Walking to the store for my mom…

“Walking to the store for my mom was a common past-time of mine, starting as early as first grade. A note was written and change was handed over to me for cartons of cigarettes, stamps, milk, groceries, or whatever my little arms could carry.” Born and raised in northern California,…

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My piggy bank

“The little pink skeleton was small and cold and its flowers were made of four circles with a stem, like one doodles on paper when they don’t know how to make a distinguishable flower, like a rose or an iris. The brushed pink and blotted, purple flowers have never cracked…

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Who Am I Talking to

“My editor asked me who I was hoping to talk to in this book. My answer is this. If just one person in this lifetime can be empowered by my conscious choice to rewrite their own dialogue in their heads, to calm the destructive chatter that intimidates all of us…

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How Far Will I Go

“Experiencing the freedom of my own expanded realizations that my previous runs were not only attainable, but easily accomplished with every new mile reached another one appeared ready to be conquered. I quickly became engaged in seeing how far I could go, how far I could push myself. The more…

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