My best days are always the ones I look back on and think, “I gave it everything I had.” I don’t need accolades. I don’t need someone else to make everything perfect. I just need to do my best, to do what I love, to relax and to know that I made a difference. And that’s something we can all do–every day!
You can’t go into work anymore without a full-body shudder. The thought of doing whatever it is you’ve been doing for a couple years today is insufferable. The only way you’ve been able to get through the day is to fantasize about that big fat career change, and how much better life will be when you’re actually doing what you want.
“Just keep going. You’re gonna make it.”
That was my mantra last week, which I repeated at least 3,389 times. I was so sick and stressed that finding a positive thought seemed like cleaning the Augean Stables. No way I was going to meet my deadlines/continue living.
Five years ago I would’ve thrown in the towel and wallowed in bed for a week. But this year, I had a game plan.
“I feel like there’s something wrong with me,” she said. “I mean everyone else is married or in a serious relationship. Then there’s me: twenty-nine and single, depressed. There has to be something wrong with me, right?”
Self improvement might be something you’ve picked up this year, or you might be an old pro. But no matter where you’re at in your journey, you’re probably going to ask this question:
Do I need a life coach?
The answer is unequivocally yes. No doubt. One hundred percent of us need a life coach—and if you don’t get one, you’re not going to get results. Straight up.
But not every one needs to hire a life coach.
I never thought I’d be writing an article about picking up dog poop, but here we are.
It used to be a cruel form of punishment that my Mom exacted on her unruly kids. My eight siblings and I loved riling each other up, but we hate-hate-HATED picking up shit. So we behaved. (Sometimes.)
I don’t have kids to punish, though. It’s just me and Shoogie—my little American bulldog-Pit bull mix—and I’ve got to pick up her shit whether I like it or not. So I learned to like it.
By Mariam Qizilbash
One of my favourite things to do is to sit with my Mom and listen to stories from her childhood. Whether she’s regaling me about the time she and my aunt hid in the bushes and wiggled ties onto the road–scaring the bikers into thinking the ties were snakes!–or simply the fact that all the neighborhood kids would stay out and play until the sun set every single day, I’m always bewildered by how simple her life was compared to today.
“We didn’t have any cell phones or TV,” she says. “But we had our imaginations, so we were happy.”
I used to think it was impossible to recapture the beautiful simplicity of my Mom’s childhood, so I didn’t even try. I spent four hours a day on whatsapp and instagram, and my social calendar was so jam-packed that I double-booked more often than not. I thought I was just your average twenty-something professional. But as I approached thirty, my calendar began filling up almost as fast as my happiness disappeared, I decided to do something pretty radical…
I started saying no to pretty much everything.