Winona Dimeo-Ediger

I’d been so busy patting myself on the back for conquering my big fears, I failed to acknowledge that the types of things that scare me had shifted. A lot of the obvious stuff didn’t bother me anymore — but what about all the smaller, more personal things that still scared the living shit out of me?

"I’ve been on three rollercoasters in my life. I hated every second of all of them."

...canning stuff is the best. It makes you feel like a badass pioneer woman preparing for the Oregon Trail except in this scenario you’re making orange basil marmalade for brunches rather than sustenance and you have unlimited access to a shower.

If you give a White girl a pumpkin spice latte, she’s going to ask for a gluten-free vegan apple spice muffin.

Including: public transit inversion pose and heart-opening "shut up, mom" pose.

When I felt a familiar wave of insecurity creeping up and threatening to mute my movements, I looked to you for inspiration, and I danced even bigger.

There is no law that says only certain body types are allowed to wear certain styles of clothing. Nothing terrible is going to happen to you if you opt for a pair of flare jeans that make your thighs look bigger or a maxi dress that visually shortens your already short frame. You will still be gorgeous and unique and worthy of love and respect.

You don’t have to compromise on music or air conditioning temperature or snack break times. It’s just you, your car, and the open road. Ah, freedom!

Have you guys tried those “adult” Lego sets? They’re not “adult” in, like, a “build your own dildo” way (although I’m sure that’s a thing on eBay) but in a “you follow instructions that are probably too advanced for your 3-year-old nephew to follow and feel super smart and accomplished when you put the final piece on the top of your small-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower” way.

"These days, I don’t shop at the mall very often, but every once in a while when I find myself at a mall — any — I’m overcome by a wave of nostalgia for my salad days (although perhaps “Sbarro calzone days” would be a more fitting expression here). In many ways, I grew up in these chain stores and pretzel kiosks. And sometimes I feel compelled to write melodramatic poetry about it."