My legs wouldn’t stop shaking. They do that when I’m anxious — involuntarily I might add. My legs seem to have a mind of their own.

I just wanted to see him, to know he was all right, to hear his voice. Brain surgery. Never did I think these two words would affect me and my lovely boyfriend of seven years. Would it be successful? After a year and a half of pain, would this fix my suffering partner?

As I waited in the hospital lobby outside the ICU, I thought about what the two of us have been through these last 18 months. The endless doctor visits, some with professionals who didn’t seem to understand or care about how much pain he was in. The healthcare bills pilling up. The sadness and depression. Compounded with other personal issues, it felt like we were one crisis away from spiraling out of control.

And as my legs continued to bounce up and down faster than my heart beat, a moment from last summer popped into my head.

It was a beautiful summer day, although I don’t remember much about the weather. I was working long hours at a full-time job and volunteering the rest of my time planning a local convention in Seattle. My partner was spending time at home trying to study for school, while also dealing with pain in his face that varied between feeling like someone was inside his head digging at his sinuses with an ice pick and feeling like someone was inside his head shocking him with a taser gun.

What did this all add up to? House chores that were half finished and a neglected back yard. But these things seemed so trivial in the moment.

Our dogs’ crazy barking alerted us to someone knocking on the door. It was our neighbors’ parents who were visiting for the week. I’m sure they meant well, but they wanted to know what we could do about our morning glory weeds growing under the fence and into their backyard. It felt a little passive aggressive, and it was just not something we had the capacity to deal with at the moment. 

Their comments hit me hard. I felt like I was being unfairly judged without these people knowing the circumstances. They didn’t know what we were going through. They didn’t know money was tight, our time was tight, and frankly, the last thing we cared about was the weeds in our backyard.

This probably seems like a minor thing to get upset about, but I always remember it when my mind starts to wander into that bad territory — the place that tells me it is okay to judge other people’s decisions and actions. The place that makes us think we are superior to others.

Just remember: those who we deem too large and lazy might have fibromyalgia, or some other debilitating disease that makes even walking painful and makes weight loss virtually impossible. (And, frankly, who are we to tell any acquaintance or stranger they are not living their lives in a way we approve.)

That woman who seems to crave attention from men through skin-tight clothes might just need the right man to tell her she’s smart and thoughtful and beautiful — and deserves better.

That man who prefers to speak in Spanish might be tired of getting made fun of for his broken English, which he has tried so hard to perfect.

That woman and her child might have been homeless for a period of time because she lost her job after donating a kidney to her aunt and needing more time to recover from this selfless act.

That young boy might act out every day in class because he just wants somebody to notice him.

We just do not know “the rest of the story.” It is possible we never will. So instead of casting judgement, all we can do is be their for our friends and family. All we can do is choose to move our thoughts from a random stranger we have never met, to something more positive or productive. All we can do is choose to offer help if it is needed, and advice if we are asked.

I am beyond thrilled to say that the brain surgery was a success, and a week and a half later my partner is pain free. We have so much to be thankful for, and I pledge to pay it forward by always choosing kindness, support, and love over judgemental behavoirs. I hope everyone else will pledge to do the same.

Happy Friday!

I’m not sure if I’ll ever have children. But I might. And if I do, I have no way of knowing that one will be a girl. But if I happen to have a girl, here is what I’d want her to know about this world.

To my daughter (should I have one):

The world is full of magic and mystery that will pull you in with the force of a great typhoon. Never be afraid to leap — head first, eyes wide open, arms reaching for the chance to explore. Many will tell you to keep your head out of the clouds, but that’s because they’ve never seen the view from up here. 

Remember that it is okay for you to be different, just as it is okay for others to feel compelled to fit in. Not everyone is as brave as you. Most people just want to feel a part of something; embrace and support that. Acceptance is a two-way street.

You can dislike a girl’s outfit, but know that she is more than plaid and stripes. Clothes can be a cry for help. Clothes can be a much-needed form of expression. Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. You have a big heart. Open it up and search for what lies beneath the crimson blush and designer jeans.

The biggest bullies are often the most tortured souls. This might not help you in the moment, when you are the victim of harsh words or a rumor that spills into the school as quick as lightning. But remember this as you begin to seek answers.

Never apologize for asking questions. And always — always – stand up for yourself and for others. Because you’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.  

Know when to say “no” — to friends, to boyfriends, even your own mother. You control your body. You control your actions. You control your destiny. Nobody else.

You will have your heart broken. Give it time to heal instead of searching for love in all the wrong places. I promise to never say, “I told you so.” But I will be here if you need to cry, to throw things, or blast music so loud your ear drums burst. 

Pursue your passions with the intensity of your first love. Whether you are into science or debate, sports or poetry, never rein in the zeal. Passions become careers, and you should always do what you love — not what others expect of you.

It is easy to get caught up in the virtual world while forgetting to experience the one at your doorstep. Remember to put down your phone, turn off the TV, walk away from the keyboard, and step outside. It is where you’ll learn the most about yourself.

Read.

Always find time to read.

Don’t be scared of the “f” word. Being a feminist means that you want equal recognition, that you demand to be treated like a human being. Proudly wave your “f” flag, knowing that it doesn’t mean you hate men.

Think about your future, but don’t let it consume you. 

Don’t be scared to try anything because of fear. Mistakes will happen. It’s inevitable. But there are always life lessons worth uncovering. Remember these words from Marie Curie (and proudly know her name): “Nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood.” 

Choose your heroes wisely. It is wonderful to be inspired by do-good celebrities and athletes, but everyday heroes sometimes make a bigger impact on this world. (You should also know that it’s okay for that hero to be your mother.)

It is okay to play with LEGOs. It is okay to love the color pink. It is okay to play with LEGOs and love the color pink.

Above all else, if you only absorb one thing from my words, you must always remember this: you are loved.

Dear Mom,

You gave me the precious gift of life, and so it is only appropriate for me to write this on the day you came into this world, the day you took your first breath. I’m not always great and getting the words out through speech, so let these words on the computer screen serve as a constant reminder for how much I love and appreciate you.

You are more than a mother. You are a peddler of hope. Hope that I can be the person I dreamed I could be, that nobody out there can get in my way. Hope that there are great moms, wives, and grandmothers out there. Hope that hard work truly does pay off. And hope that the world is better when we treat others as we wish to be treated.

You are more than a mother. You save lives every day. As a pharmacist, you give people access to the medicines that will keep them alive, keep them strong. As a friend, you give people the support they need to pull themselves up and keep climbing. As a sister, you give your family strength. You’re the glue that keeps us all together.

You are more than a mother. You are the best grandmother around. You give your grandchildren more than presents. You give them the opportunity to explore, to be creative, to discover themselves. You show them how special they are, you don’t simply tell them.

You are more than a mother. You taught me that originality should be celebrated. Instead of telling me not to wear my crazy outfits, you embraced them. Instead of saying I couldn’t do something, you let me learn on my own — sometimes the hard way, sometimes to my benefit. And you taught me that some battles are worth fighting, and some you should simply let pass you by.

It is fitting that Thanksgiving comes the day after your birthday (at least this year). Because I am so thankful to have a mom who is proud of me, who encourages me to be my best, who shows me how to be a good person.

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday!

XOXO.

Bill Gates recalls once being invited to speak in Saudi Arabia and finding himself facing a segregated audience. Four-fifths of the listeners were men, on the left. The remaining one-fifth were women, all covered in black cloaks and veils, on the right. A partition separated the two groups. Toward the end, in the question-and-answer session, a member of the audience noted that Saudi Arabia aimed to be one of the Top 10 countries in the world in technology by 2010 and asked if that was realistic. “Well, if you’re not fully utilizing half the talent in the country,” Gates said, “you’re not going to get too close to the Top 10.” The small group on the right erupted in wild cheering.