Love continuously proves to be one of the most elusive concepts.

That is, for me anyways. How are we supposed to go about finding something that so few can even define? Yet, while I may not have experienced the kind of love that makes up fairy tales, some of the stories I have heard throughout my 21 years of life have given me hope. Hope that maybe the connections we make in this lifetime are worth more than a box of chocolates or a way to pass the time.

Some of the following recollections of love stories are from my friends and family. Others are random remembrances of conversations with kind strangers. Either way, from those I have encountered, I have found that it is love that makes life worth living.

My grandmother smiled warily as she recounted her love story for the last time, sitting with me on her bed.

The platinum beauty was standing overlooking the airplane tarmac with her father when he saw her. He was sitting in the café with a gaggle of stewardesses when he looked up and said, “That is the woman I am going to marry.” The young man got up, walked over and introduced himself to the woman and her father. As fate would have it, he worked for her father’s engineering company in Los Angeles. As the staff called for the boarding of their flight, the woman and her father took their seats in first class while the man went back to sit in economy. When the father got up to use the restroom, the man got up, sat in the father’s seat, drank the father’s martini and did his best to woo the young woman. When the father came back he politely asked if the young man would move, as he’d like to have lunch with his daughter. Phone numbers were exchanged, background checks were ran and a double date was set up between the young man and the beautiful blonde. Six months later they were married and proceeded to spend the next 50 years of their life together.

She chuckled while recalling the memory, sitting with me at an airport terminal in Dublin.

She was an English lady on holiday in Ireland with her friends. Her first marriage was not all that it was cracked up to be and she needed a break. Riding her moped down the winding Irish roads, he almost ran her off the road. It was meant to be. They got married and she moved to Ireland whilst her daughter moved to The States. She learned to love Guinness for him.

Her eyes smiled up at me over her glass of wine as we told her our well wishes, sitting on our hostel’s rooftop patio in Portugal.

They we’re both at a random Chicago Cubs game. He was from Texas; she was from Canada. They were seated next to each other and hit it off. He had just gotten into a relationship. They exchanged contact information and went their separate ways. A year and a half had gone by when she received a random call. It was him. He was out of his relationship and had been thinking about her after all this time. They began long-distance calling each other for months and eventually made plans to meet in Vegas to see if the spark was still there. She was leaving to fly to Vegas in the morning.

Watching as they joked for the umpteenth time about who is older/smarter/drunker I remember how much I adore my brother—and I couldn’t love her more as a sister if I tried.

They grew up at the lake together. He did a little more of the physical growing up then she did. It was the golden summer and feelings developed. Jokes were made and families looked on with barely-concealed amusement. There were many play fights to be had, lots of Bloody Mary’s to be made and countless childish jokes to be tossed out just to see who could toss it back first. She lived in LA; he lived in Atlanta. They carried on long-distance throughout the ups and downs over the years. They look forward to moving in together next year.

I could go on forever.

It’s true for many that love take time to grow. But for others, it arises and smacks you on the head like an out-of-control moped on an Irish holiday. To me, relationships that seem to be destined aren’t the ones you went searching for. They’re the kind that come out of nowhere. They are the kind that are messy, take work and surprise your common sense.

They’re the kind that I love to hear about.

I love to hear the stories about how people met, because they are never the same. They never happen the way you expect them to; and that’s one of the unsurpassed wonders and mysteries of life.  So to all those who have already found their love story, keep on spreading that joy. For those who haven’t, much like myself, there is nothing to worry about. Keep an open mind and heart and let fate do its’ thing. While it may not be popular opinion, I do believe that those who are meant to come and stay in your life—will. Life is long, but altogether too short to spend time with those who don’t fill your cup.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” ― Pablo Neruda

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!

Chapter 1

Again? Seriously? I thought to myself as I watched my target through the smoke-filled bar. He’d been sitting in the same sticky corner booth for the last three hours, and my patience was wearing thin.

As the waitress left him and delivered a third apple martini to the blond twenty-something in a tight black dress sitting alone at the end of the bar, I groaned and slumped on my stool, hidden at the bar.

I wanted to go over and tell him that no girl who looked like that was going to be interested in a prematurely balding forty-three year old with a nose the size of Mount Rushmore, but I’d be wasting my breath. At least the young woman in question was getting free drinks out of it. I’d been sipping on water for the last two hours, and the bartender was starting to get irritated.

As the drink was delivered, the girl gave my mark a polite nod, but then quickly turned back around. As his shoulders slumped, I stifled a laugh at how out of his depth this man was.

Wishing he would get the hint that he wasn’t going to score tonight and go home, I fidgeted in my seat, trying to shake the pins and needles out of my lower half. These bar stools were anything but comfortable.

Glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, I wondered how a man like that ended up with a woman like the one who came into my office last week.

I was hired by Little-Miss-Trophy-Wife to follow her husband around, but I’m not sure why she was bothering to pay my considerable fee for the man in front of me. Mr. Bradshaw here wasn’t even getting a second glance from the single women in this place or any other bar he’d visited this week. Not that it was surprising. He made a rather pathetic image in his rumpled grey suit and stained white shirt that he’d worn three days in a row.

Maybe I was a pessimist when it came to love, but my job as a private investigator didn’t really leave room for a romantic side. Watching married men and women screw the mistress or hooker or random guy in the bar bathroom for a living made you loose the drive to find someone who was just as likely to love you as they were to screw you over.

The bartender came to stand in front of me, and with an irritated look on his face, he asked, “Can I get you anything stronger?” Not knowing how many more beers Mr. Bradshaw was going to guzzle down before finally giving up the chase, I nodded and said, “Scotch. Straight up.”

Looking a little more relaxed, he nodded and prepared my drink. As he set the glass in front of me, I took a small sip before cradling it in my hands.

The alcohol slowly moved down my throat, spreading warmth through my tired, hidden limbs.

Enjoying the sensation, I let a small smile play about my lips before looking back at Mr. Bradshaw.

He sat there, twirling his wedding ring around his finger, and the look on his face made a wave of pity flow through me. It must be hard to be so completely miserable in a relationship that you’d rather come to a dive like this than go home.

People needed to choose their partners more carefully. It seemed to me that too many people confused lust with love, and then when the novelty wore off, they found themselves chained to a person they couldn’t stand to spend five minutes with – let alone a lifetime.

Suddenly, I felt the warmth of someone’s sour breath on my neck, shaking me out of me cynical thoughts, and I turned my head to look.

A relatively attractive man with dark brown hair that curled around his ears and fell just above his eyebrows was leaning way too close to me. His eyes were a dark chocolate brown, rather common, and the black biker jacket he had on looked brand new as it caught the neon lights above the bar.

He’d clearly had a few, and the slight tilt to his lean frame reminded me of a scarecrow slowly tipping over as the string holding him up came loose.

His breath smelled like beer and cigar smoke when he said, “Hey beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”

Rolling my eyes, I looked at him and replied, “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Oh come on,” he said gently, running his fingers up my arm. “We could have a good time together.”

Irritation flickered through me at the unwanted physical contact, and I turned a bit more toward him. Looking down at his hand, I noticed the slightest tan line on his ring finger and felt ill. How could people be so callous? When I eventually found love, I wouldn’t be so quick to throw it away. As I looked back up into his eyes, the drunken grin I saw there made me angry.

Putting on my best impression of an interested woman who’d had a few too many drinks, I leaned forward slightly and asked, “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Mark Braxton,” he said quickly, picking up on my change in mood as he continued to lightly touch my skin.

“What did you have in mind, Mark?” I asked, arching my back so his gaze dipped to my chest.

Getting excited, he stepped in close, put his hands on my hips, and replied, “Anything, everything.”

Giving him a fake smile, I leaned in close and whispered, “I have a feeling your wife wouldn’t like that too much.”

As his head kicked back like I’d punched him, his smile disappeared, and his face contorted into an angry grimace. “That’s none of your business, bitch,” he shot back.

His intended insult didn’t faze me in the slightest, and I sighed, “Why don’t you just go back to your buddies over there, and I’ll forget to call your wife?”

“Bitch!” he said again before stomping back to his snickering friends sitting across the bar. Watching him leave in a huff, I thought to myself, Why don’t guys ever see the ‘don’t mess with me’ sign I keep on my forehead? It would save everyone a whole lot of hassle.

It’s not like my worn out jeans with rips at the knees and teal tank top screamed ‘fuck me’ like the small excuse for a dress that Mr. Bradshaw’s blond had on.

Shaking my head one more time as Mr. Braxton glared at me through the smoke filled air, I looked back toward my target, and I was instantly shocked when I found his booth empty.

Quickly getting to my feet in disbelief, I scanned the rest of the bar, but I didn’t see him. Shit, I thought. Please tell me I didn’t lose him. Making my way outside, I looked for his five series BMW in the parking lot and breathed a sigh of relief when it was still parked in its spot by the curb. I would have never lived it down if I’d lost my mark because some drunken asshole was hitting on me.

Turning back to the bar, I stopped short when I found Mr. Bradshaw leaning with one hand on the side of the building, relieving himself as he struggled not to fall over. Quickly turning away, I closed my eyes and sighed.

The high point of my night was watching a man commit a misdemeanor. I must be the least social twenty-four-year-old that I knew.

Most of the time following cheaters and liars around instead of doing any of the weirdly acceptable activities for a girl in her twenties didn’t bother me. My work was my life and, for me, that was enough. I flirted and dated when I wanted, but for the most part, a boyfriend just took time that I didn’t have.

Glancing over my shoulder and seeing Mr. Bradshaw finishing up, I tucked myself out of sight between two cars, wrapping the shadows around me, as I watched him make his way over to his car and fumble with his keys. I knew I should probably stop him from driving in his condition, but it would compromise my cover.

I stood there for a few more seconds, considering my options, but when he dropped the keys on the ground, I knew I couldn’t just let him get behind the wheel.

Groaning, I made my way toward him, and hoped he was too drunk to remember my face tomorrow.

As he saw me, he stumbled back a step and then looked over my body with appreciation.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey there,” I replied sweetly.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Slurring his words, he said, “I was just going home.”

“That’s too bad,” I replied, pouting as I tried to act like I was interested.

“I was going to offer to buy you a drink.”

“Really?” he asked, a bit shocked, but then the alcohol kicked in and he smiled.

As he looked down at my chest one more time, I saw a spark of lust come into his eyes, and a wave of disgust rolled through me. You’re married!

I wanted to scream at him, but I held my tongue. Trying to hide my reaction, I took his hand and started walking back toward the bar.

Finally getting him through the door and back into the smoke filled building, I looked back at him, and with a forced smile, said, “Why don’t you go find us a booth and I’ll be right there?”

“You got it sweetheart,” he replied, a bigger grin filling his face. Leaning toward me slightly, he reached around and pinched my ass before stumbling his way back over to the corner booth. After he was out of earshot, I made a gagging sound and wrinkled my nose in revulsion. Even that small touch felt like a violation, and I immediately wanted a shower to wash the smoke and sweat off my skin.

Turning back to the bartender, I leaned across the bar and said, “That man over there was about to drive off, but I don’t think he’s sober enough to be trusted behind the wheel. You might want to take his keys so he doesn’t kill himself.”

Nodding his head, the bartender made his way over to the booth, and as Mr. Bradshaw started to yell, I knew it would be safe to leave him for the night.

If he didn’t end up in jail for throwing a punch, he’d be put in a cab headed home. Turning around, I made my way outside to my car as a wave of exhaustion swept through me. I thought about how amazing my pillow was going to feel when I got home, and my lips curved up into a tired smile.

The drive down to my apartment on Buffalo didn’t take very long at 12:20 AM, and before long I was making my way up the two flights of stairs to my apartment as the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Petrovos’ evening fight filled the air.

Thanking my lucky stars that someone thought to double insulate the walls in my building, I shook my head at their bickering and slid my key into the lock. I lived in a sweet spot between two of the more rundown neighborhoods near downtown Las Vegas, so my rent was really cheap without giving up on the quality of the apartment, and I loved it.

As I walked inside and the warm smell of vanilla filled my nose, I closed and locked the door behind me quickly. Slowly stripping off my clothes as I went, I walked through the living room, making a trail of clothes from the front door into the bedroom. Falling into my bed, I closed my eyes as the soft sheets enveloped me and I reached sweet oblivion.

I hated writing.  If you told me growing up that I’d be doing it for fun after college, I absolutely would have rolled my eyes!  Writing was a chore. 

But…in my third-year-writing class, I completed a 20-page research paper on looping and tracking in education (one of my nerdy passions), and I realized how much fun I had while researching and writing it!

I thought, “If I had this much fun writing in academia, there’s gotta be something for me in writing on an emotional and spiritual level,” whether it was public or private.

In elementary school, I had a diary that chronicled boys I liked and the dramas of gel pens; but since coming to college, journaling became a huge part of bible study, rants and raves, and personal exploration.

The joy I discovered in finding myself through writing became something difficult to put into words.  The deepest, introverted pieces of me can cause me to get way too caught up in my head, so writing became a safe place to reflect and respond to my self discoveries and struggles. Post diary days, I moved more toward quiet and sweet meditations from Rumi and reflections on Maya Angelou’s poetry and stories.  (*Highest recommendations for “Home” by M.A. and “The Essential Rumi” by Coleman Marks if you have yet to explore them!)

After being diagnosed with depression in November of 2014, my identity officially crumbled.  It felt like it had been falling apart, piece by piece for many months by then, but I was exhausting myself by forcing them to fall gracefully so I could pick them up by myself without anyone noticing.

I had been shoving them into my over-filled backpack of emotions and shame and guilt and sadness for so long that finally.  In the small, dimly lit room, I sat with my counselor as she said the word out loud, associating it with me.

Depression. And my backpack burst.

The seams ripped, making it impossible to zip it back up, and all my emotions and fears of being unworthy and unlovable were laid out in from of me. Damnit.  It hurt.  I had to deal with it now.  I had to deal with the pain my family caused me.  I had to deal with the fact that finding my identity in my job and academics wasn’t available to me anymore.  And worst of all, I had to deal with the parts of me that I didn’t like and redirect my attention on the things that were actually wonderful about me, things that made me ‘me.’ And I knew I had to love all of that; but I had to re-learn how to love all of that.

Writing has been a way for me to stay sane in my brain while also getting out all of my thoughts and without having others’ thoughts to worry about.  I no longer let others dictate what I think about myself and the decisions I make.  I can use the tools I have received from blogs and counseling and mentors and even helping others through their own pain…I use these tools to remind myself that there is hope on the other side.  That my struggle right now is the hardest one I will ever face.  And the next will be too. Writing is now a companion, allowing me to love myself again.  I can read something I wrote and look at it like I’m helping a friend.

I can come to my own conclusions with fresh eyes, a fresh spirit, and a fresh page. P.S. Hope is always singing, “Hello from the other siiiiiiide!”

When I saw that becoming a Health Community Ambassador was something that Wish Dish was doing, I jumped at the chance. By serving in this role I can impact so many people and the health community by helping people share their stories.

I’ve come up with some goals to accomplish along the way.

• Create a community and safe haven for people to come and share their stories.

My ultimate goal while serving as a Wish Dish Health Community Ambassador is to create a community and safe haven. I want the Wish Dish Health Community to be an open forum for everyone to share their stories.

• Provide a resource/outlet for people struggling with health issues.

By providing a community for everyone to share their stories I hope it leads to resources for others to use. I want Wish Dish Health to serve as an outlet for people to share their resources and stories to hopefully help just one person who reads their story.

• Connect people who have endured health issues or have been affected by health issues in order to create a support system.

I want someone to read a story and realize that someone else has been affected by cancer, suicide, multiple sclerosis, addiction, etc. and now they have a contact person to serve as a resource for helplines, spiritual/religious resource, foundations, etc.

• Bring attention to more important health topics, specifically related to mental health.

By allowing people to share their stories about how they been affected by suicide, depression, anxiety, etc. it brings attention to these health topics that need to be pushed to the forefront of research so that we can work towards a cure or more help for those wanting to live a normal life in the community.

• Help overcome stigmas of mental health and disabilities.

Mental health and disabilities have become such taboo topics to discuss. I’m hoping through Wish Dish Health that people are willing to talk more and more about these topics in order to bring them into the light of health topics and let people know that its OK to discuss these topics with one another. We want to encourage these conversations in order to help save just one more life.

• Start a legacy of conversation.

The more people are willing to share their stories and experiences then it forces people to start a conversation. This allows people to become more aware of health issues that are affecting so many people around the world today.

• Help people become open minded and sympathetic to ALL health topics.

I want people to learn as much as they can about different health topics. Research topics like autism, cancer, HIV/AIDS, schizophrenia, ADD/ADHD, Zika, diabetes, etc. There are plenty of resources online to learn more.

TED Talks has a great piece on autism by Temple Grandin you should check it out!

• Use my future nursing degree to spark change.

In May I’ll graduate with my BSN and I hope to use that degree to help change the lives of NICU babies and their families. But for now I want to use Wish Dish Health to help change and save lives.

• Professional development for my future career.

By serving as a Wish Dish Health Community Ambassador it will help expand my knowledge on many health issues as well as see how people cope with certain things. This will help me tremendously with my professional development as well as help me connect better with my patients.

I’m laying down in bed right now. I can’t see a light besides what is being displayed on my phone screen. It’s the darkness that has steadily reaped havoc inside me the past 3-4 months. This darkness can be crippling. It’s darkness that is there until you turn the light on, but sometimes the light seems so far away. And when you do turn it on, it only stays for brief moments.

For over the past year and a half, I have pursued Wish Dish head on. Head down, foot on the gas, with small moments of pause and reset along the way. The burnouts have been bad, over-exacerbated at times. They hit you when you least expect them. Jabs, hooks, and knockout punches coming from nowhere. People who once believed in you walking away not paying attention to you anymore. People you look up to telling you the fight may be over.

You step in the ring to begin with because you have something to fight for. If you step in the ring to look tough and be cool, then it’s all for the wrong reasons. It’s not a battle worth to endure without a noble cause to follow. There’s no way I could push each day if I didn’t know Why I started.

I stepped in the ring because I had a problem.

I hit a low point, and I needed a place to share. I needed a place to connect and find a tribe of my own. My problem became a dream, not just for myself, but a dream that could help others around me.

So I created a solution (Wish Dish) that has allowed me to do just that, but I’ve also created a solution that has thrown me in the middle of sea trying to figure out the next best place to swim. Usually, there’s always that person that puts on the tubies before I “drown” and provides reassurance I’m on the right path.

But the past 3 or 4 months, the anchor has been pulling hard on the feet. There has been no reassurance. There hasn’t been that person.

When I say I’ve failed, I’ve failed a lot. When I first started, when the gas was on Full, and I was running at Ferrari speeds of excitement, I could do anything. It was all about the people we were serving. From showing up to Georgia State meeting 300 random students in 4 days, to flying to Mailbu to speak to Pepperdine students, to showing up to UCLA for a day talking to 50 strangers, to building ambassador programs at 5 different colleges in Georgia, we were doing it all.  Anything we wanted at lightning speed.

I learned early on that wasn’t the most efficient way to scale content, so I stumbled upon a woman who had this amazing idea to look at our data. From there, I saw mental health, sports, culture, and faith were our top 4 topics. From there, I developed relationships within those areas and grew our content with the help of many people fighting for the same cause. Within the span of 3 months, we launched a new site (the one we have today), published more than 175 stories, and had an event with almost 200+ people. An event where people flew in from Philadelphia, Tennessee, Virginia, and New York.

The tide was high, we were riding the wave. But all waves come to a crash and this wave seemed to take me through the undercurrent.

I just haven’t fully realized it until now.

In May, I lost an incredible team member Sam Dickinson to a full time job in Indiana. Sam was a backbone to the early foundation. He helped build our content strategy, power points, review our proposals. He was the most reliable person who understood everything we were doing.

When Sam left, I knew it was time to find a cofounder, so I heavily recruited a friend from Philadelphia who has the I can do anything attitude. I thought he’d be perfect for the team. And I still hope he can one day join. After not being able to come to terms, it was another blow to the chest. It seemed early on, anyone and everyone was helping push this vision forward. I never had rejection up to this point from someone I had worked so hard to try and recruit.

Speaking about building the team, for the last 6 months, I’ve pushed relentlessly to find a technical founder who can make product changes and improve the website. In April I had conducted 25 user interviews and learn how important it was to build a product that keeps visitors and contributors coming back to the site. So I began the search for a long-term technical solution. Being extremely short on capital and in an industry where tech developers are swept up by the tech giants of the world for $75K/year — I’ve struggled immensely to find the consistent talent I need. I’ve probably put in 100+ hours of work trying to find the right person interviewing one tech person after another and having introductions made. Heck, I even have a spreadsheet of 80 different names I’ve talked too.

Along with trying to put a team in place, we’ve been working to implement revenue models. I’ve struggled to put In monetary solutions with the rawness of the platform. How do we make money but not ruin an authentic brand. We have begun the foundation for a book called “Showing Up Naked” but that is a process in itself. Sponsors have been tough to come by and there are moments in time when the next best step forward is murky.

At 23, I’ve learned so much. I’ve given everything possible to this platform to make it succeed on extremely little capital.  The gas tank right now is near empty, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth a refuel. And if it is, I’m trying to figure out where the gas would be.

In the past year we have helped so many people get jobs from their stories shared, we’ve connected people with suicide stories to one another, and we’ve built meaningful connection for so many people.

It’s been everything I could imagine and more.

As the founder behind it, it’s hard to sometimes see through the fuzziness of the clouds. Day in and day out, I question, am I on the right path? I feel trapped in the college town I went to school in, sharing a room with a friend, driving a beat up 2004 car. It all seems rough from the outside, and on the inside I’m the one who can actually feel it.

As I reflect, we still have accomplished so much. I realize we wouldn’t be here without an amazing team of advisors, group of friends who have supported, and amazing teammates along the way.

So the question is, are we going to continue?

I watched the Olympics this weekend. I saw people who had trained a lifetime of to make their dreams come true. One of the divers who fell short said, “I’ll be back in Toyko.” He didn’t have to think twice about putting in another 4 years of training. The sheer resilience, determination, and effort was inspiring to see.

I recently read a book on Phil Knight, Nike’s Founder called Shoe Dog. Nike wasn’t even called Nike until year 8 of business. There were a million and one reasons why Nike should have failed in their first 25 years of business, but they found a way through.  Nike’s brand speaks for itself, because they have a founder who embodies every characteristic of what they represent.

For us, putting in a year and a half and letting it go because everything isn’t working how I thought by this time would simply be giving up. And I’m simply not ready to let that happen. Onward we go.

Bryan Wish

As we continue to work through connecting people in meaningful ways, we have taken our first step in forming community groups.

Communities to join: Please click and ask to be added as a member. We are looking for Community Managers as well.

Sports (for current Student-Athletes & Former Student-Athletes) to connect through sharing personal stories & professional opportunities

International (to connect people across the world through the sharing of stories)

Health (to connect people dealing with mental health, cancer, and other physical, mental, emotional troubles)

A few more to come in the near future …

Unlike many of the other WishDish articles, I do not have an extraordinarily amazing message or inspirational story. I’m just a simple guy who likes to drink beer on the weekends and eat good food.

So I come to you today as a poor college student with an omelette prep guide. Eggs! Eggs simply put, are a wonder-food (at least for me). Eggs are incredibly nutritious! Eggs are moderately low in fat and practically devoid of fat when eaten as whites only without the yolk.

A single egg is moderately high in Vitamin-D and Vitamin-B along with over 6 grams of protein. An egg is an amazing post-workout meal to help expedite the recovery of muscles, and if you’re cutting and want to reduce carbs, eggs are a go-to meal.

This is all considering not to mention, they’re relatively inexpensive along with being fast and easy to cook.

An easy way to remove the yolk from a cracked egg is to take an empty water bottle, squeeze it, and vacuum up the yolk.

Omelette

It’s like a taco made of eggs. The omelette is the poster child of what to do with eggs. You can pack it with your favorite ingredients be it vegan or a hearty filling of meat.

I prefer my omelette with sun-dried tomatoes (but these are expensive so I usually skip out on these, but they add a dimension of flavor), mushrooms, spinach, and finely chopped honey-glazed ham. My family has always been a ham family. We go ham about every single holiday be it Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, father’s day, and more. That’s right, you won’t find turkey in my household on Thanksgiving day.

That aside however, you can simply fill your omelette to your heart’s desire.

Many novice omeletteers will simply douse their ingredients with olive oil and heat before addition to their omelette, and I’m telling you there’s so much more you can do. Heat the pan to medium high and olive oil to a light coverage of the pan, a few holes in coverage is fine. Add the bulkiest ingredients first (mushrooms, ham, etc). And let that cook for about a minute before adding the smaller ingredients. Now, to take this filling to flavortown (thank you Guy Fieri), add a small cut of butter around the amount you would put on two pieces of bread at a restaurant. Keeping in the idea of healthy eating, this is a decently minimal amount of extraordinary leaps in flavor.

I enjoy adding fresh parley or thyme along with just a dash of lemon juice. Finish with a pinch of salt (or seasoning salt if you like that) and pepper. Once the ingredients have reached a softer consistency, they’re good to take off the heat and onto a plate for the time being. For the actual preparation of the omelette, wipe your pan with a paper towel and add another cover of olive oil. Heat to medium while you crack open three to four eggs into a bowl. Beat them until there’s a very cohesive consistency.

Don’t over-beat them. Add to the hot pan. Cover the whole bottom of the pan and let the eggs cook.

To keep the bottom from burning and over cooking, create small gaps in the omelette by breaking it apart with the spatula and allowing it to refill with egg. Once the holes begin to no longer fill, remove from heat immediately as the residual heat will cook the eggs. This is the perfect time to add cheese if you want (I enjoy smoked gouda, but that’s also expensive).

Now add the ingredients onto only half the egg, fold over, and plate. Congratulations, you have an omelette. To add extra flare, make a whites only egg omelette, then add the yolks in right on top of the ingredients before folding to create a gooey and creamy omelette. Afterwards, sprinkle on a light pinch of cayenne pepper for a kick along with fresh chives to make it look fancy.