your grimace and slowed down, glancing over his shoulder before speaking into his comm, “I’m bringing L/N back to the quinjet, Banner, alert Doctor Cho to get her stuff ready,”

You coughed out a weak, “politely, and say please.”

——

After Helen successfully scanned every cell in your body, you were placed on bed rest since, although your powers did help greatly in healing your body, the outer tissues weren’t completely regenerated, which meant you still had bruises. 

Lots of bruises. And damaged tissue. And you did just happen to be paralysed from the waist up. And internal bleeding. And did I mention bruises?

So to help speed up the process your body had already started, both Bruce and Cho assigned Steve, Wanda and themselves to take turns keeping watch; putting you off missions for awhile, in fear of something re-triggering the broken spinal cord and fatally messing everything up. Thankfully you were still more of an asset they brought in when it was bad, and it was only rare they needed you, so you weren’t too worried about being on bed rest.

However, when someone tried to trade with Steve to watch over you, he would completely refuse unless it was one of the doctors coming in for check up, but even then he’d stay in the room. You found it quite endearing, honestly, that he’d stay out of his own chamber just to be sure you’re safe. 

Though it was starting to get annoying.

He would only let the doctors get 15 minutes of exam work in before he demanded they leave so he could cling back to you, so he could climb back into your bed, wrap you in his arms (gently) and cuddle you until you felt better. And as much as you loved his sudden clinginess, it was beginning to make you overthink everything.

Was this meant to be taken in such an intimate way?

Why is he acting like this?

Does this mean he likes you?

What if he’s just worried?

What if he’s just being a good friend and wants to make sure you’re healing perfectly?

You were very close to just asking every question that popped inside your head, but opted not to, deciding to relish in the moment before you’re allowed back on missions and this all goes away.

Though, this day was a bit different than the others in the last week. Instead of anyone coming in to do a checkup, medical exam or physical therapy, it was just you and Steve, laying in bed, with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, relaxing. You found it a bit weird, but as you went to speak up, Steve shifted so he was on his side, and your head was under his chin.

“Steve..?” Your voice came out muffled.

“Yeah, doll?”

Your brain went mush as you tried to collect your composure. Steve did way too many things to you that he didn’t even know. “Uh.. I-uh-.. Ahem, what’re you doing?” He went quiet for a moment, and you didn’t know whether he was dead or frozen from being caught. 

“Am I hurting you? Does this make you uncomfortable?” His grip considerably loosened, much to your displeasure. “Sorry, I-I just wanted to-”

“No, no it’s okay. I’m completely fine with it, i-in fact, I liked it,” you reassured shyly, “you can keep doing it! I just.. Wanted to make sure you were conscious of what you were doing, too..”

He shifted his body back over to you, relishing in the warmth you radiated, his arms going back into the tight circle you’d gotten use to these past days. “Good.. Good. Because I don’t really plan on stopping,” he whispered before placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Get some rest.”

[notgoingtohappen]

Revenge, Interrupted (Part 12)

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11

A/N: shoutout to @mysterolineheart444world for helping me with a plot point for this chapter!

Stefan watched affectionately as Caroline did a small jig around the pool table as she exclaimed “I won, I won, told you I’d win!”

And then he wiped the smile off his face as he could practically hear Lexi’s voice in his head: pathetic, Stefan, stop looking so whipped.

And the Lexi in Stefan’s head was right. He still had to figure it what was real and what was part of the pretence, but he wasn’t going to go and develop a crush on her and make the whole situation awkward. The fact that he really couldn’t distinguish between what was real and what wasn’t meant his “feelings” were nothing but the after-effects of a drunk hook-up. She was adorable, as a friend, he told himself.

Caroline was next to him again and looked up smiling, her hair coming undone, eyes bright, cheeks flushed and panting a little.

“Tired from your victory dance?”

“Being a winner. It’s exhausting.”

“So is being serious. I wouldn’t know, of course.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

“I plan to pay you back for that game, by the way.”

They stood there smiling at each other and on an impulse, Stefan reached out to tuck a lock of hair falling in her eyes behind her ear. 

Their friends were around, after all. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been wanting to do that for days.

Her cheeks seemed to get redder and she looked down. He stepped back quickly and was just about to open his mouth to say they should get back to the others when someone else beat him to it.

“Caroline Forbes?” came a voice from behind him.

The accent wasn’t exactly British but something about the voice was strangely familiar. Caroline froze and Stefan turned around to see a light-haired, lean man walking over to them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Klaus, hi.” Caroline mumbled.

“Hello, love. Fancy seeing you here!”

“You too…”

“I was certain the next time we would run into each other would be at the Palace of Versailles—one of my favourite locations in the world, of course—under a painting we both admired greatly and stopped to marvel at…” he trailed off with a slightly manic smile.

“France, huh? Maybe someday.” Caroline said, clearly at a loss for words.

Who was this dude? Stefan realised that his name was kind of familiar.

“Splendid! How are you doing, then?”

“Good, good… graduated, got a job.” Caroline wasn’t chatty for once and it struck Stefan as surprising, and he moved slightly closer to her.

“Excellent! And who is this fellow?” he motioned to Stefan.

“Stefan Salvatore.” He held out his hand.

The man shook it, somehow looking both pleased to meet him and annoyed that he was standing protectively next to Caroline. Then his eyes widened and he clapped Stefan on the shoulder. “Young Salvatore!”

Stefan looked at Caroline, perplexed, and she shrugged with a don’t-look-at-me-man-I-don’t-know look. “Excuse me?”

“Klaus Mikaelson! Do you not remember? It was high school, I believe, when I first made your acquaintance.”

Everything came back to Stefan and he wanted the ground open up and swallow him, and Caroline didn’t look that different.

“Oh god, yeah, sophomore year, you were a senior and my-“

“Supplier of herbal sensory enhancers, yes.” Klaus cut in. “A self-made businessman at so tender an age, no wonder I control my family’s fortune.”

Caroline looked from Stefan and Klaus and then back to Stefan, dumbfounded.

“Er, you can call it that.” He said.

Her mouth fell open slightly. “Wait, herbal enhancers… were you… his drug dealer?”

Stefan cringed and he knew she instantly knew the answer.

“Ah, that is so base and crude a term, love. The profession is far more than that.”

“Uh… okay then.” Caroline didn’t look like she wanted to contradict him.

Stefan turned to Caroline. “After my last summer there, I lost touch with V but whenever I wanted some, Klaus sold it to me that year.”

Klaus smiled fondly at Stefan. “How shattered you must have been when I graduated. My sincerest apologies.”

“No, it was good, I got sober pretty quick after.”

Klaus nodded, looking moved. “Good for you, friend.”

And then he turned to Caroline. “You, my dear, are light. I have not forgotten that night at the fraternity house’s annual party. If you ever want something more, do come to me, for I will show you the allure of art and culture and passion and darkness and you shall be a queen among women.”

Stefan felt incredibly uncomfortable listening to this and was growing increasingly more annoyed at Klaus. He was aware of the urge to punch him but instead turned to check on Caroline, who looked mortified.

He hadn’t said anything before because this guy seemed to be an ex of some kind, but her expression made him step ever closer to her. “Back off, man.” Stefan looked Klaus squarely in the eye.

She moved so close to Stefan she bumped into his side and slipped her hand into his. “Actually, Klaus, I’m with Stefan, and I told you the last time, I was drunk and mad at my ex-boyfriend and it was nothing.”

Klaus nodded gravely. “I understand. Nothing gives me greater joy than to see two dear friends deeply in love. I wish you all the joy. I have only one request, invite me to the wedding. Farewell.”

He turned around and left, leaving a stunned Stefan and Caroline in his wake.

Caroline sighed, sounding relieved, and her head slumped against his shoulder as loosened her tight grip on his hand.

“What the fuck was that?” Stefan said, astounded.

“Wedding?” Caroline spluttered.

“Paris?” Stefan added.

“I cannot believe you bought drugs from him!”

“I can’t believe you… you know, had sex with him!” He hoped his cheeks weren’t red as he remembered that they’d almost had sex last night, and probably would have if no one had knocked.

“He was just this guy at the party who kept checking me out and telling me nice things and seemed like a bad boy…”

“Still, him?” Stefan was aware that on some level he was jealous but a part of him was relieved they were back to their easy banter again.

“I was new to college and mad at Tyler, okay? Might I remind you Stefan, you let him sell you drugs.”

“I missed getting high after that summer with Vicki, okay!”

She stared at him and then they burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. They looked drunk but it was amazing how they didn’t even need alcohol to laugh hysterically.

“Oh my god, what even was that?” she gasped, visibly trying to stop laughing.

“I have no idea.”

Stefan rubbed his eyes and then led her back to the table, holding hands.

“Hey guys!” The others greeted them.

“Don’t you look chipper.” Enzo commented.

“Your phone was buzzing like crazy, Steffy.” Damon said.

Stefan grabbed it, read the email and his face split into a huge smile. “I got the job!”

Before he knew it, Caroline’s arms had flown around his neck and he was holding her, her perfume that reminded him of flowers at the estate and now her, sent a pang of longing through him. What for, he wasn’t sure.

She landed on his feet and pulled back. “Congratulations!” she said softly and then he did what he’d wanted to all night. He cupped her face and pulled her close with his other hand, and kissed her. Again. In front of the others. Again.

For show, of course.

He could hear some hooting and laughter from their friends but all he could think about was Caroline. The way her fingers snaked into his hair, the way she gently pulled him closer, her kisses that he could never get enough of.

They finally pulled away and sat down with their friends.

Stefan was kind of relieved that kiss had been a far more casual one than the previous few. He had been starting to fear he wasn’t capable of kissing her without it turning into a full-blown makeout session. 

“Uh, congratulations, Stefan.” Elena patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Knew you had it in you, mate.”

“Awesome news!” said Bonnie.

“I’d hug you, but you still look dazed,” Damon smirked. “You and Blondie are interesting, to say the least.”

Stefan shot him a puzzled look, aware of Caroline’s gaze on him.

They were supposed to be believable, not ‘interesting.’

“What do you mean?” he asked his brother.

“Well, for starters she’s not insane like Katherine, or annoying like Valerie, or dull like Ivy, or my type like Rebekah.”

Stefan scoffed, relieved. “Wow.”

“Or mean like Lexi.” Enzo muttered.

Elena laughed. “You just think she’s mean because she rejected you that time when she dropped by to visit Damon.”

“It was unkind.”

“You were being an idiot. And everyone could tell you liked Bonnie.”

Bonnie and Enzo smiled at each other.

“She was taken then.”

“I’m taken now too. By you.”

They kissed and Damon rolled his eyes. “Never stops being weird. It’s like seeing my parents kiss. Anyway. I’m just saying. It’s different.”

“Don’t worry, you’re cute!” Elena reassured them.

Caroline smiled at Stefan and the hint of nervousness didn’t escape him. It was an odd thing for Damon to say. He moved closer to her and put his arm around her to somehow ease her.

“DAMON! BONNIE! ENZO!” Elena yelled suddenly.

They all stared at her, a little alarmed.

She looked elated, grinning at her phone. “Liam and Nadia and Kai are gonna be in town tomorrow!”

Damon looked like he was going to pass out from excitement, Bonnie was giggling with Elena, and Enzo sat back with his arms crossed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“You okay?” Stefan asked him.

“This Kai, he was always hitting on Bonnie. I loved the gang, but never particularly him.”

Caroline, also excluded from the excitement, leaned over. “You have nothing to worry about Enzo, take it from her best friend. She’s crazy about you. Go and enjoy, I would give anything to have my college friends in town.”

“I would give anything to have Lexi in town.” Stefan muttered.

“Not helping.” Enzo sighed and then cheered up when Damon mentioned something about Liam and the four went outside to talk to him on Damon’s phone so they could have the “best signal possible”.

“Who is Lexi?” Caroline asked him curiously.

Stefan grinned. “She’s my best friend.”

“Enzo said she was your ex, right?”

Stefan looked at her, shocked, and then started laughing. “What?”

“Yeah, he said, “Or mean like Lexi” when Damon was listing your exes.”

Understanding dawned on Stefan. “Oh, he didn’t mean anything. He probably just said that because she’s the first girl most people associate with me, but she’s like my sister.”

Caroline nodded quietly, and sipped on her coke, looking around.

Wait, why was she asking? Like, she remembered Damon and Enzo’s exact words on his ex-girlfriends. Was it interest… or maybe jealousy?  

He pushed the thought away, chalking it off to wishful thinking.

And it became even clearer it was nothing of the sort when she leaned over and softly asked him something that made him feel far more uneasy than he should have.

In fact, he shouldn’t be feeling anything, least of all uneasy or sad.

“Stefan, I was thinking, what if we meet someone we actually want to date?”

Stefan swallowed his feelings and forced himself to answer, wondering if seeing Klaus had inspired this. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just a hypothetic scenario. We should cover all our bases, right? I mean, you should see the way that girl is checking you out.” She nodded to a dark haired, leather jacket clad girl who was sitting at the bar and sipping a martini.

She looked a vaguely familiar, and he tried not to stare as he racked his brains. He realised it was because she looked like Katherine and looked away.

Caroline had been watching him and her expression was different, more vacant. She wasn’t cheery anymore.

He hated not being able to gauge what she was thinking.

“I guess we… date them in secret? Until this is over.” he said, wondering if Caroline wanted to date some guy she’s seen at her interview or maybe the building or mall or- wow, he needed to chill.

She nodded and he could feel her pulling away somehow, the dynamic between them shifting from playful to something far less intimate.

He was about to say something so things would feel normal again when someone behind him cleared their throat. He turned around and it was the girl from the bar.

“Hey.” She said confidently, looking at Stefan from behind her lashes. She was pretty, but weirdly resembled Katherine, which unnerved him a bit.

“Hi” he replied.

He found himself thinking Caroline, with her wavy hair like sunshine and bright, expressive blue eyes and easy smile, was so much more beautiful.

“I’m Rayna.” She held out her hand.

He was pretty sure he knew where this was going. “Stefan.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you free tomorrow night?” she asked.

So she was direct.

He hesitated, wondering if he wanted to go out with her. She wasn’t really his type… if he had one. His ex-girlfriends had nothing in common. She was hot, but…

He looked at Caroline without meaning to.

Caroline saw him looking at her and seemed to think hard about something for a few moments and then turned to the girl, her expression resolute. “He’d love to, he was just telling me how hot he thought you were.”

The girl smiled seductively at Stefan her smile reminded him even more of Katherine. “Great.” She said, handing him a napkin. “Here’s my number. Call me.” She said and then walked right out of the bar.

Stefan turned to Caroline. She’d really wanted him to go on that date for some reason. She obviously didn’t feel anything for him, and he owed it to himself to give it a chance. And he probably didn’t feel anything for Caroline either. If you spend that much time with someone cute and pretend to be a couple, some confusing feelings are bound to emerge. He was just going to have to get a grip until this was all over and they could go back to being just friends.

Maybe he’d like Rayna anyway. Maybe he’d like her because she reminded him of Katherine. It had been years anyway. Who knew?

“I’ll totally help you sneak around,” Caroline said, her expression still serious.

He was supposed to be the serious one.

“Okay, thanks.” 

“Pinky promise.” She added and held out her little finger.

He gazed at her. 

Who was this adorable? 

His last pinky promise had probably been when he was three, with Damon over not confessing to spilling kool-aid on the sofa.

He held out his pinky too. “Same. If you want to date Klaus, my help is at your disposal.” He said dutifully, trying to make her smile.

She looked at him incredulously and then laughed. “What? No! Have you seen him, Stefan, or heard him? Honestly, my taste is way better, give me some credit.”

He’d succeeded in making her smile and in making things normal again, but that’s not why his mood shot up.

13

[enterthezoid]

GET OUT! The Black Comedy

Sunday. Matinee. Jordan Peele’s Get Out receives %100 on Rotten Tomatoes. Call up the crew. My home girls slide thru. The downtown theater is sold out, Cherry creek has plenty of seats. No surprise there. Get Popcorn. Get Cozy. Get Scared. Get Out!

A whole can of black and white worms was opened up in Jordan Peele’s soon to be cult classic film Get Out. A psychological thriller that leaves one hinged horrifically balanced in what is suppose to be a suspension of reality but rather is an actual heightened extension of it. Don't worry I won't be spoiling much for you in this post, merely giving you my emotional reaction to such a ride...

We are thrown onto a cathartic balance beam bereft by a post traumatic state of reliving horrors from life on the silver screen. We make our way through the witty and blunt humor and cringe when we come to those perilous bridges constructed by race and ignorance that are all too familiar; but this is suppose to be funny right, ha ha haaaa. 

A black man in his early twenties, sporting a head wrap and army jacket sits in front of me and my peanut gallery of queens with his blonded white girl. I nudge my girlfriend and we both begin to crack up at what might be their last date.

Discomfort shifts back and forth in the seats as we merge into the muddy waters of Anywhere, America, a suburb that might host a mall with a theater like the one we are sitting in, as couples of all shades grasp and laugh, and are silent, we are methodically lowered into a 'sunken place' where all is happening to us and we can do nothing but watch.

The elegance or Jordan Peele’s writing allows us to pirouette through racism that wears the mask of success and our psychological ties to an oppressor. Our protagonist, Daniel Kaluuya, plays Chris Washington, A young African American photographer who reminds me of many friends who bridge race and class divides with the success of their skill; bringing them deeper into a culture that is far set from their own, and the certain types of women and men that lurk there. 

As Chris finds out when he goes on a weekend trip to see the parents of his fresh 5 month relationship with Rose Armitage, played by Allison Williams, who also starred in the show Girls. Balancing us yet again on this crux of black men and white women. 

This film get's out the unique fears one might feel growing up in this country as an African-American and thrown into a supposed integrated world that is far from it. The pitfalls and jabs that one feels when all alone and facing the unfiltered wave of ignorant ass supremacy.

I think now on the many laughs me and my friends have about what we feel to be far fetched fears but come to life in this film! For example the true notion that as a black man I still get uncomfortable around too many white folks, no matter the nation, age or class, especially when alcohol is involved, cuz’ we all know that when the liquor starts flowing they mouthes open and just say the darnedest things to you,

“Oh I love your hair can I touch?”

"Oh Bro what sports you play?”

“Mmmm I heard about black men, is it true what they say?”

"How is it being black?"

“Wow look at this one, your smile, your teeth are so white?”

“Wow you speak so well and would never have thought!”

or my favorite:

"Hey man is just a joke, it's funny right?"

And I'm sure some will say most of those sound like complements and genuine politeness of a person trying to empathize with another. No. It is prattle and mockingly insulting. It stems from a place that attempts to gloss over the cacophony of horrid screams from the bloody mud of this land 'tis of thee. It reeks of appropriation, and genocide. It's an unaccepting ignorance that still wants to devour its dark, mysterious, prey. 

You see, the old shrills of uncles and grandfathers speaking of dragging and lynchings from a brother who went a little too far into the white world always left my superstitious eye on the exit signs of any downtown bar, frat house, or suburban house party, that is flooded with white people. All should be taught such cautions as well, for accurate history in this country is hard to...get out.

The film gives great one liners, and double entendre that will bury themselves deep into our context as Americans in dealing with the racial divide, one in particular had me weak throughout the film for its undoubted usage to try and mask one's prejudice tendencies:

"I would have voted for Obama for a third term if I could."  says the neurosurgeon father when first meeting his daughter’s black boyfriend. I've heard many well off, liberal, white men in power, use this as a way to diffuse a remarkably racist comment that preceded it or would come shortly after.

There is also a moment our protagonist must use 'cotton' in a way to try and overcome his captors. As well as a chokehold that is slowly counted out "1 mississippi, 2 mississppi..." Small relics, symbols, and adages that are doors into our poignant history. Perhaps my favorite of these is when another black man, played by Lakeith Stanfield, who also played in ATLANTA, is taken hostage by this strange town and explains what he feels about the black man's condition,

"In this county the black man has had a overall good time, and is born with great advantages, but hey I don't know much, I haven't wanted to leave the 'house' for quite some time." Oh how this rings of old Malcolm X speeches and uncle tom's cabin remakes, leaving a stark but humorous reminder of the house nigga who loves his master, and in fact wishes to be his master...

These little gems and many more bedazzle you in a film that uses the juxtaposition of imagery and satire to unravel the unspoken myths of American culture.

Perhaps what can't be glossed over is the true evil in the film appeared to some as a utter reflection of themselves. As I noticed in the young white girlfriend sitting in front of me who kept having to ask her black boyfriend what was so funny? Or embarrassingly apologizing since she had done some of those exact things. 

While with something like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or any other serial killer film the evil is an anomaly here it is the norm. This leaves the comments section of Get Out peppered by feelings of racism against Caucasians. Yet this is like every Hollywood film that portrays stereotypes of all other cultures in a menacing light. Not to mention as one home girl put it:

"So what about the micro aggression in suicide squad? The croc was clearly black watched bet ate Friday chicken wore velour suits with gold chain and listened to rap? I saw no white people complaining...Or when they make themselves the hero or savior of every film, last samurai, avatar, this Great Wall film that just came out; all under the guise the story won't be told/ watched if there isn't a white person in a lead role 🙄"

Oh how the kettle calls the pot! Well look, Here's an opinion of you outside of your own. good luck getting out of it!

A deep metaphor that runs through the core of this film is held in its appropriate title. Our protagonist must get out of a deep hole buried with in his subconscious, which is housed in the suburban outskirts, in a white picket fence mansion, in the heart of the white American dream. Can we escape our master's house, can we escape our master's women, can we escape our master's desires, can we escape our master? Must we escape from ourselves?

My palms were wet with sweat, gripping the theater chair arm rest as the film crescendos, and that feeling comes across you buried deep in your nerves from centuries of being hunted: Go! Go! Run! Get Out! As we have a hope that just maybe we will have a hero who runs off the psychological plantation into freedom! Away from the monstrous killer that was imbedded deep with in your own fears. Jordan Peele carried us to that deep seeded fear of the black man and white woman, that fear that underlies the belly of it all, of rape and murder and true horror.

Back into the woods and dark trees, where we hope our protagonist will not sink to that level that he is always portrayed, of beast, of burden, of object like they think he is, that he will not be caught, that he can find himself and get out alive with no regrets. And as the scene perches us all gripping each other, still, silent. Our protagonist becomes a hero under flashing lights.

To wash all of this down Jordan Peele naturally uses humor as the film’s saving grace. Unlike some race films like Birth of a Nation (the first one and the Nat Turner epic) Get Out doesn't leave one emotionally hateful and unstable, instead the ability to laugh at the portrayal of certain prejudices that we all have about each other allows us to experience the trauma with our serotonin popping; and with the aide of satire we can communicate why something is funny, and why something might be true.

It leaves us closer together rather than dividing us as I'm sure many will say. Embraced in a terror that lurks even here in the hazy February theater of a mall in Anywhere, America. 

This film get’s out the scariest nightmare, the one buried deep, the one you think is real. It get's out the stupidity of labels and walls that we put up because we are still ignorant of another's customs and stories and feelings. Well here we are, pressed tight together, from sea to shining sea, and from the repressed pits of a place, where we felt helpless, where we couldn't do anything, but sit there and watch TV, while our mothers and brothers, fathers and sisters, bled out in the streets and then were hung up like a deer's head in the den of your great grandfathers plantation mansion.

Here is a beautiful reflection of true horror, a real monster, dripped in gore, and fear, and honesty, as the deer’s head pierces your cornea and out oozes the greatest monster ever... a mirror. Can you get out of this image I present to you? Can you get out of your head? Can you get out of me?! But hey, it's only a joke, this is funny right?

Written by: Négré Micheaux 

for F!!!RE Magazine issue #1

[personalcoachingcenter]

Oprah Winfrey Presents: O's Little Book of Happiness (The Editor's Best Collection - Full Audiobook)

Oprah Winfrey Presents: O's Little Book of Happiness (The Editor's Best Collection - Full Audiobook) O's little book of happiness from the editors of O The Oprah Magazine read by Alison Elliott Cynthia Hopkins Helen Litchfield Joanna Adler and Scott Shepherd you can never be happy living someone else's dream live your own and you will for sure know the meaning of happiness Oprah Winfrey simple pleasures each moment in time we have it all even when we don't melodie Beatty the way home Christy Ashwin Dhin the walk is not negotiable no matter how full the day's agenda we go my husband my cow dog and I down our rural western Colorado Road past the neighbor's property to the dead end up the old dirt track grown over with sagebrush and pinion saplings to the top of the hill where the path ends under a red sandstone cliff I've watched sunset after sunset from this private perch and each is the most beautiful I've ever seen as an Air Force brat a competitive ski racer and then a journalist I lived in three countries in more than a dozen cities trekked up and down the Alps through Central American rain forests and along Mediterranean coasts seeking novelty and adventure but a kind of loneliness lurked in my perpetual motion I could fit in anywhere yet I belong to nowhere seven years ago I fell in love with cedar edge the small town where my husband Dave yearned to settle and together we decided to put down roots on a 16 acre homestead still I refused to retire my passport there were so many faraway mountains to climb and foreign cultures to or tying myself to a single place felt confining until finally during a particularly irritating flight delay it dawned on me that while I wasted time and crowded airport lounges the life I'd dreamed of was waiting for me on the farm later that week I told Dave that I would spend the next 365 days practicing the art of living in place never venturing more than a hundred miles from home it was my version of a Benedictine monks vow of stability in which he promises to remain in the same monastery for life resolving to accept his assigned home as it is although part of me believed I was making a sacrifice I found that when I narrowed my boundaries I expanded my horizons the friendship I forged with my octogenarian neighbors taught me that a shared commitment to place can create ties far stronger than age joining my library's board introduced me to bibliophiles I would have otherwise never met and with a local activist whose politics make me cringe I found common ground in her passion for growing raspberries but it was my dog who finally showed me the way home Oscar inspired the ramble that would become our ritual and after treading this little path for hundreds of days I've stopped longing for far-flung adventures here I have the aroma of sage and the Bluebirds and the craggy peaks surrounding me like an embrace I share this space with the beings whose footprints I see in the mud coyotes turkeys elk and mountain lions and my presence has turned me into a creature of the habitat just like them it has taken me most of my life to learn how to inhabit a place and I learned it finally by walking up the hill and around the backside of our farm day in and day out the repetition is the point my journey home was not a whirlwind excursion but a geological process my sole mingling with the soil step by step over time lumps are treasures Patricia Volk I love the dark film that forms as cocoa cools in the pot break it up with a spoon stir it in and you've got dirty hot chocolate unsmooth an imperfect hence complex there are those who will tell you dirty food as little to enhance presentation but a brisket sandwich would be torment without pan scrapings I like seeing and eating something that shows it was made by human hand in a slow old-fashioned way when I'm eating a lemon mousse discovering a bit of Pope exhilarates you never have to strain anything for me lumps are treasures and so are little bits of black fat at the bottom of the roasting pan if onions are in it and Yiddish these carbonized fat silk threads are known as grip nests people families have been known to fight over them in France burnt crumbs that collect at the bottom of the skillet when you saute floured food is fond grimness and fond are why we have lipitor congeals anything stuff that leaks between the bread and gets frazzled on the panini maker hard bits dried bit soggy bits crunch gloves gobs and flecks anything you might toss even though it has more taste / concentrated morsel than the star of the meal I say bring it on there's a reason the word incredible contains the word edible book lust pamela aaron's i've been a passionate reader since childhood print is beautiful to me my eyes automatically seize on any text in the vicinity whether a danger high voltage sign or the side panel of a box of Cheerios some grown-ups remember the times they swam in a cold pond or erase their bikes along a country road as children i remember going out to the beach one morning with the once and future king and looking up to find the Sun was setting I remember the time I read the outsiders a book about disaffected teenagers from cover to cover wild draped upside down over a kitchen chair my body hurt like hell but I would have had to stop her eating to get up I can't read with that level of absorption anymore in fact during much of the day there are things I can't read at all the newspaper a book review a lively magazine profile are all fine but even when I have the luxury of complete solitude I'm unable before the hour of 10:00 p.m. to read a novel or a reflective essay only after the children have gone to bed my husband and I have performed triage on our to be discussed list and my schedule for the next day has been organized can I sink into language with a capital L I get into bed adjust my thin pillow against my fat pillow I put on my socks it's no fun reading with cold feet I opened my book and the following thought allows me to begin no one needs me maybe no one even remembers Who I am it's too late in the day for me to make any more mistakes disappoint anyone complete any uncompleted tasks however I may have failed or fallen behind I am off the hook until sunrise and time which all day has pressed like a tight band against my consciousness slackens the clock finds a thirteenth hour sometimes I do stock my bookshelves in the middle of the afternoon during an unexpected windfall of free time i scanning the unread novels essay collections ruminations on god and love and history all the biggies my heart beats rapidly I grow excited with possibility I'm in love with many things that I have yet to feel and know I am experiencing the idea of reading which is generally so stimulating that I discover I can't begin at all but when the bedroom light is dimmed and the telecommunicator ehum of universe has been smothered behind the closed door I'm ready for the reality of reading which is less exalted but ultimately more satisfying I find it in myself to begin I open to page one a man is standing in a bakery on a hot summer afternoon I see the shirt the man is wearing note the fact that his tie is folded in his pocket I see the Baker's wife at the cash register suddenly I'm sheltered by a thicket of detail the sights and sounds and smells of the book pull me in and slow me down in a way that those of the real world oddly often do not I'm no longer at the wishing fearing planning pace of my day I'm not running but walking and where I wind up book after book is an unmatched state of bliss paradise 17 cents a spoonful mark Lehner imagine condensing the evolution of gastronomic pleasure from the very first mammalian sip of mother's milk to everything savored and swallowed over the millennia into one single elementary act sound crazy if so you've never had pudding and friends I'm not talking about hot steamy Christmas puddings bread puddings figgy pudding z' creme brulees or zabaglione x' i'm talking about the store bought ready-made pudding you find in the refrigerated section of your supermarket I'm talking six plastic four ounce cups of cold thick dizzyingly sweet pudding for around two dollars I'm talking Swiss Miss I'm talking cozy Shack and actually I've refined the act of pudding eating even further down to its Eucharistic essence a single spoonful two ounces seventeen cents worth here's how it's done scoop out tablespoon of pudding from the plastic container butterscotch is regarded by putting Illuminati as the epitome of flavors put it in your mouth do not move it around or disperse it in any way with your tongue swallow the glob intact and let mother gravity slowly draw it down remember this is as much about how it feels as it is about how it tastes anticipation of that single sweet glob is the fuse that drives me through the day a tablespoon of pudding is the perfectly titrated dose it's a fugitive pleasure swallowing a syllable that sweet thick syllable PUD the egg is simply the slide down the throat the PUD as it bids adieu the parting of the pudding is all sweet sorrow a cowboy shot of whiskey in a saloon sends the cowboy west far from mama toward trouble exile and ultimately into the sunset but the spoonful of pudding has a completely opposite vector it sends you back back east back to mama toward the dawn all the way to Eden before the fall of mankind paradise at only seventeen cents per glob that's what I'm talking about tall tales victoria Radel somewhere after farce in wyoming my sons grew restless in the back seat who could blame them we'd been traveling all day and well into the night driving out of Utah to Thermopolis Wyoming home of the world's largest hot spring just go to sleep we commanded from the front seat already exhausted by this vacation tell us a story they said and so began the adventures of extravaganza and her sidekick and more or less true love cowboy Pete from that night on they became part of all long family car trips extravaganza rides her horse with a diamond tiara shining in the light of the moon or hobo style she jumps trains to Detroit to win a few hands of cards while searching for the parents of the lost boy or she and cowboy Pete crack treasure from a sunken lobster boat they used the goal to help the lost boy and the change is spent on strappy sandals our car rides are a means of going on vacation of course but now they've also become a way to go on a wild adventure even when we're still strapped and buckled in a slice of summer Abigail Thomas my grandmother lived in a big house on a ghost of a road at the end of which laid the Atlantic Ocean her house had once been an inn was reputed to be haunted and had been purchased for $11,000 in the late 1940s once a year from wherever we were living Baltimore New Orleans Minnesota my family made the trek back for summer vacation the place was always the same always the same bright green grass the big gray front porch the huge Elms flowering privet and roses and salty air always the beach at the end of the road always summer at big mom's the smell of camphor and old books mingled with whatever was in the oven there was always something good going on in her kitchen the first thing I did when we arrived was run and look in her icebox there as I'd hoped were glass ramekins filled with custard each with a sprinkling of nutmeg this silky treat was my favorite and I was allowed to have two or even three in a row sometimes she made applesauce hard green apples cut up and cooked in orange juice which she pressed through a fine sieve this thin delicious substance was served with heavy cream her recipe for fudge now lost contained the instructions cook until the bubbles look as if they don't want to burst my mother poured it over marshmallows on the back of the old stove was a pot of broth thick chunks of beef cooking with rice in water even though this was meant for Winston the ancient ailing english bulldogge i would stand at the stove and secretly eat spoonful after spoonful the earliest aroma of the day was big moms coffee percolating at 5:30 and I tiptoed down the wide front stairs and into her kitchen where I sat in the old rocker now in my living room and talked about what I can't remember for an hour my grandmother was all mine she let me have a cup of coffee with sugar and cream and I felt alive with the possibilities of what life might be like for me I guess this was because she appeared to take me seriously our coffee was accompanied by buttered toast cut into long strips she called soldiers when the rest of the household woke up wheat kids went to the beach we grew up there as much as anywhere on that beach in that water stopping for lunch at noon eating our chicken sandwiches white meat plenty of butter and salt the crusts cut off the bread or red onion sandwiches on tiny rounds of rye hard-boiled eggs everything eaten with the sand you could never quite keep off when the Sun was over the yardarm we trudged our sunburned selves back down Indian Wells highway to her house interesting grown-ups were drinking their pink gins in the library to the left was the parlor filled with mysterious objects under glass domes and always as hushed as church we raced one another to the shower her upstairs bathroom had a skylight with an old metal chain and then back downstairs avoiding the room where our parents were happily occupied our winter lives were harder schools and cities changed almost as soon as we got settled somewhere we were moving again but summer was always summer my grandmother died and the house was sold but for years and years afterward whenever I returned to Amagansett I felt at home this was where I belonged any time I walked down that half mile of road to find the ocean glittering at the end I was a child wind sand and sardines Monica Ali one year I took the children on holiday to Morocco where we spent much time feasting either with our eyes in the market our with our bellies in the cafes and restaurants one meal in particular marked a highlight we were staying in Essaouira a town with such an atmospheric and photogenic Medina that it has remained a popular film location since Orson Welles chose to shoot there for his a fellow setting out from the fishing harbour we took a camel ride up the coast along vast deserted stretches of windswept golden sand past the ruined forts and castles which are said to have been the inspiration for the Jimi Hendrix song castles made of sand camel rides are notoriously uncomfortable except this one wasn't we lolled back on hugely overstuffed Palin Keens going with the motion as if rolling with the waves after a couple of hours we branched off at a small River and rode inland seeing nothing but the occasional house and a few tree climbing goats when we stopped for lunch our guide quickly swept together some leaves and twigs as kindling while the children collected bigger sticks from somewhere in his saddlebags he produced two dozen sardines which he had caught that morning and grilled them on the open fire there was fresh bread and heavenly tomatoes for dessert we ate dates it was the simplest of meals and the most delicious why it had been a long ride for one thing food tastes better when you're hungry how easy that is to forget everything was fresh and tasted of itself no need for dressing up and there was time for a doze beneath the Acacia s-- while the children fed the leftovers to the camels personal growth Lara Kristen Herndon two years ago as my better divorce dragged on and on I moved out of the high-rise apartment my ex and I had shared and into a small walk-up with our daughter I felt like a shipwrecked survivor glad to have washed up on dry land traumatised to be starting over from scratch a few days later a package arrived I opened it to find a beautiful green stalk sprouting several glossy emerald leaves it was a lemon tree a gift from my mother my first thought it was the dead of winter in Manhattan how would I keep this thing alive but caring for the little tree proved easy all it needed was water in a warm window so when it blossomed white waxy stars with sunshine yellow centers whose sugar and honeysuckle scent my daughter and I gulped in by the lungful our cramped apartment felt transformed the flowers dropped off in early March leaving in their place tiny green lemons in the months that followed all but one of those dropped off to the lone survivor grew and grew bending the whole plant under its weight we harvested our enormous lemon in August it was sweet enough to eat whole like an orange but instead we made a small delicious batch of lemonade that we drank on our stoop in the late summer Sun both of us aglow with the singular exhilaration of starting fresh bliss in action happiness is not a station you arrive at but a manner of traveling Margaret Lee run back my Blue Heaven and Gloucester it usually happens after the tenth lap the weight of my body is released where it goes I'm not sure dispersed through that particular light Bluegreen of chlorinated pools scene through goggles dissipated by the steady back forth back forth of body through water the first few laps are often dutiful even agonizing but when that lifting occurs it's all suddenly different I'm alone in my a quarter capsule my carapace of skin if all goes well no one else to close ahead or on my heels behind I become enmeshed in the water no care no worry body and mind so often split through alien entities are for at least this brief time one for me the world is to present in an aerobics class the sight of other people the thump of the music and I never much wanted to compete to chase a ball or be on a team it's not that I'm a solitary person on the contrary I love people which is all the more reason to regularly disengage to disappear from the hurly-burly of the world for a while growing up I enjoyed jumping waves in the ocean and an occasional swim in a Bay but nothing more then in my late 20s I became friends with a woman I later called coach she swam obsessively a mile every night after work and on the weekends too she never made dinner plans for earlier than 8:30 because that's when she was finished at the pool she probably got her lean wiry body from her genetic code but her toned shoulders and well muscled arms could have come only from those endless chlorinated miles I didn't understand her devotion until I accompanied her to the pool as a guest one day I was smitten I loved the feeling of my arms pulling me along the texture of the liquid all around me I slowly acclimated to swimming culture learning the lingo of length in lap how many to a mile how to use a kick board the way a flip turn improves your time I never got terribly speedy or even approached coaches diligence but I did swim I joined her pool assembled my swim gear bought a good pair of goggles and when I did my first mile 36 laps in most pools I was inordinately proud it sounded so grand an entire mile there was a ring of completeness to it an aura of virtue slowly my arms developed a hint of muscle I got my mile down to 50 minutes a good time for a slowpoke like me I settled into a schedule sometimes doing just 3/4 of a mile with a half mile as my bare minimum as I stroke up the lane I count one on the way back I repeat one and I proceed from there two-two three-three thoughts and ideas may crowd into my head but they are all eventually banished by the slow steady rhythmic need to keep count four four five five and soon that amazing lifting sensation comes the reward when I take off and begin to flow everything I need to know I learned from a horse Jane smiley a few days ago I found a photo that was taken of me at 43 sitting on my new horse then 14 I look a little disheveled but happy he looks thin even emaciated with very little tail and several scars where other horses have taken pieces out of his hide what you can't tell from the photo and what I didn't know at the time was at the horse whom I named tick-tock after the ticking of our biological clocks was about to take me on a life-changing adventure that has been more fun sometimes more troubling and always more interesting than I could have possibly imagined I was a fearful person then the sword who sneaks into the baby's room during naps to make sure he's breathing the sword who imagines every late comer in a traffic accident I had always loved horses though had ridden as a teenager and thought riding a horse might be a more fun way to lose the last 15 pounds of pregnancy weight than riding a Nordic track with my eyes glued to the Weather Channel watching for tornado warnings I lived in Iowa then the horse had been around most recently he had lived in a field with a bunch of other horses and before that who knew but he was kind and easy to ride and most important the second morning that I knew him he Nick heard at me that was flattering like having a nice man call you darling but without any overtones of sexual harassment I meant to ride three times a week I had a baby and other children and a husband in a career but there I was four five six days a week not just riding the horse but taking lessons asking questions hanging around the barn buying equipment I was right about the pounds they were gone in a month but I was wrong about everything else namely that I was an established grown-up who had it all figured out the first thing I had to confront was the same thing all adult riders have to confront fear was he going to step on me yes if I didn't watch where his feet were was he going to run away yes if something scared him might he bucked me off unlikely but possible more embarrassingly was I going to fall off once yes I was unbalanced out of my element weak stiff beneath the fear I soon saw was a long-standing habit of not actually paying attention to what I was doing it spent years thinking about one thing while doing another I had in fact prided myself on this but if I didn't know what I was doing and neither did the horse he acted confused nervous a little scary I had to learn quickly but was surprising difficulty how to pay attention and then there was my body I would think sit up straight but not be able to sit up straight I told my instructor that it didn't seem as though my head was connected to the rest of me he agreed how embarrassing was that it was as though my nerve impulses ran through Cleveland on the way from my cerebellum to my heels this weight-loss project was turning into a challenge of my every habit a challenge to the unconscious way I had been living but the horse loved me he nikkor dat me every day came when I called paid attention flicking his ears when I talked and when I did everything right even for just a moment or two the fear the preoccupation an awkwardness gave way to grace and pleasure unlike any sensation I'd ever felt a pure physical sense of rhythm and strength that the horse communicated right into my sinews as with all positive transformations the right moments accumulated into right minutes and subsequently into delicious stretches of time that didn't feel like time at all what's unique about writing is that the horse is always right there and not only physically tic TOCs personality his intentions and his willingness were always palpable I learned why out riding alone is an oxymoron an equestrian is never alone is always sensing the other being the mysterious but also understandable living being that is the horse that's what gets me out every day in weather I would never jog in my body is different now I have triceps and biceps i gallop and jump and ride with intense pleasure I'm also more patient self-confident ready for fun I'm more daring my old what-if has become more of a why not I'm ready er to believe that if something comes up I can deal with it even backing up the horse trailer but the greatest change is my constant sense of an unfolding relationship and growing knowledge I used to pepper my trainers and vets with questions why is the horse doing that what does that mean at bottom who is he I discovered that the horse is life itself a metaphor but also an example of life's mystery and unpredictability of its generosity and beauty a worthy object of repeated and ever-changing contemplation Do It Yourself Jessica brooder I am a lover of power tools in my gas station coveralls I've wielded welding torches hoisted chainsaws and whiled away afternoons with a belt sander I've mastered the plasma cutter the nail gun the grinder but I believe the best tools are the ones that come standard at Birth our two hands working with your hands is a big part of humaneness and for me happiness a day in the woodshop or craft room or garden reconnects you with your body which is a nice break from staring at screens plus calling a plumber will not give you a sense of power and autonomy stopping your leaky pipe from leaking will lately I've been using my hands to fix cars and grow tomatoes unscrew lug nuts and screw together planter boxes jack up a chassis and haul bags of dirt to the roof of my 4th floor walk-up I'm still a little shaky on the auto shop stuff but I'm excited about the tomatoes even though the hands in question don't have green thumbs and once killed a cactus no matter the results the experience will be meaningful our culture rewards expertise and efficiency my tomatoes will reflect neither with the cost of growing taken into account they'll be more expensive than the ones at the supermarket they may be less aesthetically appealing too but they will be mine born of my hard work and gentle care and that achievement that joy is something nobody else can create but me enchanted forest Joyce Johnson I was seven or eight when my favorite aunt Rose Wallman who often borrowed me from my parents came to take me for an afternoon mushrooming expedition in Forest Park in the borough of Queens aunt rose was equipped with a basket from Woolworths and a copy of the little golden book of mushrooms Forest Park was as close as you could come to a real forest in Aunt Rose as much a neophyte mycologist as I was delighted me by appearing to rely on my judgment in matters of life and death we would spot a mushroom and consult the little golden book searching for a matching illustration mushroom or toadstool years later I would find myself on a blind date with a dour tax attorney who interrupted my story at this point with a withering pronouncement there are no toadstools only toxic mushrooms to me at 8:00 they were toadstools i said firmly and shortly afterward left alone anything Aunt Rose and I both designated mushroom was promptly picked by the end of the afternoon we had gathered quite a variety some were golden the rest in various shades of brown they lay nestled in aunt Rose's basket with clinging bits of moss and pine needles my aunt was planning to saute the whole lot in parsley butter but said she could not take the responsibility of inviting me to share the feast all evening I worried about her until the phone rang not only at Aunt Rose survived she reported to me that the mushrooms were delicious and ever since I've regretted not sampling that dish seasoned as it was with a bit of danger I thought of Aunt Rose often after I bought a small cabin in Vermont on the edge of the woods she would have been pleased that I finally had my own forest park complete with deer moose porcupines and a bear or two where my lawn ends there are wild apple trees and blackberry brambles in the fall after it rains I'm likely to find bullets in the garden my friends and neighbors up there are experienced mushroom hunters who wisely collect only what they're absolutely sure of and eat everything they gather strings of dried mushrooms hang from the rafters of their kitchens if you're out driving with them they're likely to stop the car to harvest giant speckled pheasants backs jutting from dead Elms along the roadside or the slightly phosphorescent Shaggy Mane's that show up at night luminous in the headlights I've heard tales of giant puff balls big enough to serve six and if certain outcroppings of morels and hillside cow pastures if you ask but where exactly do you find your morels you won't get an answer such secrets are respected by all but you will get an invitation to come to dinner and try some I bought an enormous Illustrated tome on mushrooms full of Latin names and stern warnings and symbols representing degrees of edibility I studied the picture of the lovely white mushroom known as the angel of death learned how to make spore prints on paper towels and felt properly nervous but still eager to proceed finally I went off to the woods without my mushroom Bible which is far too heavy to carry I was a middle-aged city dweller still unaccustomed to being alone in the woods and sometimes I thought I had to be crazy as I scrambled down the ravines and over a fallen tree trunks and wrenched my sneakers out of losing mud if I broke my leg who would find me perhaps days would pass before my friends worried after my rescue they'd ask what were you thinking the truth would be somewhat ridiculous I wanted chanterelles I'd been told they grow everywhere in Vermont and even for a beginner like me the delicious little saffron trumpets were easily identifiable I found only three or four that first day growing out of rotted logs but still it was a victory I put them in an omelet I like the way the urge to seek them cleared out my mind brought purpose and suspense to my rambles I thought of nothing in the woods but of spotting a few dots of cadmium yellow one day wandering contentedly in circles I lost my way I headed toward the sunlight and found myself in a strangely familiar place that turned out to be my neighbor's yard there was a lone chanterelle growing in his driveway where the twinge of guilt I picked it my city cat had come to Vermont with me I'd kept her in the house but finally she made her escape through some torn screening I ran after her tearfully calling her name but she melted into the woods as I walked back to the house I found myself in a stand of birches near the road only a few yards from my door the ground was covered with small yellow trumpets more than I'd ever hoped to see him spot they've been hiding in plain sight like the cat as it turned out she materialized on the porch at 5:00 the next morning ravenously hungry and full of fleas so thanks to her I have my own secret place I can only guess at what makes the chanterelles so abundant there is it a particular amount of sunlight filtering through the trees the birch bark and decaying limbs on the ground mixed with just the right proportions of maple leaves and pine needles my chanterelles keep coming back year after year and I gather them reveling in the mystery of their bounty varied treasure lisa Congdon years ago My partner and I were walking past a garage sale in San Francisco when I spotted a piece of mid-century Norwegian enamel where a bowl in a Blue Lotus pattern it's really rare a great find the asking price $1 the bowl was worth about a hundred and fifty dollars but it's not about the money I love knowing I was the only person around who understood its value I've always loved that when I was a girl in upstate New York I made my grandmother take me to the dump to look for treasure she was a collector too when I was told to clean my room I would instead arrange my collections arranging was always my favorite part there's something so appealing about an array of light things so orderly and pretty my advice is to find something special to you and start seeking it out it doesn't matter if it's worth money it just needs to be something you want more than one of and it should be hard to find because the hunt is half the fun I like collecting the way I like crime novels I want to awaken my inner detective the longer the search the sweeter the find horizons expanded Heather Greenwood Davis we arrive in Chengdu on a pitch-black morning on the overnight train from Xian as my husband dish our two young sons Ethan Cameron and I stumbled groggily out of the station we sidestep poorer travelers huddled on flattened boxes on the freezing concrete China's 11th largest city home to a famous panda research facility feels lonely and uninviting it doesn't help that we've forgotten to have our hotel's name written down for us in Chinese and the taxi drivers swarming us don't speak English they pull at my sons who are clutching my waist suddenly a man carrying a laptop approaches where are you trying to go he asks soon he's negotiating with a driver and not long after that we're laughing with him over breakfast at our hotel he turns out to be a visiting professor from Singapore I couldn't just leave you out there to fend for yourselves he tells us as we're coming over pictures of his baby daughter I lock eyes with ish across the table we know this would never have happened back in Toronto in 2011 when ish was offered a sabbatical from his job as a public health inspector we set out to see the world for a year with our kids as a journalist my job has always been flexible we aren't rich or crazy we just saw an opportunity to live our dreams and seized it selling our car renting out our house and exhausting our savings over the next 12 months we visited 29 countries soaring in a hot-air balloon above King Tut's tomb riding ostriches in Vietnam and scrubbing four ton elephants in Thailand but the moments we'll remember most involve people not places when we joined in a moonlit game of ping pong and a Cairo alleyway with our city guides neighbours for example or dined on duck confit in the minimalist home of a worldly Parisian family for whom we'd snapped a photo in Seville or sat cross-legged on the floor of the one-room home of a Cambodian tuk-tuk driver who wanted his kids to meet ours we'd expect it to be for alone in the world but in these moments when we relied on instinct and trusted strangers we became a part of it I'd always taught my children to be wary of anyone they didn't know but in Buenos Aires I watched with pride as my shy seven-year-old gathered his courage and marched into a soccer game some local kids were playing in the Galapagos Islands I beamed when my picky nine-year-old tasted and loved lobster tail on the advice of some new friends in our tour group as for ich and me we learned that people are kinder than we'd given them credit for we stopped seeing the planet as a list of places to visit and started daydreaming about whom exactly we'd meet next back home in Canada we now chat with a grocery clerk who's Portuguese accent we can place and share a joke with the taxi driver whose rear view mirror flag we recognize we linger to make a friend or once we might have rushed by and we get a glorious connection a world size dose of happiness in return the joy of discovery I believe that if you just stand up and go life will open up for you Tina Turner burning questions Katy Arnold Ratliff remember when you were little and you felt you might explode because you had so many questions why is the sky blue why are zebra-striped how come I can't have another popsicle and remember how good that felt to find the world so fascinating that you had to learn this second and in great detail exactly how it worked how did we lose touch with that desire to ask ask ask was it when we became busy distracted overwhelmed grown-ups feigning expertise acting like we know everything all the time no everything were we even listening in intro to philosophy did we miss the part where Socrates who supposedly said I know that I know nothing developed an entire method of figuring out stuff based entirely on inquiry and that all knowledge exists precisely because people have persistently and for centuries asked tons and tons of questions have we established that questions or marvelous momentous things and if so can we agree that asking ourselves the right can have life-altering effects because have you ever noticed how questions prevent us from settling for less than we deserve that asking ourselves could it be better is a great way to make things well a whole lot better that a bunch of our breakthroughs triumphs and Joy's occurred when we asked a few big bold paradigm-shifting questions don't we owe it to ourselves don't we deserve to live an examined life can it be said that asking questions is what keeps us honest drives us to aim higher and is the very thing that makes us human in a word yes no question about it the eye of the beholder sister Wendy Beckett how can I describe what happened when I encountered for the first time the spiritual power of great furniture in all my visits to museums I've usually walked past furniture on my eager way to the real thing paintings sculptures and ceramics but in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts some years ago I had the good fortune to meet Jonathan a curator of American decorative arts and sculpture and my eyes were opened I saw as he did how furniture can have a majestic sculptural beauty that can stop one in one's tracks one such work was the Cogswell Boston bombe chest on chest of 1782 it swells in a stately curve up to a surge of mahogany drawers and climaxes in an insouciant pediment crowned with the American Eagle this was early Boston remember I was looking at glorious works of art furniture indeed but even more they were pieces shaped and crafted by a master hand beauty came at me from all dimensions from unexpected angles offering an enlargement of spirit I still cannot wholly comprehend what if the poki really is what it's all about sooo fleece while heading to the grocery store one morning I stopped at a light behind an old Chevy sorely in need of a paint job a teenager was driving blaring music with the windows down her bumper was scuffed one taillight was crushed but she didn't seem to mind her manicured fingers tapped the steering wheel like red tip drumsticks her hair lifting in the breeze she's saying at the top of her voice ignoring the audience around her I liked her just before the light changed and she drove off I noticed her car had a bumper sticker what if the hokey-pokey really is what it's all about then I thought wait what if it is it could have been my mood that day or it could have been destiny but idling behind that Chevy all at once it occurred to me that I'd left no room in my life for simple delight I scheduled penciled in or planned everything from my kids playdates to dinners with friends months in advance just to get it off my mind which more and more was swamped with a non-stop fire hose like onslaught of obligations where were the moments when I could rap on the steering wheel with my hair blowing in the wind so now I'm trying to make time to enjoy the sweet simple inconsequential bits of life wherever and however I can we just celebrated my son's 11th birthday at a laser tag arena if you've never set foot in one it's loud crowded and smells like feet the old me would have gladly opted out waiting in the birthday party room setting up the pizza and cake checking email the new me got suited up chose a laser tag handle mom inator and ventured an alongside a dozen of my son's friends with vest laser gun and survival instincts in tow it was awesome I didn't even come in last it also turns out that when I'm not obsessing over getting things done getting to the next destination getting my point across and moving right along I hear a lot more yesterday my 9 year old wanted to tell me his side of an argument had with his brother please mom he said just listen before you say anything so I did as he asked I listened and I had a revelation the outcome of the altercation didn't matter to him as much as being heard by me did I chose to be in that moment with him for as long as it lasted I want more encounters like that I'm starting one foot at a time to put my whole self in my own best friend Robin rom in my early 30s I moved from a small bungalow in the Bay Area to a hippie barn in Santa Fe to take a new job the barn with its tin doors and weathered wood had seemed novel a radical change here my boyfriend and I would explore our mellow sides walking the dog on dusty horse trails eating dinner at a picnic table it sounded romantic but soon after we unpacked he left for a month-long writing fellowship in another state I found myself in this new rural place alone and I panicked though I'd grown up an only child I no longer knew how to sit with myself for long stretches of time and honestly my childhood had been lonely my parents both had busy demanding careers and a penchant for budget babysitter's who did little more than watch television and talk on the phone I spent great swaths of time inventing games by myself in my room as soon as I was old enough to drive I hung out constantly with friends a habit that persisted throughout my 20s it wasn't all that interested in reclaiming solitude during the first week alone in the barn I called every person in my phone even people I barely knew but after I talked to everyone after my eyes nearly fell out of my head from watching TV I realized I couldn't keep this up for four weeks so I did something I'd always wanted to do I signed up for banjo lessons at night I practiced looking out at the sunsets over the chimney so flowers the jackrabbit sloping by when I got tired of the chord progressions I'd knit or read and though I expected to be dogged by loneliness that mortal childhood enemy I felt instead a surprising calm all this time I'd been working so hard to avoid myself but as it turned out I liked being alone me and myself had so many shared interests so much to say to each other if I'd permitted it I was good company that felt like such a revelation the longest relationship we have with anyone is with ourselves and yet that relationship is often the first one we let slide maintaining it brings such comfort though liking your company means that you always have at your beck and call a person who gets you so if everyone departs and you're left feeling lonely and adrift or if you never allow yourself to be alone ask yourself what you'd do if you had a friend over you'd be curious about her you'd engage with her you'd be compassionate why not treat yourself the same way seeing in the dark selma adams during the New York City blackout of 2003 on the 8.2 mile walk from my Midtown Manhattan office to my Brooklyn brownstone a trek that included to Mister Softee I scream stops and the crossing of one immense bridge I had four unmapped hours to take stock of where I stood at 44 and spontaneously consider how my life needed changing when I was in my 20s and single I'd had similar moments in airplanes flying coast to coast on either end of the journey life flowed in all its chaos and complexity its conflicting desires and demands but airborne in the pause between departure and destination strapped in beside strangers I often found myself contemplating my life as a whole and reaching big decisions about it after the lights went out in New York as I headed south in velvet slippers I'd bought months earlier in Chinatown my high heels tucked into a bag slung over my shoulder I walked the same streets I'd come to as a young woman from California I passed the Strand bookstore the Little Italy apartment where a friend had shared a bathroom wall with the gangster John Gotti the bar where my husband Ronald and I practically floated the brilliant autumn day that we declared our love for each other that's weltering August afternoon people crammed the sidewalks in moods that ranged from joy to apocalyptic panic among the frazzled the communal worry was that this was not simply a power outage but a repeat of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 the beginning of the end again for me something snapped that day although I didn't hear it for all the noise in the street darkness fell while I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge I was tired and the soles of my slippers were wearing thin I wondered if I would make it home if my family was all right if the surprising piece of the afternoon would be preserved until I crossed my threshold nearly 20 years had passed since I first came to the city I was the mother of two small children when I wasn't working writing a still unpublished novel and reviewing movies I walked the streets with an over packed stroller dreading the subways for their steep stroller hostel stairs and Ronald who had moved to New York for me had debilitating asthma which worsened to the point where he was allergic to the city itself the moles in the subway the cockroaches in the basement the dust a year later inspired by what I saw in my heart on that long walk on that dark night I changed direction we moved to a hunting lodge on 14.5 acres in upstate New York and if I had misgivings at leaving behind hard-won friends and perfect pizza slices they vanished in the wonder that is country life in the country blackouts are a more common less public occurrence a tree falls lightning strikes a stream floods its banks the computer crashes mid-sentence the washer halts mid-cycle the electric lights dim in then go out entirely we leave the refrigerator freezer doors shut in hopes that the power outage won't last too long and we can keep that terrific lamb curry Ronald made for the last hours of daylight we hang on cheerfully reading and coroner's by the windows sweeping the kitchen floor bundling the newspapers but as twilight falls and we migrate toward the screened porch in the last shreds of light and the color begins to wash from the brilliant gold finches at their feeder Ronald curses the fact that we didn't buy a generator 11 year-old Trevor experiences computer withdrawal we draw around the stubby white candles buy in bulk for just such an occasion and though I'm well aware of my son's aversion to performing I suggest the impossible why doesn't Trevor get out his guitar and show me what he can do after a year of lessons he drags out the left-handed instrument I haven't heard him play since the lessons began he runs through his repertoire the chords G C II and his favorite g7 we get a bit of melody a random made-up tune his even features are serious and keen and focused over the frets and strings and I see why guitarists make girls fall in love after Trevor plays his song he picks up the flashlight making wide abstract arcs like ribbons against the blackness Lizzy begins to dance stomping her heels on the cement Trevor flashes the light on his little sister around her above her so that her shadow falls on the scrim of the screen outside a bull frog croaks the finches prattle at the feeder the kids are still playing together tied by the ribbon of light when we notice a revived glow deep within the Forgotten house Ronald goes to check the temps in the fridge freezer Lizzy turns on the TV Trevor reboots his computer and I head to my office to check email we scatter in the light but in my head I can still feel the rhythms of my son's newfound chords my daughters shadowy flamenco there is no big decision to be made now my life doesn't need changing but it is extraordinary to realize that this infinitely happy moment framed in time not the memories not the expectations or ambitions is my life and in this moment I changed tense I stopped becoming and just M the lesson Hellena flans bum I am NOT an optimist I don't believe that the glass is half-full I am the granddaughter of four Eastern European Jews who fled Poland to escape the pogroms when it is sunny I look for rain when the phone rings after 10 p.m. I start planning the funeral my favorite joke is Jewish telegram start worrying details to follow I tell you this so you will not think of me as a perky upbeat person in denial of every dark emotion she has ever had nor am i religious or even sure I believe in God I am dark my hair is dark my eyes are dark and so as both an intellectual and a cynic I have trouble admitting this but here goes having breast cancer changed my life for the better lots of survivors say something like this I have even heard some say breast cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me I had always viewed this remark with skepticism boy that must be one great antidepressant I had the bad mammogram on March 13th 2001 the first day of spring break I was 42 years old and had two daughters 6 and 8 the year before the technician had taken one picture come back and said simply you can go home I can I asked I had expected worse in 2001 I got it the technician took the first picture and came back for another and another and then they made me wait for a sonogram then they made me wait to talk to the radiologist he was unsympathetic grouchy even and unmovable you were gonna want to have this looked at he said he didn't say it's probably nothing but that's what all my girlfriend's had heard but he wouldn't say that instead when I pushed him for any comforting words he said gruffly well if it's cancer we've gotten it early I have nothing cheerful to say about the next three and a half months it was all horrible the waiting was the worst after the initial mammogram I waited three weeks for her biopsy I know it was cancer but your mother never had breast cancer friend said I knew I had cancer just as I'd known I would not just lose the 40 pounds I gained during my first pregnancy oh it just slips off women said slips off I thought on me it is not going to slip off and I was right my mother's friends said Oh she'll have a lumpectomy and radiation and be done with it I didn't believe that either and I was right after two attempts to get clean margins I had a mastectomy on the right side the following year when the tech found three cancer cells on the left side I had one on that side so after having a double mastectomy by the time I was 43 where is the bright side first I noticed that I was noticing my life it was as if someone had stood next to me in the supermarket line and yelled in my ear in the loudest voice imaginable wake up I stopped sleepwalking through my days I started paying attention I won't say cliche things like color seemed brighter or flower smelled sweeter I am Not sure they did I just felt a new sense grow in me I became conscious of time I was alert in a new way second benefit I realized I spent too much time in my life doing things I didn't want to ooh when my in-laws wanted the family to fly across the country to celebrate Thanksgiving I actually said to my husband no I am tired and I don't want to spend my vacation traveling I am NOT doing that I joined a highly compensated committee where a belligerent and simple-minded colleague bullied me and get this I quit just like that I don't care about the money I'm not going back I said to my husband and I didn't third my husband and I stopped quarreling why did we ever bother what could have been that important my relationship with my sister got better half a lifetime of sibling rivalry evaporated like smoke most important having breast cancer focused me on my children like a laser I was always an attentive mother but no working one and a conflicted one the feeling that I should always be in the other place trailed me like a whining dog now I want to spend every minute humanly possible with my children they are far and away more important to me than anything on earth I want to spend time looking at their faces building their strength and courage and since cancer I have without the slightest twinge finally and best of all I have stopped expecting the worst worrying should prepare you for disaster but it doesn't I learned that nothing prepares you we spend so much time in our lives suffering we don't need any dress rehearsals the worst will find us and you know what we will have to deal with it when it does my life is better now more heartily felt last year I returned to writing poetry all the poems are about the possibility of finding joy this past soccer season I met my breast surgeon at the field where his children play alongside mine we embraced like survivors of a catastrophe who meet again after a long while who is that my daughter asked afterward you really like him yes I replied I do really like him he was my doctor when I was sick he is a wonderful wonderful man and I am better for having known him would I have chosen a life where I did not get to meet him yes would I've been happier in that life no I don't think so awed and amazed you must have it yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life Walt Whitman walking with devotion Mary Oliver when I walk out into the world I take no thoughts with me that's not easy but you can learn to do it an MD mind is hungry so you look at everything longer and closer don't hum when you listen with empty ears you hear more and this is the core of the secret attention is the beginning of devotion graced by her present Megan O'Rourke like many people I want serenity in my day-to-day life yet I'm obsessive enough about the smallest details that a moment of calm is hard to find in my 20s I worked as if focus could be some kind of salvation endlessly worrying about my next project and missing family gatherings and forgetting to buy Christmas presents in the process once when I managed to make it home for a visit my mother who had her bird-watching books out put her hand on my arm and said I don't want you to just go from Hill to Hill Meg you should stop to enjoy the view after my mother died at the age of 55 I thought a lot about what she'd said and I came to realize she'd given me an important gift her presence as my father put it one night when we were talking your mother just had a way of being there and it made everything better listening to him I knew I wanted more of that way of being there in my own life losing my mother as painful as it was has brought with it a blessing I could not have anticipated it has led me to realign my sense of focus my values my attention light nutmeg my mother like to say when she saw how easily I became blindsided by anxiety now I try to honor her example by learning to relax into the daily chaos by keeping in mind the majestic strangeness of the world and the smallness of my place in it being present is easier said than done of course presence requires letting go of old habits complaints and hangups in my case it also required recognizing my competitiveness and impatience I had to step back to notice the ways I'm hard on people judging them when I should just support them insisting things be done on my punishing schedule today I make more time to sit and listen when a friend is troubled by something I climb fewer Hills my mother is a great gift giver at once thoughtful and sly one year she put little bottles of energy drinks in my stocking but her greatest gift remains the way she approached life she didn't let anything fragile her to the point where she didn't have time to listen and laugh with us sometimes I picture her face and feel the sting of loss but then sorrow blossoms into the happiness of knowing how much she gave me a joy spreads like sunlight and it's as if I can hear her saying lighten up Meg finally I know what she meant everyday magic Kathryn Sullivan I used to live a few hundred yards outside the Johnson Space Center in Houston each morning I Drive about three minutes to the center that was my commute on October 14 1984 I was technically off for the day since I just landed from my first space flight the night before but I wanted to see all our photos I'd had this great experience one I'd dreamed of forever and worked toward for ages and it had lasted only seven days I kept looking at the sky still wishing I was up there on my drive in that morning though I noticed a bunch of migrating birds flying in various V shapes forming and reforming as they do crossing in front of the last bit of sunrise color in the sky now that's a good reason to be back I thought surprising myself sunrise and birds nothing out of the ordinary but not something you can see in space suddenly it was nice to be on earth again an extraordinary machine Lila Carrie I swim lean vigorous strokes through an alexandrite blue ocean I laugh and dive and let the Sun wash over my face i sprint and swoop and ride the waves and then I wake up my bedroom develops like a Polaroid getting sharper as it comes slowly into focus there on the night table are nine different pills and a syringe I've set out for the morning beside them are the sterile gauze and betadine I used to clean the catheter that's sewn into my chest the bottle of betadine not only disinfects it also serves as a paperweight for the Dozen insurance forms that need to be filled out and mailed before the weekend on the other side of my bed hangs an IV drip for nutrition and hydration what doesn't kill me sure does keep me from riding many waves I've had cancer for a third of my life I've watched people get well and I've watched people die while I scramble from standard drug to new procedure to experimental protocol buying time till the next big breakthrough these treatments chip at my body bit by bit they've screwed up both my kidneys and damaged my heart they've made the soles of my feet burn and my fingertips numb there's no vision in my left eye my digestive system shot and become severely prone to depression unable to have a baby or a frozen margarita or any long-term plans what's that old joke about the ad for a lost dog blind incontinent no teeth missing right leg tail and part of an ear answers to the name lucky I'd love to say that you've caught me at an off moment but the fact is I whine a lot a fellow patient once told me he'd never heard anyone complained so much and he'd spent 19 months in the Hanoi Hilton it seems one of the unspoken side effects of cancer at least for me is extreme crankiness my body has betrayed me and I'm mad as hell but wallowing in righteous indignation only gets a girl so far so these days I'm focusing on what this decidedly soft slightly used utterly ridiculous 41 year old body can do and what I can do is make the best kid I know laughs hysterically simply by feigning shock and revulsion at the sight of a plastic tarantula I can pitch a baseball the word on the street is that I throw like a girl or worse like Chuck Knoblauch I can cook a chicken Marbella that makes people from Marbella okay Brooklyn beg for the recipe furthermore I have what can only be described as a superhuman gift for picking ripe pineapples I can listen closely to my friends my instincts and Glenn Gould playing the Goldberg Variations which I'm told Bach wrote for a Russian count with severe insomnia on my better days I can do laundry dishes and all things sexual I can hold down a full-time job hold up my end of the conversation and shop with the kind of frenzied abandon seldom seen outside of Times Square on New Year's Eve control isn't always possible but feeling and imagination and a touch of transcendence are I've taken to grabbing a cup of tea and heading for the roof of my Lower East Side apartment building on when sleep doesn't seem to be an option last Thursday at 6:40 a.m. it was pouring the drops of rain pelting against Tim flowerpots sounded like bacon frying the air smelled like geraniums and lasagna the old Italian restaurant on the ground floor was already prepping for the lunch crowd my sweat pants were soaked my hair was dripping one of my slippers was floating away but lights were starting to switch on all over the neighborhood boy stur coloured trench coats and black umbrellas were beginning to make their way down second Avenue here were people and puddles and pigeons and trees and taxis and I got to experience every deliciously drenched inch of it I have cancer but I also have windy summer mornings in the rain and an active sense of awe at all that I can still touch and taste and see and hear and breathe in at any given moment I have the crystal clear understanding that recovery is worth only as much as the life you recover the big picture Neil deGrasse Tyson throughout their lives stars turn basic elements like hydrogen and helium into richer heavier elements when they die some stars then scatter their remains full of those enriched ingredients into gas clouds across the galaxy where they'll later regroup and become part of a brand-new star system it's poetic the next generation of stars benefiting from those that came before to me that's a powerful message instead of worrying about getting older and whether we're as athletic or pretty or thin as we used to be we can focus on leading a brilliant life that will be remembered make an impact even if your job doesn't help save lives you can create art or do something that will bring joy to someone else you should celebrate each day that you're able to leave a lasting effect it means that even as you get older the universe will someday be a little bit better because you've lived in it oh what a thrill all I can say about life is Oh God enjoy it Bob Newhart the cheering section Valerie Monroe I'd accompanied my four-year-old son in a crowd of similar couples to a showing of Peter Pan we were a rowdy group lots of running and screaming in the aisles seat jumping and general expectant disorganized Glee but once the movie began we quickly settled into a quieter mode many of the kids my son among them climbed comfortably into their parents laps so there we all were cozy wrapped when Tinker Bell's light started to go out and Peter turned towards us with his plea to save her clap clap if you believe in fairies instantly my son and all the other children began to clap what sweet innocence at first in a light helpful patter but as tinks light flickered and grew they clapped with increasing enthusiasm and at Peter's expectations they clapped heartily with great serious determination very soon we moms and dads were clapping too and many of us also stamping our feet and whistling till when tink regained her radiant spark the whole place exploded in a triumphant ear-splitting crescendo of unanimous rejoicing and I wept an ordinary Sunday afternoon a theater full of fancy kids a story I had heard a thousand times who would have thought there would be opportunity for such surrender and celebration but I shouldn't have been surprised for the longest time I have been falling face-first into it everywhere puddles of awe as I noticed the intricate patterns of rain blown against my window rivers of it as I paddle in a kayak beside the city and turn to see a range of towering skyscrapers peeks of sparkling glass majestic in the brilliant autumn Sun maybe you have these moments too commonplace in every way except for your active when engagement floods your senses drenching you in pleasure when there's no past to regret or future to worry over just the shining magnificent or inspiring now naked and laughing Amy bloom the first time I really thought about nakedness about my own naked body in particular about the fact that animals were always naked and people almost never were I was in my neighbor's swimming pool I was around 8:00 and the older kids had gone to get snacks and towels the adults were doing adult things I was the only person in a 50-foot long blue Basin filled with 80 degree water I slipped off my shoulder straps and suddenly rolled down my suit caught it with my toe and flipped it onto the cement edge of the pool I did the breaststroke for one lap and my own myopic lifted head crawl for another for however long it takes three kids to make bologna sandwiches and fine beach towels I was in a new world like the first man on the Moon had Neil Armstrong been given - giggling no one had mentioned this world to me I went from pajamas to underwear to clothes every morning and back the other way every night and somehow no one had said anything to me about what a good time was to be had between pajamas and underwear after my Saturday of nakedness you might think there'd have been no stopping me there was plenty stopping me my parents both of whom appeared even in my dreams fully closed school boys cold weather but when I could I'd lie under our willow tree shielded by its long green curtain and read PG Woodhouse and Dorothy Parker in nothing but my socks naked and laughing best naked Saturday since I was eight the man I love is standing in front of me in our bedroom he's not naked he's actually more than naked he's wearing an undershirt very wide white and necessary mesh and velcro lumbar support wrap and the navy blue socks that are usually hidden by his suit trousers his boxers are off because he's coming to bed his undershirt and socks are on because his terrible back pain makes both the reaching up and the bending over difficult he looks at himself in the mirror and laughs out loud he puts his black fedora on his head and models the whole look for me naked and laughing can't beat it my unplanned adventure Catherine price it was a Friday night in Shinjuku a Tokyo neighborhood famous for neon signs subterranean shopping malls and rent by the hour lodgings known as love hotels in crowded bars people tipped back beers and sang karaoke young men with black jackets and gelled hair stood on street corners offering menus of available escorts to passers-by in the midst of the action was a store window covered except for a narrow strip of glass if you were to a stopped and look through it you would have seen something strange my legs submerged to the ankles with 600 flesh-eating fish feasting on my feet this is the story of how I got there like many people I approach vacations with a level of preparation appropriate for a medical licensing exam poring over internet reviews reading guidebooks cover to cover and studying maps so I'm oriented from the moment my plane touches down I research I plan I strategize transforming my trips into long to-do lists I must conquer in order for them to be judged a success this tendency was in full effect during a recent week my husband and I spent on kawaii when I broke the island into quadrants and made long lists of every activity we should do while relaxing in paradise it was exhausting and somewhere in the process I started to ask myself why I was doing this what was I trying to accomplish what if instead of meticulously planning I were to just show up in a new place and let the experience unfold by stage-managing every detail I realized I was ruining one of the best parts of travel the adventure so I decided to take a different approach I would go on a trip in which I relinquished control no guidebook no internet research no list of things to see or do instead I would base all my activities from where I stayed to what I ate or saw on the recommendations of strangers even the destination would be chosen by someone else I started by approaching a woman in the fiction section of a San Francisco bookstore and asking her to tell me the most interesting place she'd ever been she responded I love Tokyo and two weeks later I boarded a flight I had a map that was it the ambition of this project didn't fully sink in until the plane took off and I realized I was going to have to ask a stranger where to bunk at first that made me nervous and strangers the same people who steal wallets and kidnapped children but then I looked at the passengers around me a woman in the next row were a bumblebee neck pillow the girl in the seat next to me had adorned each long fake fingernail with a plastic Hello Kitty charm as if worried a customs agent might demand a finger puppet show these I realized were not the strangers my mother had warned me about I asked a flight attendant to recommend a hotel for the night and he consulted the rest of the Tokyo based crew several minutes later he found me in the darkened cabin and handed me a piece of paper with suggestions including Asakusa this is my neighborhood he said introducing himself as Yuri and this he pointed at a different word is a hostile popular was backpackers I hadn't even arrived in Tokyo and I had already learned two important lessons first it's not that scary to ask people for help second I should dress better one hypothesis for why we love guidebooks so much is that relying on experts alleviates our fear of the unknown and makes us feel more in control it's an approach that makes total sense except for one thing it's an ineffective way to plan a fun trip the problem with guidebooks has to do with what psychologists call affective forecasting our ability to predict our emotional that is affective reaction to a future event it's a skill at which we're not particularly good we overestimate how much a positive event will improve our lives we underestimate our ability to bounce back from hardship and when it comes to travel we're likely to be remarkably bad at predicting how much we'll enjoy the very experiences we so carefully planned instead of basing our decisions on our own analysis we should just ask other people whether they had a good time there's ample research to back this up but I still fall into the large camp of people who find it hard to believe that strangers could be better than a guidebook at predicting what I'll like so I was surprised when I emerged from the train station at Asakusa the Northeast Tokyo neighborhood would never have jumped out at me on a map but it was perfect instead of the high-rise as an endless brand name stores that characterized downtown Asakusa was filled with charismatic pedestrian streets lined with small shops and restaurants and was home to the Sensoji temple the oldest in Tokyo after dropping my bags at the hostel which was clean if basic I asked for a restaurant recommendation in English from a young mother on the street and ended up in a small restaurant that specialized in tempura soon I was digging into the waitresses favorite dish a bowl of fried shrimp on top of rice it wasn't the best temp where I'd ever had but I didn't care alone in a strange city on my first night in town I felt inspired by my experiences thus far and excited about what might happen next before collapsing in the hostel I asked a woman who had helped me find a towel what I should do if I woke up early a likely scenario since 2 a.m. in Tokyo was 9 a.m. the day before on America's West Coast she suggested the Tsukiji market this wasn't particularly creative Tsukiji is one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city as well-known as the Empire State Building or Times Square but at 4:00 in the morning what else was I going to do when I awoke at 3:30 Sean's alarm clock I was tempted to stay in bed on principle but I fought the urge and headed into the dark the streets were deserted the subway uncharacteristically empty and I was surprised when I walked out of the station into a stream of people sweeping me toward the cavernous market Tsukiji operated at the speed of a stock exchange motorized carts barreled down it's wet streets in unpredictable directions forklifts hoisted pallets of sea creatures onto trucks and no matter where I stood I was in someone's way worried about meeting my doom under a box of soft-shelled crabs I stuck close to a row of parked trucks and soon entered the main area of the market rows of stalls displayed Styrofoam containers of fresh seafood eels mackerel tightly coiled tentacles of octopus each booth presided over by vendors wearing overcoats to keep out the cold the Sun had barely begun to rise but at the back of the market the daily fish auction was already underway dozens of enormous frozen tuna lay on the ground in a large warehouse each with a round steak cut from its tail and attached to its body by a piece of coloured plastic rope buyers and black galoshes moved methodically from tuna to tuna jabbing the exposed flesh of the tail with hooked tipped wooden sticks to determine the fattiness of the meat as I watched a man climbed atop a small box and began frantically ringing a small Bell then in a torrent of Japanese and hand signals he auctioned off the fish despite the other tourists packed around me I felt exhilarated as if I'd stumbled on to something secret I should pause here to explain my method of communication figuring that most people's English would be as non-existent as my Japanese I'd had a fluent friend translate an introduction and several key questions which I'd printed out on oversized cards and now carried in my bag if I wanted to ask people their favorite dish or sight to see I would show them the card have them write down the answer and have someone else tell me what it said it was an excellent system overall but beware google translate based on its software my introductory card read put fear my name is Catherine price we are forced to travel to ask your opinion of the residents there since the threshold and what to look funny or what should I do other than seeking variety I had no criteria for the people I approached the first person who made eye contact with me usually got a card such was the case with a woman selling greens in a produce market next to its Iggy Ji Won smile tossed my way and I thrust a question into her hands it read what is your favorite restaurant so I tried to explain via hand gestures what I actually meant was I'm hungry for breakfast but already had a large bowl of shrimp tempura for dinner so could you recommend something a little lighter she shook her head shyly and handed it back a few days later a stranger recommended a restaurant called amour when I arrived I sat at the bar which was decorated with a model train set left over from the previous owner with one station in Asakusa and the other in a German alpine village the Train was an odd addition to a French Spanish restaurant in Tokyo but the food lived up to the boundary bending vibe I tucked into a multi-course meal that included everything from smoked salmon crepes - sea urchin consomme the chef and his wife hung out behind the bar as I ate telling me their life stories we traded email addresses and I encouraged them to contact me if they ever came to America she sweets lakelyn tongue I am very happy the chef said at the end of the evening so was i I continued to drift into experiences that I never would have had without strangers help I met a former Seiko board member who was celebrating his 76th birthday with his wife at a sushi restaurant called tuna people the man who spoke perfect English gave me careful directions to a temple in his neighborhood north of Tokyo where monks put on a theatrical fire ritual called a Goma ceremony several times a day that night I asked the head sushi chef for his favorite dish and after giving me both an unsolicited recommendation for an art museum and a plate of julienned raw squid he presented me with a row of negati topped with uncooked mollusks following the suggestion of a young television host I met on the street I sought out a public bath and spent a morning soaking in a pool of steaming hot water backed by a mosaic of a blonde mermaid I asked an artsy looking woman with highlighted hair and a fake leopard collar for her favorite lunch place and ended up in a hawaiian-themed burger restaurant where the staff greeted me with Aloha I never knew what might happen next I went to the Electric Power Historical Museum experimented with something called an aroma computer visited a climbing gym tried on a trendy wig took photos of myself in a subterranean photobooth arcade and wrote a subway train at rush hour yes that was actually suggestion I approached men women old people young people visitors from Taiwan and Australia a toy store employee Starbucks baristas art students bank tellers and a young woman dressed as a bunny rabbit and after each encounter I tried to do everything people told me to do if you talk to me before the trip I'd have predicted that my experiment would be stressful and indeed if it had lasted longer my excitement might well have turned to anxiety and annoyance but instead forbidding myself to plan for the future allowed me to be more grounded in the present I felt a level of calm I rarely do in my normal life where I'm supported not by strangers but by a loving network of family and friends why was this and how could I bring the feeling home my last night in Tokyo fell on a Friday I spent it in an area called the golden gai a dense grid of alleys lined with tiny watering holes the bar I entered had six seats and no standing room and I was presided over by a couple who led double lives as professional voice-over actors for cartoon characters I chatted with the bartender as her husband sat silently in the corner eating rice crackers what did you do today she asked in hesitant English I told her about my project as the bars other customers three men and messy business suits passed around my cards when I announced that I visited acento a public bath she laughed and interrupted me with a flood of Japanese that included two English words dr. fish It was as if I were listening to am sports radio I could tell she was speaking my language but I had no idea what she was saying you know she said seeing my look of confusion dr. fish she made a nibbling motion with her fingers to demonstrate eating your feet eventually I figured out what she was talking about a beauty treatment in which you stick your feet into a tank of water and let a special breed of fish nibble off your dead skin it got it started as a treatment for psoriasis but now apparently was attracting a trendy clientele this was not what I'd anticipated doing on my last night in Tokyo karaoke maybe feet munching fish not so much but what the hell I'd come this far on other people's suggestions why stop now I had only one question how to find a school of fish on call at 9 o'clock on a Friday night but that's the thing once you realize you can ask people for help it doesn't take long to find it the owner gave the name of the spa to one of the businessmen who made a call and found out the fish were not only on duty until 3:00 in the morning but we're about a block from the bar excited the owner led me around the corner and dropped me off in front of a glass window through which I could see a tank full of fish nibbling on someone's exposed toes I bought my ticket rinsed my feet in the locker room and plunked them into the tank then began the most ticklish 10 minutes of my life as fish swam beneath and between my toes quivering as they flicked their tiny mouths against my skin I doubt many philosophical treatises have been written in the company of doctor fish but as a japanese couple join me in the tank and we giggled at one another like love tickling needs no translation I had a thought learning to trust life is like learning to swim first you flail convinced you're going to drown then you notice that if you calm down as possible to tread water and once you let go and just relax you realize that the water was ready to support you all along - for the road Justine van der loon we owe it to ourselves to go on adventures my mother said she was dressed in a kimono drinking a glass of wine in bed I've always wanted to go to Santa Fe I said lying next to her in my pajamas eating a bowl of spaghetti we had no extended family and because we were weirdos in our straight and narrow Connecticut town I was a gangly 12 year old with a bad pageboy she spent her free time painting cubist windmills few friends Santa Fayed is my mother said with a flourish of her arm what's stopping us what should have stopped us was the soon to be discovered fact that my mother was a terrible Vacation Planner dumbly adventurous absent-minded and a little unlucky we packed our bags for New Mexico dreaming of winding mountain pathways and red deserts we rose at dawn and hit the road after a hearty diner breakfast we turned off the highway then off the main drag and then after traveling for miles off the trail to take snapshots of each other triumphantly claiming the flat desolate landscape as our own when we returned to the car it was locked we peered through the window at the keys dangling from the ignition the Coyotes will get us I moaned stand back yelled my wild-eyed mother as she ran toward the car pitched her arm back and through a tiny Boulder through the back driver's side window six months later we toured the northern California coast staying in hippie hotels and making friends with people who owned Volkswagen buses one day we strolled barefoot down an idyllic unpopulated beach gazing out at the cold Bluegreen Pacific hey I said hooking my arm and hers what's that big white thing floating in the water we got closer dipped our toes in and shielded our eyes from the Sun it looks like she began as her hair started to blow wildly several yards away a helicopter touched down and a team of men in yellow uniforms ran toward the water and hoisted out a dead bloated body wrapped in a tarp and strapped it on a stretcher as they filed back toward the helicopter a swollen foot poked out of the blanket bobbing up and down I don't feel good I said me neither she said one Christmas we drove through the lush and gloomy Irish countryside taking tea at Hillside manors and writing melancholy poems in the night my mother woke with a searing toothache the cheery hotel clerk gave us a locals incomplete directions to the hospital I'm not sure what the streets Namie's but it's by Malone's barn and after Dutch take either your second third or fourth right we navigated our way down foggy dark curved roads passing sign after sign with only large black dots on them what do those mean I asked looking at my mother's white knuckles and imagining her as a racecar driver they mean someone died here over the next five years we rented a house in Maine that could have been a set for any movie adaptation of a Stephen King novel and fled from a bed-and-breakfast owned by a new aged couple who beat drums in the back yard at dusk my mother caught bronchitis in Paris I fell off a horse in Utah when I was 17 we put on matching straw hats and boarded a charter plane to a tiny Caribbean island it would be our last trip together for a while I was leaving for college a few months later this will be tropical heaven my mother said as the craft sputtered onto a small landing pad strawberry daiquiris under an umbrella I said after traveling through dejected villages in the back of an open truck we arrived at a cheerless hotel owned by an unfriendly clan we trudged up the steps to a cement room with two cots and mosquito net when I stepped into the shower differentiated from the rest of the room by a drain in the floor I realized that to keep the water flowing one had to hold on to a chain I'm sorry my mother said hopelessly after dark we walked along the shore toward the brightly lit resort in the distance two dark silhouettes pulling heavy baggage along like smugglers in a clumsy attempt at gaining speed my mother swung her duffle in front of her and then fell face-first onto the beach instead of standing up she flopped onto her back sputtering sand I looked at her splayed out lit by the moon and began against my will to giggle she joined me I really do try she said next time I start to plan a trip stop me but I would never I lived for our disastrous exploits other people messed up and had to answer to their mothers my mother and I messed up together then we extracted ourselves from whatever predicament we'd gotten into other people I imagined lived boring lives always explaining themselves and staying out of trouble I preferred our terrible team of two slightly bruised and plainly silly getting into thrilling adventures that pushed the limits of absurdity each one more delightful than the last family rituals Mary Ann ginger every summer vacation my children and I returned to the cottage my parents built in the Blue Ridge Mountains 35 years ago our holiday is never properly launched until upon our arrival just before dark we scramble through the sloping drapery of foliage and descend the ridge behind the house to the meadow where seen Oh Yvonne's hang like circus ropes from a canopy of trees parents and children alike transform instantly we cut vines from the tangled roots and test them for swinging strength holding tightly we let ourselves loose upon the fragrant air soaring toward the distant Twilight mountaintops wreathed in Crown's of early stars the year of saying yes Patricia Volk I say no at the drop of a hat I couch it as knowing what is good for me then I have dinner with my friend Luisa who works in publishing late one afternoon her editor says Luisa on the keynote speaker tonight and I've got a scheduling conflict you have to help me out I found myself on a stage Luisa reports with no idea what I was going to say then it occurred to me Luisa you know more about this than they do and I started talking and it was fine I would have said no I say and wound up at home in bed with a book what's wrong with that you're not living Luisa says you're in a cocoon you're not stretching stretching I have to keep stretching haven't I stretched enough didn't I support a now ex-husband through Medical School while finishing my degree and raising two kids haven't I earned reading in bed with a bowl of great nuts for dinner peace my new drug of choice Luisa and I kiss good night heading uptown I argue with me me what's so good about a book in bed since when don't you take chances I I'm relieved about what I'm missing me but what are you missing how do you know I like arguing with myself everyone's a winner by the time the bus drops me off I've made a decision starting tomorrow for one year I'll strike no from my vocabulary tomorrow morning begins the year of saying yes congratulations it's a book having a book published is like having a baby no stretch marks but it's yours to nurture so yes - Spencer Town Book Fair in upstate New York even though it costs two hundred and ten dollars to rent a car and I only sell one book and yes to the Caltech Athenaeum high tea even though I spend more time flying to Pasadena than in Pasadena and yes to talking to my friend Patti's book club about my book I have a great idea Patti says since your novel deals with the importance of secrets let's everybody tell a secret we've never told I go first and tell a secret involving my ninth grade boyfriend Harry that once seemed devastating tincture of time makes this secret hilarious or so I think but the women sit there frozen nobody else will tell theirs I sell 11 books Broadway debut my friend Martin Coe produces a show at the symphony space uptown would you write something for it he asks I write a little ditty changing the words - how about you why don't you sing it Martin asks the big night arrives it's time for my Broadway debut so what if it's Broadway a 95th Street there are two shows 6:30 and 8:30 I print the lyrics on a doily in case I forget them during the second show I'm so excited I forget to look at the doily and flip my lines it doesn't matter I read somewhere that when asked why he chose to spend his life on the stage Sir Laurence Olivier replied by clapping I get it a blind date he picks me up in my lobby we're both wearing blue and white gingham shirts he's funny cute - even if I'm taller and out--we him at brunch he gets sad talking about his late wife he won't eat walking me home he asks what are you afraid of I'm afraid I'll never see a man in his underwear again I say right there in the street he Yanks the tail of his belt and starts to unzip I scream he says now if you hadn't yelled so loud you would have seen a man and as under where we take the long way home walking miles through Central Park he raves about his new TV equipment then offers to come check out mine examining the setup he says do you have some time we walk more miles to a Best Buy where he discusses my case with the salesman then we walk more miles back and he writes it all down three days later blind date breaks up with me before we hold hands if I ever upgrade my TV I'll know just what to get what next the year of yes isn't over looming is a boat trip down the Hudson cooking for a fundraiser a hat making class and ashram with my sister two speeches and participation in New York City International pickle day when yes here is up will I go back to know and grape-nuts maybe but perhaps less of both there isn't one thing I said yes to that I'm sorry I said yes to and look what I would have missed no means safety and the numbing stasis that implies unchanged the change has to do with the joy of being available to chance there is a thrilling difference between being comfortable and being too comfortable that difference makes you feel there's no better word for it radiant sharing delight to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with Mark Twain spread a little sunshine Martha Beck I'm one of those people who just want to make everyone's day I love humanity each man's joy is a joy to me let's be honest though I can't spend all my time bringing bliss to others I have work to do and bills to pay also someone has to watch all six seasons have lost on DVD and to be blunt I don't see you stepping up but I digress my point is I'm sure you two want to make other people's days you with your six page to-do list and your life devouring job and that will work for sleep expression on your haunted little face that's why I'm here to offer you not just seven ways to make someone else's day but seven ways to make someone else's day without getting up you may need to dial a phone but your torso can remain inert that is my kind of altruism as you read the suggestions that follow monitor yourself if your mind says great idea but your body says Oh too much work your body wins your mind will tell you it's virtuous to make someone's day in ways that make your own day stressful but trust me that just cancels out the overall benefit this is simple math people undertake these do good strategies if and only if they feel exceptionally easy one feel good around other people back in the 60s and by that I mean the 1660s a Dutch scientist named Christian Huygens realized that multiple pendulums mounted on the same wall always ended up swinging in perfect synchrony even when he had set them in motion at different times this phenomenon is called entrainment and in my experience humans are just as likely to fall in sync as Huygens clocks at the very least many neuroscientists believe that our so called mirror neurons can foster our ability to empathize with the emotions we observe in others one rageaholic can fill an entire office with anger while a truly happy person can lighten the mood for everyone around her I once spent several hours in a room full of large sleeping dogs who entrained me into such peace I now count that uneventful afternoon as one of my life's highlights to make someone's day all you have to do is stay physically near her while remaining in a state of contentment humor compassion or calm getting deeply happy around any loved one acquaintance or stranger refused to let go of your good mood you don't have to say or do anything else really it'll make your day to see how easily you can make someone else's and before you know it you'll be soothing entire stressed-out crowds like the ones you find a food courts and matador conventions to pretend people love you one of the statements that changed my life comes from spiritual teacher Byron Katie when I walk into a room I know that everyone in it loves me I just don't expect them to realize it yet I'm by no means certain that everyone in every room loves me but I found that pretending they do works nicely when I want to make someone's day I spent much of my life wandering about armored against criticism and rejection unaware that my weary defense appeared to others as inexplicable offense and since everyone around me was also frightened their defenses escalated the moment they encountered mine which in turn ratcheted up to me theirs and so on this emotional arms race drives people apart in every home office subway car dentist's office rice field and square dancing school on earth but pretending other people love you flips that vicious cycle into a virtuous one imagine how you'd enter a public space say grocery store if you knew without a doubt that everyone in it adored you how would you move how would you look at people what would you say now imagine interacting with a loved one while feeling so sure of her infinite unconditional acceptance that you had no need for reaffirmation how would you behave you probably lay down some of your armor then she would loosen hers then you'd relax even more and so on and on and on try it right now you can do so without getting up pretending someone loves you right where you sit will begin a day making spiral of love 3 stop worrying about everyone Barbara sits before me fairly drowning and stress hormones her parents have come to the session with her would do anything to eliminate her anxiety disorder and the panic attacks that go with it well almost anything we're so worried says Barbara's mother Janice mom dad says Barbara please don't worry it just puts pressure on me Janice is imploring eyes stay fixed on me what can we do did you hear what she just said I asked he's suffering Dave Barbara's dad tells me and what did she ask she needs to stop being so tense says Janice actually she asked you both to stop worrying I say yes Barbara shouts well of course we'll keep worrying says Dave it's our job Barbara turns to me and whispers help mark this gentle listener love and worry are not the same if you believe they are I point you in the direction a blogger Jenny Lawson who says a hug is like a strangle you haven't finished yet think of someone you're worried about now replace worry with something else creativity perhaps or singing or pseudo coo I'm serious it truly will make that person's day for advise people not to trust you one of the first things I tell new clients is not to trust me why should they they don't know me my job is to be trustworthy while telling them to put their trust where it belongs in their own sense of truth people often tell me that simply hearing this is enough to make their day it's like taking spinach from a baby whoever coined the phrase taking candy from a baby never had a baby I also advised my loved ones such as you not to trust me it's not that I'm pernicious or false it's just that I'm fallible if you trust me before trusting yourself you'll rob us both of excellent counsel so please don't trust anything I've said here unless it resonates his truth count on your instincts to keep you safe they will doesn't that make your day five get someone else to help this may require a phone call so put a phone near your Barcalounger then arrange for a third party not yourself to help the person whose day you're trying to make ask her what she needs groceries delivered a cleaning person to detail the kitchen you needn't bankroll these services just be the one who makes the call many are the days folks have made for me by enlisting help on my behalf and I didn't have to feel guilty about burdening them because I know that getting help for someone else is way less arduous than asking for help yourself so go ahead tell a nutritionist about your husband's constipation schedule a massage for your tightly my own best friend use that phone make that day six gossip positively to praise people to their faces is to be disbelieved most of us doubt or discredit positive feedback chalking it up to politeness or brown-nosing or other social convention but what people say behind our backs really sticks my life changed in an adolescent moment when I picked up a phone extension not knowing the line was in use and heard a conversation about me me me I don't know what had gotten into the speakers perhaps a great deal of what can only be called alcohol but they were saying nice things about me this not only made my day it served as a foundation for emotional survival during some tough times thereafter today mistakenly copy someone on an email about his best qualities leave positive comments about your children on notes accidentally scattered around the house admire people loudly to third parties when you know the admired are eavesdropping praise be seven help a loved one play hooky this is an ethically gray area so I would never say you should do it I'm just hypothetically floating the crazy idea that one day you might happen to call in sick for someone you love well I think she'll keep the hand if the bacteria isn't antibiotic resistant but it may be airborne once she's free from school or work you could do something that would enrich her life forever if that's the kind of thing you'd ever do which I would never suggest one day my friend Alan called in sick for his girlfriend Jenny then took her scuba diving to a coral reef where he'd previously planted an engagement ring okay the diving involved getting up but the calling didn't now Alan and Jenny are married does she regret the memos she failed to receive that day the emails that waited 24 extra hours for an answer she does not go figure a river flows through us and really it was with a certain timidity that I began reading Tom Sawyer to my son Charles we live in Italy and Charles at 12 with a smudge of nascent mustache is one of those jaded bicultural kids now produced in such quantities by this shrinking planet half Italian on his father's side half african-american on mine he spends vacations in the States or traveling in Asia and Africa on a prodigiously stamped Passport he's a passionate reader both in Italian and English but compared to the sensational premises of the books he suddenly started devouring after James and the Giant Peach Tom Sawyer seemed parochial overly homespun just plain small yet it seemed to me that a childhood without this book had a dead spot in it I certainly didn't want him discovering it on a reading list for a college course entitled something myth and platonic motif and Mark Twain so I resorted to trickery one September morning as we waded down at the end of our driveway for the bus from the International School to appear down the road I pulled Tom Sawyer out of my pocket and said that though he was far too old to be read to I need to practice for an upcoming book tour as Charles gave me a cut the crap look I added craftily that it would be useful in his often described future career as dictator of the Western Hemisphere 12 is a power-hungry age as it was an American classic a key to the hearts and minds of future subjects then I quickly started reading not at the beginning not even at the whitewashing episode but at a point that instantly chimed with our immediate situation Monday morning found Tom Sawyer miserable Monday morning always found him so because it began another week's slow suffering in school my son his eye still clogged with sleep sat hunched on his backpack on the ledge by the driveway fiddling with a castor bean pod the dog gnawing the toe of his running shoes and listened to Tom's encounter with Huck Finn on the way to school say what is dead cats good for Huck good for cure warts with this is the kind of conversation that in spite of contemporary distractions posed by YouTube Borat and Andre 3000 still sings to the youthful soul I saw a glint in charles's I mark the page he commanded as the bus pulled up and he slouched out of the gate and the next morning he asked me to start all over again at the beginning after that our morning appointments with Tom Sawyer became a ritual I read aloud in the dank northern Italian fog that rises off the Po River at the foot of our hill on blazing clear days with a snowy line of the Alps gleams in the distance in the rain huddled soggy under an umbrella as weeks pass and the oak and castor leaves turned brown and fell around us and the school bus chugged past withering vineyards up the winding road we made our leisurely way through the white washing the pinch bug in church tom staged death and glorious resurrection at his own funeral the terror of Injun Joe the ordeal with Becky Thatcher in the cave the finding of the treasure I recalled my own first reactions to the tale which I read like many other books lying on a creaky glider on my Sun porch in a black bourgeois Philadelphia suburb that spiritually was nearly as far from Samuel Clemens as Missouri as our airy in the Italian Piedmont Hills my husband who was born in Venice during the Second World War and whose childhood experience of Americans was mainly limited to Gary Cooper movies and a standing maternal order to avoid GIS and their offers of chocolate was pleased by our reading and confessed that Tom Sawyer had been his favorite book as a boy when Charles and I challenged him as to what he remembered he listed everything precisely whitewashed funeral Becky cave treasure he said it reminded him of days he'd spent on the lagoon with his friends messing around in boats fishing swimming in canals Venice was cleaner then I always thought of the Mississippi is looking something like the Judaica he added dreamily it's well known that great books are universal but I was struck by the ability of this slender tale to delight any reader just on the verge of growing up one reason it does so of course is that it focuses on the friction between the safe constrained world of childhood and the terrible joys of mature freedom lawless adventure romantic love the heroic pleasure of cutting a figure in the eyes of the world I found unexpectedly touching the scene in which Tom and his friend Joe Harper who've run off to live in a boy's paradise on a Mississippi island begin to sicken of freedom to feel the pangs of desire for rules home the boundaries imposed by their mothers Swimming's no good says I don't seem to care for it somehow when there ain't anybody to say I shan't go in I've seen it many times at the end of the day how boys what the height of their energy seem like Superman with their alarming sophistication their rambunctious strength their overweening need to push limits suddenly almost pathetically asked to be children again both Charles and I sat riveted the morning I read Clemens is chilling expansion into oratory as he describes the dying villains futile attempts to gather drinking water from a dripping stalactite that drop was falling when the pyramids were new when Troy fell when the foundations of Rome were laid when Christ was crucified when Columbus sailed it is falling now it will still be falling when all these things shall have sunk down the afternoon of history and the twilight of tradition and been swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion sometime later Charles said you forget that all this stuff is happening to just one boy in a tiny little town it's a big story big that's just what I thought and at the end of our reading I felt triumphant pleased that an American River a small-town tale could reach over time and space the snug life Celia barber the nicest thing I ever did for my single self was to buy an apartment in New York City's West Village I'd been slumming it for seven years living in a fifth floor walk-up tenement and one day I decided that a proper home was no longer a self-indulgence I was as real a grown-up as I'd ever be and deserved a real place my lovely one-bedroom apartment had a park out front trees out back a working fireplace and at 575 square feet was just big enough for me and my cat and the occasional dinner party with friends no sooner had I settled in then I met my husband Peter and he moved in we felt cozy life was sweet sometimes at night we'd sit on the stoop with two jelly jar glasses of scotch and watch the people passing by a year and a half later George was born and I dusted off an old baby basket and placed it on the floor beside our bed when Henry came along sixteen months after that he laid claim to the basket and George was reassigned to our walk-in closet which Peter a proficient carpenter had transformed into a nursery then Sidonie was born switch switch switch George to a trundle bed built by Peter that rolled under our bed Henry into the closet the baby girl in the basket and so we lived snug as mice for a very happy little while last year we moved into a house built in 1900 it has three storeys eight rooms and five bathrooms plus an attic that smells like heat and a basement that smells like mold it has doors that close and hallways separating one room from another places to talk privately on the phone and to do yoga in the morning without having my torso straddled by a kid who has suddenly perceived my untapped potential as a hobby horse our house is not big at least by contemporary standards because it has no superfluous rooms devoted to leisure or grandeur no family room for example and no great room cowering beneath a cathedral ceiling we just have the basic LRD r BR K study which is fine despite the fact that the kids are growing like corn because all our rooms are living rooms by which I mean we live in the mall the only time I find myself wishing for more square footage is when I'm overwhelmed by stuff books faces wrapping paper hand-me-downs waiting to be grown into chairs and daydream about building an edition where the flotsam could comfortably reside then I think don't be crazy Celia a home is a place to do things not store things it's not meant to house your possessions but your life and it turns out that our lives together are quite compact yes during the day we eat might spiral off into the wide wild world the kids at school studying China or peninsulas bicycling around the neighborhood or sledding down the hill Peter and I dogged Li pursuing our careers but back at home we draw close this habit of being in one another's presence engrained unconsciously we collect in the same room even if we're each doing our own things the boys building Lego speedboats Peter replying to emails me reading Sidonie communicating quietly to her stuffed animals we may not be interacting with one another at all but having started out like pieces of a single puzzle nestled together so neatly we still return to that familiar configuration as individuals we may be big but as a family we are really very small married with other people's children Veronica chambers all my adult life I've had a passion for what I call OPC other people's children I love introducing my nieces and nephews and kid friends to my favorite books jump rope tricks and rhymes I tried to have my own relationship with the children in my life I write them letters call them for playdates go to recitals and plays and as I've gotten into my 30s I've upped the ante it took me six months for example to find a Hawaiian tiki hut slash lemonade stand and a pair of matchin grass skirts to ship to my nieces in Philadelphia for Christmas the year before I'd given my nephews a laptop I've opened 529 savings funds for their college education which turned out to be easy with a minimum of a $25 monthly contribution I could set up an automatic withdrawal from my bank account and after a while that $50 or $75 didn't hurt at all one year I sent my nephew Frederic to football camp at the University of Pennsylvania he comes from a rough neighborhood and at the time he was 13 and already getting into trouble with gangs he's a talented football player hence the cap but more than anything I wanted him to get a glimpse of college life I loved driving him up to the Penn dorms and seeing him fall in love with campus life the summer after that I sent Frederick's brother Jesse to a mountain biking camp in New Hampshire I was looking for a place where Jesse wouldn't feel like a fresh air fun kid but would still get a glimpse of a different life Jesse spent two weeks biking down ski trails riding through mud he also learned how to pitch a tent and surf and I became the coolest aunt ever this past summer Jesse came to stay with us for seven weeks for years we've been finding programs for our nephews writing checks but having Jesse lived with us for almost two months took things to a new level he had schoolwork to do and book reports to write on his break we had to learn how to be disciplinarians we also had to organize his social schedule the first day I had two 12 year old boys running through my house I thought I was going to lose my mind then came the day when I had four twelve-year-old boys running through the house and I realized I had no mind left to lose and that was more than okay I loved it there were hard moments times when Jesse let us know that we were not his parents and we could rot in hell for all he cared there were doors slammed and there were tears both my husband and I were trying to feel for the boundaries in the end we decided we could only do what real parents actually do wing it and pray that when we got it wrong we weren't doing irreparable damage and I'm guessing we didn't because the last night jesse was with us he was invited to a party where all the cool kids he'd met over the summer were going to be hanging out and he chose to stay home and hang out with us instead after Jesse left Jason and I had the conversation we've had a zillion times we would like to have a family and we would really like to adopt but our nieces and nephews are getting older each year these kids become more independent and interesting I have fantasies of taking my nieces to Paris and my nephews to Tokyo of showing the all the places I've been and loved some days Jason and I think why should we bother reaching into the ether for children we do not know when there are already these half-dozen children who stake their claim in our world again and again we get stuck there we love our friends kids we love our nieces and nephews we love being the relief pitcher parents but the problem with other people's children is that you have to give them back then again a week after my nephew went home I walked into his room which had reverted to our guest room and for the first time all summer it did not smell like owed to 12 year old boy I put on a pair of stilettos and a sexy blouse and my husband took me to dinner alone for the first time all summer the waiter arrived with a lovely bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and we raised our glasses to toast the best part of OPC freedom you're welcome Lauren F winner last month my friend Mary and her sister came to visit from Virginia their three-day stay was my great chance to show that though exiled in Manhattan I could still haul out the southern hospitality I wasn't sure that I and my tiny dust bunny grad student apartment were up to it and it turned out that we weren't quite I had to ask my guests to bring their own towels because I owned only two well now I own for Mary sent me a pair of fluffy one 10 ply blue ones as a thank-you gift I grew up on biblical stories about hospitality in Genesis Abraham goes out of his way to welcome three guests strangers all they turn out not to be weary rumpled travelers but angels who have come to tell the childless Abraham and Sarah that they'll soon have a son this story is echoed in the Gospels which tell if two men who encounter a stranger on the road to Emmaus as they walk the two men invite the stranger to join them for dinner and while breaking bread they realize their guest is the Risen Jesus fatality is supposed to be something we do for others but whenever I have guests even those who don't buy me towels or turn out to be angels or deities I feel like I'm reaping the benefits hospitality involves sharing an intimate private place and letting someone in shows trust it shows that we're committed to lasting relationships with our friends not just quick coffees when convenient if Mary and her sister had stayed in a hotel when they came to New York we would have met up for dinner one night but I wouldn't have spilled my romantic woes to her at 7:45 a.m. while her sister was showering and I was curling my hair I wouldn't have counseled Mary over late-night tea about whether she should continue to scrape by as a writer or search for a teaching job there simply wouldn't have been time my mother a fine hostess when she sets her mind to it rarely has overnight guests because she feels like she has to turn her house into Martha Stewart Living to accommodate them she stalks the kitchen with home baked goodies dust floorboards that were dusted two days before and buys new hand towels soaps and lotions for the guest bathroom in the 1957 edition of etiquette Emily Post describes the endless trials of the perfect hostess if the cook leaves the hostess will have to organize a last-minute picnic unless she is actually unable to stand up a hostess must keep any physical ailments hush-hush the ideal hostess must have so many perfections that were she described in full no one seemingly but a combination of seer and angel could ever hope to qualify the first step to reviving hospitality is redefining it I can't imagine having time even to shop for dinner much less cook it but I can order in exotic Swedish food that Mary and her sister won't find in Charlottesville I can scan my crowded bookshelves for the titles they'll enjoy and leave them on the bedside table and I can make sure Mary's favorite Irish teas in my cabinet guests aren't looking for five course meals they're looking for a little comfort away from home a firm mattress a warm welcome and what they offer in return is the incomparable joy of closeness the Joan show Jessica winter my husband saw her first on a cold December afternoon the veterinary clinic down the street from our apartment sometimes Park stray kittens in its front window a scrawny calico with fur like dandelion fluff was mewling at him through the glass as if he were an errant teenager who just plowed his bicycle into her parked car he called me I hustled over when I picked her up her body relaxed instantly as if she'd been rigid with anticipation a long time and now could finally breathe easy she hooked her tiny white paws over my shoulder and snuggled close she purred dreamily she sighed a little kitten sigh half an hour later she was in our apartment now years later that moment to the clinic remains the one and only time I have ever gotten a hug from my cat first impressions to the contrary Joan my husband named her Joan as in Didion for her poison figure does not like being cuddled when she submits to petting it is often with the Wrigley distressed manner of a small child surrendering to the attentions of a grizzled old aunt with an ashtray kiss failure has touched much of my tenure as Joan's CO Guardian I failed to teach her to fetch I failed to convince her that the couch is not a potato that needs peeling I failed to sell her on her water bowl faucets only I can't change Joan or even slightly modify her instead she has changed me it never occurred to me before that I could love another creature so much without expecting reciprocation I must be content to admire Joan slightly from afar as one might admire a famous actor or athlete the upside is that I have year-round tickets excellent seats two for the Joan show spinning leaps through the air at a dangled dish towel vertical Sprint's along our living room walls heroic combat crawl missions into my parents garden from which she emerges with voles attached to her claws like finger puppets and once in a while should curl up beside us at bedtime or offer a friendly headbutt maybe I'll come home from work and she'll trot up the hall to greet me cooing like a Turtledove or maybe I'll be crying over something stupid and she'll place the comforting paw on my knee come to think of it she does that dainty paw pad every time and it always makes me laugh through my tears come on get happy it is not easy to find happiness in ourselves and it is not possible to find it elsewhere Agnes rep layer pleasure 101 gretchen reynolds if you're used to thinking of happiness as an elusive unattainable quality that arrives only when everything is absolutely perfect good luck with that you'll be glad to hear that you've got it all wrong as it turns out pleasure can be had quite readily provided you're ready to try a few of these simple steps chocolate can be a taste of ecstasy it not only releases good vibe brain chemicals but also feels pleasant in the mouth it speaks to us culturally of reward and indulgence then there's music try listening to a soothing piece a song that calms you close your eyes your pulse should slow and your muscles loosen not happening put on classical folk rock soul hip hop reggaeton whatever appeals let the music transport you make you forget where you are how long you've been listening and you were saying something about troubles go outside walk or drive to the nearest park or beach away from human hubbub sit quietly listen for finches gulls the whisper of a breeze the bubble and whoosh of a stream if someone is with you reach for that person's hand smile say nothing let the birds chorus look at something beautiful watching cnn's war and natural disaster coverage while good for your civic knowledge won't do much for your sense of well-being but there's an antidote switch to a slow soothing nature show lush landscapes and quiet scenes of ponds and streams quell distress find a room with a view especially if trees grass and sky any of you will help even of a parking lot to find pleasure look at life remember memories often carry melancholy too and that emotion also is bound up in our sense and our joys ask any mother of grown children who sniffs a newborn's peachy sweet head her pleasure will be plaited with loss it won't necessarily be any less boying for that though smell things sense can send you pleasure is wrapped up with remembrance as Marcel Proust knew but neuro scientists are only beginning to understand the smells that give you the most pleasure are tied to your loves and longings and your life's experiences think back to when you were happiest was it your wedding night or the day you got the job of your dreams how did that moment smell was your husband wearing a freshly laundered shirt did your new employer have roses in her office do some detective work visit fragrance counters and flower shops close your eyes breathe deep keep a journal of the smells that unexpectedly transport you then recreate them turn off the lights lie down and inhale a freshly picked rose or burry your nose in one of your husband's shirts preferably one he's just taken off as he slips into bed beside you could you be happier dan Baker PhD it might seem a little mood ring era to suggest taking a happiness quiz many people however are so used to being unhappy that they barely notice it says psychologist dan Baker PhD co-author of what happy people know it's like living next to railroad tracks after a while you don't hear the trains using the latest research Baker has devised an emotional checkup based on his theory that happiness develops from a number of internal qualities including courage love humor altruism and a sense of freedom and purpose although it's impossible to quantify precisely how happy a person is this quiz will give you a general idea of where you fall on the spectrum take a moment to grab a pen and write down how often you agree with the following statements never infrequently sometimes or frequently one I believe my life will truly begin when the right person or circumstances come along never infrequently sometimes frequently - I feel best when I give unconditionally never infrequently sometimes frequently three when I think about people in my life I focus on those who have hurt or disappointed me for when I think about people in my life I focus on those I care about and love five there is not enough time for taking care of me six I've helped myself through difficult times with a positive attitude 7 I take myself very seriously 8 I believe it's up to me to find meaning in my life 9 when things don't go well I feel trapped or overwhelmed 10 although life circumstances change my beliefs and capabilities will allow me to survive and thrive 11 who wouldn't rather receive a gift than give 112 there is a spiritual power that I can turn to for comfort whenever I need to 13 there are events in my life that have left me forever scarred and impaired 14 life is a big joke and it's often at my expense 15 fear keeps me from standing up for what I believe in 16 I've grown emotionally spiritually through difficult and painful events 17 without enough money or love I can't feel secure 18 I make taking care of my health a priority 19 people hurt my feelings 20 life is good and I appreciate what I have 21 I'm unclear about the purpose and meaning of my life 22 what matters most is enjoying relationships 23 I have too much to do 24 I feel fulfilled never infrequently sometimes frequently scoring for every time you answered sometimes give yourself a - for even numbered questions never and infrequently get a 1 and frequently gets a 3 for odd numbered questions never and infrequently get a 3 frequently gets a 1 add up your total results 50 to 70 - congratulations consider yourself a happy person 30 to 49 you're not miserable but your sunny side could use a nudge think about your strengths and the activities you love focus more of your life on them obvious yes but so is sleeping an extra hour when you're tired the trick is to actually do it 29 or less you could be getting so much more from life is your language including the dialogue in your head destructive over time a little lingo substitution can gradually lift the mood is your first impulse to find fault try seeking out possibilities instead do you know any happy people if so what can you learn from them when something bad happens do you fall apart that old cliche about finding strength through adversity is a golden rule for happy people finally are you assuming that money power or status will bring you satisfaction or that everything will be great when someone else changes if so and you get points for being honest try shifting your focus inward and take responsibility for your emotions bottom line and you've probably heard this every third day of your life but there's a reason for that only you can make yourself happy Cheers Lisa Funderburk many of us have a hunch though it hasn't been proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that the only category of humanity more annoying than Street mimes is optimists you know them sunny pollyannas in denial about the world's harsh realities skipping along head in the clouds and no doubt we hope about to step in something unpleasant but optimism is much more than reckless chirping through our days according to experts is a high-voltage power tool in the life skills toolbox researchers have characterized it as everything from a coping mechanism to a physical patterning of neurobiological pathways established in our earliest years optimists know how to bounce back they can see a setback as temporary changeable if an optimist encounters a recipe she can't make work she's likely to perceive the failure as external and temporary and I'm having an off day while the pessimist makes it internal and indelible I'll never learn to cook victories are just the reverse optimist think of them as permanent and far-reaching pessimists think of them as fleeting and situation-specific if you nurture a sense of possibility and the expectation of positive results you're more likely to have a life in which possibilities are realized and results are positive you'll have a better chance of being promoted fighting off the cold that's been going around and attracting people to you platonically and otherwise pessimistic people are two to eight times more at risk for depression and researchers have found that optimists are less likely to develop cancer or to die from heart disease almost everyone can learn to be more optimistic even if that means distorting reality you can also begin to recognize and catalog the negative messages you give yourself then dispute those thoughts as if debating an external foe gradually the new responses become automatic according to some researchers each of us has a happiness set point we've each been dealt a happiness hand some of us with higher cards than others but we can increase our potential for joy by taking steps to get involved with people causes and ideas one of the hallmarks of depression is self absorption and so optimism with its emphasis on seeking and seeing what's good outside of ourselves and in the world helps us take those steps taking a chance on joy Roger Houston you know those moments when nothing special is happening maybe you wake up early one morning to the sound of a thrush outside the window or perhaps to the whirr of the traffic below your apartment and a smile spreads over your face for no reason you feel different aware of an ease in your body that wasn't there before with hindsight I've come to see that moments like these happen when I have forgotten myself when for a moment or two the plot line of my life dissolves and I am just where I am without the responsibility of playing the lead in my own fascinating story my dramas worries and concerns my aspirations and hopes and fears fall away I have no agenda nothing want to do nothing I want to alter or improve upon the air is lighter and so am i but then the world is not easy it can take all our time and attention to avoid hitting the shallows or landing on the rocks that seem to be such an intrinsic part of the human experience we have only to look at our lives or those of people we know to see that pain and suffering strike even the most fortunate so who has time to forget what we're meant to be doing and where we're meant to be going life is a serious business and someone needs to be there to steer the ship what is the use of gazing out the window doing nothing I think our difficulty in accessing happiness lies in large part right there we are usually preoccupied with being useful doing something with an outcome in mind rather than being open to where we are at this moment and we are largely convinced that nobody goes to heaven for having a good time we think pain is virtuous suffering can be a great purifier a forger of character no doubt about that but happiness can take us into the wide world beyond our own self preoccupations it can join us to the trees to other people to cows and to stones into the living pulse of humankind itself it can join us to the China mug of tea in our own hand strange then that it should seem so fleeting joy is weightless light is ether you communicate it less in words than by a savor you leave in the air it is our natural state it is the feeling of who we are when we are most at home in ourselves it means that there's nothing else to add to what we already have or to who we already are why would we ever want to resist it I suspect it's because not having a big story to tell can feel undefended tender there's not so much to hold on to less substance in our identity when we are happy in the sense of wanting nothing happy isn't so interesting to talk about as sad and it doesn't have a through it is for now without any future in mind most of our talking is about the past or future and when we are happy we are in neither the world is so full of sorrows you might say how can we deserve or dare to feel simple delight how can we afford not to the poet Jack Gilbert asks in his poem a brief for the defense sorrow is everywhere he says people are suffering deeply all over the world yet the women in the brothels of Bombay laugh out loud and women at the well smile and sing even as their neighbor is wasting away if we refuse our happiness we diminish in some way their deprivation no we must risk delight we must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world stop whining Roxane gay I have lived in rural America for nine years first in Michigan whereas getting my PhD then in central Illinois and now in Indiana where I'm a professor in a place where most people have lived the whole of their lives I feel like a stranger someone on the outside looking in there are a few things I enjoy more than complaining about my geographic isolation I'm a vegetarian so there's nowhere to go out for a nice dinner that doesn't involve a 50-mile Drive I'm black so there's nowhere to get my hair done that doesn't involve another 50 mile drive I'm single and the dating options are at times rather grim the closest major airport is two hours away I recite these complaints to my parents my brother's my friends I complain and long pathetic emails and essays it just feels so damn good to say I am mildly miserable behold my misery alas suffering offers more nobility than joy sometimes it seems like complaints are the lingua franca among my friends we're all decided was something back in Illinois my friends complained about the train to Chicago and how it's never on time my friends in bigger cities complain about the expensive rent and strange smells on the subway my married friends complained about their partners my single friends complain about the wretchedness of dating I cannot even get into my friends with kids complaining allows us to acknowledge the imperfect without having to take action it lets us luxurious in inertia we all have grand ideas about what life would be like if only we had this or did that or live there perhaps complaining helps bridge the vast yawn between these fantasy selves and reality but it also makes me lose sight of things while I may not love where I live there are plenty of people who are proud to call this place home recently at a party with some colleagues I was going on and on about everything I couldn't stand about our town when I noticed that they were mostly silent and shifting uncomfortably that humbling moment forced a shift in me complaining may offer relief but so does acceptance there is no perfect place there is no perfect life there will always be something to moan about by focusing on my grievances I risk missing out on precious startling moments of joy those times when during a long drive home from the airport I stare out at the Prairie flatness the breathtaking shades of green as tender buds of corn pushed their way through freshly tilled soil at the wooden barns their paint peeling and faded and at all a manor of farm equipment massive but there is poetry and how these behemoths rumble across the land when I get home I stand on my balcony and look up into the night sky and see all the stars and I know that I have absolutely nothing to complain about dare to play brené Brown a few years ago I noticed in my research that wholehearted people my term for men and women with the courage to be vulnerable and live their lives all in shared something else too they goofed off they spent their time doing things that to me seemed frivolous like gardening and reading I couldn't really wrap my head around it where they slackers then one day while I watched my kids jump on the trampoline in our backyard it hit me wholehearted adults play a researcher I know describes play as time spent without purpose to me this sounds like the definition of an anxiety attack I feel behind if I'm not using every last moment to be productive whether that means working cleaning the house or taking my son to baseball practice but I can't ignore what the research mine and others tells us play doing things just because they're fun and not because they'll help achieve a goal is vital to human development play is at the core of creativity and innovation play can mean snorkeling scrapbooking or solving crossword puzzles it's anything that makes us lose track of time and self-consciousness creating the clearing where ideas are born which means it's a mistake to restrict play to vacations there are plenty of ways to incorporate it into your everyday life create a playlist write down three activities you could do for hours on end mine are reading editing photos on my computer and playing ping-pong with my family now carve out time on your calendar even when I'm busiest I schedule unstructured time it's important to protect play time the way you protect work church or PTA meetings play well with others when my husband and kids made their own playlists we realized that our usual vacations which involved sightseeing weren't really anyone's idea of play so now we go places where we can hike swim and play cards things that make us all our most silly creative and free-spirited selves on crumbling my face Catherine Newman my son Ben peers over my shoulder at the photograph in my hand I love that picture he says and of course he does all he sees is his peachy six-year-old self in the foreground blurred with happiness and dancing with his little sister pantsless and laughing who wouldn't smile to see them well someone wouldn't whatever that thing is in the background hunched in its robe over a coffee mug even from here you can't miss my scowl lines like the angry stomp of a pterodactyl foot between the eyes it's the kind of face that would make you pedal your bike faster if you saw it in a window from the street listen I'm a feminist I'm not vain but I mind looking like a bitch remember Dorian Gray how he remained baby-smooth while an old oil painting of him magically wrinkled up into oblivion I'm like that but on opposite day somewhere in the Attic there must be a smooth portrait of me my face a glossy bisque to reflect the contentment I feel inside but my actual face looks as if it's been pressed onto the front of my head after first getting wadded up like a big Mack wrapper I'm getting Botox I joked to my husband Michael but not saw like younger just to prevent me from scowling at all of you I'm totally kidding and then suddenly I'm not what if I were physically unable to pull my face into negativity perhaps I would be paralysed away from my own bouts of bad temper studies have proved this or something like it a facial expression doesn't simply reflect your moods it actually shapes them frown and you feel sad laugh and your spirits left he's mood enhancement one of Botox his promises I can't say since i'm too proud and broke to consider it seriously also the word botulism unnerved me instead I choose a moisturizer from the mile of products at the drugstore but massaging it into my rutted forehead just gives me a scattering of pimples then in the bath one evening I suddenly remember the Old Farmer's Almanac i paged through in the tub as a child in particular the ads for those old-fashioned brownies beauty patches a kind of scotch tape for the face which pulls your wrinkles apart in hopes they'll stay flat the company still exists it turns out the website offering smiling headshots of women and guarantees of happy results plus they're cheap i order some you're supposed to separate them at their perforations lick them and stick them to your skin all in all they're about as high-tech as pebbles or cheese my family understands the beige triangle to be a symbol of my renewed benevolence when I sigh one night over a pot of borscht Ben asks if he can get me a frowny the way you might offer aspirin to someone with a headache my daughter birdie her own face aglow with toddler sweetness touches it with a serious fingertip and asks if I pulled this off then you'll be grumpy well yes maybe because however bizarre this ritual may be it's working taped into placidity I can't really scowl the more I don't scowl the more my family grins back and here's the only part of my strange experiment that isn't crazy the more the people I love most smile at me the happier I feel don't go changing Beth Lavigne recently a friend asked me if I'd ever been to Israel before I could open my mouth she added slyly oh that's right you can't get on a plane I think she was trying to be funny there was a time when I would have died a thousand deaths she knows my dirty secret she's making fun of me she thinks I'm pathetic I am in fact pathetic this time however I stopped the tape in my head and played a new one it said everyone has a screw loose somewhere and having a thing about planes happens to be mine you have no idea how hard I've worked to get here I've been a fearful flier since grade school once I grew up I could why knuckle of flight but the months leading up to it were full of panic attacks sleepless nights cancelling and rebooking and once we landed constant worry about the flight back along with fear came self-loathing I was defective weak chickenshit why could everyone else just do this my last flight was in 1986 a quick and uneventful trip on the shuttle from New York to Boston I haven't flown since oh I tried I tried cognitive behavioral therapy classes tranquilizers meditation workbooks everything seemed to make it worse I once got myself admitted to a Yale University airplane phobia study my first meeting was scheduled for wait for it September 11th 2001 when the World Trade Center was falling I was getting ready to leave for a fear of flying intake needless to say I didn't go to the meeting I didn't go to any subsequent meetings I gave up but the self-flagellation didn't stop look at all the amazing experiences you could be having you big weenie so I decided to go have some on a whim I auditioned for a show at a community theater much to my surprise I got the part then another that involved singing and dancing neither of which I do particularly well all my friends asked aren't you terrified that stopped me short I the queen of panic had zero anxiety about and took much joy in doing something most people fear in other words there were things I could do that other folks couldn't maybe I wasn't going to see the Taj Mahal anytime soon but how many of my friends could blithely play a ninety-year-old obese ex vaudevillian in front of an audience without an ounce of fear life wasn't passing me by because they couldn't get on a plane he was passing me by because I was obsessing about what I couldn't do instead of rocking the things I could fly or don't fly I thought but don't waste another minute whining about it not long after while poking around a gift shop I found a striated Brown with a word engraved in it gratitude it took my breath away that one word distilled my shift in attitude for me to pity myself not to celebrate the talents strengths and opportunities I have well that would be ungrateful The Rock now sits on my dresser I think about its message every day I am not my fears and my fears are not me my world is way bigger than that ask away Elizabeth Gilbert one morning in 1993 I walked into the offices of a famous magazine in New York City and asked for a job as a writer I had no appointment no experience and not a single published article to my name but I'd had an epiphany nobody was ever going to knock on my door and say we understand a talented writer lives here and we'd like to help her with her career no I would have to go knocking on doors so I did I just walked in off the street and asked to be hired as a reporter and guess what it didn't work of course it didn't work they weren't dummies and I was totally unqualified jeez how do you think the world works people but I still think of it as one of the most important moments of my life because it was the boldest when I went home that day I was still broke and obscure but at least I knew I was brave I wouldn't have to suffer the pain of knowing I hadn't tried nearly 800 years ago the Persian mystic poet Rumi wrote you must ask for what you really want he saw asking as a sacred duty and I think he was right not because your wishes will be granted automatically they won't but because the mere act of saying aloud this is who I am and what I've come for seems to awaken a powerful force within by articulating your wish you're making an announcement that you're serious about bringing the next great thing and real lasting happiness into your life the hurdle however is that asking for you really want whether it's a job as a writer or a discount on tires can be difficult especially for women first of all you must know what you really want which can be hard if you were raised to please others secondly you must believe that what you want is worthy again a tricky prospect for women long trained in the dark arts of self-deprecation thirdly you must face the possibility of rejection that's the worst one women don't like being turned down we get enough of that in our personal lives and so like trial lawyers we often ask only questions to which we already know the answers which means no risk which further means no reward the funny thing is that rejection is not so bad really this is something I think men have always understood but a glorious failure can sometimes be more life-affirming than a cautious win this is why men are constantly asking for stuff they might not even deserve or aren't totally qualified to handle I don't say this as an insult to men either I wish more women would do the same because sometimes you get a yes and even if you weren't prepared for that yes you rise to the occasion you aren't ready and then you are it's irrational but it's magical I can't instruct you in exactly how to ask for things it's not my area of expertise and there are too many variables to account for sometimes you have to be gracious and charming and other times you have to be brash and bold but generally speaking it's a surprisingly simple formula just freaking ask because the essential fact is that asking is the best way the only way really to get what you want to do list or not to do list Martha Beck on New Year's Eve when I was 21 I had a chat with a friend I'll call Vicky the last three months sucked Vicky said I had 10 pounds to lose so I didn't let myself leave my room except to go to class until I hit my goal weight she lifted her champagne this is a year I can really start living two days later Vicky was killed in a traffic accident I'm sorry if that story harsh your mellow it's been on my mind for decades since Vicky's death I've never been able to stop asking how would I spend the next three months if I knew they were my last sitting in a dorm room waiting for my thighs to shrink has never made the list our culture loves the phrase it's never too late we want to believe we can toss every adventure onto our bucket list and accomplish them all but life is brief there's a lot we don't have time for chief among them in my book is worrying about our bodies specifically wishing for completely new ones you can make alterations of course lose weight or gain it have surgeons perform anything from liposuction to mole removal ultimately you'll still have to face the fact that we each get one body per lifetime the one I'm in now is mine it's puffy little fingers it's strangely shaped skull it's inexorable mortality and the one you're in is yours Vicki spent her final months obsessing about her supposed physical imperfections it's too late for you or me to do the same instead consider this you have trillions of intricate cells performing a vast array of functions with phenomenal precision even if you do nothing but suck up pork rinds that's a miracle so enough with the self-loathing already and enough to with all the things you don't want to do but do any way to impress people what a waste my client Gloria is a physician whose first words to me were I hate people and I hate to touch them when I asked why she chosen such a people touching profession she replied so I could say I'm a doctor this is what I call ego candy the egos appetite for adulation is endless its capacity to create genuine happiness nil it's far too late to spend another minute starving your soul to feed your need for praise nor do you have time for the toxic people you've been trying to turn into healthy ones many people become wiser calmer and more emotionally healthy with age and experience while other people display neither psychological health nor interest in changing you may already have spent much of your life trying to get the love you deserve and need from someone in that second group I'm so sorry dear but it's too late that love will not be forthcoming here's an idea how's about you spend less time on relationships in which you feel like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football Lucy and Vera bleep pulls away and spend more time with people who don't leave you crushed and disappointed over and over and over go find the people who are waiting to love you because they do exist I promise you this the time you free up can be used in ways you haven't even imagined purging your bucket list creates space for all the little things that make up happiness like napping watching television petting the cat climbing trees or solving crosswords what sane adult has time for such activities you may ask when there are so many important things to achieve well I do I spent years working hard to accomplish important things only to realize that I get limitless joy from filling my bird feeder reading books about stuff that never happened and sitting still for hours at a time not even thinking our culture doesn't consider these acceptable alternatives to a hard-driving high earning important thing yet they're the very activities we turn to once hard work and self-denial have freed up a little time think of Vicky don't wait free that time now if someone accuses you of wasting time tell them that a doctor would be me I have a PhD has just informed you that you have a fatal condition life and don't have long to live even a hundred years is brief and say geologic time then go back to learning origami or watching cat videos it is too late to postpone these things any longer we are time starved people obsessed with fitting huge achievements into our few years in the process we often fill our buckets with things that don't matter or work but when we give up on trying to change what can't be changed and simply embrace what we love a miracle occurs we notice that the moment to be happy has already arrived it's here now thank you for watching this video my friends I hope you really enjoyed it make sure you leave a comment below and please subscribe to this channel I want to give them so much more thank you and I'll see you next time Oprah Winfrey Presents: O's Little Book of Happiness (The Editor's Best Collection - Full Audiobook)