Whitney Van Laningham

I had spent the past year trying to figure things out. Trying to plan everything, trying to micromanage, trying to be better than what I thought I could be.

Dear Moms, we know you love us. Really, we do.

I’m homesick, homesick for California and for Texas and for all the places I have lived. How do you split your soul evenly among so many cities?

Whenever I miss you, I pray and I bargain with your gods; John Muir and Bethany Cosentino and Malibu Barbie and the ghost of Bradley Nowell.

I swear to god, if I read one more article about the Top 10 Things you learned in your twenties, I’m going to pull my hair out.

I want to call for a do-over. I want to go back in time, Marty McFly style, and prevent anything from happening with you.

I hate that I know exactly what I want to do, and that I haven’t done it yet.

Have you seen Gwen Stefani’s abs? I have. And I’m drooling.