Like Riding a Bike

Today, as part of Bike to Work Week, I biked 7.3 km both ways and realized a couple of unnerving truths.

I'm working as a Special Education Assistant, helping students who are funny and brilliant and ready to put up a fight. And this afternoon, with legs still shaking like saplings in the wind (no, shockingly, I am not a professional cyclist), we went for a run. Well, "run" might not be the appropriate word.

I was told to bring up the rear. Teachers are very strategic - preparing for class feels like drafting a battle plan. We split into three groups, the runners and the walkers - and, as soon as the other teachers were out of sight, the leftovers. After thirty seconds, one girl made it very clear that she wasn't going anywhere - and if she wasn't moving, neither was I. She sat down in the middle of the trail, refusing to move or speak or make eye contact. So I started talking.

I remember being that girl. I remember watching other kids - the ones who grew up playing soccer and could lap me without breaking a sweat - go on up ahead. I remember the ache, when your lungs feel like they're going to explode and your heart is stammering empty excuses: "I'm not feeling well. I got lost. I didn't want to do it, anyways." Or the truth, words that catch on your breath with every pant:

I am trying.

I am trying so hard that my ribs are being forced apart by this swollen heart that just won't let me quit, won't let me stop caring, won't let me walk away.

I sat down on the trail, the black asphalt hot from the sun, and remembered.

I hated running. I hated the taste of metal in my mouth, the smell of sweat, the way every ragged breath seemed to say, "You are not good enough." I heard the words so often, echoing through my sore muscles and pounding heart, it took me a long time to think believe anything else about myself.

Self doubt is like riding a bike - once you learn, you never forget how to tear yourself apart.

I sat down on the trail and spilled my guts to a girl I barely know. To myself, years ago and every day. To each and every inch of skin and bone that has been pounded against the pavement in my mind, or yours, or by this sweet, sweet girl whose head jerked up at a kind word because she will never be used to being told she's good enough.

You are strong, my girl. You are strong enough to stand up, to walk, to run or even crawl. That doesn't matter. You are strong enough to finish this thing.

We stood, shadows falling as the sun rose and warmed the backs of our trembling legs. We got up. We kept going.

Today, as part of Bike to Work Week, I biked 7.3 km both ways and realized a couple of unnerving truths:

I am no Usain Bolt or Lance Armstrong (drugs or not, he could lap me without blinking).

Drinking three cups of coffee is probably not the best way to re-hydrate after a half hour ride to work.

Self-doubt is like riding a bike. Once you've mastered it, it's impossible to forget. And that should be terrifying - it should make you want to sit down in the middle of the road and refuse to move an inch. Getting back up is hard, but that doesn't matter. You are strong enough to finish this thing.

#currentlyreading The 100

In the future, humans live in city-like spaceships orbiting far above Earth's toxic atmosphere. No one knows when, or even if, the long-abandoned planet will be habitable again. But faced with dwindling resources and a growing populace, government leaders know they must reclaim their homeland... before it's too late.

Now, one hundred juvenile delinquents are being sent on a high-stakes mission to recolonize Earth. After a brutal crash landing, the teens arrive on a savagely beautiful planet they've only seen from space. Confronting the dangers of this rugged new world, they struggle to form a tentative community. But they're haunted by their past and uncertain about the future. To survive, they must learn to trust - and even love - again.

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If you're reading this, stop immediately. Grab your wallet, your library card, your best lock pick (well I don't know) and get your hands on a copy of The 100 as soon as possible. Then, if possible, whip up a blueberry smoothie (pictured above) and get reading, because  it might be a few hours before you're able to put it down. With a novel like The 100, it's best to be prepared.

I can't remember the last time I read a book in a single day. The last time I was halfway through the first chapter before I realized how hooked I was. The last time my heart was pounding all the way up to the last page.

The 100 follows four main characters - Wells, Clarke, Glass and Bellamy - with graphic histories, under painful circumstances and clutching secrets close to their chests. Each character shows a different side of their futuristic world, a universe of airlocks and executions that is completely alien and yet unbelievably easy to sink in to. Their stories are full of bravery, longing and fear. All four characters are put in impossible situations over and over again, and the choices they make will make you question your own humanity.

The 100 is fast-paced and original. Kass Morgan jumps back and forth between the past and present, using a different font to signal a time shift. I can't say it's the smoothest transition, and the repeated flashbacks could've felt like an info-dump, but Morgan makes all four stories intriguing and engaging. I cared about each character - I still do, and the sequel Day 21 doesn't come out until September! I'm not a huge sci-fi person, but The 100 is the type of book that I'm still thinking about, days later.

There's also a Netflix series based on The 100, but a quick look at the trailer doesn't seem like it follows the book all that closely (unfortunately), but I've heard good things. Let me know what you think!

What are you #currentlyreading? I love checking the hashtag on instagram. Book lovers take such lovely pictures.

Made with ♥ Monday: Honey Date Scones

Spending the evening curled up on the couch, watching Downton Abbey with my mom. I want to live in a house that's big enough to get lost in, with gold trim on all the doorways and rolling gardens that go on for acres. More than anything, though, I want a British accent. And what goes best with British historical drama? Tea and scones, of course.

These scones are dotted with dates and kissed with honey and oats. That, and they only took me ten minutes to get in the oven. Just enough time to catch the next episode.

Honey & Date Scones

Original recipe here.

You'll need:

2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons brown sugar

1/4 cup chilled butter

1 cup pitted dates, finely chopped

3/4 cup milk

2 tablespoons warmed honey

3 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1/2 oats

Combine flour, baking powder and sugar in a large bowl, then cut in the butter until it's all crumbly and soft. Once, when I was way too caffeinated for my own good and wandering around the kitchen in the middle of the night, I realized how soft flour feels when you mix things with your hands. Like silk against calloused fingertips. Then I figured that, if I was spending five minutes playing with flour, I should probably go to bed. Sorry my story telling skills aren't all that great - not when all my attention is focused on the world of Downton. The end.

But not quite - stir in the dates, then add milk and honey. Mix everything until it's just combined. The original recipe suggests scooping the batter into a paper-lined muffin tin. It's the perfect cross between muffins and scones. "Scuffins," I'd say, because "mones" don't sound very appetizing.

Next up, work together the remaining butter, sugar and oats. Divide it between your muffins and sprinkle on top. Bake at 400F for twenty minutes.

The scones are light as air and crumble in your hands. Take with hot tea and anything British and they'll taste twice as sweet.

Rainy Day Rock & Roll

Today the sky was charcoal grey and alive with rumbling clouds. The only way to drown out the sound of rain was to blast my favorite album until the sun came out to dance.

My mom used to make the house shake, playing A Hard Day's Night until we knew all the songs by heart. I proudly told anyone who bothered to ask (and quite a few who didn't) that the Beatles were my favorite band. I wore my faded T-shirt until it was fraying at the seams. And I still tear up every time I watch John, Paul, George and Ringo, black and white and barely older than I am now, running around a field while Can't By Me Love plays in the background. The Beatles' early years, their tongue-in-cheek-and-screaming-fans pop music that makes you tap your feet like a metronome, are the mental soundtrack of my childhood.

Which is why I was so surprised when my brother admitted that he didn't know how to flip a record. If the music didn't bug the neighbours, I'm pretty sure my yelling "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S A BASIC LIFE SKILL HOW ARE YOU ALMOST TWENTY ONE YEARS OLD" repeatedly down the hall did the trick. Then I cradled the record, turned it over, and softly touched down the needle... and proceeded to dance around the living room, barefoot and skirt twirling, and it was his turn to be embarrassed.

This is something a little new - an outfit of the day (or ootd as the kids are calling it) - because red lipstick, circle skirts and my four favorite British lads never fail to make a rainy day absolutely rock. Happy Saturday!

Dress / Forever 21

Hat / Thrifted

Ode to Pretty Words

I remember being taught how to write in cursive. We were given stacks of worksheets, one after another crammed with loops and bumps and letters that my teacher tried in vain to convince us were actually English. First grade was rough, that's for sure.

Today, handwriting is one of my very favorite things. I love how the letters flow together, creating a constant stream of thoughts and ideas. There's something romantic about cursive that print or type will never match. Handwritten notes from faraway lovers. Handwritten initials spelled out in the sand. Whispers, I do believe, must escape from our mouths in delicate swirls and spindly handwriting.

Typography - art made from words - has been my obsession for the past few weeks. Combine that with watercolour pastels and you have my first attempt some word art of my own. Emily Dickinson + hand painted coffee stains. I am painfully amateur, but if feels good to give my handwriting room to play.

Jasmine Dowling, on the other hand, is the queen of cursive. Graphic designer, artist, and style blogger extraordinaire, she told Cupcake, an Australian women's fashion blog, that her love of handwriting started young. Powerful wisdom pours from her hands in thick black strokes, complete with all the loops and curves that I do so adore. She can transform a simple design from pencil to paint to print in an hour and a half. And she spends her free time exploring Brisbane and dressing like a freaking model. If you aren't in awe yet, visit her instagram at @jasminedowling and you will be.

Check out her shop and designs here and enjoy your weekend with five simple words at your back:

Made with ♥ Monday: Blueberry Muffins

Last week was rough. I came home after work and all I wanted to do was whip up something sweet. Stress baking is absolutely real, people. It's sweeping the nation, causing devastation and mass consumption in its wake. So next time your blood is boiling and your fists are clenched, grab some flour, some sugar and a couple of eggs. These muffins are a quick and easy way to make the hardest days sugary sweet.

Blueberry Muffins

Ingredients:

2 eggs

1 cup milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

3 cups flour

1 cup white sugar

2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 pinch of cinnamon (if you're feeling particularly daring)

1/2 cup butter + 2 tablespoons

2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries

Whisk eggs, milk and vanilla together in a medium bowl. Whip in your wishes for the days to come. Soft whispers and good things make the fluffiest muffins.

In a larger bowl, mix together your flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Cut in the butter with your fingers until it looks like breadcrumbs. Set aside one cup in a smaller bowl to sprinkle on top. Add your wet ingredients and blueberries and fold everything together until it's well combined. At this point, you might be tempted to work out your frustrations and biceps by mixing these like crazy. But don't. Stop, step back, breathe, and be gentle.

Fill your muffin tins 3/4 of the way and sprinkle with the crumble topping. Bake at 350F for 20 minutes.

It's been a week full of sunshine and this was my view on the way to work the other day. Bright blue skies make the hard things worth it.

Book Crushes + Sneak Peaks

I am not ashamed to admit the fact that I've had more than a few literary crushes in my day. Who didn't find Fred and George Weasley's witty conversations completely adorable, or feel their heart beat a little bit faster at Mr Darcy's aloofness and hidden affection. The list is infinitely long, thanks to writers who continue to skew my real world expectations by creating characters that are flawed, funny, and completely irresistible.

Sometimes an author weaves their words together so seamlessly that you can't help but fall in love with a name on the page. You find characters you want to have as your new BFF and boys that are worth drooling over (but not if it's a library book. Come on, guys). And, if that author is Stephanie Perkins, you get to read a love story so sweet and so funny and so true that you want to curl up inside it and live between the pages for the rest of your days.

Three times.

Stephanie Perkin's first book, Anna and the French Kiss, follows a slightly neurotic, artsy and hilarious American girl at a boarding school in Paris. Come on. That, in itself, should be enough to send you flying to the closest bookstore - not to mention her classmate Etienne St Clair who says things like "Oh pants" and speaks with an English accent. Next up we journeyed to San Francisco in Lola and the Boy Next Door to get to know an eccentric dressing clothing designer and her neighbor, Cricket, who is absurdly tall and stays up late working on his latest inventions.

Stephanie Perkins writes characters that I wish I knew. They are such exciting, enthralling and everyday people that I want to go watch a trashy movie with Anna and hear her review it while Etienne smiles fondly and eats buttery popcorn. I want to explore thrift stores with Lola and see what kind of crazy outfit she puts together, then sample her dads' homemade pies with Cricket.

This is a world that seems so utterly tangible that I want to hold it close and never let it go.

Perkins's third book, Isla and the Happily Ever After, is coming out in August this year but you can read the first two chapters online right here. They involve coffee shops and long time crushes and being slightly high on painkillers after having your wisdom teeth removed. Third time's the charm, and I can't wait to stay up late getting to know Stephanie Perkins's latest love story.

Stronger

This has been a really tough week. I started a new job on Monday, working with students who don't always want to listen or cooperate, and every morning my heart feels tugged in a thousand different directions as I make my coffee and work up the courage to fill the day with determination and kindness. In the past week, I've experienced enough highs and lows to last a month. And, to be honest, I could use a little pep talk.

This is for me, for you, for anyone who's having a rough time of it and could use some sweet words to get them by. Because when things get hard, you don't back down. You are so much stronger than that.

You are made of something inexplicable, my darling. Rare gems and undiscovered minerals, the kind that can twist and bend but never break. You bear the weight of sleepless nights and big decisions that settle on your shoulders like layers of sediment, one after another, but you cannot be covered up so easily.

You are made for bad days and frustrated tears, snot and saliva running down your face because it's impossible to cry delicately over things that matter this much. You will not be eroded by time and hardship.

You are made to last.

You are made of stronger stuff than Monday to Friday and all the moments in between. You were forged from tradition, from Sunday morning rituals and just the right amount of cream in your coffee. You, my dear, are built to weather any storm and withstand any trick of fate.

When things get hard, you will stand up and stand on, because you are made of stronger stuff than that.

Have a good weekend and an even better week to come, because per-se-ver-ance is the name of the game and you are in it to last.

Book of the Month: The Book of Negroes

Abducted from Africa as a child and enslaved in South Carolina, Aminata Diallo thinks only of freedom—and of the knowledge she needs to get home. Sold to an indigo trader who recognizes her intelligence, Aminata is torn from her husband and child and thrown into the chaos of the Revolutionary War.

In Manhattan, Aminata helps pen the Book of Negroes, a list of blacks rewarded for service to the king with safe passage to Nova Scotia. There Aminata finds a life of hardship and stinging prejudice. When the British abolitionists come looking for "adventurers" to create a new colony in Sierra Leone, Aminata assists in moving 1,200 Nova Scotians to Africa and aiding the abolitionist cause by revealing the realities of slavery to the British public. 

This captivating story of one woman's remarkable experience spans six decades and three continents and brings to life a crucial chapter in world history.

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Aminata Diallo's life is punctuated by large bodies of water. As a young girl a the beginning of The Book of Negroes (also known internationally as Someone Knows My Name) by Lawrence Hill, her world is clearly bordered by the Joliba River. Aminata is torn away from her land by slave traders, taught to read maps and forced to cross the countless oceans, rivers and streams whose names are printed in the language of her abductors.

It is impossible to simply dip your toes in this book. The first few pages are a promise - an elderly African woman writes from London, working with the abolitionist movement to end the slave trade - like the glimmer of sunlight on water. By the time time you enter Aminata's childhood, you are fully submerged. This book is a headfirst plunge through history that will leave you inspired and informed and completely gutted.

When I posted this picture on Instagram, a friend commented: Be prepared to cry. I think some books deserve warning labels. This book is heavy. This book will shape the way you see the world. I didn't cry.  But I did hold on to The Book of Negroes with clenched fists, willing everything to be alright.

Aminata is both deeply intelligent and deeply emotional. She is practical, capable and adaptable, using her skill as a midwife and knowledge of languages to navigate a new world that is often cruel and raw. Aminata is logical and observant, recording her story with a calculated empathy. Hers are eyes that have seen so much that, as an old woman looking back on her life, she gives the history of the African slave trade a profound human element.

This book taught me about history but it taught me so much more about humanity. About what it means to be a bystander. About how often we don't question social norms if they don't directly affect us. 

"Honey, I said, my life is a ghost story," Aminata tells a girl who questions her about her past. She may be haunted by the ghosts of her former lives, but Aminata the storyteller - the djeli - is a powerful source of hope. She is like sunlight, glimmering on the horizon no matter how foreign a shore.