Thought Catalog


50 Awesomely Cheesy Things Happy Couples Say To Express How They Feel (That Aren’t ‘I Love You’)

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 08:00 PM PST

iStockPhoto.com / CoffeeAndMilk
iStockPhoto.com / CoffeeAndMilk

1. "Hell is a world without you in it."

2. “Forever seems like such a short time now that we're together.”

3. "My safe place is in your arms."

4. "Everything got better the day we met."

5. "I love our life together."

6. "Falling for you came more naturally to me than breathing."

7. "Thank you for existing."

8. "You make everything seem so possible."

9. "When I look at you, I see a bigger, brighter, better world."

10. "You're the greatest reward I could have asked for."

11. "Our relationship is the only team I ever want to be on."

12. "Your body is my home."

13. "The future stopped looking so bleak the second I laid eyes on you.”

14. "I think I loved you before I even knew you."

15. "When I’m with you, my heart’s at risk of exploding."

16. "You make everything so much less terrifying."

17. "I really can't imagine doing life without you."

18. "There is so much beauty in us."

19. "Making you smile is my greatest pleasure."

20. "Finding you is my greatest accomplishment."

21. "I honestly don't care what we do, as long as I get to do it with you."

22. "You are my favorite person."

23. "You are my happiness."

24. "You are my world."

25. “When I’m with you, I feel blanketed in the certainty that everything’s going to be okay.”

26. "Loving you is an absolute honor."

27. "I’m addicted to you and I have absolutely no intention of getting sober."

28. "You make me want to be a better person."

29. "Your very presence puts me at ease."

30. "I need you more than oxygen, or water."

31. “You make me want to cry out of pure, unadulterated joy.”

32. “I never have to wonder if we'll stay together. I just know it."

33. "Leaving you isn't an option."

34. "I love you even when I want to rip your head off."

35. "You deserve an Oscar for being awesome."

36. "Nothing can ever stop me from loving you."

37. "You are my everything."

38. "Please don’t die before I do."

39. "Our love is the kind that gives people hope."

40. "If other couples aren’t jealous of us already, they should be."

41. "You make life worth living every single day."

42. "I love you down to your very quirk and flaw."

43. "Without you I wouldn’t know what love is."

44. "The prospect of waking up next to you makes falling asleep so much sweeter."

45. "I found my true self through loving you."

46. "You make me want to believe in a higher power."

47. "Thanks to you, I understand what people mean when they say they feel blessed."

48. "I don't believe in Fate but I do believe we were meant to be."

49. "As long as we have each other, nothing else matters."

50. "Loving you will be my greatest achievement." TC mark

If You’re Afraid Of Death, You’ll Never Want To Hear What Happens When It Doesn’t Quite Take

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 07:00 PM PST

Allan Foster
Allan Foster

With the amount of perpetual sounds the modern world has brought to our lives, human beings can no longer handle the sound of silence and I know why. The only time we ever hear complete silence is in sleep, and death.
I bring the silence.

beetlejuice

The smell of the simmering bubbles of a fresh Pepsi tickled my nose. I fought back a sneeze.

“One more drink doctor,” Big Jim asserted with a raised index finger.

Big Jim lived up to his name. He checked in just a biscuit under 400. A former farmhand who outlived his profession years ago, Big Jim carried the weight about as well as possible. I could tell his frame was over 6’5 even though I had not seen him stand. He looked like a former NFL offensive lineman you would see at some kind of depressing autograph session in a dusty convention center in Cleveland.

I thought about asking Big Jim if he was a former football player, especially since his dementia was so bad. Maybe he had the football-caused brain damage that is all the rage these days? But resisted. I’m old enough to know large people consistently hate being asked if they used to play sports.

So instead, I let Big Jim take a few more gulps of his last Pepsi and I daydreamed out the dirty window of his trailer home, staring at the light rain misting upon the white propane tank in his backyard.

“Okay.”

I followed Big Jim’s voice back to the kitchen table where he placed his elbow on the table and stuck his hand out in a way which made it look like he wanted to arm wrestle me, but I would not arm wrestle the once-powerful man. I would hook his arm to a plastic bag which hung next to my head via a needle and shoot fast-acting poison through his veins.

It never took long for the secret sauce I use to take action. Pretty soon I was alone again in Big Jim’s trailer with just the sound of the sizzling soda lying in front of him on the table.

My patients’ families were usually there to see them through and take over the dark festivities as soon as I administered my juice, but Big Jim’s daughter was a no show. All I got was a note on his front door which said she got called into work and would be by after I left. Must be a hell of a place to work.

With my bag empty, I gathered my things, tipped my cap at the big man and headed to the door. Until I jumped at the sound of a phone ringing on the kitchen table. I looked over to the cell phone resting next to Big Jim and considered answering it for a second before turning away.

I was just about at the door when second sound paused me in my steps. A light meow followed up with a soft brush upon the leg of my trousers kept me inside. I looked down to see a creamy, orange tabby cat rubbing up against my calf.

For some reason the animals my patients left behind always seemed to hit me the hardest. I bent down to pet the cat. Checked the collar. His name was Steve. I gave Steve a few more pats before I stepped out the door with faint tears in my eyes. I’m not made of stone, I swear.

beetlejuice

There was a time when I was controversial, but society swayed heavily in my favor the past two decades. There used to be debate about whether or not I should go to prison, whether or not I was a murderer, but now I had to turn down interviews because I no longer had the time or need for positive press as opposed to ducking reporters day in and day out. Never saw that coming.

The world was a different place and I was now allowed to help terminally ill people like Big Jim die comfortably in peace in their own homes and no longer had to fend off death threats and 20/20 hack jobs while doing it. Putting Big Jim to rest on a rainy Wednesday morning was just business as usual for me now.

Well, that’s what I thought.

It was colder than hell in my house when I came home. A quick duck into my kitchen revealed I must have left the window open when I left hours ago and the cold winds of early-Spring whipped their way into the heart of my modest, one-bedroom home. I slammed the window shut and headed over to my computer in the living room to check in on work.
My email was empty, but my work landline was flashing red, announcing the presence of a voicemail. I hadn’t had one of those in months.

I hit play on the recorder fully expecting some kind of auto-dialed message or telemarketer so I was shocked when the message began with a hideous cough. I cringed as the grating cough turned into an even more grotesque sound, that of furious vomiting. The sound rumbled on for a handful of seconds before it cut out and I scrambled to look at my call log and see who left the message.

The call came from the number I remember belonged to Big Jim.

beetlejuice

I woke up at 3 a.m. in a sweat. This always happened when I drank. The whiskey made me hot with my old age and tickled my bladder in the night.

I downed an extra drink of Jim Beam with my late dinner to calm the nerves in my stomach the message from Big Jim’s message left, but it backfired on me. My body having fully processed the liquor, I was now just wide awake, lying up in bed in the shallow dark coated in sweat.

My eyes scanned the cool darkness of the room before I got up out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom. I quickly relieved myself, didn’t flush the toilet out of a sudden childish fear of creating noise and tiptoed back to my bed like a deer sneaking back into the woods after drinking from a stream.

I tucked myself back under covers, comforted by a freshly-emptied bladder, but it would not last. The sound of a soft, steady beeping radiated from out in my living room. I took a deep breath and soaked in the sound, trying to figure out exactly what it was but couldn’t.

I rushed up out of the bed as fast as I could and stomped towards the living room with my hands balled in fists just in case.

The last lingering effects of the whiskey and the further darkness of the living room caused almost temporarily blindness when I walked into the room, but I could still hear the beeping coming from the corner of the room. I staggered towards the corner with my arms waving out in front of me until my eyes finally adjusted.

The sound was coming from the heart monitor I used for work. I forgot to put it back in the closet after I returned from working with Big Jim. Or had I? I thought I remembered putting it in there. Regardless, the neon green of the device’s LED screen glowed back at me in the night, reading a steady pulse.

“What the hell?”

There was no way the device should have been reading a pulse without being hooked up to a patient. I snatched it up and felt something wet slap up against my naked stomach.

I grabbed the object and almost recoiled when I felt a fist-sized, hard, slippery object come into my grasp. I lifted it up and literally jumped up off the floor.

I Have About 279 Days To Live (And I Just Want You To Pretend I’m Not Dying)

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 06:00 PM PST

Stocksy_txpa8b5e21dXkq000_Medium_872876 (1)
Michela Ravasio

If I knew I was going to die 279 days from now, I wouldn’t go skydiving. I wouldn’t quit my job and head to the casinos of Vegas or the beaches of Fiji. No, I would stay on my current path. No yolo for me, or bucket list to cross off. I’d want things to stay the same.

Yeah, sure I would be a bit more brazen if death was that certain. I wouldn’t think twice about swimming so far out into the ocean that I could barely see the shore; escaping a riptide would become an unadulterated thrill. Yeah, I would spend a bit more money on absurd things like matching cashmere socks and underwear 😎 and fancy food and expensive bottles of wine, but I wouldn’t go crazy.

Oh, and you know what else — I would be more rude honestly, which sounds bad, but if time was really running out I would tell someone to shut up if they were wasting my time, or being petty. Likewise, I'd also be nicer to those who have been so bright and good to me.

…So the final test came back today… And it is that bad… Worse than expected, really.

I guess, now that's it's a reality there is something else I would do. I mean, I guess, I will do. I won't tell anyone I am dying. My dying wish is just to live for a bit longer as if everything is still fine. I want to live among the living, not be a dying person among living people.

Because mostly I just want to spend my last days here like I spent all the days before the diagnosis. Because life is too short to worry about the extraordinary when we have each other; this is all I need, all I want. Those I love, those I call friends, those I call colleagues — I just want a few more moments of normalcy with you. I want to bathe one last month, hopefully several more months, in the simple gifts of our daily co-existence.

I want to be afforded a few more weeks of watching you make breakfast, unworried, and go about your day. I want the great privilege of kissing you without my departure on your mind or your lips; I don’t want you kissing a ghost. I don’t want to weigh down my friends, because selfishly I want them to be as carefree as ever because that’s why I loved them in the first place. I don't want my colleagues to treat me differently, I want to do the same good work we always do. I want to talk with my parents for hours as their son in bloom, not as a gravestone. Please just give me enough time to cherish the most basic things before they are taken from me.

And while this life was too short, I was ultimately so blessed. Thank you. I don’t know who I’m writing this to, who I am thanking, but thank you for giving me all that I had. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

It's almost impossible to hide now.

Today we drove for a few hours outside of the city to a small rural town. We ate at a diner. The food was pretty bad. We walked around and as we sat down on a bench, I told you what was happening to me… But you already knew… Of course you knew. And of course you pretended you didn't know for me, because you love me and you knew that was what I wanted. You did that for me, even though I promised you a wedding and will give you a funeral instead. But you were strong and generous for me. I love you and I'm so sorry I'm going to have to leave you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I can write this a thousand times and I know it won't be enough. I'm sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

And when I called my parents they thought it was some kind of practical joke, and every time I said, “No, no, I’m sorry, listen I'm not kidding” I could hear the news killing them, literally sucking the few years they had left right out of them. When they picked up the phone, they were batteries charged 30% and by the time we hung up they were 10%. And I'm sorry a million times more for dying before you. I'm so sorry. God you don't know how sorry I am, and yet how grateful and thankful I am at the same time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’m sorry and thank you. These are the only words that mean anything when you are dying. Once you tear it all away, get to the core of what your life meant, all that is left is gratitude and apologies.

And now the coughing won’t stop and the pain is too much and I can’t even stand without my whole spine feeling like it’s being impaled by a thousand poisonous knives and everyone is staring at me with such pity and the drugs are making me disappear and I can’t even recognize myself in the mirror and I'm too weak to say "thank you" though I do know my eyes are saying "I'm sorry" and I can’t even remember what it once felt like to have a life ahead of you, to not be dying, and the nausea, the nausea, and tonight I’m dreaming that it’s already tomorrow and I’m waking up next to you, getting ready for work, the sun streaming in through the window, and you kiss me goodbye as I head out the door, but it’s like someone turned off a switch and the dream flickers off and I’m expecting to wake up in the hospital bed but as the dream fades it becomes as clear as translucent white that I will never wake up again. TC mark

What Happens When Two People Don’t Love Equally

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 05:00 PM PST

contento
contento

When two people don’t love equally, there’s a giant elephant sitting patiently in the room. Nobody wants to speak of its presence, to admit they both know it’s there. But everyone can hear it breathing, the floor creaking beneath its weight. It’s impossible to ignore. It just stays there, waiting.

When two people don’t love equally, the one with deeper affection will feel as if they’ve gone crazy. What are they missing? Is there something they could do differently? They won’t understand how sure their heart can be when the one they’re so in love with doesn’t reciprocate. They won’t understand how they can feel so much electricity from a pair of lips, as if this is how lightbulbs came into existence.

When two people don’t love equally, the one with less affection will hate themselves. Maybe not fully, but an element of self-loathing will slip in. They’ll wonder what’s wrong with them, why they can’t seem to feel as sincerely.

When two people don’t love equally, there’s a lot of crying. And it comes from both parties. The kind of crying that comes when a heart is broken in a way no one can comprehend. The kind of crying that comes when you desperately wish you could change something. And maybe the worst kind — the one drenched in guilt.

When two people don’t love equally, someone gets hurt. And someone has to do the hurting.

But that doesn’t mean they don’t ache too. That doesn’t mean they aren’t breaking just as hard. TC mark

Maybe It’s Too Soon To Say I Love You

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 04:00 PM PST

Franca Gimenez
Franca Gimenez

It’s too soon to say I love you because love is just a feeling, and it’s something we think that time will confirm, but sometimes we don’t recognize that it’s real until it’s over. We don’t need time to confirm our feelings, because while we may not know exactly what love is, we know how it feels, and we can’t help how quickly we feel it.

It’s too soon to say I love you because we’re terrified of unreciprocated feelings, and the only way we’ll know this love is mutual is if one of us takes the chance to say it first. But we’re both not sure if loss is worth the risk. And a huge part of love is not allowing the fear of losing someone to keep you from loving them at all. Love is when you’re well aware that a person could completely break you, and you continue to take a chance on them regardless.

It’s too soon to say I love you because we’ve both been hurt before. And this time we’re reluctant to reveal ourselves so easily because the feeling is familiar, and the last time we felt it, it turned out to be temporary. But not all love will last forever, and the love that doesn’t, continues to make us stronger because we constantly look back and learn that the moment we thought we’d never love again, we somehow did.

It’s too soon to say I love you because we’re living someone else’s timeline. We have an idea of how long it’s “supposed” to take to know if you truly love someone, and anything sooner is simple infatuation. It’s early enough for this to be lust not love, and we each will wait until we recognize the difference, but the moment we stop thinking about when certain things are “supposed” to happen is the moment we truly begin to live.

It’s too soon to say I love you, but when we both feel an absence in the quiet, we can’t think of anything else to fill it with. And while we both may be thinking it, our thoughts aren’t loud enough for either one of us to hear.

It’s too soon to say I love you, and everyone else might think we’re crazy for wanting to, but it’s more bizarre to let others dictate our feelings than it is to just admit to them.

It’s too soon to say I love you, but I can’t help that every time we say goodbye I want to. TC mark

The Patience Of A Waitress

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 03:00 PM PST

waitress

image –uleiber

A little after 2 AM on a Tuesday night I walk into a twenty-four-hour diner. I have just finished a solid writing session where I wrestled with words and harnessed them into decent prose. I find my way to an empty booth and take a seat.

"I'll be with you in just a moment," says the waitress as she delivers meals to their tables. It's quite busy considering it's a random weekday night. She's gracefully hustling throughout the restaurant with the utmost efficiency. I look around and notice that she's the only server.

"Hello, my name is Elizabeth. May I take your drink order while you look at the menu?" she says with a tender smile as she places the menu on the table.

"Sure, I'll just take a water, please," I say.

I flip through the pages of the menu and decide on my order. She returns with my water.

"Here's your water," she says. "Are you ready to order?"

"Yeah, I would like the club sandwich, please." As she writes down my order, I notice her black hair has a few streaks of grey in it.

"Would you like regular or seasoned fries?"

"Seasoned please," I say as I examine the little crow’s feet near her eyes.

"All righty then, I'll have your order in a few moments."

She picks up the menu and scurries off to her other duties.

Despite her cheerful demeanor, she looked tired and overworked. She must have been in her mid to late thirties yet possessed more spunk and enthusiasm than a waitress half her age.

I begin to wonder if she has kids and is working at this late hour to provide for them. Maybe she also works at another restaurant and she's pulling a double.

"That was my mom," I think to myself.

Twenty-eight years ago: She made the difficult decision to leave me, her only child, with my grandparents in Mexico so she could make the long trek into the United States with the help of a couple of her siblings that blazed the trail a couple of years earlier. She found a nook for herself in their small apartment and then found an employer who was willing to overlook her lack of documentation.

Twenty-four years ago: A few years of waiting tables, long hours, sweat, tears, frustration, broken hearts, and longing for her son to be with her at last. She finally was able to muster enough cash and resources to be able to send off for her niño quierdo. After a daylong bus ride with my grandfather, I awoke to the kisses of my aunt.

"He's awake," she exclaimed. "Go get gorda!"

"Mi baby, mi niño," my mom cries as she's kissing and hugging me.

I later throw a tantrum when I find out I'm not going back to Mexico.

Twenty years ago: Her English is spoken with a heavy accent, yet her natural sweetness always shines through. She would become a favorite of her patrons. Her work ethic ensured she got tipped well. Her beauty would have many men competing for her attention. Her only bad habit would be to take a cigarette break. She would drive a beat-up '75 Camaro to work. Her big heart would have her taking her mother, father, and little sister into an apartment she shared with a friend and her daughter.

Thirteen years ago: I, her sweet boy, turn into a typical spoiled American teenage shithead, ungrateful of the sacrifices she's made for me to be able to live without serious wants. The long hours she works for me to have a roof over my head, food in my belly, gas in my car, and clothes on my back. She works doubles so I can grow up in a nice city. She confronts an older woman with the wrath of a mama bear when the woman makes not-so-subtle sexual gestures at me. She buys me books, CDs, video games, and a gym membership. She is proud when I get my first job at a fast-food joint. She cries and wonders how she's failed as a mother when she sees my terrible grades in school.

Six years ago: She gets fired from the restaurant where she spent fifteen years working. A jealous coworker trumps up a reason to get rid of her. Her feet are tired. She no longer desires the headaches caused by cooks who slack on her orders because she won't date them. She's annoyed with the cheap patrons who stiff her on tips. She gets a job as a clerk at Chevron. I am freshly out of the Army and I pick her up on my motorcycle and take her on a ride.

"You have really turned into a man, mi amor," she says as she gives me a kiss on the cheek after our ride.

The lone cook peeks his head through the window as he rings the bell to indicate an order is ready. The waitress delivers it to me without hesitation. I chow down. I ask for my check. I leave her a good-sized tip. I wonder whose mom she is. TC mark

Right Here Is Exactly Where You’re Meant To Be

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 02:05 PM PST

photo-1437915015400-137312b61975

Voices hummed and fizzed through the bar, in varying stages of intoxication and volume. I entered with a rush of cold winter air, and every face turned from their conversations or TV screens to give my three friends and I a once-over. I smiled politely in response. This was a small-town bar; it wasn't unusual for Thursdays to be pretty quiet, and for everyone to know everyone that walked through the frost-glazed door.

I went straight to the bar, navigating through a small group of college kids sipping on dollar beers. The bartender, a friend of a friend, nodded at me and took my order. As I waited, I surveyed the 'Thirsty Thursday' scene. This was the main bar in my college town, a small city of less than 5,000 people. Thursdays were usually populated by a few die-hard locals and the string of loyal college students who needed an early weekend and didn't mind standing around, listening to country music, and playing pool.

To my left were the bar stools, each filled with a twenty-something sipping on cheap booze and complaining about term papers. There were several tables with people sprinkled about: a group of older guys with ball caps and a pitcher of beer between them, a middle-aged family lost in conversation, a sprinkle of theatre students winding down from the second night of the show, and a middle table, where my two friends had perched and were now giggling and making googly-eyes at one another. I found a seat at the center table and settled in. In that moment, surrounded by friends, sipping on a mixed drink of Kinky and Sprite, I felt incredibly old.

Just a few months ago, I had become an official college graduate. I walked across the stage, finished my student teaching placement, and crossed my fingers as I took my last, official license test to finally get that little piece of paper that said I did it. All this was exciting. All this was new. And all this was, without a doubt, terrifying.

What I hadn't expected in finally closing this stage of my life was how difficult it would be to find myself again. To figure out where I fit in within a college town I was no longer really a part of. To stay the same person, yet start anew. I felt stuck.

A guy slid into the seat next to me and I nodded in his direction, then did a double-take and pulled him into a hug. He had graduated two years prior, but he still looked the same—tattoos, snapback, and those mischievous eyes. He said he was on a trip for work. His company needed him to make a stop and a purchase, then he'd be back in Las Vegas by tomorrow night. He asked me about my life, and I answered all the typical questions—where I was working, how much I loved it, why I was still living in this town, and that yes, I was planning to move. As we talked, I studied his tattoos. The ink was a rich black, and I traced the lines with my eyes, up and down his arms and hands. I hadn't seen those tattoos in months, maybe even years. They looked so different, yet in a strange way, still so familiar.

***

My drink tasted fruity, and light. As more people filtered in, I found myself settling in to the warmth and buzzing bar air. A few of my friends started a game of pool. I moved to a stool near the table and watched their bodies contort and twist into silly positions to get the best shot. They were laughing, taking goofy pictures between their turns, and poking each other with the pool sticks. I watched them laugh and found myself laughing too, sipping on my fruity drink, starting to feel a light buzz in my own head. Starting to feel a sense of calm.

This bar had always brought me comfort. It was where I had snuck in my sophomore year and flirted with seniors, where I had ordered my first drink, where I had celebrated my twenty-first with a giant pitcher of sour apple vodka, where I had kissed a guy I'd really loved, taken shots with my entire softball team, eaten countless slices of pizza, cried, laughed, and settled into this new life, new home away from home. As I watched my friends tease one another, spill drinks, talk, and toast this random, insignificant Thursday night, I felt a sense of peace.

For the last few weeks, my mind had been spinning. This was supposed to be the time in my life that I'd have it all figured out, that I'd know where I was going, where I was meant to live, who I was supposed to be. But I didn't know any of that. I was productive. I was happy. But I was floating. And plagued with a giant, overarching I don't know.

 One of my guy friends playfully nudged me, snapping me out of my overthinking trance, to hand me another drink. He was handsome, and in the early stage of our friendship, he was still a mystery to me. He started up a conversation, and the friends around us joined in, cracking jokes, snapping pictures, and sipping drinks. I talked. I laughed. I sat back and took it all in—the voices, the dude with his nose nuzzled in a girl's hair in an attempt to woo her and take her home, the brunette at the end of the bar Face-Timing a lover, the shouts and laughter and quiet busyness of a small-town bar.

This was a Thursday night, an insignificant Thursday night. But I felt myself melting into the surroundings, into the humming and fizzing of the air, the energy of the people and places I'd learned to call home. I wasn't sure what I was doing or where I was headed, but as I took another sip, I felt myself warm from the inside. I was, surprisingly, at ease. Okay with not knowing. And over the chatter and clinking of glasses, I heard the little voice in my head whisper, “Right here is exactly where you're meant to be.” TC mark

This Post Brought To You By Taco Bell.

25 Promises You Should Make To Yourself Today For A Better Tomorrow

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 02:00 PM PST

Unsplash Morgan Sessions
Unsplash Morgan Sessions

Of all the promises we make, the most important ones will be the promises we make to ourselves and how we plan on keeping them. Here are 25 promises you should make to yourself today:

1. Promise yourself to accept who you are now until you work on being the best possible version of yourself.

2. Promise yourself  to let love in when it knocks on your door no matter how many times you've been hurt before. Promise yourself to let love heal you.

3. Promise yourself to walk away from the relationship you don't deserve.

4. Promise yourself to leave a place you don't belong in: a job, a country, an apartment…just leave.

5. Promise yourself  to appreciate your friends and your family and everyone you love and show them how much they mean to you.

6. Promise yourself  to forgive yourself for your past mistakes and failures and start over with a solid heart.

7. Promise yourself  to be kinder to yourself and give yourself the same amount of support you would give others.

8. Promise yourself  to do more of what makes you happy, even if you have to do it alone.

9. Promise yourself to tell someone how you really feel about them if they can't make you sleep at night.

10. Promise yourself to try harder to do what you love and turn your life around.

11. Promise yourself  to let the toxic people in your life go.

12. Promise yourself to let the toxic thoughts in your mind go.

13. Promise yourself  to be a lot more spontaneous and a litttle less calculated.

14. Promise yourself  to live a life that feels right to you not anyone else.

15. Promise yourself  to find something good in every painful experience.

16. Promise yourself  to find happiness in the smaller things in life.

17. Promise yourself to take good care of your body and take good care of your mind.

18. Promise yourself  to forget what's behind you and start appreciating what's in front of you.

19. Promise yourself to stop comparing your life to others.

20. Promise yourself  to listen to your gut when it warns you about something.

21. Promise yourself to help someone when they need you.

22. Promise yourself to pick your battles wisely.

23. Promise yourself  to start facing your fears.

24. Promise yourself to start believing in miracles.

25. Promise yourself to keep as much of these promises as you can. TC mark

How To Ignore The Asshole In Your Mind So You Can Lead A Better Life Already

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 01:00 PM PST

Unsplash, Léa Dubedout
Unsplash, Léa Dubedout

Everyone has a jerk inside their head.

You can't listen to the part of you that tells you how much you suck. You know it's there, I know it's there — but if you let it dictate your life, you're going to lose. That voice is what leads to people shutting startups, abandoning blogs, leaving beautifully written novels unfinished and letting themselves down.

Dealing with the jerk who lives in your mind is tough.

It's rough, and it's difficult to manage, but if you can learn how, you stand a chance of accomplishing almost anything.

1. Remember that the small things matter.

That asshole voice is focused on the big things. It doesn't give a shit about the small things, the tasks and obstacles you have to deal with every day. That voice doesn't want you to spend a single day without accomplishing something huge, and it will tear you down when you don't.

But the small things are so important. Tying your shoelaces. Emailing your contacts. Writing 100 words. Making a start. The small things add up, one by one, into the big things. Nothing you do is truly meaningless, as long as you stay mindful.

The bullshit that your asshole voice is telling you about how you're wasting your life, that's not true. Your life is made up of a thousand small things, that you built up every day.

2. Focus on the victories.

When you win, when you win anything, you get bonus points. You get to redeem those in the future when you start to lose. The asshole voice doesn't want you to focus on what's going right, it only wants to look at what's going wrong.

This is why the one person who hates your writing and your work is worth more to you than a hundred people who love it. You twist and scale the bad shit until it seems to outweigh the good.

You have to celebrate every win. No matter how big or small it is, give yourself a moment to commemorate it and feel proud. You'll appreciate them more, and you'll give less ground to the asshole.

3. Stop thinking about weeks and months. Think about days and years.

You have to take things as they come. Take your life one day and one year at a time. The reason for this is that every single day on its own feels like it's worth so much, but the weeks and the months tend to just blur together.

When you look at every day as being valuable, you can continually remind the asshole that you're getting somewhere. Because hey, maybe a lot of big things didn't happen this week or this month — but you sure as shit kicked ass today.

When you look at every year as being valuable, you can let the stress of accomplishment go. You don't have to panic. You don't have to run before you can walk. You don't have to beat yourself up. There's a whole year to accomplish your goals in, so who gives a shit if it's been a few months with no progress?

The asshole wins when you give it a stick to hit you with. Don't make your calendar that stick.

4. Don't give it room to breathe.

When you let the asshole voice take the talking stick, it's not going to give it back. And it won't shut up. It will just keep listing every reason why you suck and should quit right now.

You can't give it the talking stick. You can't give it room to breathe, to relax and to make itself at home. When it rears its head, in the mornings or the late evenings, when your friends are listing their accomplishments and you feel like you have nothing to add, you have to shut it down early and shut it down hard.

Distracting yourself is the key. Use Netflix. Use a good book. Use a walk around the block. Use an awesome recipe for fucking good chocolate and marshmallow brownies. Use anything, but get yourself distracted.

5. Learn to accept that it doesn't matter.

You're allowed to suck at some things. You're allowed to be a truly terrible singer, drummer, programmer, developer or CEO. It might be that you're just not suited to those things. When you fail at them, it doesn't have to be the end of the world.

All it means is that you've had the chance to learn a valuable lesson about what you're good at and what you're not so good at. And now you can sharpen the sword, find your next dragon and get to work fucking slaying it.

It doesn't matter what you're bad at. That's not important in life. What's important is finding out what you're good at, and then working hard to improve. Sure, other people don't suck at the same things you do. Doesn't make them better than you.

Judging a fish and a monkey on their ability to climb a tree isn't fair. Don't do that to yourself.

* * *

5 years ago, I dropped out of law school. That's a tough thing to tell people. I was getting solid marks, with a high grade point average, and my teachers really liked me. I knew if I stuck it out, there was a chance I could have an incredible career.

But I was struggling. I was losing ground. I was waking up and crying in the shower. Because I had a voice in my head who would kick off the day by telling me everything I didn't want to hear.

You have no chance. You're always going to fail. You're always going to lose.

The rest of my life was stretching out ahead of me in an endless line of dominoes, waiting to fall.

I quit and walked away.

I spent 6 months sitting on a couch, watching Scrubs re-runs and wearing out the patience of everyone I loved.

By the time I got my shit together, I had lost almost an entire year to that voice. These days, I'm a lot better at ignoring that voice. I've learned how to deal with it. I've become better at doing the things I love. I started blogging again.

I hit 700,000 views in six months. I started making money as an entrepreneur. I started writing a novel I'm incredibly proud of.

When it starts to whisper, I can ignore it most of the time. And because of that, I'm so much happier than I used to be. I want you to know that the asshole voice doesn't have to win open mic night in your brain. You can take that home every fucking day.
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You can also read this. It's an article about making money as a freelancer. TC mark

What I Really Wish I Could Tell You

Posted: 02 Mar 2016 12:01 PM PST

Unsplash Neill Kumar
Unsplash Neill Kumar

I look at you with a smile on my face and say "it’s good to see you," but what I truly wish I could say is why are you talking to me? I wish I could ask you if you know who you are talking to or are you fooled like everyone else? I wish I could ask you if you are strong enough to keep up with me or is it a matter of time till you run away?

I wish I could tell you I am not used to being loved, I am not used to being treated like a queen and put on a pedestal. I am not used to someone showing up on my doorstep with roses.

I am not used to getting picked up on time, going on fancy dinner dates and receiving loving messages after every date. I am not used to feeling special. I am not used to feeling like my opinions matter and my thoughts count. I am not used to the way you look at me.

I wish I could tell you that I am really strong but really soft at the same time and I still don't know what triggers each of them. I wish I knew how to describe myself to you so you don’t have to struggle so much with trying to define me. I wish you could understand that I want to let you in but I am still trying to see if you are really willing to cross the line.

I wish I could tell you that the reason why I'm so attached to my friends is that they are the ones who truly accepted me when I almost gave up on myself. I can't explain why they love me but they do and I wish I could get the same love from you.

I wish I could tell you that my family put me through hell but I survived, and it took me a while to learn to love them again, this is why I may not know how a family functions and I’m terrified of having one. I wish I could tell you that at one point having a family was all I ever wanted but somehow that changed along the way.

I wish I could tell you that I hated being alone or lonely and I looked for love in all the wrong places, this is why I'm comfortable with my loneliness now, it's now more of an old friend than an enemy. I wish you understood how long it took me to reach this point and how hard it is for me to give it up for someone temporary.

I wish I could tell you I am guarded because the one before you broke down all my walls and left me to deal with the ruins and I had to slowly rebuild it brick by brick. It is so hard for me to break them down again even though I really want to.

I wish I could tell you about how he wasted my time and made me feel worthless, about the days he wasn't there and the nights he disappeared, I wish I could tell you how weak I was with him. After that, I vowed never to feel like that again. 

I wish I could tell you that if you don't plan to love me or take me seriously then please leave now because I am not going to give you my heart if you only want to play with it.

But I also wish I could tell you that if you plan to love me, I plan to love you harder and I will find the place in my heart where I once believed in eternal love and family, the place that is pure and free from all the agony and the pain.

If you plan to love me, I promise to find the right words to describe my feelings and help you unravel the puzzle of my life. If you plan to love me, I will slowly start breaking my own walls brick by brick and leave the door open for you.

If you plan to love me, I will slowly walk away from the comfort of my own loneliness and start embracing companionship again. If you plan to love me, I promise you with all my heart, I will forget about anyone who came before you and you will be the only one.

I wish I could tell you all that but I sip my coffee instead and ask you "How was your day?" TC mark