Ya’ll. I don’t know how to animate, but I made a video for you because I love my customers that much. Want more awkward weirdo tips? Tell me what you advice about. Consider me the “Dear Abby” of awkward.
Why We Love to Make People Smile
Picture this: you’re walking down the street, and you see someone frowning, looking down, or simply having a bad day. Maybe they had a tough day at work, or they’re dealing with personal issues, or maybe they’re just feeling a bit down for no particular reason. Whatever the case may be, you feel an urge to do something to make them smile, even for a moment. And when you see that smile light up their face, it feels like a small victory – a moment of joy in an otherwise ordinary day. Why do we love to make people smile? Here are 5 reasons that come to mind:
It feels good to make people smile
Let’s face it – life can be tough, and there are plenty of things that can bring us down. But when we make someone else smile, it’s a small way to spread a little joy in the world. Seeing someone else happy can give us a sense of purpose and fulfillment, knowing that we made a positive impact on someone else’s life. Plus, it’s hard to feel down when you’re surrounded by happy, smiling people!
It creates a sense of connection to make people smile
When we make someone smile, we’re creating a shared experience between ourselves and that person. It’s a moment of connection, where we’re both present and engaged in the same moment of joy. This can be especially meaningful if we don’t know the person very well – making someone smile can be a way to break down barriers and create a sense of
Making people smile is a form of self-expression
For some people, making others smile is a way to express themselves creatively or humorously. Maybe they’re a natural prankster, or they love to tell jokes, or they have a talent for drawing silly cartoons. Whatever the case may be, making others smile can be a way to showcase their personality and unique talents.
Smiling is contagious
Have you ever noticed how laughter and smiles can be contagious? When one person starts laughing, it’s often hard for others not to join in. Making someone smile can have a similar effect – it can create a ripple effect of positivity that spreads to others around us. And when we’re surrounded by happy, smiling people, it’s hard not to feel happy ourselves.
It’s a way to spread kindness
In a world that can often feel harsh and unforgiving, making someone smile can be a small act of kindness that can go a long way. It’s a way to show someone that they’re not alone, that someone cares about them, and that there’s still good in the world. And when we make someone smile, we’re spreading a little bit of that kindness and goodness to others around us.
So how can we make people smile? Here are a few ideas:
Make people smile by telling a joke
If you have a knack for humor, telling a funny joke or sharing a humorous story can be a great way to make someone smile. Even if the joke falls flat, the effort and intention will be appreciated. Or, send a funny encouragement card, like this Just Keep Swimming Faster than the Sharks card.
Make people smile by doing something unexpected
Sometimes, the element of surprise can be enough to make someone smile. Maybe you buy a stranger a cup of coffee, or you leave a funny note on a co-worker’s desk, or you offer to help someone with a task they’re struggling with. Whatever the case may be, doing something unexpected and kind can be a powerful way to make someone’s day. Perhaps a “just because” card like this Acorny Note to Say Hello card might do the trick.
Make people smile by sharing compliments and gratitude
A simple compliment can sometimes be all it takes to make someone smile. Maybe you admire someone’s outfit, or you appreciate something they did, or you think they have a great smile. Sharing a genuine compliment can make someone feel seen and valued, and can be a great way to brighten their day. This Thanks a Bunch card will show your appreciation.
Make people smile by being present and attentive
Simply being present and attentive towards another can make them feel acknowledged and loved. Maybe you could take the time to listen to someone’s story, or offer a kind word of support, or give someone a warm hug when they’re feeling down. Being fully present and engaged with someone can make them feel valued and appreciated, which can be a powerful way to make them smile. Perhaps this Thinking of You card will help someone smile today.
Whether it’s through humor, kindness, or simply being present and attentive, there are many ways to make others smile. And when we make someone else smile, we’re not only spreading joy to them – we’re also spreading it to ourselves and to those around us. So go ahead – spread a little kindness, make someone smile, and see how it brightens up your day! And to help you smile, I’m giving you a 10% off your entire order with coupon code: SMILE10
I Decided to Jump off a Bridge
This story won runner-up in the WOW! Women on Writing Spring 2020 Flash Fiction Contest.
I Decided to Jump Off a Bridge
I pop two peppermints into my mouth for Dad’s benefit. It will give him something to crow about with his dentist buddies after they drag my body out of the river. “Yes, my Maddie battled depression, failed her Junior year at university, and may have resembled a bloated fish in the end, but at least she didn’t suffer from halitosis.” I can hear the disingenuous chuckles already.
As soon as these mints dissolve, I tell myself, gripping the warm metal handrail and eyeing the churning water below. It’s tumultuous roaring never ceases.
I only feel one mint on my tongue, now, and I resist chewing the last tiny bit. I close my eyes, focusing on the finality as it melts away, feeling the vibration as a truck rumbles past, whipping hair and exhaust into my face. The driver doesn’t stop—not that I’m surprised. I am invisible.
Slowly, I open my eyes and look both ways across the bridge. Satisfied that I am standing at the highest point and there’s not another vehicle or soul in sight, I lift one chubby leg over the rail, then the other, grunting as my full body weight twists over the metal bar. Will my ribcage be black and blue when they find me, or are bruises only for the living? I brush the question away as one more thing I failed to learn in my twenty-four inconsequential years of life.
Awkwardly, I turn around and lean forward, my heart pounding. It’s a 200-foot drop to the muddy rapids that crash over jagged boulders. I had done my research. For a fatso like me, it will only be a one-second drop. But how many perceived seconds will it take? They say time slows down when you’re about to die. But how would they know? Dead folks don’t write follow-up analyses.
I release one hand, dangling, now by three fingertips. The adrenaline rush is delicious, and I welcome the release from relentless numbness, Dad’s unmet expectations, first date jerks, and the ultimate rejection from my mother. Soon, they will have justification to act like I’m invisible.
I release a breath.
Three.
Will anyone miss me?
Two.
My fingers begin to slip.
One.
“Whatcha doin’?”
I gasp at the small voice and cautiously turn around to face a young boy, maybe five years old. His red t-shirt says, “Here I am,” and he casually leans against the rail in front of me. He’s missing an arm, which reaffirms life’s injustice. His chestnut hair ruffles in the breeze, and his blue eyes sparkle up at me.
My gaze darts left, then right. “Where did you come from?” I say. “Where are your parents?”
“Oh, my mom is real close,” he says. Then, he giggles like he told a great joke, and the sound does something strange to the hollowness in my chest. I can’t help but smile back at him, even though he’s screwing up my plan.
“You should go find her. She’s probably worried.”
“She is,” he says. “She always worries, and I tell her, ‘Mama, don’t be so sad.’” He reaches up and pats my face with his one hand.
I blink, stunned by the fluttering sensation his touch gives me–like warm sugar trickling from my head down to my toes. “What are you doing?” I ask, gently pulling his hand from my face.
He grips my hand, leans in close, and whispers, “Delivering a message.”
“For who?”
He laughs again. “For you, silly. Close your eyes.”
I hesitate.
He mimics my furrowed brow. “Come on, close ‘em,” he says.
I close my eyes. For a moment, all I hear are birds singing and a squirrel chittering above the purr of the river below. I smell the pine trees and feel the sun warming my back. His hand squeezes mine.
“The message is, I see you.”
My breath hitches and wind-cooled tears roll down my cheek.
“Oh, and when I’m born, tell Grandpa that even one-armed kids can floss their teeth good.”
I open my eyes and look up and down the bridge, but the boy is gone. The hand he’d held flies to my mouth as one strangled sob escapes, and then another. I grab on tight and kick one chubby leg back over the rail.
How my Six-Year-Old Self Changed my Perspective
At age six, I could barely reach the gas pedal with the tips of my toes. But, Disneyland in the early 1980’s had no rules about parental escorts (or seat belts) for the no-door cars of the Autopia ride. Like most kids that age, I had no shortage of self-confidence that I could drive like a big girl.
Seconds into the ride, I realized my error. The only way I could get enough leverage on the pedal was to scoot so low in my seat that I couldn’t see above the dashboard. I strained my neck to look at the line of cars waiting behind me. They couldn’t pass because of the straight curb that ran under all of the cars, keeping us all on the same track.
I sunk into my seat and pressed the gas pedal. The car jolted forward and crashed against that undercarriage curb so hard I nearly toppled out the side. The smell of my car’s exhaust filled my mouth. I turned around, wishing someone behind me would jump out of their smoking vehicle to help. That’s when I first noticed him.
The sun glared so brightly in the old man’s face that all I could see was his white hair rustling in the breeze and his angry scowl that turned my guts into a cesspool of anxiety. Would he ram into me? Would he holler at a Disneyland employee to remove me from the park? Would he berate my mother for my incompetence? Big worries for a little girl.
His face screwed up in further irritation, and I knew if the car had a horn, he’d be slamming his fist into it.
Panicked, I slumped down as far as I could, closed my eyes, and jammed the gas pedal to the floor. Bam! Crack! I gripped onto the steering wheel as tight as I could. Scrape! Boom! Over and over, I jerked into the center curb, trying to put distance between Grandpa Grumpy and me. Eventually, slowly, painfully, I made my way around the track. When I spotted my grinning mother waiting at the exit, I abandoned my car and ran to bury my face in her shirt, too embarrassed and frightened to look back at the old man who had stolen my confidence. I spent the rest of that day looking over my shoulder, wondering if the mean man would find me.
A decade later, I flipped through a photo album from that trip. I landed on a picture my mom had taken from the sidelines of Autopia. There I was, turning in my seat, straining my neck to look in panic at the person behind me. But something wasn’t right.
The person in the car behind me wasn’t angry. He wasn’t ready to yell at me. He wasn’t even an older man. The person in the car behind me was my very own brother, who is less than two years older than me. True, his hair glowed almost white, and his face scrunched up, but only to protect his eyes from the blasting sun.
How had I not recognized him? How could I have interpreted a situation so very, very wrong–something I witnessed with my own eyes? How could that one misunderstanding ruin the rest of my day at the “Happiest Place on Earth?”
It took a change in perspective to see the truth. How I wish I could have changed my perceptions at that moment, instead of a decade later!
This experience makes me question how many times I have been 100% convinced of a “truth” that I have only perceived from a single perspective. Whether it is politics, relationships, my impact on the environment, or even the social hierarchies of the world–have I spent enough time trying to be objective and observant before flinging around my opinion and judgment like it’s the gospel truth? My guess is probably not. All I can do now is commit to do better, get curious, take a breath, postpone judgment, listen–really listen–before reacting.
New Cover Reveal!
Under the Foster Freak Tree is getting a new cover. Isn’t she a beauty? Not that I didn’t love my last cover, but I wanted to make this one more personal, and closer to the heart. At the same time, I feel like this version would appeal to a younger crowd.
I have been taking several drawing classes through Udemy in order to create this project, as well as consulting my wise designer husband who helped me with some of the more frustrating, technical aspects of getting my ideas on the page. I feel like I am finally getting the hang of Adobe Draw on the iPad, and I’m thrilled with the results.
So? What do you think?
Criminal Reality
“Brandon dumped me. Meet at Vertigo?” I wait for my sister’s reply text and remind myself that I won’t hate her forever. A half-dozen martinis and watching her squirm in guilt will go a long way in helping me forgive how she stole yet another boyfriend.
Her reply lights up my bedroom. “On my way.”
I snatch my keys off the table and reach for the doorknob, lurching forward as my hand falls through. I gasp, blinking fast. Did the knob flicker? I push against the solid, wooden surface of the door, and for a millisecond, a blue grid appears across my entire line of vision. I try the knob a second time, but my hand slips through again. I’m trapped.
Memories flood from the night raindrops plunked on the windshield as my sister, shivering, mounted her bike outside of Vertigo, then wobbled down the highway. I watched for nearly a quarter-mile before revving the engine. I remember the copper scent of blood, Brandon’s shaking shoulders in the courtroom, the verdict, the cold handcuffs, the wariness in my attorney’s eyes as he explained the new initiative to re-wire criminal brains using virtual reality. I remember signing the waiver, and the metallic taste of the anesthesia wearing off. I remember the surgeon warning me that adrenaline triggers real memories. When that happens, the implant will re-boot the experience, and I’ll never recall what triggered the reset.
I pick up my phone and text my sister. “Brandon dumped me. Meet at Vertigo?”
2018 Whitney Award Nominee
I am excited and honored that Under the Foster Freak Tree has made it to the judging round for a 2018 Whitney Award! It is surreal to see my book placed among other books from authors I admire. Thank you to everyone who nominated the book.
My Debut Novella (and some history)
What Books Influenced Your Childhood?
During the summer that I was eleven years old, one of my Grandma’s teacher friends gifted me a stack of books. I considered them “old lady” books and didn’t want to a single one of them. But, as the hot days dragged on, I became bored enough to thumb through each book. Among the paperbacks was Eric by Doris Lund. Even though my memory of childhood is hazy, at best, I clearly recall reading this powerful story of a boy with Leukemia as told by his mother. I remember falling in love with Eric, hoping against all hope that he would overcome the disease, and then feeling utterly devastated when he didn’t. I hated the book so, so much because it hurt my heart in ways I’d never experienced before. I vowed to never read it again.
However…
What I didn’t realize is that nine years later I’d meet my future husband who, you guessed it, is a survivor of childhood cancer. The scenes and emotions from “Eric” flooded back to me as if I’d just read it. In that instant, I knew the power books have in developing empathy. I felt a connection with the him because I’d experienced some of his pain through Eric’s story.
This is partially why I wrote Under the Foster Freak Tree. I cannot think of a better way to share my experience as a foster mother than through this emotional roller-coaster of a book. Even though the storyline is fictional, the emotions are very, very real. I hope that one day an eleven-year-old girl will read my book and develop empathy for struggling families. Maybe that empathy will carry over into other areas of her life. Hopefully, through her, my book will help change lives for the better.
It’s summertime again and I am thirty-eight years old. I’ve just ordered a copy of Eric, and plan to break my vow. Maybe when I’m done reading it, I’ll pass it on to my kids and hope they don’t think it’s too “old lady” for them.
I am beyond excited to introduce my debut novella, coming September 28, 2018!
Under the Foster Freak Tree
When fifteen-year-old Sefina Nafo is kicked out of her latest foster home, she gets separated from her little brothers. Now, she’s the only brown kid in her new foster family as she navigates grief from her dad’s death, her mom’s addictions, and the school bully labeling her Foster Freak.
With the court date looming, Sefina comes up with a plan to reunite with her mom and brothers before it’s too late. The biggest challenge is trying not to fall in love with her new foster family. As her relationship with foster mom Jen blossoms, Sefina must decide what “family” really means.
Under the Foster Freak Tree is scheduled to be released September 28, 2018, but you can pre-order the Kindle version here.