whitney dziurawiec

My heart froze as every light on my dashboard flashed on and off, Christmas-style. Which would have been fascinating, had it been Christmas, and had I not been driving 65 mph down I-80. "DAD EVERYTHING IS FLASHING. IT'S FLASHING AND I'M DRIVING 65 MILES PER HOUR." Dad told me everything would be fine, I just needed to make it home. Yes, okay. I can make it home with a Christmas light show. It will be fine. It wasn't fine. Five minutes later my car refused to go any further and I found myself on the shoulder (which was barely a shoulder as the mountains of snow took up most of the shoulder space) of the interstate, under an overpass, as semis and SUVs sped past me, ON A FRIDAY (car problems are not meant for Fridays!), shaking my car and throwing me into a full-blown emotional meltdown. The last time I was so terrified was probably when I was 7 years old, trying to fall asleep after watching scary Lifetime movies with my mom. It is a scary thing to be com...

Good morning. That phrase used to be ironic for me. Mornings were never good. They were heavy, dark, impossible. A necessary evil to get to the good parts of life. To leave the warmth and comfort that night provided. To escape enchanting dreams and face reality. That’s not me. Keep me in bed, enveloped in a blanket with the blinds shut. Don’t wake me. But something about mornings has recently grabbed me. They’re still hard. It is still a push to open my eyes, to take the first tentative steps out of bed as I test my early morning balance and tiptoe across the dark ground, trying to remember if I had left any obstacles on the floor as I head to the coffee maker (priorities). It is a (granted, small) test of bravery each morning when I wake up. Will I embrace my morning, or find myself having pressed the snooze button five times and end up simultaneously brushing my teeth, applying mascara, and sending a quick email. I hate those lazy, stressful mornings. I’ve fallen in lov...