A LETTER TO THE PARENTS…
I sit at my computer with my heart pounding and hands shaking, as I wait for the digital clock to turn to the magical number that marks the opening of online camp registration for counselors. You see, it’s like The Hunger Games, and sometimes, within 30 seconds, all counselor spots get filled.
I make a point to block out my schedule a year in advance, so I’m able to make coming to Family Camp a priority. Why, you ask? Because of the subtle and changing expressions you wear on your face throughout the weekend, Dear Parents…it’s your eyes that are insight to your unsaid thoughts, and the rawness of the in-between moments that reveal your true feelings.
I see your Continue reading Why I keep going back to a magical place I call Camp
Running is like drinking beer (or any kind of alcohol). For some people, it’s an acquired taste.
There was a time in my life when I hated running with a passion, when running half a mile was torturous and I told myself I’d rather die. And when I gained 35 pounds and read that the quickest way to lose weight was to pick up jogging…I gave it a go (and still hated it initially). But that’s the shorter version of the story.
The fact that I gained weight wasn’t the real issue. Sure, I wasn’t happy that I didn’t look like I did in high school anymore. But the weight was just surface level problem.
The real issue was I hated life. I hated myself, and every part of my being. I felt stuck, depressed, hopeless, gross, because I felt like I couldn’t get out of the life I was given. I felt victimized. And then I hated how I felt about that. And hated the fact I felt stuck. I could go on. It was a vicious cycle (insert angry Hulk smash here)…
I knew the only Continue reading Running is like drinking beer