thoughts from a restless mind.

A Daddy’s Letter to His Little Girl (About Her Future Husband)

Dear Cutie-Pie,

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”

It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy

(Source: followandreblog, via thewayitends)

What with it being testing season and all, now seems a better time than most to throwback to grade eleven. IB physics exam in the morning (8-11:30), AP physics exam in the afternoon (12-3:30). Of course, that wouldn’t be nearly interesting enough by itself, though.

So we show up to the IB exam and we’re told to leave everything by the wall and find our assigned seat. Writing implements will be provided for us. Then they come around to check our ID cards. Big surprise, we all left them by the wall when you freaked out and told us to leave our pens there.

I happened to throw my stuff under a table to keep it out of people’s way. Except now I had to try and reach under this table to get it back. Of course, I manage to bash my face against the corner which also happens to be peeling and sharp.

My eye immediately starts swelling and my cheek is bleeding and the exam hasn’t even been passed out yet. I spend the next 7 hours doing physics with one hand and one eye, since the other hand is holding a bag of ice over the other eye.

Good times, y’know?

excerpts-from-tolkien:

“…[A]nd even as he felt the stream slacken and had almost won across he found himself struggling among great rushes and clinging weeds. There suddenly he knew that the Ring had gone. By chance, or chance well used, it had left his hand and gone where he could never hope to find it again.

At first so overwhelming was his sense of loss that he struggled no more, and would have sunk and drowned. But swift as it had come the mood passed. The pain had left him. A great burden had been taken away. His feet found the river bed, and heaving himself up out of the mud he floundered through the reeds to a marshy islet close to the western shore. There he rose up out of the water: only a mortal man, a small creature lost and abandoned in the wilds of Middle-earth.

But to the night-eyed Orcs that lurked there on the watch he loomed up, a monstrous shadow of fear, with a piercing eye like a star. They loosed their poisoned arrows at it, and fled. Needlessly, for Isildur unarmed was pierced through heart and throat, and without a cry he fell back into the water. No trace of his body was ever found by Elves or Men.

So passed the first victim of the malice of the masterless Ring: Isildur, second King of all the Dúnedain, lord of Arnor and Gondor, and in that age of the World the last.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, “The Disaster of the Gladden Fields” (Isildur’s death)

(via spockandsex)

Don’t fall in love with a curious one.

They will want to know who you are,
where you come from,
what your family was like.

They will look through your photographs and read all of your poems. They will come over for dinner and speak to your mother about how their curiosity has taught them things of use to her. They will ask you to rant when you’re angry and cry when you’re hurt.

They will ask what that raised eyebrow meant. They will want to know your favorite food, your favorite color, you favorite person.

They will ask why.

They will buy that camera you liked, pay attention to that band you love in case there’s a show near by, they will get you the sweater you smiled at once. They’ll learn to cook your favorite meals.

The curious people don’t settle for your shell, they want the insides. They want what makes you heavy, what makes you uneasy, what makes you scream for joy, and anger, and heartbreak.

Their skin will turn into pages that you learn to pour out your entire being in. Don’t fall in love with the curious one.

They won’t let a sigh go unexplained. They will want to know what they did. Exactly what they did to make you love them.

Year, month, week, day.

“What time was it? What did I say? What did I do?

How did you feel?”

Don’t fall in love with a curious one because I’ve been there.

They will unbutton your shirt
and read every scar
every mark
every curve.

They will dissect your every limb,
every organ,
every thought,
every being

then walk back home and eat their dinner and never return your calls.

You will never be their lifelong expedition.
The heart is a mystery only for so long.

There is no ache like loving a curious one
who chases every falling star and never catching one.

Who comes and sees and conquers
and leaves.

I’ve fallen in love with a curious one.

Maybe one day he will take the train back home
and be curious enough to read one last message from me
carved on a seat.

“There’s a curiosity in you that will move mountains some day

as effortlessly as you’ve moved me for years.”

(Source: mlcli)

antinegationism:

plainflavored:

I walked in to my girlfriend’s place after we got burritos and there were two girls sitting on the ground talking - one of them was her roommate and the other was a girl I had never met before. I immediately stated “My name is Adam” and kept walking straight onwards.

One time in high school I walked by a girl I liked and she said “hi”, and mentally I registered that as “holy shit, she knows I exist?” but verbally it manifested as “Thank you!”

On one hand, kind of awkward. On the other hand, she asked me to prom the following year. On the other other hand, I awkwardly responded with “sorry, no”. On the other other other hand, it turned out she supported John McCain?

So everything turned out for the best. 

givemeajobplease:

You ever have one of those nights where you decide to check in on someone you dated a long time ago and you see they posted a link to their girlfriend’s etsy shop and you check it out and you notice that she is selling a one-of-a-kind bag you used to own, but gave to Good Will four or five years ago and you realize that she must have found it there and now she’s selling it for $15 and she describes a small tear in the listing and you know it is from a night you were out with her now boyfriend and you both got drunk and were rushing home to have sex and when you tried to dig your keys out they got snagged on the lining and ripped it open and it didn’t matter at all because you were headed up to an apartment you loved with a boy you loved and you remember that the world is basically tiny, random, sprawling pieces and you just want her to have the fifteen dollars and him to be happy always and you to remember that sometimes the random pieces come together and love eventually feels good again after it ends?

Lord Foul’s Bane, Stephen R. Donaldson [x]

(Source: ilsteel, via antinegationism)

jackster:

feendish-notions:

meanderpathing:

10knotes:

This is the saddest commercial I’ve ever seen in my life

WHAT KIND OF COMMERCIAL IS THIS? ALL OF THAT EMOTIONAL TURMOIL I JUST WENT THROUGH JUST TO SELL INSURANCE? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?

 

I’m sobbing.

FOR INSURANCE

NO

:(

OMGWHY

TT_TT

(Source: 93044)

surmayeex:

Read More

(via lockslayer)

Marina Abramovic meets Ulay

“Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course, they decided to walk the Great Wall of China, each from one end, meeting for one last big hug in the middle and never seeing each other again. at her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is Present’ as part of the show, a minute of silence with each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing it and this is what happened.”

(Source: carlosbaila, via breezybecky)

The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku

Incidentally, we also now have a server at work named miku :3

Anonymous asked: tell us a story about your first kiss?

She and I were working on a project, alone in a computer lab.

Would you really expect anything else from me?

xekstrin:

YES THIS

(Source: unpopular-hs-opinions, via ursineknight)

Sing me a story I haven’t heard yet.

My Favourite Chords | The Weakerthans

(Source: living-saints, via 14-billion-years-later)