“Mommy, what does appropriate mean?”

My answer to that loudly whispered question was the same one I’d given to her other 473 questions that day: “We’ll talk about it later.”

When my husband told me he wanted to speak at his brother’s funeral, I just knew it would go badly. And when he said his oldest brother and dad also wanted to speak, I was convinced the whole thing would be a train wreck. After all, I’d been watching these stubborn, proud men fall apart from the moment I walked into the hospital waiting room. How could they possibly expect themselves to stand next to a casket and speak about the person in it, a man they loved, who died too young, who should simply not be dead?

I don’t know how they did it. But my husband and my in-laws stood behind that podium and spoke beautifully. I was so proud of them, even as I had to admit that I was completely wrong in assuming they couldn’t do it.

You know how sometimes you use a word or you hear a word and it just sticks with you? And the next thing you know, you can’t stop yourself from overusing the word until you begin to question the actual meaning of the word? That happened at my brother-in-law’s funeral.

Mark spoke first, and he said what we’d laughed about in the car earlier that morning. He said he wanted to share a funny story about his brother, but he just couldn’t think of one that was appropriate. His oldest brother and dad echoed that sentiment, mentioning inappropriate memories without actually sharing them until my squirmy, confused little girl whisper-shouted, “What does appropriate mean?”

It wasn’t as awkward as her repeated requests to look at the body during the visitation or even her promise to “not touch it.” And, I suppose, the comic relief was much easier to deal with than when she started crying, again, and saying, “I don’t want Brian to die!”

[Some might say that taking a 4-year-old to a funeral is inappropriate. Some days, I might agree. Honestly, I have no idea if anything we've done over the past week and a half is right or wrong or proper or not.]

But just like the word, “appropriate,” got stuck in my husband’s and in-laws’ head during the eulogies, the theme of appropriate – or not – has been stuck in my head ever since.

There is nothing appropriate about a 36-year-old man dying in an accident.
There is nothing appropriate about a 14-year-old boy losing his father.
There is nothing appropriate about a father losing his son just years after losing his wife.

Death is inappropriate.

My understanding of the book of Genesis is that God never intended for death to enter this world. But our sin ushered it in and offered it a seat in our earthly lives. So, while it isn’t right and wasn’t in the original plans, death is part of life. It feels wrong. Because it is. I think death is inappropriate.

When I started thinking that, I looked up the word to make sure I wasn’t misusing it. Based on the list of synonyms associated with “inappropriate,” I’m okay with my statement. After all, who could disagree that death is improper, incongruous, incorrect, perverse, unfit, unhappy, unseemly, unsuitable, wrong or out of place?

So many things happened last week that I could easily label as inappropriate. From our assumption that Brian was driving irresponsibly when the accident happened to our mixed emotions when the highway patrol confirmed that he was not, to the awkward combination of distant relatives and estranged ones, ex-girlfriends and co-workers, to white socks under a charcoal suit and Hank Williams, Jr. as background music – it was all so inappropriate.

But how could it not be? Death is inappropriate.

At one point during the emotionally charged week, I got really upset with Mark. He said, “I’m sorry. I’m not handling this right.” That immediately took the wind out of my hurt feelings and righteous anger, because, as I told him, there’s no right way to handle something like this. There’s no right way to grieve. There’s no way for any of us, for any of it, to be appropriate.

When I was in high school, my family experienced a particularly traumatic and confusing situation. Though it wasn’t directly related to me, I was thrust into the middle of things and expected to participate in the whole mess. Later, when I tried to express how it made me feel, I was told, “I don’t know why you’re upset. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

I was told that my feelings were inappropriate.

Last week, I found myself placing that same judgment on my husband, myself and so many others. But the truth is that our feelings, unlike death [or white socks under a charcoal suit], aren’t quantified like that. Feelings aren’t appropriate or not. Feelings just are.

I guess the same argument could be made for death itself, even when it happens to a healthy young man in the prime of his life. But my feelings aren’t having any part of that rationale. This? This death? It isn’t right. It isn’t proper. It isn’t appropriate.

- Falling to my knees and crying while my baby girl watches.
- Shooting daggers at the person demanding comfort from my grieving father-in-law.
- Jealousy at being left out of meetings and conversations.
- Relief at being told, finally, that we’re leaving the hospital.
- Keeping track of who called or messaged or emailed or visited.
- Being told I was awfully sad for someone who didn’t get along with him.
- Being asked to navigate family feuds and snapping when I couldn’t handle it.
- Feeling thankful for time spent with family, for afternoons of cousins catching frogs.
- Snickering at the number of ugly shirts in his closet . . .
. . . and shuddering at the thought of what I might find in his bedside table.
- Forgetting for a split second why I was cleaning out his bathroom . . .
. . . and being happy to take home an unopened box of white strips.
- Enjoying watching my husband drive his brother’s Corvette . . .
. . . and making jokes that included “over his dead body.”
- Telling the pastor that the service shouldn’t be “too Jesus-y.”
- Thinking I should make cinnamon rolls and crying because he would have loved that.
- Suggesting the worst songs ever for the visitation CD – and laughing about it.
- Forgetting the CDs at my father-in-law’s house and driving like a maniac to go get them.
- Not minding Mark’s expensive new suit because he looked so darned good wearing it.
- Wishing, just for a moment, that someone was there to stand by me, to hold my hand.

All of it was inappropriate. And that’s not even all of it.

You probably know. You’ve probably lost someone close to you or close to someone you love, you’ve sat in hospital waiting rooms and walked into funeral homes and stepped over neighboring graves in the cemetery. If you have, then you probably know. You know how it feels to say the wrong thing, to laugh – or cry – at the wrong time, to be hurt because someone else said or did the wrong thing.

There’s no right way to react, no right way to feel, no right way to grieve. Almost everything we do and say, in the face of death, is wrong when examined through someone else’s lens. And I think, in these moments, that just has to be okay.

There’s just nothing appropriate about death.

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who commented, messaged, called, emailed, sent cards and prayed. I appreciate you so very much. And that will always be appropriate.

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A lot of my friends are extremely healthy eaters. I’m not sure the technical term, but I call them “whole foodies.” Or, sometimes, “weirdos.”

{I’m kidding. I don’t call you weirdos. Really.}

So while I used to think it was bizarre to make your own crackers, salad dressing or bread, now it seems completely normal. I’m not saying I do all these things, but I understand the reasoning behind it and have been taking baby steps over the past couple of years to make more things myself and buy fewer foods that have lots of preservatives, sodium, sugars or other bad-for-you stuff.

I’m not saying I’m milling my own wheat or anything. I’m not even saying that “milling wheat” is a thing. Now that I typed that, it feels wrong and I’m pretty sure I will be soundly mocked after I hit publish. But that’s kind of my point. I’m not an expert on this kind of healthy eating (as opposed to the counting-points variation of healthy eating).

But one thing I have done is start making my own taco seasoning.

I said I’m taking baby steps! (Then again, you know how often I eat Mexican food, so it’s not the tiniest step I could take.)

I asked my whole foodie friends what recipe they used, and I tried a few out. This recipe from Food Renegade was the winner at my house.

Homemade Taco Seasoning

1 tbsp chili powder
1/4 tsp garlic powder
1/4 tsp onion powder or minced onion
1/4 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp paprika
1 1/2 tsp cumin
1 tsp salt

Mix all the ingredients together. Add to one pound of browned hamburger with about a cup of water.

Now, a word of caution: This seasoning is a tad bit spicy. And if you happen to use enough for three pounds of hamburger on only two pounds? Well, you’re going to need some milk. Or water. Depending on your level of mouth-on-fire tolerance.

Do you make anything “from scratch?” Are you a whole foodie?

This post will be linked to Mouthwatering Monday, Made by You Monday, Tasty Tuesday, Tuesdays at the Table, Tempt My Tummy Tuesday, 33 Shades of Green, Works for Me Wednesday, What I Whipped Up Wednesday, I’m Lovin’ It, Foodie Friday and Show and Tell Saturday.

Monday Morning Mmmm: Taco Seasoning is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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My brother-in-law was in a fatal motorcycle accident over the weekend. I’ll be taking time this week to be with my family. I hope to be back next week.

I am not going to share all the details on the blog for now. If you know my family personally, though, please feel free to email me for information.

Thanks to all of you for understanding.

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Remember how I complained about having too many unread posts in my Google Reader a couple weeks ago? Well, you’ll be happy to know that I a) cleared all those posts out of my reader, may they rest in peace and b) I unsubscribed from several blogs that either didn’t interest me anymore or simply posted too much content for me to keep up with.

Also, a side note. I just realized that I titled that links post “Weekend Links, 4.21.11.” Clearly I need to spend more time with a calendar.

Now that I’ve de-cluttered and re-organized my blog reading, I’m not overwhelmed anymore. (Well, I’m overwhelmed by some other things right now. But reading blogs is, thankfully, not one of them.) Here are my favorite posts from the past couple of weeks:

• for those of you who don’t comment on blogs | chatting at the sky
  {I love how Emily shows her readers such grace here.}
• Marriage Needs Community » Sarah Markley at Allume
  {Mark and I have been talking about this a lot, so I love Sarah’s take on the topic.}
• Game Night & Hosting In the Midst of Fibro :: Learning to Trust
  {This is a perfect example of giving up on perfect from my friend Rochelle.}
• Boston calling. | Annie Blogs
  {I adore Annie and pretty much everything she does, but this post spoke to my heart more than most anything I read last month.}
• 15 Things I Want to Do Before My Daughter Leaves Home | Moosh in Indy at Babble
  {I love the way Casey included both her own accomplishments and goals with things she wants to do with or teach her daughter. Great bucket list!}
• In which I wonder about Pinterest :: Sarah Bessey
  {“Pinterest is the fantasy league of consumerism . . . we pin the life we wish we had.” Brilliant. Thought-provoking. True.}
• Implausibles, Assemble!: Other Hollywood Character Pile-Ups We’d Like To See :: Monkey See – NPR
  {I would totally go see The Advisors. This weekend.}
• The Crumbs We Haven’t Been Waiting For :: Josh Riebock
  {Small victories are worth celebrating. The end. Um, except he writes it way more eloquently than that.}
• Compassion Bloggers In Tanzania May 6-12 | Shaun Groves
  {I’ll be following along and supporting the Compassion bloggers next week. Will you?}

So, who has festive plans for Cinco de Mayo? (That’s today, if you are also calendar-challenged.) Nothing exciting going on at our house, other than a meeting for church, a possible shopping trip for a baby pool, and a marathon viewing of the last four episodes of Missing. (Are you watching that? We love it.) I’m sure we’ll eat Mexican food at some point this weekend, but that’s no different than any other weekend in my life.

In case you decide to be a little more festive than that and need ideas for Mexican dishes to make, here’s a list of several that I’ve made and here’s a super easy recipe for homemade salsa. As the most-annoying-high-pitched-voice-ever Dora would say, delicioso!

What are the best posts you’ve read and written lately? Please share it with us in the comments!

This post will be linked to Saturday Stumbles at Vanderbilt Wife.

Weekend Links, 5.5.12 is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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1. Weekend Links, 3.24.12
2. Weekend Links, 8.6.11
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When I started my low-carb adventure last month, I had high hopes of dropping huge amounts of weight in a short amount of time. I should know better, but I really envisioned a much slimmer me shopping for a brand-new swimsuit – and even wearing it in public – this summer.

Instead, as of Monday morning, I’ve lost 10 whole pounds.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m really excited about this! It’s a fraction – a small one, at that – of my overall goal. But it’s a step. And there’s no way I can get to that end goal without losing the first 10 pounds.

And, as my friend Jill pointed out, that is 40 sticks of butter. FORTY STICKS OF BUTTER!

Several years ago, I joined Weight Watchers with two girls I worked with. One of my co-workers had lost weight with the program before, and she told me that when she lost a certain amount of weight, she and her friend celebrated by going to the grocery store, putting the number of pounds of ground beef that they had lost in their cart – and then pushing it around the aisles like little kids playing hooky.

As I lost weight that time, I just made a chain of paper clips in my cubicle. I’m not really a “make a scene in the grocery store” kind of girl, I guess.

This time, though? I have even more to lose, and I’ve been trying – and failing – for even longer. So a few pounds seems to deserve great celebration at this point!

In the middle of writing this post, I followed a link to a blog post called, “The Crumbs We Haven’t Been Looking For.” [Thanks, Leigh, for the recommendation!] I love the entire post, but this part really spoke to me:

“I am victory, and I am much smaller than people think. So unless you develop eyes for the puny, you’ll spend your life believing that you’re going nowhere, that I’m distant from you, that you have no reason to celebrate.”

That’s good stuff, right? And besides, forty sticks of butter? That is not puny!

I can’t guarantee that I’ll lose another stick of butter, much less hundreds of them. To be honest, I’ve had at least one leg off the wagon this week [and, again, there were those pesky M&Ms from last week]. But I’m not giving up. I’m choosing my hard.

And I’m celebrating this first 10 pounds.

What small victory are you celebrating today? Share in the comments, so we can celebrate with you!

Celebrating small victories is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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Inviting people to a party (especially from the comfort of my computer) wasn’t hard. Baking cupcakes and making centerpieces that don’t look like something my 4-year-old made at preschool was a bit harder, but still not that difficult.

What’s hard is getting past the “hi, how are you,” taking off our shoes and our masks, and really getting to know one another. That part? It’s HARD. It’s hard because intentionally gathering women into community (and joining them there) is choosing to reach out, to connect, to love even though you might get hurt.

It’s possible – no, probable – that one of your friends is going to let you down. She’ll ignore too many phone calls, she’ll ditch your weekly happy hour for dinner with her new boyfriend, she’ll believe a lie she hears about you, she’ll roll her eyes at your story, she’ll invite all the other girls but you, she’ll hurt you. She may not mean to – or maybe she will – but your friend will probably hurt you at some point.

So what is the point? Why should we let people in, when they’re just going to hurt us like those other people did? And, to be fair, why should they let us in, when we might end up hurting them?

For my answer to those questions (and the rest of this post), visit (in)courage.

I’m going to break your heart. is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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1. God’s Heart for You {GIVEAWAY}

Even though I’ve been a part of (in)courage for more than two years and have visited the actual beach house (and have been hearing about (in)RL for months now), it only occurred to me a few weeks ago that my (in)RL meetup should have a beach theme.

[And yes, even though I wrote a book about planning parties, I didn't start my actual planning until two weeks ago. Like I said, it's been a rough month.]

So when I decided to get my act together and plan this thing, I was looking for simple, cute ideas to go with the beach theme. I knew I didn’t have time or patience to do anything elaborate. Mark actually suggested making snickerdoodle cupcakes (with cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top to look like sand), and I figured a bowl of Goldfish crackers would be a good salty companion to cupcakes and the requisite M&Ms.

But then I went to Annalyn’s preschool family day, where kids and grown-ups alike were served tiny paper cups of Goldfish. They seemed more seasoned than normal and I started wondering what I could add to the crackers to fancy them up just a tad. I thought garlic salt or perhaps grated Parmesan cheese, but after a quick search, I found this great recipe on Taste of Home.

Seasoned Goldfish Crackers

3 packages (6.6 oz each) Goldfish
1 envelope ranch salad dressing mix
3 tsp dill weed
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp lemon-pepper seasoning
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
2/3 cup canola oil

Put the crackers into a large ziploc. Mix together remaining ingredients, then pour over crackers. Zip the bag, and shake until crackers are coated. Pour crackers onto two large baking sheets. Bake at 250 degrees for 15-20 minutes. Cool completely before storing in an airtight container.

I think they turned out pretty well. Well enough that I had to give away the leftovers so I wouldn’t eat them all – and I don’t even really like “normal” Goldfish!

What’s your favorite salty party snack?

This post will be linked to Mouthwatering Monday, Made by You Monday, Tasty Tuesday, Tuesdays at the Table, Tempt My Tummy Tuesday, 33 Shades of Green, Works for Me Wednesday, What I Whipped Up Wednesday, I’m Lovin’ It, Foodie Friday and Show and Tell Saturday.

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We’re all about flowers at our house right now. Between the marigold she potted at preschool and the out-of-control rosebush in the backyard, we are just blooming everywhere.

That’s good, because April has been a rough month in my house. Annalyn has had some health and behavior problems, Mark and I have been struggling to communicate, and {last and least} I got a really, really bad haircut. Since I’m not ready to share the details of those situations right now – or willing to show you a picture of my hideous hair – I’ll just say that I’m looking forward to May and leave it at that.

How was your April?

What I’m Reading:
I’ve already told you about Baroness by Susan May Warren. Normally, I don’t love historical fiction, but this series is one of the best thing I’ve read in several months. Realistic family drama with a redeeming message set in the Gilded Age and the Roaring Twenties is a winning combination, and I’m already looking forward to the third Daughters of Fortune book.

On a completely different note I also read a new Janet Evanovich book recently. Love in a Nutshell (co-written by Dorien Kelly) is a departure from her Stephanie Plum series, and it was lighter and – in my opinion – more realistic (or at least relatable) than those books. If you’re looking for a fun, funny romance with a side of mystery, I vote for this one.

I also read Divergent by Veronica Roth this month. Not surprisingly, it’s another dystopian YA novel – the first in a trilogy – with a strong female lead character who overcomes great (and creative) odds. And it’s probably one of my favorites. Big thanks to my friend Amanda, who recommended it!

I’ve also been reading Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing & Life by Anne Lamott. It is incredible. I checked it out from the library, and as soon as I finish it, I’m buying my own copy so I can read it again and mark it all up.

What I’m Watching:
What’s that saying? April reruns bring May sweeps? Seems like the first part of this month had a whole lot of nothing on TV. I suppose that left room for everyone to talk (nonstop) about The Hunger Games. But since I haven’t seen it yet (though I read – and loved – the book, of course), that didn’t help me out much.

I’m still watching the same shows: Once Upon a Time, How I Met Your Mother, Hart of Dixie, Castle, NCIS and Parks & Recreation. (Parks & Rec got the blog post photo honor this month based solely on last week’s outstanding episode, The Debate. If you haven’t watched it, go. Watch it now.) I’ve also started watching Suburgatory (hilarious!) and, somehow, I’ve found myself watching Fairly Legal on USA. I suppose I need something to replace the void that Psych has left by a slightly boring (until the last minute of the season finale) and incredibly brief winter season.

Also, the season finale has already aired, but I loved Up All Night. Well, you know, I loved the part that didn’t have Maya Rudolph acting weird. Chris Brinkley (played by Will Arnett) is officially my favorite TV husband ever.

What I’m Eating:
Smoothies, oatmeal, grapes, salad, carrots, grilled chicken, green beans. Rinse and repeat. {We’re not going to talk about the M&Ms that I bought for (in)RL. Nope, we are not.}

What I’m Listening to:
For several weeks now, I’ve been hearing two songs over and over. No, I’m not talking about that Gotye song, although, yeah. I’m talking about Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi and Mama Told Me Not to Come by Three Dog Night. Seriously. It seems like every other day, I’m hearing one or both of those songs. Isn’t that weird?

I mean, is there a message in there somewhere? Am I wanted {dead or alive} by someone? Have I gone to a party with suspicious-looking cigarettes, despite my mama’s warnings? Um, no. I don’t know. But that is what I’ve been listening to.

One last thing. I read a post on NPR’s Monkey See blog last night about a news station in Cincinnati that features dance parties every Friday during their early morning traffic report. You know that’s my sort of news report! Here’s a fun segment from a few years ago:

What were you into in April?

This post was inspired by Sorta Crunchy’s monthly post. And it contains affiliate links.

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A couple months ago Annalyn asked me to sing her a lullaby before bed. We sing a lot around our house, but I’ve never made it a habit to sing to her or with her at bedtime. No, this was simply a ploy to prolong bedtime.

But I’m not completely cold-hearted. Asking for a lullaby seemed a reasonable request. There was just one problem. I didn’t know any lullabies.

Sure, sure, I could sing “Rockabye Baby,” but it’s kind of scary, you know? “When the bough breaks, the baby will fall . . .” Whaaaaa? No thanks.

I tried Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and Jesus Loves Me. And Annalyn probably would’ve been satisfied with that. After all, staying awake another 90 seconds was her end goal in this thing and it didn’t really matter what song we used to achieve that.

But I felt like this was a real Mom Fail. Do I seriously not know a single [good] lullaby?

Never fear. Eventually I remembered the catchiest lullaby ever from the long-forgotten but much-loved movie, Three Men and a Baby.

That’s right. The lullaby of choice at our house is Good Night, Sweetheart, made famous (to me) by Ted Danson, Tom Selleck and Steve Guttenberg. Mark and Sandi have played along, singing harmony and “do-do-ti-do-do” back-up, but Annalyn reported that my dad refused. According to my tattletale daughter, her grandpa doesn’t know that song. “Whatever,” I informed her. “He’s seen that movie at least as many times as I have!”

What songs do you love to sing in your family? What’s your favorite lullaby?

P.S. I don’t play the guitar, during lullabies or otherwise. I just thought that was a cool photo for this post.

Good night, sweetheart. is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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“So, what do you do?”

How many times have we heard (or asked) that question, meeting someone for the first time at a party, a charity event, a church dinner? It comes almost immediately after the exchange of names and determines how the rest of that conversation, maybe even that relationship, is going to go.

That’s not the only defining question people ask us. In college, it’s, “What’s your major?” As a parent, it’s, “How many kids do you have?” [And before you have kids, it's often, "How long have you been married? When are you going to have kids?"] But no matter how it sounds, it all boils down to this: “What do you do?”

Asking these questions seems like a quick way to get to know someone, but it’s really a quick way to place them in a mental bucket, boxing them in and making lightning fast assumptions about who they are, based on what they do.

But it’s not just other people who do it to us. I do it to myself all the time.

When I was laid off from my job and (nearly) simultaneously delivered a preemie, I experienced a major identity crisis. For so many years, I was the job. I thought what I did defined who I was. So when I no longer had a job description to call my own and was handed a new job – being a mom – I really didn’t know who I was anymore. Though I looked pretty much the same on the outside (minus the scars that carrying a baby inevitably brings), all the things, all the doing, that I’d thought made up my essence were missing. Until I found something new to do, I lost my grasp on who I was.

Even now, I start many evenings with my husband by listing my day’s accomplishments. “I washed your uniforms and emptied the dishwasher. And we went to the library, and I read her four stories. And I’m going to start dinner in just a minute.”

It’s as if I feel like I must justify my existence, my worth – and the only way I can do this is by announcing everything I’ve done.

That’s not true, though. For me, the falseness of that belief has become clear when I realize how unsatisfying a life of doing is and when other people seem to be dissatisfied with my doing. I love this from Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird:

You are not defined by what you do. What you do is not who you are.

Did you hear that? You are not what you do. And you know what else? You are not what you don’t do, either.

You are not earning straight A’s.
You are not winning the big game.
You are not getting the scholarship or the job or the raise.

You are not academic probation.
You are not detention.
You are not missing the shot, blowing the interview, losing your motivation.

You are not organizing your desk and paying your bills on time.
You are not lining your shelves and decorating your entryway.
You are not folding the laundry and washing the dishes and sweeping the floor.
You are not neglecting your yard and shoving it all under your bed.
You are not fixing breakfast and driving to school and coaching the team.
You are not forgetting the lunch and missing the field trip and yelling for quiet.

You are not building a brand.
You are not establishing a name.
You are not managing a reputation.
You are not growing your numbers, followers, subscribers and friends.

You are not writing a book.
You are not giving a speech.
You are not singing a song or playing the drums.
You are not starting a business.
You are not closing a business.
You are not declaring bankruptcy, moving again or starting over.

You are not fitting into your skinny jeans.
You are not eating an entire bag of croutons.
You are not smoking that cigarette.
You are not eating that salad.
You are not running a marathon.
You are not watching another Law & Order marathon.

You are not owning a house.
You are not renting an apartment.
You are not living at your parents’ house.

You are not having kids.
You are not getting married.
You are not being single.
You are not staying, fighting, winning, walking away.

You are not what you do – or don’t do. You are not defined by what you do.

What you do is not who you are. is a post from Giving Up on Perfect. Can't get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

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