The sky hung heavy in the pines. The dark of night was so dense that even the moon struggled to poke through the branches to illuminate our bodies glistening beneath the frail moonlight.

The whirring of the midnight creatures gave the night a pulse that was felt, and it reverberated through the woods and collected in the air over the expanse of the lake. My grandparents own a small house on Lake Sinclair, and I convinced Giselle to go skinny dipping one night.

I didn’t have ulterior motives, but Giselle floating on the surface of the water gave her an air of infinite peace and made her desirable beyond compare. Her skin was so fair that she seemed to glow, easily outshining the moon.

Her wet black hair hung like water moccasins around her breasts and slithered around when she would climb the ladder onto the dock. She leaned back on her palms and crossed her legs.

Even though she was indecent, she emanated a sense of stoic class with the way she turned up her face to the sky to exhale the smoke from her clove cigarette. The smoke clouds couldn’t swim fluidly through the thick air and loomed over her shoulders, giving her the appeal of a black magic witchy woman who casted spells on her subjects for a laugh and put men she desired in trances.

Women like Giselle belong to the night because their beauty is too intense for the light of day, and only they can pierce the black night when the moon is feeling shy.

As the smoke dispersed, her seaweed green eyes gazed out over the lake as if her underwater kingdom bowed before her. Her jaw flexed, concentration broken, and she said, “I wish I could stay here longer.”

“Why can’t you,” I asked.

“Because when that sun comes up, it’s back to reality.”

I retorted, “Is this not reality?”

She scoffed. “This is far from reality. This is the other side. Darkness is always used in comparisons with death, but no one ever considers all that comes alive at night,” she said with eyes reflecting the green of pine needles.

With that, she stood up and walked to the far end of the dock closest to the shore. When she reached the end, she twirled around like a fashion model about to take her first walk down the runway, and then she lunged forward into a full on sprint toward the lake.

Her strides were long with perfect form, landing on the balls of her feet with each step. The snakes on her head were in frenzy and hissed as she picked up speed. As her feet left the edge of the dock, her body lost its mechanical form.

There she was—my midnight Medusa with outstretched arms wildly grasping for something, anything.

Her head of snakes submerged, and the atmosphere felt calm and fell to a whisper. She floated to the surface and let the water carry her weight for a little while.

It was so late into the night that even the night crawlers were beginning to simmer to a soft pulse. The branches sashayed in the light breeze, and the owls hooted back and forth to each other. Giselle was almost right—this was the other side, but only real for those who listen.

It was my last semester at UGA and May 10 was soon approaching, it was starting to hit me that college was inevitably coming to an end and real life was about to begin.

Most of my friends and classmates were busy going on interviews and accepting jobs after graduation. Everyone was excited to know what each other would do and where they were going. We had all worked so hard for the last four years and now was the time we had all been waiting for. We were eager to finally put everything we learned to the test and more excited to no longer be broke college students.

But, my story was a little a different.

My last months of college, I didn’t apply to any jobs and did I go on any interviews. Instead, I was contemplating a very different route, one that wouldn’t provide me with the security and the money we’re all seeking but a route I was convicted to take.

Two years earlier, I had an experience that would forever change my life. The summer going into my junior year of college, I had the opportunity to study abroad to Ghana. During the trip I fell in love with the beauty of the culture, textiles, people and of course the food (I could have sworn I gained 10 lbs from all of the chicken and jollof rice I ate). Toward the end of the trip, we visited a program that helps young girls who had been abandoned or came to the city for better opportunities and assisted them in becoming self-sufficient and equipping them with the tools needed to provide for themselves and their families.

Despite all the girls seemingly didn’t have, and all we too often take for granted, I was in awe of the joy and the spirit that they radiated.

The girls welcomed us in a singing-dancing circle and we heard stories of how the program was changing their lives.

As we were about to leave, I got back on the bus, feeling a sense of helplessness and wanted to give back to the girls to help them continue their journey to receive an education. Our group had gathered some items we could leave for the girls but I went back through my bag searching for more I could give to the girls, knowing that everything in my bag wouldn’t be enough.

My time in Ghana and my encounter with the girls was an experience I couldn’t forget once I got home, one that continued to run through my mind as I contemplated what could I do and how. I shared my experience with my best friend Sasha and we both knew, we wanted to be a part of supporting the girls as well as those with similar stories around the world. We had an idea to start a business but I still wasn’t sure if this is would just be a passion project or something I would pursue full time after college.

Call me crazy but I believed that if we could change the life of one girl our work would be worth it.

Call me crazy but I believed that even though our support would have to start small it would grow into educating hundreds even thousands of girls around the world.

And at the end of the day, those beliefs were all I needed to make my final decision. Instead, of following a plan of security, I would take a journey into the unknown and decided to start a business immediately after graduation, to help support the girls receive an education. No, I didn’t have any experience and no, I didn’t have any money. But I figured I had nothing to lose and there was no better time than now.

Two weeks after graduation, we launched Bené and I started working the business full-time. Bené is a collection of scarves with love at its core; we are committed to educating girls in Ghana and growing our impact around the world.

Two years into my entrepreneurial journey, I can honestly say that I am crazy, but as Steve Jobs said, “the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

To follow along the craziness of my entrepreneurial journey, check out The Journey of Blue.

Social media is a reality of modern life, especially for millennials who are often criticized for their constant use of it. And despite criticisms, there are aspects of this new reality that are truly beautiful. We can connect to our friends and family, even those who are far away, share in each other’s triumphs, support each other when times are difficult.

People engage with news organizations, and with each other. Causes are promoted. Social movements begin on social media and spill over, out of millions of computer screens into real progress.

But there are downsides too.

Social media has permeated nearly all aspects of life and at times this can detract from the experience of life.

Most of the social media users of the world, or at least all of my friends, have selected a favorite app or website out of the many, many options and the pressure we put on ourselves to share everything in our lives on that platform can be enormous.

For me, it’s Snapchat.

I was in Asheville a few weeks ago for a long weekend vacation, standing in the middle of a spontaneous drum circle in a square downtown (Asheville is funky and I highly recommend it, especially for anyone who appreciates craft beer). I was surrounded by dozens of people who brought whatever percussion instrument they owned and were playing. Kids were running around, people were dancing. And I was trying to get the best video for my story.

Then, just as I was about to hit send, my phone died.

Not having the option to post stories to my Snapchat (or take photos for Instagram, or construct a clever tweet, or whatever else I could have been doing) was extremely liberating and forced me to become a participant in the moment again instead of just being a spectator of it.

I did not post the video of the drum circle, or photos of the belly dancer at the Moroccan restaurant where I ate dinner. I did not post about all the craft beer I tried at some of the cool Asheville breweries. I did not post about all the fun I was having because I was just having it.

The idea of disconnecting from our phones so that we can connect with the people and experiences around us is an exceptionally simple concept, but it can be a hard one to follow. I find this is especially true when all around us people are using social media to show the world what cool places they are seeing, how interesting their activities are, what a great time they are having.

I feel an internal pressure to share the things in my life too. I am also traveling to cool places. I am also interesting and fun.

It’s as if the measure of how valuable we are, the things we do, the people we date is measured by how many likes or favorites or views we’re getting, and that is not healthy.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to include the people in your life in what you do, and social media can be a great way to do just that, but it crosses a line when it becomes a way by which we validate ourselves. And it can really detract from the real life experiences happening beyond our smart phones.

If you don’t Snapchat it, did it really happen? I promise it did, and it probably happened better than it would have otherwise. Sometimes it is best to leave our social media network behind and just enjoy what we are getting to be a part of.

It is no secret our “millennial” generation faces a lot of criticism: ”you are entitled,” or “you want hand outs, participation trophies, constant pats on the back.” Essentially, we seem to expect achievement to come easily.

On the other hand, I believe the more alarming trend is the expectation of perfection and the highest achievement from our generation. It seems society conditions us to fear failure above all else and yearn for our helicopter parents’ constant reaffirmation of our greatness.

I believe this results in individuals either aiming low, simply quitting at the first sign of trouble because “I don’t feel like I am very good at this,” or, my personal favorite, having Mommy and Daddy spoon-feed it to you. God forbid little Jimmy or Janie doesn’t get an A+ on their 2nd grade science project.

It seems our generation has been put in a position we cannot win. We have been told how great we are our entire lives, made to believe we achieved so much before adulthood through constant positive reinforcement, and developed a petrifying fear of failure.

Why shouldn’t millennials then expect achievement to come easily or be devastated by failure as college students and young adults? Perhaps this issue may be outside of the scope of this article.

In this piece, I’d like to share how opportunities and failures impacted my college lacrosse career. My hope is for some of these insights to resonate with members of my generation and help them gain perspective in their approach to any achievement they aim to accomplish.

I believe the achievement of any goal comes down to a series of opportunities and an individual’s ability to make the most of those opportunities. I believe the most common misconception is thinking it all comes down to one, huge, glorious, high-pressure moment when the stars align and the opportunity is seized in a dramatic fashion.

Despite what Hollywood wants you to think, this rarely is the case. The most successful individuals I have studied and worked with as well as my own anecdotal learning have taught me one overarching lesson: the greatest of opportunities are born from hundreds, if not thousands, of maximized small opportunities.

Kobe Bryant, one of the greatest basketball players of all time, maintained that he was never surprised whenever he hit one of his dramatic and acrobatic game winning shots. To most it would seem a nearly impossible feat. The degree of difficulty, the pressure, and the defense knowing he would be the one to shoot the ball.

However, Kobe maintained it was a subconscious action. He explained for every game winning shot in front of thousands, he had practiced that same shot hundreds of times in an empty gym, and visualized it thousands of times in his own mind.

Consequently, there should be no surprise when the shot goes in because it has been seared into Kobe’s body and mind.

More from Kobe later.

My lacrosse career at the University of Georgia began in the fall of 2012 when I tried out for the team. I remember being nervous but found comfort in knowing that while I was about 500 miles from home, the game was still the same.

My freshman season in 2013 would prove a fantastic time. We finished with a record of 15-5 and won our first conference championship in 7 years. Despite only being a freshman, I played a major role in our championship season.

I will admit, I began the season a bit timid. After our third game, one of the veterans spoke to me directly saying “we need you make plays if we are going to be successful this season. Don’t worry that you’re young. You can play, and we need you to get out there and play.”

Following that conversation, my perspective and confidence was amplified. My play on the field improved and, simultaneously, I felt a part of the team’s brotherhood and family. I began training with the veterans on the team outside of practice, and it payed dividends when it came to perform in the games.

As the season ended, I remembered believing I could be a truly great player and leader on this team.

Expectations and my own self-confidence were at an all time high going into my sophomore and 2014 season. Coaches and teammates had expressed the need for me to assume a bigger role on the team if we were to be successful again. This made my ego grow even further.

At this point I knew my teammates, I knew our system, I knew our competition, I thought I knew it all. Everything the year before came to me so easily. I had a great year, for a freshman. For a freshman. I think with everyone stroking my ego, I forgot the second half of that sentence. The saying the top gets farther the more you climb is certainly true in sports. I was about to learn that lesson first hand.

My ego began growing to a point I could not manage. I began skipping workouts, negating responsibilities to the team, losing focus on what had allowed me to be successful my freshman year. I was so confident in my talent and natural abilities, I put myself above the team.

Athletics are an arena in life where individuals truly reap what they sow. My lack of preparation and discipline was evident in our first game. My conditioning was poor, my skills looked dull, and all the while I kept trying to find something or someone to blame.

It seemed this complacent attitude was contagious, as I noticed many of my teammates appeared the same way. The 2014 UGA Men’s lacrosse season was one of the worst in the last 10 years. The conference and league were buzzing with questions about how a championship team could fall so far in only one year.

I am my own harshest critic and I knew my performance reflected a lack of preparation, discipline, and focus.

In hindsight, I believe I became so fixated on making the most of the big opportunities during games that I did not take advantage of the small ones in practice, in the weight room, and in my own skill development. I can remember several opportunities I had to make plays, where I missed, dropped, choked, or simply failed to execute. As an athlete, those are the worst moments because you are truly beating yourself.

At the end of the 1996 season, the Los Angeles Lakers were in the playoffs facing elimination against the Utah Jazz. Kobe Bryant was the first overall draft pick that season and was contributing in his rookie campaign. In the closing minutes of the game, Kobe air-balled THREE open three-point attempts. THREE!!!!

This individual is an 18 time NBA All-Star and 5 time NBA Champion, and he choked terribly, on the biggest stage, when his team needed him the most.

He was crushed. He said he flew back to Los Angeles that night and went to a local high school gym and shot baskets all night. He broke down his game and worked diligently on every aspect of it. The next season, the Lakers first game was against, who else but the Jazz. Kobe went off, had a sensational game, and the Lakers won. He maintained that the feeling of vindication and satisfaction after that game was something he will never forget.

After my own 2014 season, I watched a documentary where Kobe described that incident, and it gave me a fresh perspective. I completely shifted my attitude and strategy in preparation and training. All entitlement was gone and I began training longer and harder than ever before. I began training multiple times a day, getting to practice early and staying late, and even adjusting my diet to maximize my performance.

I looked to each day as a set of opportunities to get better.

By maximizing every early morning run, session in the weight room, or time spent practicing by myself, I was able to gain the confidence and preparation needed to lead and play my best. A large part of maximizing improvement opportunities is not simply going through the motions but constantly visualizing your goal and how your current action is feeding its achievement. Constant visualization and repetition makes difficult action seem effortless because your mind and body are able to work together harmoniously, rather than one dominating the other.

As a result, the hard work paid off in 2015. While we fell just short of the championship, I was elected as a team captain in my junior year and stepped into my role as one of the key playmakers on our team. I maintained this drive, focus, and discipline into my senior year and our 2016 campaign. We finished with a record of 15-2 and I was a 1st-Team All-Conference selection.

I believe the humiliation and disappointment of my sophomore season helped me realize what it would take in order for me to be the best player and leader possible. I will try to keep this from sounding as clichéd as possible, but failure is the key ingredient of success.

Without the sting of failure, it is easy to fall into complacency.

To push yourself past your perceived limits, there has to be an element of a desire to vindicate previous failures. It was amazing to see the work payoff. I take more pride and satisfaction thinking about the days of grueling preparation and incredible relationships on the team than any of the awards or accolades I received as a result.

In conclusion, try to maximize the small opportunities presented every day because they make up the big moments. When you fall, understand that it is just another step in your path to your goal and look at it as yet another opportunity. Lastly, in times of struggle, remember why you want to achieve your goal and what it will feel like when you do, for that will propel you through the darkest times.

My Recommended Resource:

Relentless: From Good to Great to Unstoppable by Tim S. Grover

Relentless taught me what I needed to be great

Kobe Bryant went from good to great through relentless hard work and sheer determination. Choking hard and missing three three-pointers, and the overnight gym session that followed planted the seeds that led to his sensational game next season against the Utah Jazz and the beginning of his greatness.

Written by Tim Glover who took greats like Kobe and made them greater, directly and with brutal honesty, breaks down what it takes to be unstoppable. In his Relentless 13, he details traits shared by the most intense competitors and achievers in sports, business, and all walks of life.

“You’re so skinny, Mary!”

I haven’t heard that in a while. As I type, an article titled “Thinner People Eat This Many Meals A Day” is open in my browser. For the first three years of college, I was skinny. Skinny enough that my twin sister admits that people would ask her if I had an eating disorder.

I didn’t—I believe my svelte figure could be contributed to a good metabolism, a bad vegetarian diet, and a little bit of exercise.

When people exalted my slenderness, I laughed it off, but inside, I knew they were right. I was thin. And I was one of the lucky ones. Without too much effort, my weight barely tiptoed over 110 pounds.

I never had to worry about what my arms looked like in sleeveless tops and committed the cardinal sin of fashion by wearing leggings as pants on a regular basis.

However, in the summer of 2014, something changed—maybe it was the emotions of my childhood dog dying, the imminent reality of senior year of college, or perhaps that my metabolism just gave up on me. Between May and December 2014 I gained somewhere between twenty-five to thirty pounds.

(Disclosure—I would probably not be considered overweight by most, and am still considered “small” by many—including a lovely middle age woman in the underwear section of my local Target.)

I can no longer fit into my size zero boyfriend style jeans that I loved so much my sophomore year of college. There are times that I feel like shit about my body, as if my whole identity and self worth rests on that pair of size two dark wash skinny jeans that are shoved somewhere in the bottom of a box in the basement.

“You’re so skinny, Mary!”

My friends and acquaintances said this as if it was a compliment, as opposed to stating the obvious. However, I do not believe my friends meant any harm in this statement. Their words were simply a reflection of the culture in which we exist—skinny is good, anything else is bad.

Weight is tricky to talk about. It is personal yet visible, and strangers judge other strangers on something as trivial as the composition of another’s body. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the average weight for an American woman over the age of twenty is 166.2 pounds and the average height is about 5 feet 3 inches, yet the images of womanhood perpetuated by popular media are of women who tower close to 6 feet tall, weigh less than 125 pounds, but still manage to have curves in all the “right” places.

“You’re so skinny, Mary!”

I don’t want to hear that again.

I don’t want to be judged on my physical characteristics. I don’t want people to tell me I am too thin or too big. Why am I worrying about what my arms look like in photographs? Why am I not good enough for myself at whatever weight I happen to be?

I am not defined by my weight. No one should be. The society we live in is toxic. It is one that tells girls and women that we are not good enough. That we never will be worth something, unless we fit into a certain size. I have no doubt that I, and many others, have internalized much of this self-hatred.

I think we can do better. I think I can do better.

I’m learning. I’m learning that vegetarians should eat more than bread and that fruits and vegetables are my friends. That the goal of exercise does not necessarily have to be weight loss.

I’m learning that I still can bare my arms if I want to. That there are jeans out there in sizes bigger than a size two and make my butt look fantastic, and if I feel like rocking a pair of leggings, I will.

Pig. Fatass. Gross. Overweight. Obese.

Those were the words I often heard. I have never been stick thin, but I have never been overweight. However, the summer before my freshman year of college, I felt overweight. My clothes started becoming tighter, and I started to feel less comfortable in actual clothes and more comfortable in sweats.

I was disgusted with the person I saw looking back at me in the mirror. However, the more unhappy I became the less I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to sit there and feel sorry for myself. It wasn’t until I became involved with an all-star cheerleading team again that I felt like I should make an effort to change.

This did not work.

Life smacked me in the face. I felt dependent on compliments that were clearly forced, and I felt like my whole world had started to become smaller because I had become bigger. It was because of my weight gain that I tore my ACL not only a second time, but also a third.

With each injury, the feeling of helplessness grew stronger. My sophomore year of college was a challenge: relationship drama, coming back off of an injury/surgery, and trying to figure out how else I could become involved in my school. The insecurities overcame me, and the weight kept increasing. Before I knew it I was heading into my junior year a good 25 pounds heavier than when I started my collegiate journey, and there seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel.

After yet another knee surgery I knew something had to change. Doctors told me that I was looking at a fourth knee surgery if I didn’t turn my life around. Other doctors were concerned with the weight gain and started doing tests. I had every test imaginable done hoping there was a medical explanation, yet everything came back negative.

“You are in the 70th percentile for your weight.”

Those words cut me like a knife, how could I be that off track? I had almost lost all hope but then I received Insanity as a gift. I realized that it would be a long road but I knew I had to start somewhere. However, again my knee gave out on me. I realized that I was not strong enough to even begin a weight loss program and again fell into a depressed state of mind.

Not only did I feel lousy about my appearance, but others had noticed my weight gain and felt the need to mention it. While walking around town I heard people snickering that my leggings were too tight or my shirts showed my love handles. I knew that I needed to shut people up, I just didn’t know how.

Senior year. The golden year.

Well, that’s what I thought anyways. I thought that having worked out occasionally the summer before my senior year meant that I would be able to come back with my head held high. This was not the case. I felt even more self-conscious. All my friends had gotten the weight loss memo and had out done the work that I did. So, senioritis set in, and all I wanted to do was celebrate my impending graduation and live it up before entering the real world.

I had the most amazing Lily Pulitzer dress to wear at my graduation dinner and couldn’t wait for all the photos to be taken on graduation day in my cap and gown! Every picture I took made me disgusted. I looked like Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and there was no amount of editing that could fix it.

As I readied myself for job interviews and the real world, I realized that all the clothes that were professional did not fit me at all. This made me even more upset with how bad I had let things get. It wasn’t until my final drive home from college that I realized that I was not happy, to the point that I did not want to get out of bed in the morning to put on clothes that made me look even fatter than I already was.

I took a good look in the mirror and told myself that I need to make a change or else I will regret it later in life. I did not have money to cover another knee surgery since my insurance deemed ACL reconstructive surgery “cosmetic” and wouldn’t cover the cost anymore.

I searched in my bags for Insanity this time not backing down when I felt the need to give up. This time I took a picture of myself and composed additional pictures of myself for my “before” photo and was more excited for the “after” photo than I ever anticipated.

For a month, I completed every Insanity workout, strictly following the outline given in the package, and noticed that I lost 5-10 pounds, but I wanted more. So I went out to Barnes and Nobel and bought a book on eating healthy. I read up on nutrition and what I needed to do to lose weight and keep it off.

Not only did changing my entire diet help me feel more energized, but I could finally finish a workout without stopping and taking a break.

Three months went by, and I was already down 15 pounds. This gave me the drive and desire to continue. I went to the doctor’s office to find out my weight from senior year of high school and decided that would be my goal weight; 115-120 was doable, and I would be in the correct percentile for my height.

Fast forward six months to January. I had so much to celebrate! Not only did I keep off the 15-20 pounds, but I felt amazing! I finally accepted the person in the mirror; however I still felt like something was missing. The scale had said the same thing over and over (and over and over).

How could it be that I was doing so much work and not losing any more weight when I had once been so successful?

I fell into a rut yet again, and that’s when I started to see the scale go up. How could I let myself become the person I had worked so hard to escape? Was this really going to be how my journey ended? I called my mom and told her what was going on.

Not only did she feel sympathy for me but also fear. Fear that I would yet again become the person I once was. I could not go back to being that person. It was then after grocery shopping that I received a sign. My co-worker Kait called me and told me that she wanted a workout buddy at Lifetime Fitness doing team fitness.

Without hesitation I agreed, I mean what could I lose right? Then it hit me, the countdown I knew was coming and yet wanted to forget. I had four months before my best friend’s wedding! I couldn’t go try on my dress feeling and looking the way I did, let alone make her look bad by being in the bridal party.

It was time to kick it into high gear. As I was about to drive home to think of how I could really slim down for this wedding, I noticed a small orange paper under my windshield wiper. It read “Come Tryout Orange Theory;” it was like the universe knew exactly what I needed. I remember participating in Orange Theory when it first opened and loving every minute of the workout.

Base Pace. Push. All Out.

Here went nothing. I was in the studio and paid to take this class. There was no way I could back out now, and who knew maybe I would love it. Holy Cow! The workout not only kicked my butt, but I burned 450 calories? It was the best day thus far. I knew I could do it. The last couple of months leading to the wedding I would work out five times a week and rest on the weekends. It would be just like cheerleading practice.

I was use to grueling schedules, and it was on the way home from work anyways. Who could pass up this type of convenience. As I began that long month of February, I realized that I had finally found a schedule that made me want to put on a sports bra with no shirt. The pounds felt like they were flying off, and the scale solidified that feeling. I finally passed my threshold and got to my 2nd mile marker: 137 pounds

It took me so long to see those numbers all on the scale at the same time that the tears started pouring down. I had worked so hard for this, and I was finally excited to put on a bikini and stand next to my best friend as she said ‘I Do’ to the man of her dreams.

I could finally wear shorts without wanting to hide in the house or wear a tank top that was form fitting. It felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulders and the days seemed brighter. I finally looked forward to going out with friends, or going on dates with my boyfriend. Finally I was happy.

The end?

You may think this is the end of the story, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. I am constantly fighting to stay at the weight that I am while also trying to lose weight. The secret to weight loss does not start with the workout and how rigorous it is or how healthy you have it eat, or even how much you work out. It starts with your support system.

I could tell you that it was only because of all these positive changes that I made which helped me lose weight, but I couldn’t have done it without my personal cheerleaders. I knew if I feel down or lost faith in myself there was someone there waiting with a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on. They motivate me every day to continue what I have started and today I can finally say I have lost 32 pounds.

My Recommended Resource:

Kayla Itsines Recipe Guide: BBG by Kayla Itsines

Hey guys! During my weight loss journey, I found a lot of different ways to motivate myself. One of these ways was through reading Kayla Itsines’ story, which led to trying out some of her workouts and nutrition guides.

This recipe guide is a part of her Bikini Body Guide series and helped teach me how to make great tasting food and curb cravings. If you’re struggling with or know a friend that is struggling with weight loss, check it out these recipes and see if they work for you!

I am far from done on this journey, but for the first time I am even more excited to see where it takes me in the end.

Much of what we see on social media is the tip of the iceberg. We aren’t aware of what goes on underneath the water that manifests into the beautiful structure displayed in the open air that is Instagram, Facebook, etc. My social media pages are no different.

I love the life that I have created, and I am truly happy with myself and my circumstances… I hope this shows in my posts. However, success and happiness aren’t always the easiest things to come by. They take endless hours of consistent hard-work and an unwavering dedication.

The older in age I become, the more I realize the importance of squeezing out every last drop of daylight and making the absolute most of every day. Consequently, I wake up at 3:40 am 7 days a week and don’t call it quits until 10 pm or so. There is simply too much that I want to accomplish in this life to spend my days sleeping, hung over, or unhappy.

Because of my early mornings and hectic schedule, I have been forced to fall in love with myself and my alone time. Meditation and yoga are a big part of that and they are truly the anchoring forces that create structure and balance in my everyday life. I meditate 30 minutes every morning after my work out and I try to attend a Yoga class 2-3 times a week in between my kickboxing/running/weight training routines. I have created a lifestyle completely revolving around mental and physical health, but it took years of consistent action and DAILY practice.

Another area of my life that requires constant attention is my volunteer work.

I was born to serve others and discovered my passion for serving those less fortunate than me during my time at Habitat for Humanity. Through my work with Habitat, I was able to realize the unerring truth that your circumstances do not determine your attitude. YOU determine your attitude, how you approach life, and how you respond to setbacks.

The families that I had the pleasure of working with did not have the luxuries that most Americans are afforded, but they were still some of the happiest people I’d ever met.

I have served as a budget coach and as a homeowner selection committee member at Habitat collectively for over four years now, and through these experiences I have met some of the most amazingly influential people in my life. My social media doesn’t display my work with Habitat, but this is where the majority of my passion lies.

Thankfully, Habitat led me to another organization with which I have been involved for three years now.

I serve as a Big Brother as a part of the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization. My “Little” is a 13 year-old named Savyon. Savyon has one of those smiles that lights up a room and despite the amount of responsibility on his shoulders, he constantly offers up that smile to the world. On top of his schoolwork, basketball practice, and social life, Savyon helps take care of his siblings… and he does it all in such a caring way that it makes me certain that love is in the hearts of the generations to come. This is a great feeling.

Although my social media displays pictures of photo shoots, concerts, and outings with friends, this is only #halfofthestory. My true passion comes alive when I am serving others and it requires a lot of work and time behind the scenes. In the end, it is all worth it because when you find what sets your soul on fire, it is your responsibility to pursue your passion like your life depends on it… because it does.

Art is my favorite form of self-expression. It allows people to use their imagination and creativity to reveal moods and emotion, and to alter thought and perception. I grow everyday into the artist and the person I want to be by pushing my limits and expanding my boundaries. Similar to Wish Dish, art is a storytelling platform through visual stimulation. I love being an artist because it pushes me to seek the best of my ability, as well as allowing me to share a passion for beauty amongst other people. Being an artist allows me to unearth God’s beautiful creations and share it with others, whether that is through photography, painting, or film. I believe that it is this beauty that can inspire people to love and to find purpose in their own lives.

I created the painting for my book cover submission with an open mind and a sense of authenticity. Through each spontaneous paint stroke, I fearlessly depicted my thoughts and inner reflection with no external influence, only pure self. Like the Wish Dish platform, the painting was created with my voice and my story. There is chaos and rhythm, but also harmony and balance, similar to the life stories of individuals in the Wish Dish Collection. There is no definite image that suits every person’s story, but rather an overall tone of beauty hidden beneath the valiant color and disorder. I believe the boldness of this cover is a reflection of the individuals’ courage when sharing their stories and connecting with others. It is honest. It is bold. It is confident…like showing up naked.

I identify myself as a creative mind, getting to look at things through a lens that’s more abstract than not.

Growing up, I idolized my older sister. She’s one of my best friends and biggest influencers. Since I can remember, she has encouraged me to try new things and not to be afraid of failure. She went on to study art in college, making and creating, and I was always really inspired by her drive and zeal to try new things.

Art is something that I carry closely. It’s a language all it’s own and I am in constant pursuit to know that language better. For the longest time, I was intimidated because I wasn’t studying it like my sister, so I automatically counted myself out.

But I loved drawing. Doodling. Looking at things and thinking about how it would look through different lenses. All of it, deconstructed lines that come together to create something beautiful.

I have the vision, so I need to dive head-first!

Growing up, my story wasn’t something people were really interested in. Sure, my family was interested, but that pivotal time that is “middle school” I felt really alone. After having people be truly interested in me, my heart, and my dreams, I wanted to be the person to love on people and show them that their story is important and needs to be heard, because every story is important.

Showing Up Naked is a book that goes to the root of the art of deconstructed story telling. Raw, true accounts from people you and I can Identify with. The people writing are people you and I interact with on the daily, and it’s a beautiful thing to see that the only thing that separates us is a simple ice-breaker conversation.

So why the doors? Every heart and soul of a person is so unique and different from the next, yet more important than anything. The people that get to look through the window of my soul aren’t that many, but when they do, I imagine the outside looks like a little house, with a cute little door and a welcome mat, complete with a key underneath. Getting in may be easy, but getting to the entrance is harder than you may think.

My inspiration was to create a series of doors that are all unique in some way, shape, or form, in color and style, just like the stories that will reside in the book, written by people like you and me. They are organic, deconstructed, and simple. They have character, but aren’t hard to look at. They are the doors you walk through to read these stories in a raw, real, understanding way. I see a lot of myself in these doors, imperfect, but filled with a lot of stories that make me who I am, and that Jesus loves my stories, regardless of how imperfect the door to my heart is.

Art is a way for me to express myself. In anything and everything I do, I get to look at it through a lens that sees things a little differently– an abstract, simple, real lens that sees the people and the story first.

Vote on Kelsey’s cover using the link below!

I grew up in a small town in Southeast Georgia. It was Southern enough for me to have a little twang in my speech, but being right on the coast allowed for a great mix between the country and the beach. Even though my town was somewhat small, my family encouraged limitless dreams; that I could do anything I put my mind to.

My priorities were pretty typical: God, family, school, sports. My faith provided love, support, something to believe in; being an only child, we are a tight knit family, and I am somewhere between spoiled rotten and feeling like I have been an adult since I could speak.

School was an education, a way to fulfill my wildest academic dreams; sports were my dad and I’s favorite thing to do and talk about while my mom was the biggest cheerleader you can imagine. Sometimes I look back and just cannot believe how incredibly blessed I was with such a loving, encouraging family, who truly made me believe I could do and/or be anything I wanted.

The world was mine for the taking.

I distinctly remember sitting in Starbucks with a teacher discussing college essay topics. We talked about the formalities, how to make your essay stand out, and something in my life that had really impacted me. I thought about my faith, my family, and of course how sports had impacted my life. She also asked if I had ever had anything sad or tragic happen that really changed my life.

I had not. The only thing I could even think of being sad in my life up to that point was my childhood dog, Cornflake, passing away the year before. Cornflake was a gift for my fourth birthday. My mom and dad took me to the Humane Society and I was allowed to choose a puppy. Although her death was sad and Cornflake was absolutely meaningful in my life, the twelve years I had with her were good and only fond memories came to my mind when I thought of my sweet, brown puppy. I had a wonderful life absent of major tragedy or sadness.

In less than three months after that conversation, my grandmother that lived less than a mile down the road, who brought me lunch to school every Friday when I was in middle school, who showed up in her tie dye tank top to every single one of my softball games, who taught me how to fish, how to work hard, and who put herself through college in the early 50’s, had passed away suddenly and in the blink of an eye my world was forever changed.

On a beautiful fall Saturday morning, I had gotten up a little earlier than usual for a Saturday, I called Granny Josey asking if she wanted a sausage biscuit (a tradition of ours), and headed to her house where she had hot chocolate waiting on me. After the biscuit and the hot chocolate, we sat on the couch watching TV together, probably Matlock, and we both dosed off for a few hours after chatting about school and the softball season. After I woke up, I kissed her on the cheek, and left her house to get ready for a small town Saturday night.

The next morning I went to church with my boyfriend at the time and we were sitting on his grandmother’s porch swing when my mom called and told me that my grandmother, my feisty Granny Josey, was on her way to the hospital. I did not believe it. For one, we had just spent the whole day before together and she seemed totally normal, and although she was 78 years old she still raked the yard, drove her Ford Taurus, and cooked every night. No way was she going to the hospital.

The next month was just a blur; in just four short weeks my grandmother, my Granny Josey, went from alive and well to gone.

It was my senior year of high school, life should have been wonderful, but I do not remember anything from October to January. It is almost as if I did not even live during that time. Like I was looking in at my life not understanding what was happening. Eventually, life seemed to keep going, after seemingly being stalled for an unknown period of time. There were still moments though where I simply could not believe, almost forgot, that she had passed away.

I found myself picking the phone up trying to call her and catching myself before dialing the final digit. What had happened? How could this have happened? One minute everything was fine, and the next it was a life I did not recognize.

The application for the University of Georgia was due in early January.

I actually applied to five different colleges, even my dad’s beloved University of Kentucky, but the University of Georgia was my first choice. Somehow I got all of the applications in on time, even though I am still not exactly sure what I submitted. In February the acceptance letters began to arrive. Then one afternoon I came home after a soccer game with a rather large letter from the University of Georgia that said “Official Acceptance” across the front. My mama was crying, my daddy was proud and I was overjoyed.

Georgia, the college I wanted to attend, wanted me! It was relief, joy, pride, excitement, all rolled into one. After calling my family and friends to share the news, I remember laying in bed after all of the excitement of the day thinking about Athens, how some of my dreams were coming true. I also thought about the distance between Athens and home. I had just been reminded of how important family is, how short life is. Going to a school like UGA was a dream of mine, it was a dream of my grandmother’s for me, but things had changed. I was conflicted. We were all still mourning, still in shock, and now I was supposed to just leave in a few months? How could I do that? How could I leave my loved ones so soon after we were all reminded of the sanctity life?

I am not sure how I made the decision, whether it was my family’s encouragement or my eagerness to fulfill my dream, but I did decided to attend the University of Georgia. I could not have imagined how this decision, the school, its community, and the Classic City would shape my life. To this day, going to UGA is still one of the best decisions I have ever made.

I honestly cannot imagine my life had I gone to another school. At UGA I found friends and people who really got me. I found a great deal of this life-shaping encouragement in a student-run organization where we all have a story, where we all have someone to fight for. I fell so much in love with this organization that I applied for its executive board and was selected to serve on that board in April of my sophomore year. I was ecstatic. I already loved the people, loved the cause, and could not wait to start as student recruitment chair. I left Athens in the summer that year, already excited for my return that fall.

That summer though, would hold something far different than what I had imagined.

My grandfather had been complaining of stomachaches for a while. When he went to the doctor, they thought it might be an ulcer, a virus; all kinds of things that it was not. This went on for around six months, when finally they decided to run a different test, just in case. This test showed that my grandfather’s complaints were warranted.

He had pancreatic cancer.

We could not believe it; he just complained of stomachaches, no way he had pancreatic cancer. The news of his cancer diagnosis came in early June, so that Father’s Day my mom and dad went on the first of what we thought were many visits to come. I had just started my summer job, and because this was the first of many trips, they wanted me to stay home for this trip and then go back with them again in July.

That summer I worked on the beach so after my twelve hour shift on Independence Day, we headed back to my grandfather’s house in Kentucky. We arrived in the wee morning hours on Sunday. The Reds were playing in Cincinnati that day, so being the enormous sports fans that we are, we went to the Great American Ball Park to watch them play.

My grandfather was not doing well, so he did not come with us but assured us he wanted us to go so he could see us on TV, after all we would be there for the entire week. The next morning my dad was supposed to take Pawpaw for his third chemo treatment and get the results of his first scan of the tumor after starting treatment. If the tumor was smaller it would mean the chemo was working. We prayed for good news. They had to get up so early in the morning I told my dad not to wake me up when they left, but to wake me up when they got back so I could check on Pawpaw, see how it went. It was dark and my mom was waking me up. I remember thinking “I told y’all not to wake me up before you left.”

Then I saw that the clock read 3 AM, my mom had been crying, and more lights in the house were on.

Mama walked me into the living room where I found my dad crying. I knew but I did not want to believe it. This was supposed to be the first of many visits we were to make. His prognosis was 4-6 months if the chemo did not work, which was not great, but it had only been a month! Again, it was complete disbelief, shock. That summer ended with me not wanting to leave my family and go back to UGA. It gave me the same feeling I had when leaving the first time. How could I leave again?

After the first couple of weeks of junior year I was getting back into the hang of things. I was still calling home often to check on my family, especially my father who was still struggling with my grandfather’s death. The third weekend back in Athens, the board of the organization I had joined went on a retreat.

At this retreat we all shared our stories, why we were a part of the organization, who we were fighting for. Although I had reasons for supporting the organization before, my story had changed and it was still fresh. I told my new story about my grandfather, how I now had a whole new reason to be a part of this entity bigger than me. Then it hit me, I had no idea of how my life would change, but God knew and I realized I was in the exact place I was supposed to be. How do I know that?

Well, it was that feeling of contentment, the same feeling I have when I am back on the coast with my family and friends. I felt at home. I felt encouraged, strengthened, and loved. In the beginning of this story I spoke of my faith, my family and God. He knew I would need to feel at home; He prepared for me a place of love and comfort to ease my heartbreak and struggles.

May 8, 2015, was a beautiful spring day, Graduation day at UGA; I made it! My dream had come true! Really, we made it, our dreams had come true. I was so excited and thankful. As I searched the crowded stands for my family and friends, the crystal blue sky caught my eye. Although Granny Josey and Pawpaw were not physically there, they were with me in Sanford Stadium and thanks to Him they had the best seats in the house!