You are beautiful. Really. Everyone thinks so, whether they say it or not, and you see it or not. This is not a world designed to recognize your uniqueness and loveliness, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are both unique and lovely. On the days when you feel otherwise, realize that you are both an unreliable narrator and an unreliable set of eyes. I see you. And you’re beautiful.

You’re not a bad person because you don’t like to talk on the phone.

The concept of age becomes more fuzzy by the year. Stop worrying about how old or young you are, and how people see you as a result. If you’re young enough to laugh unabashedly at something ridiculous, and old enough to be accountable for your mistakes, you’re getting it right, whatever the number might be.

Somebody, somewhere has a fetish for exactly. how. you. look. No matter how you look. Thanks for the affirmation, Internet! And gah.

You can do everything right as a partner, and your partner will still irritate the hell out of you at some point. Same goes with parent and child, employee and boss, friend and friend. No one has yet figured out how to prevent this, besides locking one of you in a windowless, soundproof room where you can’t get at each other. And even then: “Must be nice to be locked in a windowless, soundproof room, I have to take the BUS!”

Fake laughter is like Tofurkey. You’re not fooling anyone. And if you are, they’re probably just delirious with hunger.

If the book or movie still seems boring when you’re halfway through it, put it down or turn it off. Even if it gets better at that point, you’re going to be watching it through 50% bored eyes.

People who set their watches and clocks ten minutes ahead to avoid being late always know they have ten more minutes. We’re only actually that dumb when we’re telling ourselves that ice cream eaten from the carton while standing by the freezer doesn’t count.

Never, ever have the last word. Because who wants to stop talking?!

Messy, sobbing, heaving crying for an hour feels unequivocally better than trying not to cry for 24 hours, and then you can splash some water on your face and do something else. Sometimes you have to climb in the hole for a bit to see it’s not all that deep.

Don’t implement efficiencies where the time spent actually brings you joy.

“Once burned, twice shy” is optimistic. “Once burned, twice burned, three times burned with therapy, four times burned OK OK FINE” is more like it.

If you’re going to hold a grudge, hold it upside down so all the blood rushes to its head and it croaks. There. Problem solved.

Making eye contact is a great way to let friendly people know you’re friendly… and to make demon eyes at bad people. Either way, you win.

Any “natural remedy” that involves 3 gallons of salt water is a bad idea.

It is okay to forgive and be done. Continuing a relationship is not required as proof of grace, but walking away when the right time comes is clear evidence you’re extending grace to yourself, too.

If it smells bad, don’t eat it. Even if you convince yourself it’s fine, some small part of your mind / stomach will still be going WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE

You don’t have to like that show / song / style / word / food / place / book / shoe / person everyone else does. At least 50% of them don’t really like it anyway… they just want to feel like they’re getting it right.

Tights aren’t pants.

Make sure you spend as much time being yourself as you spend defining yourself. Let people think what they want.

Be good at one thing, be okay at a few things, or be passable at lots of things. Or inherit.

But if you asked about my flaws — the things about me that earn eye rolls at the low end, and fury at the top end — I’m pretty sure I know what those are.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be a friend, actually, and where the bonds come from that draw us to one another, and keep us there.

When I was younger, friendship was more about proximity and frequency than anything else. If we were always together, we were friends, whether we drove one another nuts or not. I moved once after kindergarten, and once in the middle of the fifth grade — which meant I learned to be an accepting, tolerant friend so I would actually have friends. Only true queen bees can come out of nowhere and demand deference, and I was clearly a pollen forager, not the master of my hive. Some of the friendships I built then were amazing, but some of them felt like an early draft of the Mean Girls script. But who was I to complain?

When I was a little older, friendship seemed to evolve from shared experiences. I worked three months every summer at a camp on an island, and built relationships there that continue to this day, though I don’t see most of those friends often anymore. We created some amazing memories, and as a result, the people I worked with became my favorite people. I think my high school friendships suffered as a result, on top of the reality that I’d moved to a medium-town-with-a-small-town-mentality long after people had chosen their allegiances, and didn’t quite fit in.

I look back at the strange combination of insanely confident and oddly insecure I was at that point, and both sides make sense, though I felt like a split personality. On one hand, I could stand up on a stage and do anything without blinking, or lead 300 people in ridiculous activities without thinking twice. On the other hand, I was starting to wonder if I would always be “the friend” to guys around me, not “the girlfriend” — a reality I tied unquestioningly to my appearance — and becoming more shy and nervous as a result. With everyone, not just potential dates.

To be sure, my weight played a role in both aspects of my personality: I wanted to be loved in spite of my hips, so I would be the most intensely silly, engaged, fierce, giving, present version of myself. As a skinny, athletic kid, I hadn’t had anything to compensate for, but sure I felt like I did now. And I still feel like that, even as a 38-year old married woman who knows the weight hangs on because of radically early menopause and an autoimmune disorder. Back then, however, there was no “excuse”: there was something wrong with me, and I’d have to get people to look past it.

That worked for friends, but when it came to love? I was a bit of a mess. I didn’t think there was anything I could do to compensate there, so I became a serial crusher and “best girl friend” and pseudo-girlfriend. The amount of passive rejection and heartbreak that defined those years is cringeworthy to me now — I shouldn’t even have cared about half of them, from the ones who told me I had a “pretty face”, but… to the ones who told me I was “wife material”, while chatting up my prettier friends on the side.

After that phase in life, my friendships seemed to arise from shared personality traits and lifestyle, especially after I finally settled in one place for a while. My close girlfriends were hilarious, boisterous, bright, caring… and more often than not, as single as I was. Almost the entire set of friends I’d made in my late teens and twenties were married, so they were less available to me, or more interested in friendships with people at a similar phase in life. Or so I thought — and I was undoubtedly wrong. More than anything, I was defending myself against feeling like a third wheel, which had everything to do with how I saw myself, and very little to do with how they made me feel.

Yes, some married folks turn into pod people when rings are exchanged — but for the most part, I think the change was in me. I loved being Auntie Meg to their kids when I would see them, and I loved seeing so many of my friends so happy… but my single girlfriends got the bulk of my time because they didn’t remind me what was “missing.”

The start of my blog in 2004 brought some new people into my life — in addition to (eventually) a husband for my best friend, Catherine. Eric came to visit us in Vancouver from San Diego after a year of emails and phone calls between the three of us, and over the next couple of years (and more trips back and forth), he and she fell in love. I was a little jealous, to be sure — but now I know that the success of that connection made me willing to take the leap to meet Gradon a few years later.

A leap that turned out well, really — and that’s a radical understatement. Followed by another leap to a new city, where I was once again in the position of making new friendships, and figuring out what they’d be based on, and what I had to offer — questions I considered both subconsciously and consciously, because I’ve developed a capacity for overthinking that could power a city block if harnessed.

Since I’ve been here — two years now — I’ve built some friendships, and seen friendships I’d intended to work on fall by the wayside. And those are on me, for the most part, because I’m good at isolating myself instead of stretching my little turtle legs and arms out of my shell.

I wonder if people are just being nice to me because they like my husband (he is VERY likeable.)

I wonder if I fit in, or if I’m too conservative or not conservative enough or too loud or not loud enough or too emotional or not emotional enough or yadda yadda yadda.

I wonder if my values and loves don’t make any sense to them.

I wonder if I’m at a stage of life that they can’t identify with at all.

I wonder if they’re judging how I look because they don’t know my history… or do know, and don’t care.

I wonder if they’d rather be hanging out with someone funnier / cooler / more like them / with a shared history / etc.

You combine all that obnoxious wondering with long days that sap my desire to make plans — commuting or working from 7:45 to 7:30 every day, before eating and sleeping or existing with my husband — and I haven’t really been a great friend to anyone as of late. Not my friends back in Vancouver, not my friends here. I feel like I should be better at keeping in touch, because of all the moving and uprooting I’ve done. I’ve had practice!

So what’s going on?

Here’s what I think: same things as always.

And where I used to just feel these things, now I feel them… and I’m annoyed by them.

YOU ARE 38 YEARS OLD! Why can’t you get over it? Why do you care so much? Why are you isolating yourself from new relationships AND the old ones that you should be perfectly secure in? Why don’t you own the connections you make instead of questioning them? Why do you care if those people have things you don’t? Why do you care if you have things they don’t? Why don’t you own your fat ass and tell anyone who can’t handle it to go screw? Why don’t you think less and do more?

Maybe the relationships I’ll build in the next phase of my life won’t be based on proximity or shared experiences or similar qualities or life situations, but rather anyone who can wait out the weird.

But if I’m honest with myself, that was likely the case all along.

This is not a picture my mom loves.

Which makes posting this picture on the internet, well… perhaps not the best choice for Mother’s Day.

Here’s why I’m doing it: I love how silly and delighted my parents look here. I love how my dad looks like he’s totally thrilled someone is taking a picture of him being goofy with my mom. I love how my mom is in mid-expression and mid-sentence, because she always is. And I love how beautiful both of them are… and still are.

They’re much younger than I am here. My mom wasn’t yet 30, and my dad was probably looking forward to 33 or 34. At this point, they had two kids, two pets, and they’d moved four times as a married couple, from Vancouver, BC to Forth Worth, TX (where my brother was born) to Nipawin, SK (where I was born) to Whitehorse, YT. That’s thousands of miles from place to place, and lots of change, especially in the first decade of marriage.

And yet? Still goofy in photos. Still in love. Still awesome.

Still the same today.

My mom, through all the things life has brought them, has been fiercely dedicated to her family and to her role as a mother. She is a natural at caring for others, and selfless about sharing her time and resources. You couldn’t find a better role model.

I have to admit it: that’s tough at times. I’m not as good at, well… everything. I’m not prone to remember all the little forms of communication that keep a thousand friends feeling special. I’m not quite as called to responsibility and duty as she has always been. I wasn’t, and am not, and won’t be as big-eyed beautiful as she is (she would argue this point, but honestly — she’s the youngest looking 62 I know, just like she was the youngest 52, 42, 32.)

And I’m not nearly as nice. Really. I’m not even sure I want to be!

I also came to my version of the motherhood path much later, and in a very different way, with middle-school-aged kids who already had and have a great mom who loves them. They mostly need their stepmom to listen to them talk, to remember what snacks they like, and to laugh at their jokes. I’m good at those things, as well as forcing their dad to listen to the music THEY like when we go to get them in the car.

But I’m not one of those people who resents my mom for being a supernova, because even as I follow her example in many things, I’ve known for a long time that we’re different.

What I also know is that I couldn’t have had a mother who understood me more, who loved me more, who listened to me more, who expected more of the right things from me and yet embraced who I am, and who saw and encouraged all the good things in me.

Thanks for everything, Mom. And for all that is to come. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to express.

14. Don’t pet the dog if the dog doesn’t want you to pet it. Unless you’re tired of having a hand.

13. Don’t trash your mate / spouse / partner in front of your kids, your relatives, or your friends, or online pals — and I don’t mean don’t get angry (because that’s normal), but avoid attacking their character or appearance or person. Sure, you just had a big argument and you want your best friend or your Aunt Joyce or 3,000 people on Twitter give them the evil eye, too. But it feels terrible when it happens to you, it fixes nothing, and undermines the fact that this is the unit that matters most to you. Unified fronts are good, unless you’re getting hurt. And if you’re getting hurt, don’t let them stick around long enough for you or anyone else to give them the evil eye. Poke them in their eye instead.

12. Laugh loudly and chew quietly. And try not to do both at once.

11. Learn to take care of yourself. Make your own dinner. Do your own whites. Make your own money. Know where things are, and how to get there without help. Cluelessness with the basics creeps into other areas of your life, and before you know it, you’ll forget how to walk in a straight line or order takeout.

10. You can know and accept who you are without giving all your quirks or faults free reign to torture other people. Know thyself… and then check thyself.

9. Treat people in the service industry with respect and grace, and (unless everything has gone horribly haywire, and it’s their fault), leave a tip if a tip can be left. You can measure someone’s character by how they treat the people who have no power over their lives… and why be 20% more lame than everyone else?

8. A good smelling house is almost as important as a clean house. Open a window. Boil a pot of orange zest, cinnamon, and cloves. Put some herb plants on a sunny windowsill. Make your significant other put on deodorant. You will like everything about your house (and spouse!) better if it smells better.

7. Kids remember consistency over grand gestures. The big vacation to Disneyworld and the giant 16th birthday party and the new car are no doubt completely mind-blowing when they happen, but it’s the day-to-day listening ear, open eyes, hugs, and support that make kids feel loved. Rich kids and poor kids alike can feel abandoned — but your best hope of evolving a happy adult is to be there, daily, caring about their well-being. They’ll still want the grand gestures, mind you… but they’ll love you too much to smother you in your sleep when you can’t provide them.

6. Never ask a) if someone is pregnant; b) when they’re having kids; or c) when they’re getting married, already. Why? Well, a) The odds of this going well are so low as to be statistically insignificant. b) It’s none of your business. Really. And maybe they can’t, or don’t want to. Which is also none of your business. c) See b). Also, d) IT’S RUDE.

5. Crying at work makes life awkward for you and others. Crying at the Starbucks up the street, however, just makes the baristas uncomfortable, and that’s perfectly fine.

4. Teenagers want four things from you: something to eat; something to do that’s fun; to have you listen to their stories and laugh at their jokes; and limits. They will disagree with the last one (endlessly), but it’s the thing (besides love) that makes everything else okay.

3. Teaching another driver a lesson while you’re driving is the equivalent of giving a lecture while riding on a missile.

2. When it comes to planning a party, focus on what people will eat and drink, and make those things amazing. No one can nibble on your clever theme, or sip your iTunes playlist.

1. Don’t put absolute faith in weather people, gossip magazines, double-stick dress tape, sunscreen, or salt on sidewalks.