I’ve come a long way since my days in Coos Bay and am no longer a stranger to weekend brunches or french presses!
Dear Sundays,
If memory serves me, it was Nell's family who took me to the Blue Heron Bistro for the first time. Unlike Little Richard's Diner, where my family sometimes ate, they served fancy brunch foods like eggs benedict and Belgium waffles piled high with fresh berries (instead of tinned ones). They had navy blue cloth napkins, wood tables, and bistro chairs instead of vinyl booths. And you could order espresso drinks and have coffee made in a french press.
That morning, Nell's parents let me order a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Prior to that, my repertoire consisted of Sunny Delight and frozen juice concentrate. I had no idea juice could taste as refreshing as biting into a cold, perfectly ripe orange. It was transformative. When you spend your whole life being told orange juice is Sunny D, and Velveeta is cheese - and then you realize it's not - it's profound. You begin to understand that your world is not the world, which can be wonderful and sometimes painful.
Last week, I promised this post would be about my best self-help advice: want better things for yourself. Then I promptly asked, what does that even mean, and how do I explain it in 750 words or less? Jesus, Giyen! People have written entire books about this topic!
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