June 13th.

I always feel like it's a little victory when I finally accept a

not-so-great trait of mine and am able to laugh at it.

I am a little anxious, and slightly weird and maybe gossipy,

and impossibly nerdy.

But I'm also pretty smart and I can be nice and somewhat funny.

And all of these traits are what make my family,

my fiance,

and my friends 

love me.

And today I loved myself a whole lot which is always a reason to celebrate.

You are a palace.

Dear You,

Or me.

A few days ago I talked to a dear friend. A friend who I swear has all of the wisdom in the world flowing through her finger tips and out of her mouth. She compared herself to a house—how sometimes you need to paint and learn to love the color tan, even though it’s hard to change, even if you love your blue paint. And I’m sure you’re reading this thinking, weird? I promise I’m going somewhere with this.

C.S. Lewis once said that we are all houses.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running towers, making courtyards.

You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come live in it Himself.”

But to be honest, sometimes I feel more like a trailer. Sometimes I feel trampled on by others. Sometimes I feel trampled on by myself. Sometimes I feel like God just needs to tear me all down and build me back up again. And lately I’ve had a hard time loving my paint chips, my withered creaks.

But CS Lewis also said that if we knew of our potential, we would understand that we are all possible gods and goddesses. And one day I want to walk into my house, or look at who I am, and gasp at all that I am. I think Heaven will be like that. I think our Father will grab our hands and say, “My dear Talor! Look at you.” And we will all fall to our knees when we see what we are really capable of, how majestic and beautiful we really are. We will see the beauty of those paint chips and withered floors. Because those are the things that make us who we are.

I am a daughter of a King. A King. A Father that loves the pieces out of my quirks, my flaws, and my chipped blue paint.

I will get there one day.

I will love myself as much as He loves me.

I think I owe that to Him.

Love always//talor.

the happiest of happy

For some reason it's been so hard for me to write a blog post lately.
Almost every night I sit and stare at the computer screen for ten minutes and then decide to put it away. Because there has been so much going on and I can't always find the words to comprehend how I'm feeling.

Because one day I'm getting excited about summer semester and the next second I find out that my student loans have been denied without any warning. (FYI college and government loans are shiz sometimes and there is a bunch of illegal stuff you shouldn't do THAT THEY DON'T WARN YOU ABOUT.) Idiots.

And then the next second, I'm going to summer semester and everything is okay.

And then we realize that we can't pay for a New York honeymoon because we are paying for summer semester. And I'm devastated all over again.

And the next second we're at Lagoon and we think: why not Disneyland for a honeymoon?
Because who doesn't love Disneyland?  IT'S THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. If you don't love it, you're just as bad as my student loans and college.
Sorry not sorry. 

Sorry not sorry for using a cliche term.


And now we've decided to go to New York when we are both finished with school as a graduation present.
Because what's better than a New York graduation present? Nothing.





And sometimes I change my major a bunch of times (from teaching to criminal justice to political science) to finally land on something that was sitting in my childhood all along.

And now I'm content.

Although I've used "And" to start almost all of my sentences and it's making me want to gag a little.

Oh, there you are.

OKAY so I have been inspired from a lot of things this week. But last night I was reading a girl's instagram posts--Rachel Brathen aka yoga_girl. She experienced her best friend's death a few weeks ago (I cannot even imagine) and I stumbled upon this post which made me cry endlessly.

"You are gone but you are not. I have taught only two classes since you passed away and Savasana is almost unbearable. Your presence has been so strong. At the end of Saturday's class I had everyone put their hands to their hearts and as I walked around giving small adjustments, I realized...you are in every single person here in this room. I adjusted a girl's shoulders, she has a wooden earring in one of her ears. Just like you. Another girl has a dread, just one, nestled in her messy hair. Just like you. One person is smiling, just like you. Someone has toes that remind me of yours. A mat the same color as the one you always had in your bedroom. "Look!" you told me one day. "I bought a good yoga mat! Finally!" I looked at it and laughed, "no, you didn't honey. This is a crappy mat. You'll slip!" You frowned: "But it was $20!" When I told you a good mat will cost you at least $50 you looked at me like I was joking. "$50 for a yoga mat??? Tss. You super yogis are so picky. I'll use this one forever and it will be good you'll see." And you did. It's broken and dirty and smells a little bit like mold but you used that thing everyday. And I held it in my arms all the way from San Jose to Aruba but I still haven't rolled it out at home. I can't. It's leaning against the altar I made you, waiting for a time when I'll be able to think of these things and still stay sane but I'm not sure that time will ever come. But in that Savasana two days ago I saw you in every person in that room. And for every person I touched I felt you even more and at one point I felt my tears drip onto the girl beneath me and she grabbed my hand. She looked me straight in the eye and said "it's okay" and I knew right then: that was you, too. She came up to me after class with tears in her eyes. "I lost my husband, I am where you are." And I am understanding now more and more that we are all the same. We are all sisters. We're in this together. If you are in everyone that means you are in me also and that means you never really left. It's the only comfort I have and it's beautiful."

If that doesn't just make you weep, I don't know what will.

Throughout my life I have seen death come. Sometimes quickly, unannounced, other times slowly and patiently. But it comes.



It's hard and painful and that's all I'm going to say.




But then, days or months or years pass, and you begin to see things.
 
I can randomly take a breath of air and smell the same bush that was in my grandparent's yard. I can smell my grandmother's perfume she wore, and I will always be able to hear her laugh in my sister's laugh. And sometimes, I will randomly hear my uncle's voice say, "Talor," as he did when I was little--like when he was about to tell me to play a prank on my mom. And I will never forget my grandpa's voice when he would tell me I'm beautiful. I will always be able to feel his light hugs and my grandma's nimble fingers on my face.

And that knowledge is peaceful and full of love and spirit and connectedness.
I realize now more than ever that we are never alone. Not ever.

Because we are all human. We are all connected, and we really are in this together.


 They haven't really left.





 In fact, they've been in your heart all along,

and they will stay there.

A Letter to Myself

 Dear Me,

I cannot expect my body to be overly muscley, stick thin, or perfectly perfect. Why should it be? Will it make more people love me? No. Will it really make me happier? Probably not. Does it really matter? Not in the long run.

The women I look up to, who I inspire to be, I inspire to be not for their thigh gap, their toned arms, or their perfect body. I look up to them for their determination, their strength, their ability to love and to laugh and to be courageous. There is no correlation between thigh gaps and courage. So I should stop treating it as though it will give me such.

The man I want to love me for eternity will not love me more for having perfectly shaped legs or a perfectly flat stomach. Because eternal love is unconditional love, and he will love me when I work out and he will love me when I gain 5 pounds. Why? Because a flat stomach doesn't give me love and respect. Because a thigh gap doesn't tell you how lovely my personality is. Because there is no correlation between love and perfect curves. So I will stop treating it as though it will give me such.

 And how sad that I should be so harsh on my own body? The body that wakes me in the morning and puts me to rest at night.
The body that cradles my soul.

So, instead of striving towards a thigh gap, or for sleek arms, or a flat six pack, I will wish for other things.

I will wish to always have legs that can carry me up into the mountains and back down to my home. I will wish for lungs that make it so I can laugh for hours and run for miles. I will wish for arms that hug perfectly and cradle little souls. I will wish for a backbone that stands straight and firm. I will wish for hands that can always paint and inspire.

Because those things create love, laughter, determination, strength and courage.

Breathe.




I deserve love--whether I'm perfect or not.
(repeatx10000)

I love you.

Love, Me

i n n e r strength.

okay, so i think we all have short term and long term goals, right? as a woman, i think it's in our nature to make a goal out of everything. whether it's about school, religion, sports, fashion, etc., we always want to better ourselves (or be better than the person next to us--yikes). which can be beneficial or really bad. highly unrealistic goals are how depression, stress, and anxiety form--but when it's a realistic goal, great things can happen. but sometimes, it's nice to just--do things without any analysis.

today i accomplished a goal i didn't even know i had. and it was unexpected and great and made me feel super good about myself. which brings me to my point--i think we don't understand all of our strengths. i think we only see a very very very small percentage of our greatness. and maybe that's because of society, or personal reasons--but whatever it is, i think it's a great thing to get rid of all that we think we know about ourselves, and just embrace that we don't know everything and run into oblivion with open arms. i think when we do that, something really really great could happen--we could learn more of what god knows we are capable and less of what we think we are.

Week One.

I just finished the first week of 100 Happy Days. 

Day 1. This little lion has my heart. 

Fiancé+cat=pure joy. 

Sometimes happiness comes in a jar...

And other times it's in the trees. 

If you haven't read Maurice Sendak's "My Brother's Book," you haven't seen enough beauty or shed enough tears. 

"'Just lost--when I am saved!' Jack sighed. And in his arms, as branches will, Wound round his noble-hearted brother. Who he loves more than his own self. And Jack slept safe, Enfolded in his brother's arms. And Guy whispered, 'Good night And you will dream of me.'" 

Happiness is a sleeping baby. 

Learning a new hobby. 

h a p p i n e s s

Today I'm talking about happiness.

I tend to go through motions of emotions (that sentence sounds weird). Like I have one really good week, where I'm really happy. And I have one week where I'm kind of sad. And another week where I'm stressed, or anxious. And it seems like I'm never truly happy--just happy--for more than a week out of a month. And I'm not talking about the kind of "happy" that we have grown accustom to, where we have a pretty good day so we are content, or we have a day where nothing bad happens, so that must be a happy day. I'm talking about the happy where everything is absolutely perfect and life is so good and nothing could ever go wrong and in your mind you are skipping through a field of daisies. 

And I think we rarely see these days because we are so focused on other things--that thesis that needs to be written, that six hour shift you have to get through, that doctor appointment you have to go to, etc etc etc. it seems to be that if we have one event in the day that we don't want to face, it becomes a bad or "normal" day--the type of days that consume most of the month. And maybe none of you can relate to this and I just have some emotional disorder, but I think a lot of people focus on the negatives throughout the day. And as much as I hate to admit it, I fall into that category a lot of the time. 

How does this happen? Attitude, perspective, and complaint. Today is a perfect example for me. I have to take a dreaded math test. If you don't know, I have the math brain of a junior high kid. I cannot, and do not want to, grasp the concept of math and it's importance in my life. 

So, I woke up with a negative attitude. Literally the first thought I had today was, "Oh no, I have math." And how sad is that? I didn't even notice the sun shining through my window or the birds chirping. And I of course have a terrible perspective about math. Math is the class that I tend to skip because it is hell to sit through and learning math won't do any good for me (I know, I know, it will). But you get the gist. I hate math so much that it ruins my day. And not just Thursdays, it ruins half of my Wednesdays because I sit dreading the next day. And lastly, I complain. Holy cow I complain like no other about math. Thursdays are the day that in my mind, the fields of daisies become fields of fire. 

And I'm sure my happiness would increase so much if I stopped dwelling on the negativity of math and just accepted it as part of my day. And I would probably see my self esteem rise on Thursdays if I stopped seeing myself as "stupid" when it came to math. And I'm positive that Thursdays wouldn't be so bad if I woke up listing the positives throughout the day, instead of the negatives--and maybe, just maybe, Thursdays could be a day of happiness for me. 

So that's my goal from now on: to stop having a bad attitude about things I don't want to do, to better my perspective and list the positives that will come from the things I don't want to do, and to stop complaining about the things I don't want to do. 

This will probably be really hard for me at first, and maybe it will always be hard for me, but I'm almost certain that having a positive attitude can become a habit. And I will make it a habit. 

And maybe it won't be as hard if my fiancé keeps up those cat pictures. :) 

Also, I'm doing the 100 happy days challenge via Instagram. 

Want to learn more about it? http://100happydays.com

Do it. 

Dean + Talor; m e e t i n g

So I know this will probably be one of the cheesiest blog posts I ever write but I don't care.
Yesterday I was reading this blog and oh my gosh cute cute cute story. And it got me thinking about me and Dean and how we met and everything. So I'm going to share it with you. 

I met Dean officially a few days after New Years of 2013. It just so happened that I worked with his mom and his sister (aka my newest best friend Savaughn). One day he walked into work to take his mom out to dinner and I thought he was SO cute. I remember thinking he had perfect hair and the prettiest eyes. I told Savaughn later that night I thought he was cute and of course she immediately went to her phone and told him. So he got my number and we talked for a few days before I actually officially met him. 

He came and visited Savaughn and I while we were working one night. I only remember three things about him and that night: for some reason I went home convinced I was taller than him (I think I have a complex), he carried a gun, and he had a really good handshake. Depending on who you are, you may or may not know this but my first impressions of people are solely based off of their handshake--I don't know why. He got an A+. 

And then he called me the next day and asked me on my last first date I will ever have. 

Best first date of my life. We went and saw The Hobbit, ate sushi and went bowling (I beat him.) We had so much fun together and it wasn't really awkward at all. And then we continued to hang out and date. I had a night class twice a week and we would go eat ice cream or watch the Walking Dead (our first kiss? We were watching the Walking Dead. Romantic, right?) I just remember how cute and nerdy I thought he was when he'd go off on tangents about the zombie apocalypse and AR-15s. 

But we were friends before we really started our relationship. It took us like a month to hold hands, three months for our last first kiss, and like five months to officially become boyfriend and girlfriend. But that's why it was perfect. By the time I loved him, he was my best friend. I literally fell in love with my best friend. 

And I continue to fall in love with him every single day.