While there’s a lot in this world that I don’t understand, there are a few things that I just don’t get.

The mustache trend — or rather, to clarify, the fake, often-plastic-or-some-other-manmade-material mustache trend.

I used to think it was quirky, maybe funny. Straws with mustachery affixed to them that can make any gender look as though they have a tidy uni-hedge of lip hair? Sure, worth a guffaw, I’d say. Photo booth props? Alright, I’m in.

But now it’s going too far. Mustache earrings? Sorry — mustache “studs,” I should say. I was looking at a website the other day and spotted tiny mustachii with a post and a backing, all for the bargain price of $13 (more than a 50% discount, presumably because nobody else wanted them).

Last time I checked, however, I had no desire for my ear to have a mustache. Maybe I’m just old.

Something else I don’t get: HBD.

I understand what it’s intended to mean, but — for starters — if “birthday” is one word, shouldn’t it just be HB?

Better yet, have people become so lazy that we can’t be bothered to simply say the actual words to their friends? Two words, people. Two words. What’s more, there are only four syllables when you say them, while saying the letters still involves three. Is coming across as someone who can’t be bothered to extend a heartfelt greeting because you wish to save a whole syllable — sure to be reincarnated as an intelligent “uh” or “um” later in the day — really worth it to you?

If it is, then may you receive a hearty “TY” in return.

One last thing — for today, anyway. Parking lot sharks. At a gym. Need I say more?

There will always be things I don’t get, but for the most part, I recognize them as what they are: tiny diversions from life, for better or for worse. Some allow us to crack a smile, others just remind us that we need to step off and let others do what they want to do. After all, I’m confident I have a trillion things that others probably “don’t get,” and to each their own. For these things, I am thankful.

TY for reading.

It took me over a year to finish two one-act plays that had been in progress for entirely too long, but better late than never, I figure. “Late” ended up being last night, and I submitted them to a local playwriting group for review, which ideally will lead to membership – a group whose meetings I have been crashing as someone’s guest since early 2012.

I started taking playwriting and screenwriting classes through South Coast Repertory back in 2009, following a brief flirtation with their acting classes. The latter was something I felt like doing to brush up on my presentation skills for work, and since I spun it as such, it ended up being a fantastic although short-lived pursuit for which my then-employer graciously reimbursed me.

The writing thing is something I’ve done for years. No, decades. I remember writing short stories in elementary school, and entering a number poetry contests. In high school, they were lyrics never paired with a melody. My college years saw more poetry written, more short stories penned, and I figured journalism would be a good path for me. Turns out it wasn’t, as I had the unfortunate experience of being in a class where our whole grade was based off whether we were published or not. Those of us who were from out of state couldn’t seem to catch a break, while those who were from Michigan seemed to always have our professor’s helping hand guiding them. I decided writing – at least the newswriting variety – wasn’t for me, and promptly switched most of my credits to advertising.

Given the way I avoid most of the news these days, save for those topics that have a direct effect on my life, my money and my retirement, it’s probably best that a career in journalism didn’t pan out. Even if I’d have stuck with it as my major, I’m sure I would’ve bowed out a few years into my career. Then again, I probably would’ve spun off into the feel-good territory, writing about kind human beings, arts, culture, music or food. Who knows.

I read a news article this morning about an Orange County homeless woman who wrote a book called “The Brighter Side of Homelessness” in a few months’ time and found a way to have it published. Although the reporter referred to her book as more of a pamphlet, here’s the takeaway: she had something to say, she said it because she believed in it, she found a way to give it legs and get it into the hands of those who might need her advice, her words, her insight.

A homeless woman who, some would argue, has fewer resources at her fingertips ended up finding a way to publish her work. She doesn’t have a house to call her own, she doesn’t have a car, she doesn’t have a lifestyle that most of us would ever choose. But she has faith in herself and a plan for her writing – a plan that she made happen.

I knew I didn’t have any excuses to keep me from doing the same thing, but I still made them for myself; I made them often – sometimes hourly, but always daily. Seems like I really can’t do that anymore, but I’m thankful for all of them because they showed me how empty and useless they really are.

Shortly before 10:00 last night, I attached my two plays to an email, clicked “send” and crossed my fingers. I figure even if the group’s response is, “Thanks, but no thanks,” I can still revise and resubmit my work – especially if a homeless woman can find a way to publish her own.

Sometimes in life, we might feel out of place. It’s a terrible way to feel, because inevitably the comparison begins — and in a world of so many, each of us with different history, any comparison is unfair. You might compare yourself to someone else, to the person you used to be, or you may be impatient to become the person you’ve always imagined yourself to be.

I’ve been on a cloud kick again lately, as I’ve been noticing them more and more. I can get lost in them, inspired by them and, if I let them, they can change my mood in an instant — for better or for worse.

They watch over us often, some days more than others. I’m sure they laugh at our perceived self-importance, our ways, our mistakes — some which we make repeatedly, and I’m sure they love our victories. So what would they say after centuries of observing our crazy world? I think they would have a few good pointers.

1) There are lots of different types of us — different sizes, different colors, some more wispy and some more thick. Remember that we’re all beautiful.

2) Cry when you need to, but realize when the time has come to lose the gray and shine once again.

3) We know extreme highs and lows better than most. Realize that it’s all part of life.

4) You might feel foggy every now and again. This is normal.

5) Some of us move more slowly than others. Slow or fast, we all get there in our own time.

Tonight I am thankful for a cloud’s reminder to be content in being myself, for its reminder to be as much as I can be, and to be at peace knowing that time is unique to each of us. We all have different paths and callings, but we’ll get there in our own time as long as we keep making the effort.

Here’s to making the effort. Daily.

I don’t know if you think I’ll be here forever, but you may keep taking me for granted if you’d like.

I don’t know if you think I’ll be there for you when you need me, but if you want to try to pull me back when you do, you may.

I don’t know why you keep settling, but if you think I’ll always be there to be your cheerleader, please continue to live life complacently, complain and keep wishing things will improve — even though you don’t lift a finger to set that change in motion.

I don’t know whether or not you think I’m so desperate for people in my life that I’ll accept the scraps you give me, but you can keep passing them my way, if you’d like. After a while, however, they simply may start to pile up, as my taste for them will have changed.

You can do whatever you like to me, but I may not accept it. At the end of the day, we all make choices. You will make yours, and I will make mine.

I’d like to think that someone who has a blog called “Thanky” has more patience, more compassion, more understanding, more heart and more love than what’s coming across in this particular post. I’d like to think that I’m better than much of what this post likely says about me, but all it says is that I’ve put myself second for too long — and that tells me it’s time to change.

I’d like to think that scraps will sustain me, but who am I kidding? I know they won’t. I’d like to think that there will always be some uplifing words left in me for you, but I may only have enough for me. I’d like to think that my shoulder will be there for you to cry or lean on, but you might only find my back turned towards you.

I’d like to think that I would never shut the door on someone, but we all have our limits. Time will tell a lot of things, and today I am thankful to know that the power to pull the plug on some people is in my hands, and my hands alone. Possibly harsh, but no doubt true — and it’s something we should all exercise in our own lives.

It’s the end of what has felt like an incredibly long week, despite the holiday we had on Monday. As such, I figured there’s no better time to talk about a few things that have made me tired, weary, and every other related adjective you can think of.

I’m tired of reaching out to people and not having them reach back. Some say absence makes the heart grow fonder. But while silence can be golden, its presence can also be incredibly frigid. I’m really good at taking hints, and I also really hate being cold. Thus, no more reaching. I’m not mad, it’s just the way it has to be. For me.

Speaking of golden, there’s that rule — you know, the one that tells us to treat others as we want to be treated. But when my efforts aren’t reciprocated, why continue? I have no idea why I do, but I make this mistake repeatedly. I assume people are just busy, and I hope they’ll have more time in their lives for me at some point. I assume they care, and that maybe they’ll be able to show it more when their lives calm down. Assume, assume, assume. You know what they say about that, right? So I think it’s time to be done — time to be done excusing them, and time to be done with waiting for them to be anything other than what they’ve already proven themselves to be.

I’m tired of making a point to ask others about the difficult times they’re going through, only to be met with silence and lack of interest from someone else when I share a rough patch in my life with them. I like to think that I take the time for those who matter most to me, and I wish I felt the same from them. But if they don’t take the time for me, then I suppose that’s my problem. It’s almost spring, the season of cleaning, and so I guess now is as good of a time as any to discard them and make way for the new.

I’m tired of inconsistency, and yet why would I expect more? I’ve clearly been the one who has tolerated it for so long.

I’m tired of having things dangled in front of me that never materialize. Go peddle your shiny objects, your carrots and show off your sparkly items somewhere else, and in front of someone who can afford to spend more time hoping, waiting and pining away for them than I can.

I heard something recently about how a generous heart can often be misdirected in its giving, and it made me think of myself. It was a harsh reality, but the sting of it made me thankful for having a big heart, despite the fact that it apparently feels pain that much more easily. Then again, I suppose it’s to be expected, being that there’s that much more surface area for it to take an arrow or bullet.

It’s a blessing and a curse, the heart is. And while I will always consider mine more the former, the time has simply come for it to be surrounded by like-hearted people. Anything else is exhausting.

“There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

If we’re here because of God’s grace, what room is there to wonder what the meaning of life is? Seems pretty straightforward to me. You’re here because of Him, so let your life be a statement of thanks.

Perhaps it sounds preachy, or — like many things in life — perhaps you consider it easier said than done. But if you believe in God, it seems to be a simple enough answer.

For people who don’t believe in God, however, the answer is still pretty simple. You’re here because of the cosmos, or because of some amazing, gelatinous goo that, over time, turned into — well — you. So pay it forward, and prove to others that things really do evolve for the better and improve exponentially as the years tick by.

The meaning of life can really be gleaned from our early years when, for most of us, an adult tried to teach us the importance of saying “please” and “thank you.”

If an opportunity is placed in front of you, say, “Yes, please.” Assume you’ve been given that chance for a reason, and assume it’s because you’re capable of hitting it — whatever “it” is — out of the park.

Then say thank you to whatever deity, entity, being, speck of sand or star from which you think it came. Do good with it, and inspire others to do good with the opportunities that greet them in their own lives. No doubt, everyone’s opportunities and gifts will vary wildly. Some will seem bigger or more opulent or more important than others, but make no mistake: a gift is exactly that.

The meaning of life is to be thankful, and to show it. Be thankful for your existence, for your gifts, and use those gifts day in and day out. Put them out there for the world to see. In the same way evil inspires evil and mediocrity inspires mediocrity, good inspires good.

And thanks inspires thanks.

Our company is seeking a flexible, understanding and nurturing candidate to lead the Communications team and assist in the education of human beings – human beings who have forgotten what meaningful communication is all about; human beings who have buried their heads in the digital space for far too long and who have placed an obscene amount of importance on technology instead of on interacting with each other in person.

This individual will be responsible for pulling people out of their shells, and for reminding them to use their voice as often as they use their hands and fingers on a keyboard or digital keypad. Responsibilities also include encouraging staff to limit their use of email, instant messages, text messages and the like – while at work, and also outside of the office.

The ideal candidate is someone who has never forgotten the value of the spoken word, and who can pick up on nonverbal cues with incredible accuracy. Candidate should also be able to read a room with the same ease by which a modern technology and new media addict goes online.

Job duties include but are not limited to:

• Redefining “interactive” projects by placing the focus on personal interaction
• Encouraging people to not only “like” things, but to also articulate why
• Taking “mobile” to the next level by getting up, walking around and meeting with colleagues in person
• Developing key learnings from face to face conversations, as well as online conversations – and helping others to do the same
• Directing staff to unplug and tune in to others as often as they may plug in to distractions and tune out the world
• Encouraging staff to give more attention to people rather than screens
• Reintroduction of employees to books and landlines

Preparation, Training and Experience:

Prior experience with online marketing, the Devil (otherwise known as Facebook) and additional types of social media would be helpful for understanding the mindset of your peers, but current engagement with such channels is not required. Excellent oral and written communication skills mandatory. Familiarity, perhaps first-hand, with Information Withdrawal Syndrome strongly recommended.

Managerial Responsibilities:

This individual will rehab and lead a department, often while bearing the weight of the world and being a vessel for a heavy heart.

***

It’s not that I never go online, that I don’t find satisfaction in certain technologies and that I don’t get enjoyment from the distraction of writing a blog. It’s that I find myself to be incredibly troubled when people are crossing busy intersections and can’t be bothered to look up from whatever gadget is in their hands. I shudder to think of the kids who are being raised by parents that care more about their digital lives than the real-life tiny humans in their presence. I wonder how many modern-day relationships of any variety – friend, lover, colleague, etc. – will be at a disadvantage because of technology that didn’t exist in earlier generations.

I started thinking last night about skills that I want to acquire for myself in my current job, then started thinking about things that employers might seek out 10, 20, 50 – maybe even five years down the road. As a result of said thinking, I wrote a job description that, sadly, might stand a chance of being printed someday.

The key word in all of this? Balance. I’m not saying to swear off technology, its benefits or to stop its advances. I am, in fact, thankful for it; it can allow for the expansion of creativity, communication and can help build relationships. I’m simply saying that I feel like we’re at a turning point, of sorts. Some entertain courses for brushing up on their presentation skills. But this generation makes me think that courses touching on people skills and bedside manner will be necessary – maybe even mandatory – in the future.

Balance, friends. Balance.

My brain is divided on a fairly regular basis among a number of topics: budget/money, love, death, future and writing. “Future” can mean my own, and it can also mean the direction the world is headed. Similarly, “death” is pretty much related to anyone’s mortality — mine, in the sense of, “I don’t want to look back on my life and wish I would’ve done…,” or it can be related to my grandparents, parents, etc. The percentages change, but the topics are relatively consistent. It’s a pie chart of sorts, if you will.

Lately, its focus has been in the writing area. And it’s frustrating, because most of my thinking and ideas are starting to come at night, right before I fall asleep. I’ve started keeping pen and paper by my bed, but when you’re cozy underneath the blankets, reaching over and writing them down feels like more of a chore than it actually is. So I craft a mnemonic to remember the ideas the next morning, lest my arm get a chill when scribbling down words…but then I promptly forget the mnemonic device, as well. There have been so many ideas lately that it feels like my head is about to explode. And then there’d be pie-brain everywhere.

This morning I was driving to work and I wondered if I was on the verge of a breakdown — and I’m not speaking in automotive terms. I’m speaking in personal, mental terms. If my head exploded, I can tell you exactly where the pressure would’ve originated: at the base of my neck.

Something about this morning’s drive had me on edge. Maybe it was just something in the air, because my mood was, more or less, fine. Maybe it’s because I was listening to the news about three more Orange County murders and five different crime scenes that gripped the county in the pre-dawn darkness. Maybe it was the gray weather which, normally, I love. Whatever it was, the base of my neck held more tension than I can ever remember feeling, save for migraine-inspired tension. But there was no migraine.

I got to work and immediately scribbled down a few words — some were emotions, others adjectives. They had been tumbling around in my head during my commute — boiling over, almost — and I had to let them out. Interestingly, they sparked a few reminders about late-night ideas that I’d long since forgotten about, and also pushed me up and over the writer’s block I’ve been struggling to ditch with regard to a story I’ve been working on.

To say that I can be exhaustingly hyper-aware of myself, my emotions and things around me would be an understatement; it’s usually what drives me to seek out and enjoy a lot of solo time. But today I am thankful for the internal bubbling over that resulted in ideas being recalled, and stories being furthered. Everything happens for a reason, even if the road to getting there is bumpy and that reason isn’t always recognized at the beginning — and now this piece of the pie might just take a backseat for a while as a result.

Have you ever listened to a clock as the seconds tick by, one after another?

Sometimes they feel like they’re passing far too slowly. Maybe the batteries need replacing, you might think, but no. After a glance down at your watch, or after comparing the clock’s ticking to something else, you realize time is moving along exactly as it should.

Other times the seconds feel like they’re moving much too quickly. Surely something is wrong with the clock, you suspect. Something must be making it go haywire.

Nope. Wrong again.

Have you ever wondered what the concept of time would be like if a second was really a minute, or if a quarter-hour was actually a full hour? If this was the norm from day one, then the concept of time would probably be the same as it is to us now, since that would be all we’ve ever known it to be.

But what if time changed in the middle of our lives? What if there was a new measurement for a second, a minute, an hour, and what if days, weeks and months were redefined? What if something happened to make the aging process speed up? What if our lifespan was severely altered?

All hell would break loose, that’s what.

Aside from it being difficult to wrap my head around, I know one thing for sure: things would be reprioritized. I’d talk less and do more. In the case of loved ones, I’d think less, edit less and tell more. In the case of the bucket list, I’d decline less and tackle more.

If we think about time as we know it, many of us would realize that we’re constantly putting things off because we assume we’ll be around for another hour, another day, or another year. I’ll do it tomorrow, in a few months, when I have more money, when I look better. I’ll get outside of my comfort zone after I’ve worked up to it, when I feel more sure of things, when I get a green light from someone or something, when I know I won’t get rejected.

The speed of time is exactly as it should be so as not to cause undue whiplash to our individual worlds. Think about it: we put on weight over time, not overnight. We don’t see wrinkles or gray overnight (although sometimes it feels this way), but over the years. We don’t suddenly wake up and find that our bodies refuse to be as flexible and agile as they used to be — it happens after repeated use and countless matches, games or workout regimens…or injuries.

But at the end of the day, a little whiplash could be exactly what we need. I know I do. But time isn’t going to give it to me — I have to do that one on my own, lest I wake up a year from now and look back on this blog, on my morning routine and my job, and realize that nothing has changed.

Nothing.

I don’t know that I’m in the mood for “nothing,” so here’s to doing something about it. Here’s to self-inflicted whiplash in my own life since time is going to keep plodding along as it always has, and here’s to whatever it brings: failure, success, stumbles and triumphs. I will be thankful for them all.

“If you’re thirsty, you’re already dehydrated.”

Who’s heard this before? Now, who’s heard that this is apparently a myth?

I don’t know that I’d completely discount the above statement, since those same myth-busters claim that its converse is, in fact, true: if you’re not thirsty, you’re therefore getting enough water in some form or another.

Can’t we simply split the difference? Logic says that we should be able to and, in the process, we can lose the drama of “dehydration.”

But the fact of the matter is that telling someone they’re not getting enough water if they’re thirsty is just plain boring. It’s anticlimactic. It sort of leaves you in that, “Wow…no kidding?” state of mind, so I’m sure that’s why “dehydration” came into the picture.

After all, nobody says, “If you’re hungry, you’re already in the process of starving to death.”

Nobody says, “If you’re on your fifth cup of coffee, you’re well down the road of sleep deprivation.”

Nobody says, “If you’re cold, you’ll have frostbite in no time at all.”

So why do some people say, “If you’re single, you’re on your way to living a life of loneliness”? I realize not everyone feels this way, but it’s interesting that some not only think this, but they vocalize it, too. They assume that since I’m single, I must be thirsty; since I’ve been doing the solo thing for a while, I must be dehydrated.

But what if I wasn’t single yesterday, and yet today I am? Their tune would change, because they would find my singledom less off-putting since it was recent.

What if I’d dealt with someone who had an abusive streak and I’m simply in the process of finding myself and enjoying my me-time now? Yep, their tune would probably change again.

Turning the tables a bit, what if I told the person that all their complaining about their significant other makes me hesitant to go out and snag my own? Once again, more tune-shiftage.

All I know is that in the last year or so, I’ve heard more married or coupled people tell me to stay single. Maybe they’re joking, but there’s truth in everything, yes? Meanwhile, so many single people around me can’t wait to pair off with someone. Why the rush? Sure, some partnerships that have been shoe-horned into a box labeled “couple” end up working out. But other partnerships seem to give the shoe horn the finger and fail miserably.

Some partnerships are a result of convenience. Of age. Of circumstance. Or of apathy. In fact, the latter is one that I’m the most scared of. I would hate to find myself thinking, “Well, it’s not great, but it’s not bad enough to end, either, so I’ll stick it out.” Ugh.

I guess it’s like this with me: I know where the water source is, and maybe I’ll wander over to it sometime. Then again, maybe the water will find me. Maybe I’ll be walking down the street one day, on an otherwise sun-shiny afternoon, and a random shower will spring up out of nowhere. Maybe I’ll have an umbrella handy, or maybe I won’t. I suppose it remains to be seen. Whatever happens, I am thankful for knowing that thirst always seems to be quenched in its own time.