Santa Barbara Photo Journal.

Last summer, Jordan and I decided that we really wanted to take a trip for no reason. We started saving and ended up deciding on Santa Barbara, California in the off-season in hopes that we could have a warm respite from the North Carolina cold. The week we chose also happened to coincide with my birthday! 

It wasn't quite as warm as we'd expected (which is why you're going to see pictures of Jordan on multiple days in the only sweater he brought), but it was VERY fun. Every bit of this trip was as relaxing, hilarious, and romantic as I'd hoped it would be - it was like a second honeymoon! We haven't traveled just the two of us for non-work reasons since our trip to St. Lucia the day after we got married. It was really special to bond with my husband and fall in love all over again. 

Are you cheese'd out? I know. Sorry. I'm just feelin' love-y right now. 

Here's our trip in pictures! 

The view from our hotel balcony upon waking up Tuesday morning.

Our first field trip was to The Mission, a still-functioning church founded in the 1700's. 

We spent the rest of the day be-bopping around to the Courthouse (featured in It's Complicated!) and the beach before grabbing a beer in the funk zone and having dinner at Los Agaves, the best Mexican restaurant ever. 

Jordan had somehow never been in a courtroom before. "Is this what they all look like?" he asked. Nope. 

Wednesday was my birthday! We started the day with a hike to Inspiration Point, and I'm so glad we did. 

28 was off to a good start! 

Hopped down the mountain, had some great seafood for lunch at Brophy Brothers, then walked along the jetties (and got to see some sea lions! They reminded us so much of Tom Hanks!). 

Okay, so that last picture needs some explaining. When we got a beer before dinner on Tuesday night, Jordan met this man, Doug, at the bar. Apparently we'd been in several of the same places that day, and Doug asked Jordan what we were in town for. Jordan invited Doug to join us for a beer, which led to us hangin' with Doug for about an hour. Since we'd picked up the second round, Doug generously offered to drive us to dinner, saving us an Uber ride. The next day, while we were sea lion-spotting, we turned around on the jetty to find DOUG! It was the most hilarious coincidence, so I pulled a "mom" and made everyone pose for a picture. Pure joy on all our faces - so funny, right?? Doug!! He became a staple of our trip. 

For my birthday, my precious brother and his girlfriend, Emily, sent cupcakes to the hotel. HELLO, DELICIOUS. Jordan took me to a beautiful Italian restaurant that was only steps away from our hotel and that we'd heard raves about. It did not disappoint. Visit Toma if you can!  All in all, easily one of the best birthdays I've ever had. I felt so special. Thanks to everyone who reached out to send birthday wishes - I was beaming all day! 

Thursday morning after breakfast, we rented bikes from our hotel and made out way the opposite direction, up the coastline to Shoreline Park, which is basically heaven. 

We stumbled upon a staircase down to the beach, so we locked our bikes and followed it down. Little did we know we'd be the only people for miles. 

After we grabbed lunch, we did a little wine tasting. Our favorite tasting room by far was Cebada, run by the charming Gina. We felt like we got a special treat because the winemaker, Sandy, appeared while we were there! For about an hour, it was just us, Gina, and Sandy. Incredibly cool and (of course, because I was with my nerdy husband who asked #allthequestions) informative. I did a tasting flight paired with truffles (duh!) and I was amazed at what a difference tasting wine along with chocolate made in both the flavors of the truffles AND the flavors of the wine. Really such a cool experience. 

The only picture I managed to take. 

We went to dinner at a tapas restaurant called Milk and Honey, which we think must have been having an off night because YIKES. And that's all I have to say about that. 

Friday, our last day, was a rainy one. But it was nice - it forced to us actually relax instead of feeling like we needed to fit everything in. Santa Barbara has been in a drought for over six years, and y'all - everyone LOST THEIR MINDS with glee when it rained. Like there'd be a little dusting and you would've thought that doughnuts were pouring from the skies. People were so thrilled at even the smallest amount of rain - made me grateful that I live somewhere where droughts are rare. 

We used this day largely to revisit some places we really liked, like the brewery and the wine tasting room (sensing a theme here?). We also spent an hour relaxing in a man-made Himalayan salt cave. That was quite the experience. I don't know if the "healing powers of the salt" got to me, but the drunk women on a bachelorette party loudly whispering, "IS THAT GUY STILL IN HERE??" about Jordan definitely did. Homegirl was about to get a visit from Swift and Justice. (That's what I just named my fists. Am I pulling it off?) One loud throat-clear and she was quiet. Mostly. ;) 

One more rainy beachwalk and we were almost at the end of our trip. 

We had SUCH a great time on this vacation. If you are considering a California visit, I can't recommend SB highly enough. It's a small enough down that it feels "do-able" in a week, and you aren't fighting the crowds or craziness of a place like LA. Next time, we'll definitely rent a car and visit the Santa Ynez valley for a wine tour. For now, it's good to be home! 

Being Better.

Now this is a story all about how

This world got flipped—turned upside down

I’d like to take a second

Just sit right there

And tell you how racial microaggressions have become commonplace in everyday society and will become even worse now.

---that’s how it goes, right?

Okay, so sue me. I’m not a rapper. Or Will Smith. (Though I did once date a guy with the same name when I was in high school -- true story.) And while that is basically all you need to know about me, let me tell you a little more before we begin this journey through microaggressions and safe spaces and every other awkward party topic by the end of which you’ll probably be begging me:

Let me start by introducing myself and sharing some anecdotes. My name is Neha, and my greatest claim to fame is being able to recite every single line from all three Lord of the Rings movies. A few weeks ago, I drunkenly told a guy friend I’d been crushing on that I wanted to kiss him and he responded with: “Oh, it’s getting late…I should get home.” I once failed to recognize that my emergency brake was on and “drove” for three miles before a very savvy homeless man pointed it out to me. Lastly, and most importantly: I can burp very loudly…. a skill I really like to show off in public. I also spell the word “probably” as “probabaly” 99% of the time without realizing it. #getyouagirlwhocandoboth

Hey! 

And as fun as those tidbits are (yes boys, I’m single), most importantly, I’m a proud woman of color (Once you go brown—you never date down. It’s true.) who is passionate about protecting the lives, rights, identities, and nuances of the increasingly marginalized communities of America.

Which brings us to the fun portion of this post: talking about racial microaggressions!

Here’s the thing: there is no simple way to have a conversation about racial microaggressions. And after spending three years as a teacher followed up by a stint as a volunteer for the Hillary Clinton campaign, I don’t have NEARLY enough money to open up the bar tab that you will inevitably need after reading this. But here is a picture of me picking my nose when I was 5 years old to make you feel a little better:
 

This post is for the people in between “I really want to have a long, detailed conversation with you about race relations - but first, let’s set norms for this talk,” and “I’m interested in this but I kind of also want to close the browser.” This post is for the people out there who aren’t necessarily #woke but aren’t entirely asleep. The people who truly do not know that they’re being offensive when they make jokes about Apu from the Simpsons or assume that Slumdog Millionaire is my life story even though I was born in Ohio. For literally anyone who has ever said, “I don’t really see color,” without being legally color blind.

I’ll cut to the chase. White people, I’m talking to you. But I’m also talking to everyone who at one point in his or her life has been a benevolent racist without realizing it. Let’s get a collective yas before jumping in:

You might be scratching your head and wondering: what is benevolent racism?

I thought racism was bad and all racists were evil. Yes, true.

But the world we live in is much more nuanced than that.

Benevolent racism is what I define as “well-intentioned but damaging notions about minorities that are pre-conceived and never reconciled truthfully.” Or, to put it in less douchebaggy language: believing things about people of color that aren’t necessarily “bad” and continuing to believe those things despite being proven otherwise leading to a need for people of color to “prove” their “normality.” Sorry, still totally sounded like a douchebag—ugh, I tried.

Let me try again and make this point in a way that might make more sense AND that involves a champagne tower, because who doesn’t love a story with a champagne tower in it? #sorrymom

A little backstory: when I was in college (University of South Carolina- GO GAMECOCKS BABY) I made the decision to rush a sorority--literally one of the best choices I’ve ever made in my life…but also a decision that exposed to me to some particularly poignant moments of the above-mentioned “benevolent racism,” that I probably wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. I should also mention at this point that I was one of two girls of color in my sorority. Yup, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Being a woman of color in predominantly white Greek life was never something I really thought was an issue; I met great people, went to fun events, and got to sleep through several chapter meetings that really boosted my nap to class ratio. But during a pre-game for a function, it became clear to me just how big of a problem my ethnicity truly was. And the realization, weirdly enough, didn’t hit me until years later.

Let’s get to the goods: we had just popped the final bottle of champagne for the tower and all the girls were lining up in the living room to take pictures when a boyfriend of a good friend of mine—let’s call him James—came up to me and said something along the lines of, “You know…people were originally really offended when you joined Greek life because you’re Indian, but once they found out you were normal, they were totally cool with it.”

Once. They. Found. Out. You. Were. Normal.

If you read that and are thinking, “OMG WHAT A RACIST,” you are correct. If you read that and though “What’s the big deal—seems like a compliment to me,” you are wrong, but not alone. In fact, at the time, I remember feeling strangely flattered.

Because here’s the thing. Being told I was “normal” by a straight, white, conservative, Christian male made me feel like I’d passed some sort of test: having escaped from the bounds of “Indian-ness” to the “cool, normative American” sphere.

AND THAT RIGHT THERE IS BENEVOLENT RACISM. The fact that despite being a Little Big Town-listening, Game of Thrones-watching, sushi-eatin’ girl in the same sorority as all of my friends, I was singled out as not being “normal,” because of my skin color. That if this guy had gotten even a whiff of the fact that I helped my mom cook rotis at home and listened to Indian music in my car all the time, I wouldn’t have been granted this honor he bestowed upon me. The fact that somehow validating my existence felt necessary for this dude, as if I weren’t perfectly validated before—all because I looked different than what was the expected “normal,” in Greek Life.

Let me be clear. There is no such thing as “normal.” The very idea of “normal” says to me and many other people of color: “Hey, I like you mostly as you are but the things I don’t understand need to go in order for me to really consider you kin.”  

I’m talking about my white friends who were totally cool with me listening to T.I. in the car but who would look at me and deadpan say: “I just don’t get it” when I put on a remarkably similar Indian song. It indicates to me that the minute I jump the fence between the different aspects of my identity, everyone “normal” is watching from the other side…until something becomes easy and relatable like Bollywood or Mindy Kaling.

This lengthy period of judgment isn’t fair at all to people of color because it metaphorically forces us to “stop and go,” “pause and wait,” until people, mostly White people, get around to accepting things that they don’t see as “normal,” or “American.” And it’s understandable that things that are different always take some time to understand or process, but the uncertainty of whether or not my own “normal” is accepted by the dominant culture can be a real bitch when you’re just a 20-something trying to figure your life out.

Holding people of color to a “normative” standard of identification is not only ridiculous but reiterates racist stereotypes for future generations. My parents had to assimilate to prevent discrimination. Now I have to do the same. At some point, my children will have to as well.

As people of color, we are not allowed to be whole in the identities we were born into because it isn’t seen as “normal” or “American” thereby forcing us into a bastardization of who we truly are. We are either wholly Indian or wholly “American and normal.” We are not granted the privilege of being allowed to exist within both identities.

I call this the fishbowl vs. snowglobe theory. Both are spheres of glass but one is rigidly stiff and unmoving, while the other holds different species of fish all swimming and doing their own thang. It’s cool to tell me about Bollywood if you also ask me what my students are up to or why I thought giving myself bangs would be a good idea; that’s recognizing me for all that I am. It’s not cool to push me into one rigid idea of what you know me as and then keep me there.

Look, I’m not totally uncompromising. I love knowing when people have seen Bollywood films before and make it a point to tell me. It’s okay to recognize someone’s collective identity; what’s not okay is to ONLY recognize that person’s collective identity. Yes, I’m Indian-American and yes, I appreciate that you saw a Bollywood movie…but that should never be your opening or the only thing you talk to me about. You should never start a conversation with me by saying, “Namaste,” in the same way that you shouldn’t begin a conversation with someone who is African-American by asking if they like rap. That’s assuming that as minorities, we are only tied to the aspects of culture that you have been exposed to.

Even further, that’s also asking us as minorities to do the work in revealing to you how “normal” we are, as opposed to you taking the time to research unfamiliar things and reconciling them with who we are and recognizing a new normal. Microaggressions ultimately come from laziness nothing else and the only way to really deal with them is to unlearn, research, and relearn.
 

Addressing micro-aggressions might not seem important now since our incoming President has himself used terms of actual aggression toward minority groups and women. But if we are seeking to truly live in a post-racial society, we have to trim the these smaller notions before they grow into full fledged rose bushes. Because here’s the thing: we still live in a world where minorities will constantly have to prove how “normal” we are. How despite the fact that I say “y’all,”—I will still have to be scared when going through a security line at an airport. If you really want to help your friends of color, start by treating them automatically with a blank slate…not with the preconceived notions that you have of them.  

So don’t be that douchebag at a pre-game that tells someone who doesn’t look like you how normal they are. Just don’t do it. Instead, watch these videos below and ask questions about things you don’t understand. You will get a lot of “it’s not our responsibility to teach you’s,” and a lot of “Jesus, what don’t you get about this, already?” but KEEP TRYING. If you really want to hold hands with communities of color (which seriously now that Trump is President-Elect, we could all use), try to reach out from beside us, rather than above us. Let’s start spreading the love instead of the various shitty covers of “Jai Ho,” that are out there:

Many thanks to Mary Catherine for letting me take over her blog for this post. And if you want to (metaphorically) picket my house or show up with (verbal) burning torches to my place of employment, my email is: ParthasN334@gmail.com

Neha, out.

Week 3.

Greetings Bach-Cap Nation,

Writing this guest post feels like I’m coming full circle: I wouldn’t even be watching Bachelor if it weren’t for Mary Catherine. I only started watching during JoJo’s Bachelorette season and I had no idea it could be this good. 

God help us.

Come, accept this rose, and join me for what promises to be the most EXPLOSIVE episode of The Bachelor ever.

• Alright. Preview. We're recapping Liz the Doula who HAS A SECRET that she's totally keeping on the DL by bringing it up at every possible moment.

PICTURED: LIZ'S SECRET MANAGEMENT SYSTEM

• Omg y'all, like, they met at Jade and Tanner's WEDDING and like totally had sexxxxxxxxx omg
• My favorite part of this story was that she got dumped in front of a Cold Stone Creamery.

LIKE IT, LOVE IT, GOTTA HAVE IT

• And now we get to see the AFTERMATH.

PART I: The Aftermath

• Ok, so part of me thinks Nick has had sex with multiple people on previous seasons of this very show, so people really shouldn't be surprised--they knew what they were getting into. But then, I can also see where I'd be upset if I were a contestant here.
• Brianna the Travel Nurse (who's somehow still here) with a grade-A teeth suck.
• "If you have a question, please ask me! I'm an open book." Nick's gonna be holding office hours in the candlelit alcove if you wanna swing by. He'll have free Dunkin'! He values your feedback!

CURRENTLY HANGING IN BACHELOR MANSION

• We see Vanessa, then Astrid getting time with Nick. Side note: no one named Astrid is gonna win The Bachelor. You gotta be a Lauren C to win this game.
• I have no idea who some of these people are.
• So far, everyone's reacting normally like a regular adult human person. So obviously it's time to check in on Crazy Town and see what Corinne's up to.
• "I definitely know how to turn on the sex charm" *THROWS ROBE TO THE FLOOR*

• Her eyes are not the eyes of a sane person. They just aren't.
• Everything's going on swimmingly at Bachelor Mansion. Meanwhile, somewhere near the service entrance, BLACK BOX OVER CORINNE'S BOOBS. She comes out to see Nick in just an overcoat and they walk to a giant red beanbag.
• Nick: "I'm very attracted to Corinne" as she is literally spraying whipped cream on her boobs.

Never forget that her "guilty pleasure" is Frasier. Frasier!

• I hate her so much. I really can't talk about the whipped cream any more so let's just skip to:

PART II: The Rose Ceremony

• Corinne sleeps through the rose ceremony.

• Crazyface aka Josephine gets a rose and I do not know why.
• Dolphinshark gets a rose and says, "move bitches," as she goes to get it. I love her so much.

QUEEN.

• Last rose. Prediction: Jasmine.
• NAILED IT.
• No longer with us: Hailey (aka no underwear), some blonde, Corinne's confidante. Corinne's gonna be pissed when she wakes up.
• Hailey tries to throw shade at Corinne for being gross but come on, Hailey, you introduced yourself by saying you weren't wearing underwear and later said you were your best self that day.
• Summary: no huge surprises.

PART III: Group Date I: Party Like It's 1999

• This group date randomly involves the Backstreet Boys. We've got Christen aka Jane the Virgin, Danielle L aka T. McGee, Raven aka Hoxie, Jasmine, some forgettable characters like Sarah, aaaaaaand ... Corinne.
• Jane is more excited than the rest. Backstreet's BACK, y'all.

• Side note: Backstreet > N*Sync. I won't take it back.
• But really this is a weird date.
• Sarah (who?): "Twelve-year-old me is so excited." Exactly.
• Corinne appears to be having an, ahem, acne problem on the upper chest. Whipped cream will do that to ya.
• The Backstreet Boys are starting a residency at PLANET HOLLYWOOD in Vegas. Applebee's must have already booked 98 Degrees.

PICTURED: NICK LACHEY WITH MEMBERS OF FEDERAL WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM

• T. McGee is really getting into the 90s Britney look with her tied-up top and she's crushing it.
• Meanwhile, Corinne looks like a drugged penguin. Who is sitting on a folding chair in the corner.
• Corinne: "I'm not a crybaby when the attention's not on me, that's not me, I mean, no."

• TIME TO GO TO PLANET HOLLYWOOD!
• T. McGee gets the win and her reward is a slow dance with Nick (Viall, not Lachey) to an a capella version of I Want it That Way.
• Worst prize ever, but earlier T. told us that the Backstreet Boys are her favorite band. Not used to be. Are. Also, liberal use of the term "band."

PICTURED: DISAPPOINTMENT. ALSO PICTURED: ACNE

• Jasmine: "Every day, it's Corinne, Corinne, Corinne. I'm sick of talking about Corinne." Girl, me too.

HOW WE ALL FEEL.

PART IV: One-on-One Date

• YES. VANESSA.

• But first, more Corinne. We learn that her nanny Raquel makes "cheese pasta" like no one else. Is that... mac n cheese? Or some other type of cheese pasta? This is also someone who refers to choreography as "planned dancing."

• Nick takes Vanessa on a zero-G plane, which is sometimes termed the Vomit Comet. We already know where this is gonna end from the preview.

• A picture is worth 1,000 words. Oh, Vanessa. Sweet, sweet Vanessa.
• But we recover. To wrap up the date and get #vulnerable, Nick takes Vanessa to the tallest building in LA, which also had a cameo in Independence Day (1996).

STILL LESS EXPLOSIVE THAN VANESSA

• To lighten the mood, Vanessa tells Nick about the day of her grandfather's funeral.
• Apparently, she got a red rose in the car on the way to the funeral and roses make her think of that day, so this entire show is basically an unending nightmare of flashbacks for her.

"DO YOU WANNA PLAY A GAME?"

• She gets the rose, obv. Vanessa can really see herself falling for Nick, but the previews tell us that poolside tribulations are yet to come.

PART V: Group Date II: #fitness

• Commercial break note: I could not care less about this upcoming island of misfit toys group date. Rachel is the only redeeming thing here. And Dolphinshark. Always Dolphinshark.
• We open with Nick running laps on a track because #sports
• Some former Olympians run up and are immediately identified with excitement despite there being no way anyone would be able to do that. One is a shot putter. It's a very dated crew.

BASICALLY.

• Oh my god, this date is awful. The women are NOT prepared. Except, of course, for Noseballs. Girl's got like 6 sports bras on.
• Dolphinshark: "Nick always gets the silver medal, so I hope maybe he'll get the gold today"

• Dominique sees the writing on the wall early. "Always overlooked. Always overlooked."
• Side note: I couldn't remember who Dominique was and just wrote ??? as a placeholder until her name popped up.
• Astrid wins the grand prize, hot tub time with Nick, but she's so boring that the producers focus on Dominique, who has gotten zero screen time so far and is obviously about to go home.
• Back at Bachelor Mansion, Dominique decides to press it. Surprise: he's not interested. Next stop: tears in the back of the limo.
• No one reacts AT ALL when Nick tells them Dominique is gone.

PICTURED: DOMINIQUE

• Dolphinshark lies down with Nick on a giant printout of his face and I love her so much.
• The rose goes to Rachel (yay!).
• Prediction: Your final three are T. McGee, Rachel, and Vanessa. Rachel is your next Bachelorette.

PART VI: Perfect Storm Pool Party

• There are only EIGHT minutes left in this episode and I am DRAINED. It will not end.
• Dolphinshark, increasingly the muse of this show, previews the pool party: "these girls are really horny and I don't know how this is gonna work." Me either, Dolphinshark. Me either.
• Nick joins Corinne in a bouncy castle: "what are we doing?" Uhh... bouncing?
• Oh, jk, gross public sexy time is happening in the bouncy castle because Corinne.
• Dolphinshark proclaims this the worst pool party she's ever been to, which is saying something. Girl knows her way around a pool.
• Corinne is shown sleeping because that's the new Chad eating meat.
• HOXIE INTERVENTION TIME: "Corinne is 24 and has a nanny."

SHE MAKES GREAT CHEESE PASTA

• Hoxie drops truth left and right re: Corinne. Remember last week when she said that maybe that's the reason he's on The Bachelor for the 4th time?
• Hoxie: "She doesn't even know how to clean a spoon."

• Vanessa confronts Nick about his bouncy castle trysts with Corinne.
• "Are you looking for a wife? Or are you looking for someone to ---- around with?"

END OF THE EPISODE. BOOM.

• They packed A LOT into those last 8 minutes. Wow.
• Next week looks like the Corinne Confrontation this entire season has been building toward. Is Nick here for the right reasons? We'll find out.
• Spoiler: probably not but it'll be great TV.

Y'all, if you've made it this far, thanks for sticking with me! So much happened this week. I'm glad I got to spend it with you. Til next time!

Thank You, President Obama.

It's hard to know where to start. 

Do I start with the first time I ever heard you speak? It was 2004 and I was sitting on the hardwood floor of my parents' house in Decatur, Alabama as we watched the Democratic National Convention for then-nominee John Kerry. You came on the screen and suddenly, what had been a relatively dull and boring convention (at least to 15-year-old-me) lit up like a firecracker. Out of nowhere, there was someone on television talking to me. To me. 

"There is not a liberal America and a conservative America -- there is the United States of America."

My mother said, "Yes," out loud. I looked back and she was crying. So was I. It felt like I'd been alone at a party for hours and a dear friend suddenly touched me on the shoulder. It felt like someone had said my name. This was the America that I always thought was underneath all the rhetoric, all the jaded sideways glances. Here it was. 

Do I start with the day you declared your candidacy for President? It was 2007, and I was in another sitting room in Decatur, Alabama - only this time, it was my high school sweetheart's parents' house. The room was filled with students home from college for the weekend - principled, Southern young people, most of whom were wrestling with where they fell on the political spectrum. Not me. My "A Blue Dot In A Very Red State" bumper sticker had already been fixed (by me) and torn (by someone else) from my bumper by the time you stepped up to that podium in Chicago. But every one of us, no matter our political leanings at the time, were riveted to the screen. Just like before, your energy soared through the airwaves from states away and landed squarely between my eyes. I wept:

"...we landed a man on the moon. We heard a King's call to let justice run down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. We've done this before. Every time a new generation has risen up and done what's needed to be done. Today, we are called once more. And it is time for our generation to answer that call." 

I looked around the room and thought, "He's talking to us." It felt, again, like I had been plucked out of obscurity; like my idealistic and naive beliefs about the goodness in the world were being sung out from a rooftop. 

Do I start with the day I voted for you? When my mother and I went to the fire station in an almost all-White, upper-class neighborhood in Birmingham, where we then lived, and cast our votes for the first African American President of the United States? I was 19. It was the first election I voted in. I still have the t-shirt I wore to the polls - your now famous campaign logo with the word "Change" written across the bottom. I remember curling my hair with extra care that day to go and vote for My President. I touched the ballot after I made my selections, and tears sprang forth in my eyes. "Please," I thought. This would not be the only time I prayed over a ballot, and not the only time I have cast a historic vote -- 2016 gave me both those opportunities again -- but it was the first time. It was because you called on me in 2004 to start paying attention, to keep my ears pricked up for signs of life, to never forsake my part in America's story. 

Or should we begin with later that same day when the votes were tallied and you were elected? I was seated in a small on-campus college apartment, surrounded by the College Democrats at the Birmingham-Southern College. I remember the moment that you walked out onto that stage so well I could almost sketch it from memory: Michelle's black and red dress, the little girls, your powerful words ringing over thousands of people who'd gathered, the way you spoke about your grandmother who'd passed away only two days before.

"This is moment. This is our time...to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth: that out of many, we are one. That while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism and doubt and those that tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up a spirit of a people: 'Yes, we can.'" 

Our eyes red from crying, we held each other and beamed. This had actually happened. It felt dream-like and impossible, but it wasn't. It was real. 

Circa 2008.

I could talk about how, when I served as a corps member with Teach For America in rural Alabama, my students, all African American, weren't ever unclear about the possibility that someone who looks like them could sit in the White House and command a nation. It was a foregone conclusion that they could become President one day -- so obvious that declaring it aloud was met with that special exasperation only teenagers can master. "Of course we can," they'd say, and then go back to their work. And in that youthful, dismissive certainty, that the world changed

I could talk about the many times you've handled sticky situations with grace, candor, and tact. I could talk about your great good humor, your sly smile, your penchant for breaking into song -- be it Al Green or Amazing Grace. I could talk about your kindness, the prisoners you've freed, the soldiers you've brought home, the solace you've provided for families whose loved ones were victims of senseless gun violence. Or your incredible mind. Or your prowess as a leader. Or your steadiness under pressure. Or your ability to bring the voices and the issues of people of color to the forefront. Or any of the hundreds of adjectives that jump to mind when I consider the eight years you've given us.

What I really want to say is that I didn't truly grasp that you weren't going to be President anymore until I realized who was going to be President instead. The grief that overwhelmed me in that moment had nothing to do with an impending Republican White House (because what are we if not a nation built upon the great minds of both political parties?), but instead sprang from a familiar ache in my deep in my gut. It's the same ache that tightens my throat when I consider that one day, my parents will die. It is the tight-chestedness that grips me in moments when my life is teetering on the edge of a permanent change, never to be the same again. And it's not because I'm nostalgic, though I am.

It's because every moment that you've been My President, I have been certain that everything would always work out. I felt safe, taken care of. Suddenly, I wasn't sure anymore. And it broke my heart. 

But the magic of this particular grief is that, turned at a different angle, it became unity. When I wiped away my own tears, I was startled and heartened to find that there were so many others standing right in front of me, feeling the same way. As you've said since that November day in 2016, we can't lose hope. And so I won't. 

I am not hopeful because I am naive, or because I'm ignorant to the fact that minorities, women of color, and people in socio-economic spaces all across the spectrum have different and often far more challenging plights than my own. I understand that many people, lots of whom helped elect our incoming President, have felt overlooked and marginalized. 

I feel this way - this audacious hopefulness that you have taught us to curate - because you have inspired me to trust, despite all of the world's evils, that the good will always win out. To have learned from you for eight years and to come away cynical is to miss the beauty of what your legacy is; to stand for too long with stars in our eyes as we ask ourselves, "Wasn't it great back then?" is to miss the people ahead on the road with whom you've called us to join hands. 

Honoring your legacy means living into the very real pain, fear, and anger that simmer just below the surface; to brave them in the name of changing them. To learn from each other. To love each other. 

"Thank you," just doesn't seem like enough. I hope to make you proud of us in the way we practice what we've learned from the greatest leader of our lifetimes. I will not harden my heart or declare that I won't associate with people with whom I don't agree, however tempting it may be at times, because you've asked us not to do that. Even in your final words to us, you asked us to keep working together:

"My fellow Americans. It has been the honor of my life to serve you. I won't stop. In fact, I will be right there with you as a citizen for all my remaining days. But for now, whether you are young, or whether you're young at heart, I do have one final ask of you as your president. The same thing I asked when you took a chance on me eight years ago. I'm asking you to believe, not in my ability to bring about change, but in yours. I'm asking you to hold fast to that faith written into our founding documents; that idea whisper by slaves and abolitionists, that spirit sung by immigrants and homesteader and those who march for justice. That creed reaffirmed by those who planted flags from foreign battlefields to the surface of the moon. 

A creed at the core of every American whose story is not yet written: Yes we can. Yes we did. Yes we can." 

With pleasure, Mr. President. I believe. Yes we can. 

5 Small Ways To Eat Better.

I'm sure many of you, like me, are trying to do a little better in 2017. A new year always wipes the slate clean and gives us the chance to improve a bit - and I don't know about you, but I can always stand to do a better job with healthy eating. 

With that in mind, here are a few easy ways to clean up your diet. 

1. Watch added sugar. 

More than ever, experts are sure that sugar, not fat, is the culprit in so many American health issues like heart disease. And added sugar is everywhere -- from obvious places, like sugary cereals, to sneaky ones like pasta sauce and mayonnaise. Being mindful of the ingredients in what you eat can be a game-changer for your energy level, skin, and weight. This one can be especially important when reaching for something that sounds healthy, like an organic fruit popsicle, and then realizing that each individual pop has 18 grams of sugar. (Not that this happened to me this week. Oh wait. It did.)

2. Snack plan. 

Just like meal planning (which we'll get to), snack planning is something people rarely consider, but should. Back when I did The Whole30, I had to learn how to snack plan because there was so little I could "legally" eat. When I got hungry, I needed something immediate in my pantry or fridge to provide a little relief between meals, and I needed that thing to already be prepared - otherwise, I would head straight for the chips. When you get home from the grocery store, go ahead and make yourself a few little pre-portioned containers of snacks you can be proud of, like carrots and Greek yogurt, a small bag of grapes, or a container of nuts. It takes so little time and the payoff is HUGE. I actually bought the snack containers featured in the photo above and filled them up with snack food that I know I won't hate myself for eating. It's ready to grab in the fridge whenever I need it.  

3. Swap desserts for fruit. 

Ugh, I know. This one is annoying. And for the record, I don't mean you should do this 100% of the time because dessert is the best and sometimes you just have to go for it. But if you're anything like me, you eat dessert because you want something sweet at the end of a meal, and sometimes that means eating a dessert that isn't really that good. When we eat at home, I rarely make a dessert. Instead, Jordan and I have some plain Greek yogurt with granola and berries, or a couple of clementine oranges (that he makes me peel for him because he can't do it #marriage). It sounds like something on the truly skinny say, but it's a fact: fruit satisfies your sweet tooth. If it doesn't right away, give it some time - you'll be surprised how much you crave it. And if your sweet tooth doesn't ever completely go away, keep a secret stash of dark chocolate covered raisins in your cabinet that you don't tell your husband about. 

4. Meal plan. 

This one is similar to snack planning, but it lasts the whole week. I actually wrote a post on the benefits of meal planning that you can read here - suffice it to say that I'm a big fan. In addition to organizing your entire life and making your grocery store experience pleasant, it also allows you to be intentional about what you eat. I am definitely a grazer - I walk around the house eating a little of this and a little of that until I've accidentally spoiled whatever meal is next. Meal planning prevents that from happening because you aren't wondering, "What's for dinner??" 

5. Sit down and eat. 

Jord and I were talking about this just last night - making a meal an occasion is something we really try to prioritize. If I'm cooking (and I'm trying to cook at home at least 4 nights a week), then we set the table: placemats, napkins, cutlery, pitcher of tea or water on the table. We sit down, say the blessing, put on some music, and have dinner. Granted, we don't do this every time - we're still working on it - but on the nights we do, we both agree that it's so pleasant and a reminder that food is meant to be enjoyed and savored, not scarfed down or binged on. Sharing a meal with someone is really a holy experience, and it's so easy for me to forget that in the busyness of life. 

SO. Are you working on eating better? Tell me what your game plan is. I always need some tips. Come on, Eileen. Spill.