When I’m feeling good about my job, I tell people I solve problems for a living. On the bad days, I tell people I type for a living. The reality is somewhere in between; I google for a living.

There’s a lot of conversation about diversity in the tech industry and I’m glad we’re having those conversations. There’s an uprising in awareness of the gender and minority pay gap, which is great. The first step to change is acknowledging there is a problem. 

I've been looking through old Evernote notes that I saved in "blog drafts". 

I found this from October 12th, 2014. It still seems appropriate. 

I wake up and step on the scale. My entire day depends on this moment. It’s not in line with the mindful living or buddhist ideals I’ve been trying to incorporate to my life, but it’s the most entrenched habit and judgement that remains. 

Body dysmorphia is a tenacious bitch.

I’m going to start at the end because that’s the bit you care about. So here is the conclusion of this long and tedious analogy: I’m fine.

Ok. Now that you’re caught up, humor me for a little bit and let me explain how I ended up in the hospital 3 days after coming home from Rome. 

Just after college, I started a bucket list. I wrote it in my little journal and gave it some serious thought, taking a few weeks to finish it. At 24 years old, it was born from a young, limited view. I suppose that is the point of a bucket list; to help the person writing it become a more rounded, fulfilled, and aware future self.

Yesterday, I crossed off #25.

I remember my mother explaining to me the sort of man I should marry. “Leslie,” she said when I was around 12 years old and only just starting to look at boys curiously, “The sort of man that is good for marriage is one that has plants in his apartment, can’t dance well, and wears tassel shoes.”

My son and I started this bedtime meditation together when he was in third grade. 

It was a day he said the whole class got in trouble. Apparently some of the boys were playing with the soap in the bathroom. My son is sensitive, and being the kid who hates to piss of anyone, felt targeted by this lecture. (Apples and Trees, y'all.) He said his teacher was angry and looking right at him but then, my young son explained in air quotes, “chuckled” and was a little nicer.