L.J. LaBree

If you had the opportunity to send past you one sentence, what would you say?

I honestly don’t know if I could limit myself to just one sentence. There’s just too much I want to tell her about the life she’s about to embark on.

I want to tell her that high school isn’t going to be her undoing. That the other kids who pick on her and bully her are peaking in their potentials, and she’s only just beginning hers. And I would tell her that the teachers who only stare at her and cannot answer her copious questions don’t act that way because they think her strange and abnormal, but because they are tired; they are frustrated with the lack of funding for real supplies and help, whereas the board get yet another bonus to their paychecks, and they have spent the last of their energy in trying to stay sane enough until the summer vacation.

Okay, maybe a couple teachers think she’s a little oddball, but that’s because they were beaten down to fit inside tiny specific boxes, and those same tactics they suffered through don’t work on her. They haven’t seen a soul so strong and creative in a long time, and they’ve forgotten how to nurture it. They’re scared of her. She represents the student they dreamed of having, yet were too late in receiving. It isn’t her fault, no matter how many times those teachers claim it is. Whatever the offense may be. It isn’t her doing.

I’d tell her about how much she’ll shine in college. Both times. How she was not only allowed to be creative, but encouraged to be so. She would make friends in college. Some who seemed like they would be lifelong friends, only to wave goodbye to once college ended after a couple of years. And she would make friends who reminded her of her bullies, only to become the best friend she craved all throughout her childhood.

She’ll be able to see what the world looks like past the borders of Vacationland. She’ll marvel about how there are states out there flatter than pancakes. And she’ll get so excited at how the ocean in Delaware is sooooo much warmer than the coasts of Maine.

And never in her wildest dreams will she even imagine what it’s like to work at MIT, the top educational institution in the U.S., and one of the leading institutions of the world. And yet, she has the opportunity to work there with the brightest minds this world has to offer.

Bite me, Princeton.

I wouldn’t tell her about only the good things though.

I’d tell her she needs to work harder in her studies. Do her damned homework. Is it boring? Yes, yes it is. Do the teachers ignore her questions and won’t elaborate on the why’s? Pretty much, yeah. But Doing that homework and reading the ‘boring’ books will set her up for better success.

If I had read the financial books and articles earlier, I definitely would have saved myself from a good chunk of the mess I had to sift through. And I wouldn’t have listened to certain people over the years who gave me ‘good advice’ on what I should do about financial aid.

You know who you are. Shame on you.

I’d tell her to not be afraid of the world. Yes, there’s a lot of messed up stuff happening. There always will be. That shouldn’t be her excuse to stay holed up in her room. She needs to go out and take some classes that sound interesting to her. Like knitting, painting, or blacksmithing. One of the writing classes she takes will introduce her to her writing club, and some new friends.

My letter to my 15 year old self would probably be 30 pages, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

But if I absolutely HAD to limit myself to one sentence…

“Everything we decide to do becomes halfway to possible.”

Also, “Do your damned homework.”

Thought of the Day

Gratefulness does not equal Contentedness

May 21, 2026 L.J. LaBree

A lot has been on my mind lately.

As well it should be, in my opinion. With the frustrations of the current Administration, the volatile nature of the rest of the world, and the constant feeling of being creatively burnt out, it’s quite understandable to feel as stressed, worried, and conflicted as I do.

If someone were to come up to me and claim to be calm and completely relaxed, I would wonder if said person were either in utter denial, under some heavy form of (insert something witty here), or worse, they had a hand in the chaos.

That being said, I have had several people tell me I should be grateful for what I have in my life. I’ve even heard some tell me some version of “be happy with the life you have” (cue the Disney’s Moana song, Where you are, playing loudly in the background. If you haven’t heard of it, I suggest giving it a listen.)

Yet, something keeps nagging at me from the back of my mind, as if it were some kind of gentle poking at the base of my skull – not painful per se, but very, very annoying.

To be honest, there is nothing wrong with being grateful with what you have. I am much luckier than most people in my generation!

For example, I have two parents who are supportive in everything I do, they would more than welcome me back into their home (free of rent, I might add – even though I have offered to pay more than once!), and allowed me to do whatever I needed to do to make my dreams come to fruition. I have known quite a few fellow Millennials whose parents have either demanded they pay rent, as well their share in utilities, or denied them from moving back home at all. I’ve even heard of some whose parents demand they perform all household chores themselves as a form of punishment for having the audacity of “failing” at their first crack at the world.

And yet, I can’t help but to feel as though this way of thinking is more detrimental than intended. Yes, I am grateful for my parents and the opportunities I’ve had in my life so far. I’m also grateful that I live in a time where I have the rights to vote! Yet, there is still so much more I want to do, see, and experience in my life.

I’ve since then come to the conclusion that many often confuse the word “gratefulness” to equal the word “contentedness”.

Again, I point to Disney’s Moana as a prime example. Her people sing of how happy and grateful they are with their lives, even going so far as to sing “Who needs a new song? This old one’s all we need”. In other words, they equate gratefulness to contentedness and encourage Moana to believe the same. And yet, there is that nagging feeling of foreboding they all feel – the crops failing and withering, no more fish to catch in their lagoons or any other parts of the island. They know something is wrong. And yet, they all try to avert their eyes and try to fix the problem with gratefulness and continuation of the same thing they do every day.

Just because I am grateful for the life I currently have, does not mean in any way shape or form that I am content with said life. And maybe, this life is not content with me.

Think of it this way: If we were to equal the two words to one another, and believe that everyone should be content with their lives, then nothing would ever be accomplished ever again. If doctors were content with their current methods of healing, then medical breakthroughs would never be discovered. If innovators were content with the way things were in life, inventions such as the steam engine, motor vehicles, and computers would never have been created.

When new problems arise, we need to look beyond what is in front of us – to see what is beyond the known – in order to figure out a new solution.

And in order to do that, we need to not allow contentedness to get in the way.

Thought of the Day

Chubby Girls Wanna Feel Pretty Too

October 15, 2025 L.J. LaBree

I know it’s nothing new, but the fashion industry really needs to check their fat-phobias at the door.

I’ll be attending a wedding soon, and the dress code is formal & cocktail.

Now one thing that’ll pop up in people’s minds is the fact I hardly ever, if ever at all, wear dresses or skirts. I’m always in either workout pants, leggings, or jeans. And of course shorts during the warm months.

My reasoning is simple: They’re easy to style, durable, and I can bend and climb and crawl into some tight spaces without fear of flashing whoever’s around me at the time. And believe me when I say I get into those situations an awful lot! That maaay have been encouraged by my father, who was very much a blue-collar working man and loved teaching me how to do things like changing the oil in my car, chopping wood, and digging in the garden.

But can I tell you a secret pleasure?

I love dresses.

They’re just so pretty and flowy! Especially the ballgown ones that make you feel like you’re a princess running through the forests or down the ancient stone hallways. Just imagine all the fantasy daydreams where you’re in a field full of swaying flowers and tall wheat, being greeted by a mysterious (but gentlemanly!) knight in dark armor, while wearing a flowy knee-length dress adorned by fabric petals and embroidered leaves and a matching flower crown. Or you’re striding through torch-lit hallways in the dark of night, determined to set the generals straight and prevent a war while wearing a wide bell-shaped gown that ripples and sways like water in the low light with every step.

It makes my heart sing at the very thought.

But here’s the thing. Well-made dresses for the pleasantly plump are hard to come by. If they exist at all.

I can’t tell you how many stores I’ve gone into where their largest size is a rare 16, followed by a handful of 14’s and even more 12’s. I won’t name the stores outright, as nowadays it would be seen as a personal attack (they rhyme with Lacey’s and Fordstrom). But what I will say is by the time I had gone through every single rack, including the business-formal and clearance, I was disheartened and wondering why I didn’t deserve a nice dress too. It was a slippery slope trying to prevent myself from looking into the mirrors and thinking I looked like I would benefit from one of those crash-diets.

Full disclosure – NO ONE SHOULD EVER GO ON A CRASH DIET. Those kinds of diets are horrific, shame-inducing, and deserve to be buried so deep in the earth that they burn from the core’s heat.

If you’re wondering whether I had found a dress that fit and didn’t make me look like a lumpy sausage, I did. I had to buy it off Amazon. The fabric isn’t as nice as an Oscar de la Renta, or a Calvin Klein, but it’ll do the job in a pinch.

So many high-end fashion brands, as well as designers, think that the highest a women’s body size can, and should, go is a size 14, and that’s giving a generous size.

Why are they so afraid of dressing a plus sized woman? Are fat and extra skin really so scary and nightmare-inducing? What about the women who don’t have the extra jiggles around their middle and do a lot of weightlifting? Or the women whose genes created a real-life Amazon woman, complete with giantess height and strength?

Why is the only acceptable kind of woman the ones who are small, thin, barely any curves, and look like they haven’t had a decent meal with meat and potatoes in the last five years?

The rest of us ladies want to feel pretty too! We want to feel like we’re running through all the stone hallways in a winding castle, waiting for our knight to come home.

The fashion industry needs to do better. They need to be better. They need to know that women come in all shapes and sizes, not a certain skinny cookie-cutter size.

We used to worship plump women in Edwardian times; the countless paintings of chubby goddesses dressed in chiffon drapes, languishing on Victorian chaise chairs reading or sewing prove this.

What happened to that? What happened to looking at a woman who literally has a body like this and thinking “absolutely stunning”?

What happened to having chubby girls feel pretty?

Thought of the Day

Who Left Hell’s Doorway Open??

June 19, 2025June 22, 2025 L.J. LaBree

I knew this would happen.

It happens every year – everything’s spring-like, breezes are carrying scents of lilac and other pretty-smelling flowers, temperatures are a comfortable 60’s to a barely scraping 70, and there’s just enough balance of rain and sunshine to make the gardens grow into a lush paradise.

And then BAAM! Temps ramp up to 90-100’s, the air feels like a thick pea soup in the lungs, and I might as well be a portable always-on sweat faucet.

How? How do I always know that this will happen, and yet I’m always surprised by Summer’s intense presence?

Even as I’m writing this now, I know tomorrow’s the Solstice and official start of summer. And yet, I’ve just spent 15 minutes installing, rather reluctantly, my a/c so I don’t end up dying from heat exhaustion in my third-floor bedroom and cursing the heavens the entire time (which by the way, stays really warm in the winter months. I’ve actually had to turn the thermostat down to a comfortable 64 degrees!)

Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful for Summer and everything she has to offer. I enjoy going to the beach and lounging on the sands while drinking a nice tall glass of iced tea under a giant umbrella. I also enjoy watching the fireflies dance in my parents back yard and getting to catch them with my bare hands. No, I don’t kill them!

I also love the fact that I don’t have to bundle up in 5 layers and trudge around as if I’m impersonating a penguin and having to tread carefully so I don’t slip on ice, and end up slipping anyway!

But would it really be so hard to graaaadually turn up the temps and allow us all to acclimate? Is that really such a difficult thing to ask?

Thought of the Day

A Home is a Home…

February 24, 2025 L.J. LaBree

Everyone has a place they call home.

Whether it be in a bustling blinking city that never seems to need sleep, or out in the vast valleys of the west, nestled between the forests and mountains beneath a sea of stars, there is a place on this Earth where it feels like it was made especially for you.

Though I am currently in apartment #5 ( or is it 6?), I’m still in search of that one place where I can put my roots.

I’ve thought about it over and over, time and again, and I’ve decided I want a home that’s similar to the one I grew up in: someplace that is in the healing aura of the woods, but not too far away from the city life. A place where I can sit outside in summer nights and listen to the peepers* singing their songs, searching for their mates.

(*a small brown frog with markings to resemble tree bark and makes a loud shrill peeep peeeep noise as their mating call. They often live close to large bodies of water – ponds, marshes, and in my childhood, lakes. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I dream of a place where I have a large corner fireplace, with a wide open mouth and space to bake bread by the fire. There’s a large plush couch nearby with a short sturdy table, capable of holding giant tea mugs and several thick books.

A wide porch wrapping around the entire house, allowing me to move around and follow the sun’s rays like a cat, or a sunflower. Several rocking chairs sit peacefully in pairs at each direction with a small table in between.

I dream of a room with several plush chairs and a couch covered with several fluffy blankets, each wall covered with books upon books from floor to ceiling.

Several bedrooms are on the second and third floors with enough room to fully stretch out in – not just physically, but mentally as well. Each room has enough space to fit two twin-sized beds, or one king-sized bed with leg room to spare.

The bathrooms (two at the minimum!) will each have the space to fit a claw-foot tub, a toilet with elbow-wide room, and a large sink. There will even be enough space for a small bench and a decent sized linen closet.

I can picture the main bedroom as a behemoth of a room, with a small reading nook in the corner, complete with a small table and a floor lamp.

I can picture the kitchen with tons of counter space, lots of storage, a large dishwasher (which will be a staple in my home), and a fridge large enough to hold an army’s worth of meals. There will definitely be space enough to have a pantry. Maybe even a second fridge. And of course the dining room with a table to seat eight people will be adjacent, complete with chairs that don’t quite match, but go with the style of the room.

The laundry room’s gonna have state-of-the-art washer and dryer, and space for not only a folding station, but for an ironing board as well. And there’s going to be enough room to have an indoor hanging space for sweaters and tops that really shouldn’t be in the dryer.

Of course when I do get a house of my own, some things will need to be compromised. I can only do so much with the actual square footage and how it’s set up. Though I do have to question how some houses I’ve seen while browsing were allowed to be built. Did the architect who built said houses actually live in one? A lot of the rooms did NOT have any functionality at all!

But whenever life gets a little too down in the dumps, or I have days where I just don’t wanna, I often think of my dream house. Because when I think of the place I’ll someday own, I feel a little bit better. And when I feel a little bit better, I can pick up where I left off. I can finish the day.