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The other day, I was stopped at a red light with Lana Del Rey playing in my Airpods. The sky was doing that pink-gold thing it sometimes does before sunset, and out of nowhere, I remembered a conversation from four years ago in a kitchen I no longer live in. I couldn’t tell you what triggered it. A lyric in the song, maybe, or the way the street corner reminded me of one I used to pass everyday but hadn’t thought about in years. But there I was again: that particular brand of

Lately, I’ve been circling around this idea of what it means to have an “extraordinary” life. What is it with the flashy, picture-perfect idealist world everyone is chasing - fame, success, financial freedom, some big legacy? But it makes me wonder: if we all want to be extraordinary, doesn’t that make it just…ordinary? And maybe the better question is, what is so wrong with enjoying our “ordinary” life? And I don’t mean ordinary as in the uninspired, beige sweater wearing ki