smiling kid with paintbrush, maggie mcreynolds blog

Get Messy

Your life is a work of art.

And that doesn’t mean it’s pretty.

Imagine a sculptor slashing the arm off a figure and starting again. Imagine throwing handfuls of paint at a canvas. Imagine starting out sketching a horse, but noticing it’s turning into a buffalo somewhere along the way.

Imagine creating the coolest thing ever out of broken tile, shards of glass, stray bits of unraveled sweaters, and torn paper.

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Smokin’ Hot Cowboy Love

red cowboy boots, maggie mcreynolds blogFor three years now, I have wanted a pair of cowboy boots.

At first I didn’t have the money. Then I couldn’t find the right pair. Then I found the right pair, but the toes were so pointy and narrow that my extra-wide toes were smushed into a big pile of numb.

I still wanted cowboy boots.

This year, I finally asked myself why. What’s the big deal with cowboy boots? How would having—wearing—cowboy boots make me feel?

And that’s when it hit me. Cowboy boots would make me feel autonomous, strong, healthy. Cowboy boots would make me feel flirty and sexy. Just the sound of those heels clicking against the pavement would make me feel happy.

Are cowboy boots the only route to those feelings?

When I practice yoga, I feel strong and healthy. When I pay my bills with money I earned all by myself, I feel autonomous. When I am with my boyfriend—and sometimes even when I am not—I feel flirty and sexy. Walking down the street in bare feet makes me feel equally, though differently, happy.

We don’t want things because we want stuff. We want the way we think having that stuff would make us feel.

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Woman Reading a Diary, maggie mcreynolds blog

Story Time

I knew just what was going on.

Picking up my son from school, I pulled into a street space marked “no parking.” But hey, I’d only be there five minutes, right? And I was going to be idling in my car the whole time.

Then I saw her: another mom, waiting across the street in her car. As I glanced her way, she brought up her cell phone and…took a picture of me, my car, and the “no parking” sign.

What the what!?

My small city has cameras posted at all major intersections set to catch you in the act if you run a red light. This woman must be some sort of undercover parking cop! Either that, or maybe an over-zealous member of the PTO, determined to get me in Dutch with the principal.

I pulled out, turned the car around, and parked directly behind her car. I was going to confront her! In a very polite, friendly, only semi-insane sort of way, of course.

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