I need to write like I need to breathe.

I need to write. I need to write like I need to breathe. Suddenly, vividly--the severity of writing overcomes my being and there is no greater need on the planet--no thirst, no hunger--greater than my need to say the words crashing around in my mind.

So much has happened. So much has happened in such a short period of time and my soul soars as much as it aches. My heart beats as much as it breaks. My mind races as hard as it sleeps. And I just don't know whether to laugh or cry. To run screaming or pour a glass of champagne. To write that paper due in my business class or write this blog entry that hardly anyone will read.

Life is quickly changing all around me. The people close to me, and not so close to me; are getting engaged, getting married, getting pregnant. Suddenly I am no longer sixteen playing Taylor Swift songs on my guitar on a Friday night. Suddenly I'm a senior in college, making no money at all, and planning a beautiful wedding to the man I love. Suddenly my friends are no longer talking about the boys they have a crush on and are instead showing off the ring those boys used to propose. Instead showing pictures of the sonograms of the human being they created with those boys. The human being that will grow to be sixteen and two seconds later, twenty-five.

When did I blink? Why, when I know this isn't true, do I feel like I woke up this morning and my world went from black and white to bright, vivid color? A color that both fascinates and nauseates me. A color that enriches and cripples me. A color that instills both passion and fear inside of me. A color that I'm swimming in, dancing in, crying in, laughing in, drinking in.

It's never enough and all too much at exactly the same time. With a life this exciting, how do we ever feel pain? With a life this painful, how do we ever feel joy?

In the past 6 months I've had some of my highest highs, and my lowest lows. My lows haven't stemmed from my relationship with my fiancé, but you would love to think that, wouldn't you? Whoever you are. No. They have stemmed from a life of forming a habit of letting my mind tell my heart it isn't good enough. They've stemmed from a sudden waking up and seeing color. They've stemmed from the belief that I am fucking good enough and I won't let anyone tell me any different and people don't like that.

They don't like that at all.

I'm tired and I'm wide-awake. The black and white I was used to is fading and I'm finally seeing in color. I'm so fucking happy and so very heart-sad all at once. I could say I don't know why, but I do. And so do you, don't you?

And I need to write. I need to write like I need to breathe.

"Do no harm."

As a Business major, and as someone who just doesn't exactly like the whole mathematical-black and white-scientific way of thinking, from time to time I find myself taking pieces of information said in class that relate to business and relating them to other things instead. Like, the English major that I was going to be originally. (Just not as lucrative, ya know?)

In my Management Information Systems class the other day, my Professor brought up the motto and policy of Google. He said that it's very simple and incredibly universal-- "Do no harm."

(Upon further research, I see that it is also stated as "Don't be evil." But, you know, same thing. "Do no harm" has a better ring.)

"Do no harm."

So straight-forward. So simple. Yet, so applicable to not only running a company, but also an excellent motto to run your whole life on---- "Do no harm."

I haven't been able to get it out of my head and it has made me reflect upon my own life and the way that I lead it. With the exception of needing to recycle a little more and the fact that I probably yell at Jason for leaving his socks on the floor too much, for the most part, I don't do harm to the world around me. (I might do a little harm to my body, but hey-- pizza is delicious and wine has grapes in it and okay, whatever, it's part of my New Year's resolution to treat my body better. I'm workin' on it.)

It's so important to stay focused on your path and to be kind to those around you along the way. It's also really important, and also, in my humble opinion-- really overlooked, to be kind to yourself as well. As soon as you start doing harm-- to yourself, to your friends or family, to the stranger on the road who cut you off and you cursed out-- it impacts your life in a negative way. It causes you to feel just slightly more introverted, just slightly more resentful, just slightly more self-centered.

"Do no harm."

Live with grace. Take the high road, no matter how much it sucks sometimes. Read a book before bed instead of watching TV every once in a while. Go on a hike. Breathe. Smile. Listen to some music.

Life is hard, you know. Sometimes you're walking around, happy as a clam, dancing to that new Bruno Mars song and BAM--- life smacks you dead in the face. It hurts. You're stunned for a moment, knowing you're about to feel the sting, but not quite able to process what just happened. And then it comes. The sting.

Life stings, sometimes.

Life has stung for me since about midnight on New Year's Eve. On the Eve of the year that I am going to finish college. On the Eve of the year that I am going to get married. And life was all like, BAM--- no more dancing for you. Nope. You're going to spend midnight on the floor of your bathroom having a panic attack and breaking out in hives.

I'm nearly 25 years old and I'm realizing that as much as I've learned in my life, there's always going to be certain things that I just don't understand. There's always going to be obstacles. There's always going to be something there making you stronger, no matter how many times you tell that something that you're as strong as you want to be, dammit. This past week, I've been dealing with one of the hardest stings of my life. And I'm still dealing with it. I'm still anxious. Still unsure. Still lathering myself in lavender oil every night before bed, praying for some sleep. Still not quite standing strong on my own two feet.

And then I go to class and my Professor tells us this motto.

"Do no harm."

There's things happening in my life right now that I just can't possibly control. I won't ever be able to. There's things that make me anxious, make me cringe every time my phone goes off... but there's one thing I can do.

I can do no harm.

Fifteen minutes in the life.

I pull my newly purchased bag of chocolate covered pretzels, ones that I finally worked up the courage to buy, from my bag. You would think that it wouldn't be, like, a big deal to buy a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. I wanted the pretzels. I thought about them for two days, debating the calories and the extra minutes it would take me on the treadmill to work them off and whether or not I would actually enjoy them enough for those calories to be worth it, before going ahead and buying the damn pretzels. I wonder to myself why I am so weird as I try to open these pretzels. They won't open. I tug and tug, the loud crinkle of the plastic bag echoing off the bare walls of the train station waiting room. The people to the right and left of me, sitting down towards the ends of the long, wooden bench, look subtly in my direction. Nearly 60 seconds later, I am still attempting to open this bag of chocolate covered pretzels, cursing myself for having the audacity to finally buy them in the first place. When nearly two minutes go by, it starts to get embarrassing and my face begins to flush. 

A man walks up the stairs to the waiting room and asks the woman sitting 3 feet to the left of me if it's okay for him to sit down next to her, then proceeds to sit down next to me. All of this room on this bench and he sits within 12 inches of me. Not to mention he's closer to me than the woman he had asked to sit down next to. I marvel at the oddities that are my life and continue to try and open the bag of chocolate covered pretzels. 

A few minutes later the man asks no one in particular if this is the track with the train that leads to Trenton, New Jersey. 

"No," a girl sitting down the bench to the right of me tells him, "that's Track 4. It's on the other side of this track and-" she points out the window to the train making it's exit from the station, "it just left."

"Dammit!" He cries, bringing his hands to his head. He then gets up and runs back down the stairs to the station.

I bring my attention back to the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and my arms begin to shake with exertion. I dig my nail into the top of the bag, trying to poke a hole in it so I could then rip the bag open from there. Science. It doesn't work, and my nail starts to hurt.

An African-American man in his fifties sitting farther down the bench than the lady to left of me begins to rap aloud the lyrics to the song he's listening to on his iPod. Everyone in the waiting room stiffens in an awkward manner as we all try to pretend that this is totally appropriate. I mean, why wouldn't we want to listen to his rendition of from what I can tell are a string of mumbles and obscenities?

I pull my keys out of my bag in an attempt to poke a hole like before, only with something stronger and more durable than a nail, but can't quite get my grip right and by now, the girl to my right is just outright staring at me. I have become her train-waiting entertainment. 

I decide to take a break and read my book for awhile. I pull my book out of my bag and read about a paragraph when my stomach starts to grumble. Going for the sneak-attack approach, I pick up the bag again and pull on its sides really, really fast. As if somehow I've gotten stronger and the bag weaker within the thirty second time frame of me setting it down. It doesn't budge.

The woman to my left starts making strange moaning noises that make me incredibly uncomfortable. I look around to see that everyone else is pretty uncomfortable about it, too. Her eyes are closed and she's just sitting there, moaning. I shake my head. 

I check the time. 2:48. The train will be here in 13 minutes. I begin to read my book again. The man continues his rap. The woman, her moan. I check the time again. 2:50. Fuck.

I pick up the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and stare at it. Just stare at it. Okay... I tell it. In my mind, of course. I'm not a crazy person. We are going to try this one more time, my friend. And this time, you will open up so that I can enjoy the chocolatey, salty goodness I damn well paid for. Got it?

I muster up the strength and courage of a mighty warrior as I once again place my hands along the sides of the plastic bag of chocolate covered pretzels. In seemingly slow motion, I tug and the bag gives way, revealing to me a sea of tiny chocolate covered pretzels.

"YES!" I exclaim, fist in the air. A mighty warrior who's battle has been completed. My chest swells with pride as I look around only to find an empty train station waiting room. No one there to witness my defeat.

I look out the window to see my train has arrived, stuff my chocolate covered pretzels in my bag, and run to join the others on the train.

The Hills of Pennsylvania.

I found myself in the hills of Pennsylvania, with nothing but the greenery and the quiet, calming sound of nature around me. Birds chirping, bees buzzing, wind blowing through the trees... you know, all of that cliché nature shit. I call it the Hills of Pennsylvania because my s/o once wrote a song with that title that he plays from time to time and whenever we venture in to his old stomping ground, I can never get that song out of my head. I also call it that because Philadelphia (very much city) and northern PA (very much not city) are two very different places, so calling it the hills of Pennsylvania with it's numerous green, rolling hills just seems appropriate. 

I have some family that is from PA and, apparently, I had been there once when I was very little, although I don't remember it. Visiting Jason there for a week two Christmases ago when it was covered in snow was quite the experience. Now that we live a mere hour away, however, I have found myself in various parts of PA almost every weekend getting to know it in every season on a much more personal level; my s/o in the driver's seat pointing out old memories through the window.

I have come to like it much more than I like New Jersey. (No offense, Jewwwsey.) While New Jersey is beautiful and incredibly close to the (New York) city that holds my heart, Pennsylvania is something else entirely. And while the people are still East Coasters, at least they don't scowl at you as if they're plotting your death when you politely smile making eye contact with them in the grocery store. I just want some laundry detergent, I don't want to murder you.

We ventured down to Norristown, PA two weekends ago to visit Jason's two aunts and get ready for a huge soiree they were having. It's true what they say about East Coast summers- they're humid, they're sticky, and they're absolutely beautiful. With all of this green it's as if I am living in another world entirely and while California is still the best place on the planet, I can definitely see the East Coast's appeal.

The party was for Jason's visiting aunt from California, his little cousin's birthday, and an array of other celebrations all thrown into one. As a turn of events, about halfway through the party, Jason's uncle showed up with bottles of champagne, presents, and a speech congratulating Jason and I on our engagement. Everyone yelled and cheered and Jason (of course) sprayed the champagne on us all. It was great.

We partied through the night.

I couldn't stop smelling the air and even though I consider myself a writer, I hate to admit that I don't think I could ever describe it enough to do it justice. You'll just have to visit someday during the summer and smell it for yourself.

When Jason pulled out my guitar and handed it to me, I was peer-pressured in to singing for everyone even though I disclaimed repeatedly that I had had a cold for the last week and a half. 

I sang the song I wrote for Jason entitled Pennsylvania. I figured it was appropriate. One verse in and I already had his aunt in tears. Throughout the evening I would hear, "Taylor, play it again!" and so I did. Probably about 17 more times, in fact. 

It was a weekend for the books. We went to PA again the weekend after that and Saturday morning we're heading back to Philly. I didn't realize moving to New Jersey would allow me so much time in Pennsylvania, but... I'm glad it is.