Stay In Your Lane Quotes

Stay in your own lane. Comparison kills creativity and joy.

It’s interesting-most people think about therapy as something that involves going in and undoing what’s happened. But whatever your past experiences created in your brain, the associations exist and you can’t just delete them. You can’t get rid of the past. Therapy is more about building new associations, making new, healthier default pathways. It is almost as if therapy is taking your two-lane dirt road and building a four-lane freeway alongside it. The old road stays, but you don’t use it much anymore. Therapy is building a better alternative, a new default. And that takes repetition, and time, honestly, it works best if someone understands how the brain changes. This is why understanding how trauma impacts our health is essential for everyone.

7 Rules to a Happy Life: 1. Be humble 2. Don’t worry 3. Don't settle for less 4. Mind your business 5. Work hard 6. Play hard 7. Be nice

No matter how talented you think you are there is always someone better. You can learn from them and hone your skills, or challenge them and reveal your weakness. You get farther in life if you know when to stay in your lane. Try to out run a master in pursuit of success, and you will remain a slave bound by failure.

Never change for the mainstream—stay in your lane, and if you’re talented and resilient enough the mainstream will come to you.

Unless you're prepared to deal with the aftermath, never invite yourself to a situation where your presence is not requested or welcomed. Don't pull out a chair at someone else's table, then turn around and be hurt when you feel unwelcomed.

you’ll learn how to recognize when you’re living in the country called “Sad” in the town called “Victimville” on the street called “Hurt Lane” so you don’t stay there longer than you need to.

If you wouldn't take on their regrets, don't you dare envy their highlights.

Trust your journey, stay in your lane, and change your attitude when times get tough.

Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distraction. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you . .

I love you,” she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion. “I love you utterly and completely. I love your elegant hands and the way you smile with only one side of your mouth — when you smile at all — and I love how grave your eyes are. I love that you let me invade your house with nearly my entire family and yours, and never even turned a hair. I love that you made love to me when I asked you, purely for politeness’ sake, and I love that you got mad at me later and made me make love to you. I love that you let Her Grace and her puppies construct a nest out of your shirts in your dressing room. I love that you’ve spent years selflessly saving people in St. Giles — although I want you to stop right now. I love that you killed a man for me, even if I’m still mad at you about it. I love that you saved my letters before we even knew each other well, and I love the curt, overly serious letters you wrote to me in return.” She looked at him very seriously. “I love you, Godric St. John, and now I’m breaking my word. I will not leave you. You may either come with me to Laurelwood or I’ll stay here with you in your musty old house in London and drive you mad with all my talking and relatives and… and exotic sexual positions until you break down and love me back, for I’m warning you that I’m not giving up until you love me and we’re a happy family with dozens of children.” She paused at that point because she’d run out of breath and looked at him. His face had gone still and for a moment her heart sank and she had to fortify herself for a battle. But then his mouth quirked like that and he said, “Exotic sexual positions?” And she knew even before he said anything else that it was all going to be fine—more than fine. It was going to be wonderful.

I love you, Godric St. John, and now I'm breaking my word. I will not leave you. You may either come with me to Laurelwood or I'll stay here with you in your musty old house in London and drive you mad with all my talking and relatives and... and exotic sexual positions until you break down and love me back, for I'm warning you that I'm not giving up until you love me and we're a happy family with dozens of children.

Whiskey was still looking some place past Patrick’s shoulder, and suddenly his brown eyes met Patrick’s with a sort of inscrutable intensity. “Patrick, this isn’t over, okay? You and me? You want to stay here, you want to keep sleeping in my bed, that’s fine. I like you there. You’re warm and you’re kind, and it’s comfortable, having you there. But I’m going to want you, and you’re going to want me, and if you don’t want to follow through on that, that’s fine too. But you’ll need to decide which way you want it, and you need to make it clear when you make your decision. I’m, like, twelve years older than you, and I don’t sleep around. I’m not going to hit on you just because you’re cute and you’re here. I need to know it’s something you want, and it’s something you need, and you’re not just doing it because you think you need to put out because I’m being human to you. You don’t. All you need to do is be human back.

The most challenging aspect of living is staying in your lane.

Never give a clown too many balls to juggle

Choose to be the beautiful, unique you and not compare yourself with others. Stay in your lane and replace competitive energy with a picture of success for you.

Be kind to people. Walk in purpose. Stay in your lane. Pursue your passion. Believe in yourself and know that your gifts matter and that you are enough.

if you try to drive in an orderly fashion here and stay in your lane all the time, you’ll just get killed,

Good life is not a sprint. It’s an exerting marathon of purpose, passion, patience and perseverance. It’s the road where faith and hard work meet. It is an unusual love adventure between success and failure. It is where truth is a belt and integrity a shield. It is knowing your lane, staying on your lane and running your own race. It’s a road loathed and less traveled by most men.

Exactly, it’s not your problem. A lot of straight men don’t actually know who they are if they aren’t able to “provide” for women. You might find yourself subconsciously doing all kinds of ridiculous things to fluff their egos. For example, pretending you don’t know a lot about a subject, just so he can explain it to you. Society rewards women who don’t have to be told to stay in their lane. It loves women who just readily accept their gender roles and conform, the ones who don’t challenge its regime. Doing little things to please men will afford you a lot of advantages.

Therapy is more about building new associations, making new, healthier default pathways. It is almost as if therapy is taking your two-lane dirt road and building a four-lane freeway alongside it. The old road stays, but you don’t use it much anymore.

Doing things for others can make the 'giver' happy, but trying to change or control another will drive you crazy, because it cannot be sustained. One must give without expectation(s) and allow others, even your offspring, the opportunity of self-determination -- even when you "perceive" danger on the road ahead; each spiritual journey has a right to its own fulfillment. We must learn how to stay in our lane.

He glanced at me, his eyes dark. “Would you rather talk about your dream?” “No.” “Considering that I was featured in it, I think I deserve to know the particulars. Were my clothes missing because we were in bed? Was I touching you?” He glanced at me. His voice could’ve melted clothes off my body. “Were you touching me?” I shouldn’t have gotten into his car. I should’ve taken a separate vehicle. “Cat got your tongue, Nevada?” “No, we weren’t in bed. I was pushing you off a cliff to your death.” I pointed at the highway. “Take the next exit and stay in the right lane, please. We’ll need to make a right.” He chuckled and took the exit.

Slowly the lights of the torches in front of Merry flicked and went out, and he was walking in a darkness; and he thought: ‘This is a tunnel leading to a tomb; there we shall stay forever.’ But suddenly into his dream there fell a living voice. ‘Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!’ He looked up and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was Pippin! They were face to face in a narrow lane, but for themselves it was empty. He rubbed his eyes. ‘Where is the king?’ He said. ‘And Eowyn?’ Then he stumbled and sat down on a doorstep and began to weep again. ‘They must have gone up into the Citadel,’ said Pippin. ‘I think you must have fallen asleep on your feet and taken the wrong turning. When we found out you were not with them, Gandalf sent me to look for you. Poor old Merry! How glad I am to see you again! But you are worn out, and I won’t bother you with any talk. But tell me, are you hurt, or wounded?’ ‘No,’ said Merry. ‘Well, no, I don’t think so. But I can’t use my right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him. And my sword burned away like a piece of wood.’ Pippin’s face was anxious. ‘Well, you had better come with me as quick as you can,’ he said. ‘I wish I could carry you. You aren’t fit to walk any further. They shouldn’t have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit coming in from battle is easily overlooked.’ ‘It’s not always a misfortune being overlooked,’ said Merry. ‘I was overlooked just now by—no, no, I can’t speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It’s all going dark again, and my arm is so cold.’ ‘Lean on me, Merry lad!” said Pippin. ‘Come now. Foot by foot. It’s not far.’ ‘Are you going to bury me?’ said Merry. ‘No, indeed!’ said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity. ‘No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.

Keep growing, keep glowing, keep going and keep soaring!

You can do it first, or you can do it best, and when someone else does it first and best, you'd best just stay in your own lane.

Sophie clutched Grant tighter. 'I don’t know what screwed-up messages from your family are floating around in your head right now, but you’re staying right here.

I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man with no feet.” —PERSIAN PROVERB If You Lie Down with Dogs

He immediately took her in his arms and cut off her stays. She didn’t move. He shook her. “Artemis.” Her head flopped back and forth limply. Makepeace laid a hand on his arm. “Your Grace.” He ignored the other man. “Diana.” “Your Grace, I’m sorry—” He swung back his arm and slapped her face, the sound echoing across the water. She choked. Immediately he flipped her so that her face was over the gunwale of the boat. She coughed and a great stream of dirty water fountained out of her mouth. He’d never seen such a wonderful sight in his life.

Be concerned only that your own thoughts, words, and actions are just and generous. In the race of life, stay in your own lane and focus on the finish line; don’t gawk at the missteps of others.

I love you, Mommy,” Marah said. To the world at large, perhaps this was an ordinary moment in an ordinary day, but to Kate it was extraordinary. This was the reason she’d chosen to stay home instead of work. She judged the meaning of her life in nanoseconds, perhaps, but she wouldn’t trade this instant for anything. “I love you, too. That’s why we’re playing hooky for the rest of the day. We’re going to go to a matinee of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.” Marah slid out of the booth, grinning. “You’re the best mommy ever.” Kate laughed. “I just hope you remember that when you’re a teenager.

People with stamina aren’t made any differently to anyone else,’ she was saying. ‘The only difference is they have a clear goal in mind, and a determination to get there. Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distraction. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you . . .

About a decade ago, Jeff Bezos declared that Amazon was “willing to be misunderstood for long periods of time.” It was expanding from selling everyday goods such as books and brushes to selling “cloud services.” Talk about castles in the sky. What the hell did Amazon know about “Big Data”? The collective reaction was: “Stay in your lane, Bezos. Leave this brainy digital stuff to companies like Google and Microsoft and go back to selling lawn mowers.

Sapient or Savage (The Sonnet) To be or not to be, That is not the question. To be human or stay animal, That is the question. Human and animal, What is the difference! To be animal is to be selfish, To be human is to go beyond the self. There's more to life than us and them, There's more to life than loss and gain. There's more to life than money and fame, There's more to life than dogmatic lanes. To be or not to be, that is not the question. Be sapient or stay savage, it's your decision.

My dearest Tully— I am so sorry. I know how afraid you are of being alone, of being left behind, but God has His plan for all of us. I would have stayed with you longer if I could have. Your grandfather and I will always be watching out for you from Heaven.

Swimming in your own lane, or finding your genius, is about first spending the time to go deep within, before stepping out again and crafting a strategy to navigate the world as yourself, PROUD, yet textured by the nuances of the society and communities you live in.

I don't know your struggle. You don't know mine. I do know, it is NOT a competition. Respect the fact everyone is going through something and handle people with care. Remember, someone's passive response to your aggression does not mean the next person you meet won't use you as target practice. Some people are doing fine. Other folks out here broke, tired, grieving, unsure, scared, annoyed, angry, sad, depressed, lonely, and holding on to their last good nerve for dear life. Just stay in your lane, be kind when you can, live and let live. Have a good Monday!

In this world, we are surrounded by fast-paced, empty static energy. They're like the empty calories of the soul. You have empty calories for your body, like a bag of potato chips for example, then you have empty calories for your soul, which are found in the static energy that doesn't really add to our emotional, spiritual, mental experience of living our lives. We have magical moments of connection with people, with nature, with Spirit, but then we rush out of those moments all too fast, in order to go straight back into the busy lanes that are full of things not worthwhile! Empty energies! So when we do that, we forget our magical, nourishing soul moments all too fast and we start caring about things that we shouldn't care about too much, stepping outside of the moments of eternity that we encounter, and going back into the empty noise. So I think that we need to picture ourselves as rocks in the river; we can let all of that rush by us, while we stay fortified where we are, lingering in the warmness of the noontime sun, the chill of the dawn , the reflections of dusk— like a rock in a river— let it all just rush by. Be magic.

California during the 1940s had Hollywood and the bright lights of Los Angeles, but on the other coast was Florida, land of sunshine and glamour, Miami and Miami Beach. If you weren't already near California's Pacific Coast you headed for Florida during the winter. One of the things which made Miami such a mix of glitter and sunshine was the plethora of movie stars who flocked there to play, rubbing shoulders with tycoons and gangsters. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the latter two. Miami and everything that surrounded it hadn't happened by accident. Carl Fisher had set out to make Miami Beach a playground destination during the 1930s and had succeeded far beyond his dreams. The promenade behind the Roney Plaza Hotel was a block-long lovers' lane of palm trees and promise that began rather than ended in the blue waters of the Atlantic. Florida was more than simply Miami and Miami Beach, however. When George Merrick opened the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables papers across the country couldn't wait to gush about the growing aura of Florida. They tore down Collins Bridge in the Gables and replaced it with the beautiful Venetian Causeway. You could plop down a fiver if you had one and take your best girl — or the girl you wanted to score with — for a gondola ride there before the depression, or so I'd been told. You see, I'd never actually been to Florida before the war, much less Miami. I was a newspaper reporter from Chicago before the war and had never even seen the ocean until I was flying over the Pacific for the Air Corp. There wasn't much time for admiring the waves when Japanese Zeroes were trying to shoot you out of the sky and bury you at the bottom of that deep blue sea. It was because of my friend Pete that I knew so much about Miami. Florida was his home, so when we both got leave in '42 I followed him to the warm waters of Miami to see what all the fuss was about. It would be easy to say that I skipped Chicago for Miami after the war ended because Pete and I were such good pals and I'd had such a great time there on leave. But in truth I decided to stay on in Miami because of Veronica Lake. I'd better explain that. Veronica Lake never knew she was the reason I came back with Pete to Miami after the war. But she had been there in '42 while Pete and I were enjoying the sand, sun, and the sweet kisses of more than a few love-starved girls desperate to remember what it felt like to have a man's arm around them — not to mention a few other sensations. Lake had been there promoting war bonds on Florida's first radio station, WQAM. It was a big outdoor event and Pete and I were among those listening with relish to Lake's sultry voice as she urged everyone to pitch-in for our boys overseas. We were in those dark early days of the war at the time, and the outcome was very much in question. Lake's appearance at the event was a morale booster for civilians and servicemen alike. She was standing behind a microphone that sat on a table draped in the American flag. I'd never seen a Hollywood star up-close and though I liked the movies as much as any other guy, I had always attributed most of what I saw on-screen to smoke and mirrors. I doubted I'd be impressed seeing a star off-screen. A girl was a girl, after all, and there were loads of real dolls in Miami, as I'd already discovered. Boy, was I wrong." - Where Flamingos Fly

Last month, on a very windy day, I was returning from a lecture I had given to a group in Fort Washington. I was beginning to feel unwell. I was feeling increasing spasms in my legs and back and became anxious as I anticipated a difficult ride back to my office. Making matters worse, I knew I had to travel two of the most treacherous high-speed roads near Philadelphia – the four-lane Schuylkill Expressway and the six-lane Blue Route. You’ve been in my van, so you know how it’s been outfitted with everything I need to drive. But you probably don’t realize that I often drive more slowly than other people. That’s because I have difficulty with body control. I’m especially careful on windy days when the van can be buffeted by sudden gusts. And if I’m having problems with spasms or high blood pressure, I stay way over in the right hand lane and drive well below the speed limit. When I’m driving slowly, people behind me tend to get impatient. They speed up to my car, blow their horns, drive by, stare at me angrily, and show me how long their fingers can get. (I don't understand why some people are so proud of the length of their fingers, but there are many things I don't understand.) Those angry drivers add stress to what already is a stressful experience of driving. On this particular day, I was driving by myself. At first, I drove slowly along back roads. Whenever someone approached, I pulled over and let them pass. But as I neared the Blue Route, I became more frightened. I knew I would be hearing a lot of horns and seeing a lot of those long fingers. And then I did something I had never done in the twenty-four years that I have been driving my van. I decided to put on my flashers. I drove the Blue Route and the Schuylkyll Expressway at 35 miles per hour. Now…Guess what happened? Nothing! No horns and no fingers. But why? When I put on my flashers, I was saying to the other drivers, “I have a problem here – I am vulnerable and doing the best I can.” And everyone understood. Several times, in my rearview mirror I saw drivers who wanted to pass. They couldn’t get around me because of the stream of passing traffic. But instead of honking or tailgating, they waited for the other cars to pass, knowing the driver in front of them was in some way weak. Sam, there is something about vulnerability that elicits compassion. It is in our hard wiring. I see it every day when people help me by holding doors, pouring cream in my coffee, or assist me when I put on my coat. Sometimes I feel sad because from my wheelchair perspective, I see the best in people. But those who appear strong and invulnerably typically are not exposed to the kindness I see daily. Sometimes situations call for us to act strong and brave even when we don't feel that way. But those are a few and far between. More often, there is a better pay-off if you don't pretend you feel strong when you feel weak, or pretend that you are brave when you’re scared. I really believe the world might be a safer place if everyone who felt vulnerable wore flashers that said, “I have a problem and I’m doing the best I can. Please be patient!

You must keep your senses trained to the presence of new or repeat thought patterns, not allowing them eight-lane freedom to run up and down inside your head without being pulled over for closer inspection. Staying renewed in mind means keeping the floodlights on and the alarm systems triggered, ever on the watch for intruders into your mental living space.

There's a stranger in a car Driving down your street Acts like he knows who you are Slaps his hand on the empty seat and says "Are you gonna get in Or are you gonna stay out?" Just a stranger in a car Might be the one they told you about Well you never were one for cautiousness You open the door He gives you a tender kiss And you can't even hear them no more -- All the voices of choices Now only one road remains And strangers in a car Two hearts Two souls Tonight Two lanes You don't know where you're goin' You don't know what you're doin' Hell it might be the highway to heaven And it might be the road to ruin But this is a song For strangers in a car Baby maybe that's all We really are Strangers in a car (Driving down your street) Just strangers in a car (Driving down your street) Strangers in a car

Every single parent is doing the best he or she can. Never judge an angry parent who screams at their child, or judge any parent for any behavior. You don’t know them, you don’t know their story, you don’t know about their silent struggles or childhood traumas, you don’t know how hard it is for them, you don’t know anything about anyone. you don’t know what you would do if you were in their shoes. Viktor Frankl said, “No man should judge unless he asks himself in absolute honesty whether, in a similar situation, he might not have done the same.” We all do the best we can. It is hands down the hardest never-ending but fulfilling job on this planet. It isn’t easy to create, shape, and raise another human being when most of us aren’t raised, shaped, or grown up. So, one of the biggest lessons I also learned is to stay in my lane, don’t judge any parent, to never say never, and be compassionate toward myself and others. Of course, if you see a parent spanking a child, you have to stop them, if you know a child is in an unsafe environment, you have to change it and help any child in need, but try as hard as you can not to judge them and just let go of your thoughts when they arise. At the end of the day, we all do the best we can with the tools we have.

People with stamina aren’t made any differently to anyone else,’ she was saying. ‘The only difference is they have a clear goal in mind, and a determination to get there. Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distraction. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you

She pulled the shawl closer as a tall, lithe figure cut across the parking lot and joined her at the passenger door. “You’re already famous,” Colby Lane told her, his dark eyes twinkling in his lean, scarred face. “You’ll see yourself on the evening news, if you live long enough to watch it.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tate’s on his way right now.” “Unlock this thing and get me out of here!” she squeaked. He chuckled. “Coward.” He unlocked the door and let her climb in. By the time he got behind the wheel and took off, Tate was striding across the parking lot with blood in his eye. Cecily blew him a kiss as Colby gunned the engine down the busy street. “You’re living dangerously tonight,” Colby told her. “He knows where you live,” he added. “He should. He paid for the apartment,” she added in a sharp, hurt tone. She wrapped her arms closer around her. “I don’t want to go home, Colby. Can I stay with you tonight?” She knew, as few other people did, that Colby Lane was still passionately in love with his ex-wife, Maureen. He had nothing to do with other women even two years after his divorce was final. He drank to excess from time to time, but he wasn’t dangerous. Cecily trusted no one more. He’d been a good friend to her, as well as to Tate, over the years. “He won’t like it,” he said. She let out a long breath. “What does it matter now?” she asked wearily. “I’ve burned my bridges.” “I don’t know why that socialite Audrey had to tell you,” he muttered irritably. “It was none of her business.” “Maybe she wants a big diamond engagement ring, and Tate can’t afford it because he’s keeping me,” she said bitterly. He glanced at her rigid profile. “He won’t marry her.” She made a sound deep in her throat. “Why not? She’s got everything…money, power, position and beauty-and a degree from Vassar.” “In psychology,” Colby mused. “She’s been going around with Tate for several months.” “He goes around with a lot of women. He won’t marry any of them.” “Well, he certainly won’t marry me,” she assured him. “I’m white.” “More of a nice, soft tan,” he told her. “You can marry me. I’ll take care of you.” She made a face at him. “You’d call me Maureen in your sleep and I’d lay your head open with the lamp. It would never work.

The lane to the land of the dead. Where you are, my friend. Marie-France, my lady, she prepared this road, but her lord choked her off before I could read the book of her days. Neuro from the nerves, the silver paths. Romancer. Necromancer. I call up the dead. But no, my friend," and the boy did a little dance, brown feet printing the sand, "I am the dead, and their land." He laughed. A gull cried, "Stay. If your woman is a ghost, she doesn't know it. Neither will you." Neuromancer

Energy and life go hand in hand. If you stop breathing, you will not be able to generate the energy you need for staying alive and you’ll be dead in a few minutes. Keep breathing. Now the oxygen in your breath is being transported to virtually every one of the 15 trillion cells in your body, where it is used to burn glucose in cellular respiration. You are a fantastically energetic machine. Gram per gram, even when sitting comfortably, you are converting 10 000 times more energy than the sun every second.

The tattoos around his eyes burned as he scanned the surrounding area. No one but him probably noticed, but the plumes of darkness branching in every direction were writhing and groaning, desperate to avoid the light of the moon and street lamps. Come to me, he beseeched them. They didn’t hesitate. As if they’d merely been waiting for the invitation, they danced toward him, flattening against his car, shielding it—and thereby him—from prying eyes. “Freaks me out every damn time you do that,” Rowan said as he crawled into the front passenger seat. For the first time, Sean’s friend had accompanied him to “keep you from doing something you’ll regret.” Not that Gabby had known. Rowan had lain in the backseat the entire drive. “I can’t see a damn thing.” “I can.” Sean’s gaze could cut through shadows as easily as a knife through butter. Gabby was in the process of settling behind the wheel of her car. Though more than two weeks had passed since their kiss, they hadn’t touched again. Not even a brush of fingers. He was becoming desperate for more. That kiss . . . it was the hottest of his life. He’d forgotten where he was, what—and who—was around him. He’d never, never, risked discovery like that. But that night, having Gabby so close, those lush lips of hers parted and ready, those brown eyes watching him as if he were something delicious, he’d been unable to stop himself. He’d beckoned the shadows around them, meshed their lips together, touched her in places a man should only touch a woman in private, and tasted her. Oh, had he tasted her. Sugar and lemon. Which meant she’d been sipping lemonade during her breaks. Lemonade had never been sexy to him before. Now he was addicted to the stuff. Drank it every chance he got. Hell, he sported a hard-on if he even spotted the yellow fruit. At night he thought about pouring lemon juice over her lean body, sprinkling that liquid with sugar, and then feasting. She’d come, he’d come, and then they could do it all over again. Seriously. Lemonade was like his own personal brand of cocaine now—which he’d once been addicted to, had spent years in rehab combating, and had sworn never to let himself become so obsessed with a substance again. Good luck with that. “I’m getting nowhere with her,” Rowan said. “You, she watches. You, she kissed.” “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Gabby’s car passed his and he accelerated, staying close enough to her that anyone trying to merge into her lane wouldn’t clip his car because they couldn’t see him. Not that anyone was out and about at this time of night. “She’s mine. I don’t want you touching her.” “Finally. The truth. Which is a good thing, because I already called Bill and told him you were gonna be the one to seduce her.” “Thanks.” This was one of the reasons he and Rowan were such good friends. “But I thought you were here tonight to keep me from her.” “First, you’re welcome. Second, I lied.

I don't understand.' 'I couldn't get you to the ocean,' she said. 'But there was nothing stopping me bringing the ocean to you.' I said, 'I'm hungry, Lettie. And I don't like this.' 'Mum's made dinner. But you're going to have to stay hungry for a little bit longer. Were you scared, up here on your own?' 'Yes.' 'Did they try and get you out of the circle?' 'Yes.' She took my hands in hers, then, and squeezed them. 'But you stayed where you were meant to be, and you didn't listen to them. Well done. That's quality, that is,' and she sounded proud. In that moment I forgot my hunger and I forgot my fear.

I’m so deep inside your mind that I know you wouldn’t make it very long without me. I know that if you did kill me, I would see you in hell very soon after I got there.” “You’re a monster.” “If I’m a monster, then I’m your monster. You made me this way. You made me kill for you. You…” He stroked my hair. “…altered me. You make me do things to keep you near. You could’ve stayed in that place for six months, like you were supposed to—like your aunt wanted you to—I’m the reason you were released early. You owe me...again.” The knife trembled in my hand as I cried harder. “I know you want to hate me,” he sneered, “but you can’t. You still can’t.

We’ve been through so much together I’ve seen you grow into someone you thought you’d never be I’ve seen you endure challenges most will never see Mocked by your peers for being from a different culture Feeling deserted, you searched for ways to adapt and become accepted You resorted to fitting in instead of making a stand for your true self You’ve made countless mistakes in pursuit of acceptance To me, it was undeniable you were meant to be a misfit You dove into finding your talents and utilizing them Unapologetically, you began making your mark during your middle school years Discovering your skills as a runner made a way for you to flee from the norm Racing hard and your pace in this life Hurdle after hurdle, you never stopped jumping and running towards the finish line You lost focus numerous times running someone else’s race, matching their suicidal pace, but over time you opened your eyes and ran your race in your lane You used failures as your stepping stone to climb up to where you are now and where you’re going I love you, I love you even when you hate you Thank you for staying true to you, never justifying your flaws and running away from your consequences You’ve taught me so much. I’m proud of you I love you so much. Thank you for being a friend, an example, a brother Thank you for being the man you are now. I love you, man in the mirror

Then, as we ascend into the fifth and final act of the show, we can choose what we want to take back with us: a piece of our underworld self that, frankly, the cheating boyfriend may need to meet, or the boss that doesn't appreciate you, or the terrorizing Bitch at school—or maybe you're the terrorizing Bitch, maybe I am. Some fragments that took their masks off while we were on this underworld journey sometimes walk quietly with me. Only I know that after the show they will be staying with me as my figurative New Renter in my seafront condo, down the street from Pituitary Lane, behind Heart Terrace. Then again, some unmasked Beings that I see during a performance find me once I'm back in my dressing room and receive from me the “Okay you, thank you for the perspective and the vision, but in this century you can't just chop people's heads off and feed them to your cats, and I know these guys are bad guys, and thank you for the vision. So you can haunt me during the show again in Indy

THE FAIRY REEL If I were young as once I was, and dreams and death more distant then, I wouldn’t split my soul in two, and keep half in the world of men, So half of me would stay at home, and strive for Fäerie in vain, While all the while my soul would stroll up narrow path, down crooked lane, And there would meet a fairy lass and smile and bow with kisses three, She’d pluck wild eagles from the air and nail me to a lightning tree And if my heart would run from her or flee from her, be gone from her, She’d wrap it in a nest of stars and then she’d take it on with her Until one day she’d tire of it, all bored with it and done with it She’d leave it by a burning brook, and off brown boys would run with it. They’d take it and have fun with it and stretch it long and cruel and thin, They’d slice it into four and then they’d string with it a violin. And every day and every night they’d play upon my heart a song So plaintive and so wild and strange that all who heard it danced along And sang and whirled and sank and trod and skipped and slipped and reeled and rolled Until, with eyes as bright as coals, they’d crumble into wheels of gold…. But I am young no longer now; for sixty years my heart’s been gone To play its dreadful music there, beyond the valley of the sun. I watch with envious eyes and mind, the single-souled, who dare not feel The wind that blows beyond the moon, who do not hear the Fairy Reel. If you don’t hear the Fairy Reel, they will not pause to steal your breath. When I was young I was a fool. So wrap me up in dreams and death.

some older people who need to sit down, Barb. We can’t put chairs out. I don’t want them to get too comfy or we’ll never get rid of them.’ ‘Oh, you’re being ridiculous.’ Henry is thinking that this is a fine time to call him ridiculous. He never wanted the stupid vigil. In bed last night they had another spit-whispered row about it. We could have it at the front of the house, Barbara had said when the vicar called by. Henry had quite explicitly said he would not support anything churchy – anything that would feel like a memorial service. But the vicar had said the idea of a vigil was exactly the opposite. That the community would like to show that they have not given up. That they continue to support the family. To pray for Anna’s safe return. Barbara was delighted and it was all agreed. A small event at the house. People would walk from the village, or park on the industrial estate and walk up the drive. ‘This was your idea, Barbara.’ ‘The vicar’s, actually. People just want to show support. That is what this is about.’ ‘This is ghoulish, Barb. That’s what this is.’ He moves the tractor across the yard again, depositing two more bales of straw alongside the others. ‘There. That should be enough.’ Henry looks across at his wife and is struck by the familiar contradiction. Wondering how on earth they got here. Not just since Anna disappeared, but across the twenty-two years of their marriage. He wonders if all marriages end up like this. Or if he is simply a bad man. For as Barbara sweeps her hair behind her ear and tilts up her chin, Henry can still see the full lips, perfect teeth and high cheekbones that once made him feel so very differently. It’s a pendulum that still confuses him, makes him wish he could rewind. To go back to the Young Farmers’ ball, when she smelled so divine and everything seemed so easy and hopeful. And he is wishing, yes, that he could go back and have another run. Make a better job of it. All of it. Then he closes his eyes. The echo again of Anna’s voice next to him in the car. You disgust me, Dad. He wants the voice to stop. To be quiet. Wants to rewind yet again. To when Anna was little and loved him, collected posies on Primrose Lane. To when he was her hero and she wanted to race him back to the house for tea. Barbara is now looking across the yard to the brazier. ‘You’re going to light a fire, Henry?’ ‘It will be cold. Yes.’ ‘Thank you. I’m doing soup in mugs, too.’ A pause then. ‘You really think this is a mistake, Henry? I didn’t realise it would upset you quite so much. I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s OK, Barbara. Let’s just make the best of it now.’ He slams the tractor into reverse and moves it out of the yard and back into its position inside the barn. There, in the semi-darkness, his heartbeat finally begins to settle and he sits very still on the tractor, needing the quiet, the stillness. It was their reserve position, to have the vigil under cover in this barn, if the weather was bad. But it has been a fine day. Cold but with a clear, bright sky, so they will stay out of doors. Yes. Henry rather hopes the cold will drive everyone home sooner, soup or no soup. And now he thinks he will sit here for a while longer, actually. Yes. It’s nice here alone in the barn. He finds

I really do,” she said, not looking at him. “Because once he stays here tonight, I’ll have a constant reminder that you picked him and not me, and you did it before you even knew you could have him.” He grimaced. “It was a near thing,” he told her, thinking about how pretty she’d looked in the sunshine and how cold she looked now. “Only because I could have your babies, Joe. And I still lost by a mile. C’mon.

Stay in your lane.

With driving, you get to your destination by making constant little adjustments to stay within the lanes. With success, you get to your destination by making constant little adjustments to stay within the lanes.

Someone punched him in the arm. “Earth to Sandor. Earth to Sandor.” Kerry was looking at him with mild exasperation. “We’ve still got business to attend to. I assume you tried to block her memory.” “No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I did the other night in the alley because I had no choice. This morning’s trip down memory lane also showed her that, too.” “And she didn’t take it well.” His Dame calmly rinsed and loaded the coffee mugs in the top rack of the dishwasher. When he didn’t immediately respond, she used her energy power to give him a slight shove. Despite her diminutive size, Kerry wasn’t afraid to face down irate males several times her size. “Well? Details please.” Irritated, Sandor snapped, “No, Kerry, she didn’t. Not only that, she accused me of using my secret abilities to coerce her into bed. This, after a night of mind-blowing sex that I’ve never experienced before and probably never will again. Is that enough detail for you?” “Watch it, Sandor. That’s my wife you’re crowding there.” Ranulf muscled in to get right up in Sandor’s face, his eyes blazing with blue fire. “I don’t give a rat’s ass how upset you are over this mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Talion. You do NOT talk to my wife like that. Am I making myself clear?” Sandor had been pushed far enough. “No, we’re not clear on that, you low-life berserker. This conversation between me and the Dame does not involve you. Stay the hell out of my business!” He gave Ranulf a shove, a move guaranteed to unleash the Consort’s own need to strike out. But before a single fist connected, an invisible force froze both of them in midswing. Son of a bitch, he wished Kerry would quit doing that. He really needed to punch someone, and Ranulf was such a great target.

Stephen!” Meridith hobbled forward and embraced her fiancé. “What are you doing here?” “I missed you.” He pecked her on the lips, but his embrace felt stilted. Then she remembered Jake. She pulled away and cleared her throat. “Stephen, this is Jake, the contractor I hired. Jake, this is my fiancé, Stephen.” Jake extended his hand. The grasp seemed more like a challenge than a handshake. Or maybe it was her imagination. “Nice to meet you,” Stephen said. “Same.” Jake’s voice seemed deep after Stephen’s. “I’ll turn in now,” he said to Meridith. “You’ll be all right with your ankle?” “Yeah, thanks.” Her laugh wobbled. “Good night.” She’d never gotten around to telling Stephen that Jake was staying there, and now she wished she had. Boy, did she ever. Stephen would have questions. She wasn’t blind to the way it must look, a cozy family returning from a day at the festival. Not to mention the way she’d been curled into Jake’s arms as he’d helped her up the walk. The screen door slapped into place, leaving them alone. Meridith huddled into her thin sweater. “I can’t believe you’re here.” “He’s staying here?” Stephen’s voice had an edge she hadn’t heard before. “It was a trade. I couldn’t afford the repairs, remember? Jake offered to trade for room and board.” “I’ll bet he did.” “Stephen.

It’s over between them.” “Seriously?” Jake shrugged. “She didn’t give me the details, but the ring’s gone, and she said it was over.” “Is she upset?” “Doesn’t seem to be.” That was good, right? “Hmm.” Wyatt handed him a plate. “You gonna make your move now?” Jake elbowed Wyatt in the ribs. “She just broke her engagement.” “Or he did.” Jake frowned. “I prefer to think of it the other way.” Wyatt shrugged. “Just saying. She doesn’t sound too distressed. Hey, maybe she broke up because she has the hots for you.” “Shut up.” The thought was too ludicrous to entertain. Meridith might be attracted to him, but that was a far cry from what Wyatt suggested. “It’s about the kids,” Jake said. “I’m sure of it. They spent the day together yesterday, and Max told me that Ben puked on Stephen.” Wyatt laughed. “Classic!” “Yeah, I enjoyed that little tidbit.” He was surprised the man hadn’t gone running home the day before. From what Max said, Stephen hadn’t been very friendly. They washed and dried in silence for a minute, and Jake’s thoughts turned to Meridith. She’d told him the engagement was broken so matter-of-factly. How could she love the guy and react so calmly? “You know,” Wyatt said, pulling him from his thoughts. “It’s pretty remarkable, what she’s doing. Not every chick would take on three kids at the expense of her engagement.” Wyatt was right, and it only deepened his feelings for Meridith. He hated that she was planning to take the children away, but there was no doubt she cared about them. And his suspicions about the bipolar illness had all but disappeared. He’d found no medications, seen no symptoms. “You guys would make a cute couple,” Wyatt said. “You could get married and have a ready-made family.” “You’re forgetting one little detail.” “Ah, yeah. You’re the uncle she called—what was it—self-absorbed and irresponsible?” Jake scowled and grabbed the plate from Wyatt. “So tell her the truth.” “Yeah, right. That’ll go over well.” She’d be furious. She’d kick him from Summer Place and might not let him see the kids anymore. His gut clenched. “Gotta tell her eventually.” “When the house is finished.” “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be.” “Maybe not.” Maybe he could change her mind about staying. Maybe he could make her see that he cared for her. Maybe they really could be a family.

Jake flattened the knife against the wall, filling the crevice. It was all he could do to smother a grin. He didn’t know which he’d enjoyed more, spending a couple hours alone with the kids or finding new ways to provoke Meridith. And to think he was getting paid. Maybe once she went back outside, the kids would come down and pretend to play a game at the kitchen bar while they talked. He could hear Meridith talking to them now, asking them about the game they’d supposedly been playing, acting all interested in their activities. If she really cared about them, she wouldn’t be ripping the kids from Summer Place just so she could go back and live happily ever after with her fiancé. And he was pretty sure that’s what she was planning. Their voices grew louder, then Jake saw them all descending the steps. Noelle led the pack, carrying her Uno cards, followed by the boys, then Meridith. Noelle winked on her way past. Little imp. The kids perched at the bar, and he heard the cards being shuffled. Dipping his knife into the mud, Jake sneaked a peek. Meridith was opening the dishwasher. Great. Ben kept turning to look at him, and Jake discreetly shook his head. Even though Meridith faced the other way, no need to be careless. “Noelle, you haven’t said anything about your uncle lately. He hasn’t e-mailed yet?” He felt three pairs of eyes on his back. He hoped Meridith was shelving something. Jake smoothed the mud and turned to gather more, an excuse to appraise the scene. Meridith’s back was turned. He gave the kids a look. “Uh, no, he hasn’t e-mailed.” “Or called or nothing,” Max added. Noelle silently nudged him, and Max gave an exaggerated shrug. What? “Well, let me know when he does. I don’t want to keep pestering you.” “Sure thing,” Noelle said, dealing the cards. Her eyes flickered toward him. “I was thinking we might go for a bike ride this evening,” Meridith said. “Maybe go up to ’Sconset or into town. You all have bikes, right?” “I forgot to tell you,” Noelle said. “I’m going to Lexi’s tonight. I’m spending the night.” “Who’s Lexi?” “A friend from church. You met her mom last week.” A glass clinked as she placed it in the cupboard. “Noelle, I’m not sure how things were . . . before . . . but you have to ask permission for things like this. I don’t even know Lexi, much less her family.” “I know them.” “Have you spent the night before?” “No, but I’ve been to her house tons of times.” He heard a dishwasher rack rolling in, another rolling out, the dishes rattling. “Why don’t we have her family over for dinner one night this week? I could get to know them, and then we’ll see about overnight plans.” “This is ridiculous. They go to our church, and her mom and my mom were friends!” Noelle cast him a look. See? she said with her eyes. Did Meridith think Eva would jeopardize her daughter’s safety? The woman was neurotic. Jake clamped his teeth together before something slipped out. “Just because they go to church doesn’t necessarily make them safe, Noelle. It wouldn’t be responsible to let you spend the night with people I don’t know. You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” “My mom would let me.” The air seemed to vibrate with tension. Jake realized his knife was still, flattened against the wall, and he reached for more mud. Noelle was glaring at Meridith, who’d turned, wielding a spatula. Was she going to blow it? To her credit, the woman drew a deep breath, holding her temper. “Maybe Lexi could stay all night with you instead.” “Well, wouldn’t that pose a problem for her family, since they don’t know you?” Despite his irritation with Meridith, Jake’s lips twitched. Score one for Noelle. “I suppose that would be up to her family.” He heard Noelle’s cards hit the table, her chair screech across the floor as she stood. “Never mind.” She cast Meridith one final glare, then exited through the back door, closing it with a hearty slam.

I was thinking . . .” Jake said. “Uh-oh.” He gave a little half grin. “The electric will be done in a few days, and we agreed I’d be finished then. But some of the other projects wouldn’t cost much.” He nodded toward the fireplace. “All I need is some mortar, a few stones, and some time, and I can get that fireplace working.” He listed a host of other projects, but Meridith’s mind was off and wandering. With her worries over Noelle and the havoc Jake created inside her, she was anticipating his departure. Not anticipating, exactly. Just desperately needing it to happen. For her own peace of mind. He seemed eager to stay, and she dreaded turning him down, but extending his time was out of the question. The furnace and the electric would be done. Those were the two biggies. “Jake, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I think it’s time we parted ways.” The relaxed grin fell from his lips. The light in his eyes was extinguished as if she’d doused his hope with a fire hose. More than just disappointment, he seemed surprised. “I’d love to have the work completed, and you’ve done a fine job, but I really don’t have the money, and I’m eager to—to move on.” She twisted the ring on her finger, then wondered if the action was telling. “Oh.” “I hope you—” Max and Ben entered the front door, arguing over who got the video game first. While Meridith settled the dispute, Jake slipped quietly out the door. When

Meridith stepped down from the chair and scooted it a few feet. “Let me.” Jake took the string and looped it over the hooks one at a time. It took him two minutes to finish the porch. “Show-off,” she said. “Being tall has its benefits.” And being strong. Words of gratitude formed in her mind, but it took a moment to order them. “I never thanked you last night.” He scratched behind Piper’s ears. “No need.” He plugged the lights in the wall outlet, and they glowed dimly. “Hopefully there’s a wall switch inside.” “I mean it, Jake. I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Heat worked into her cheeks. She pulled a cornflower blue pail from the box and set it on one of the tables. “Your arms . . .” She looked down, noticing the bruises. Brownish-gray blotches, Sean’s fingerprints on her skin. She rubbed the spots, wishing she could wipe them away. Seeing them there, she could almost feel Sean’s grip on her, feel the helplessness welling up. “I should’ve beat the kid to a pulp.” Jake’s fists clenched. “He’s long gone. That’s all that matters.” “He should’ve been arrested.” “I don’t think he meant to—to attack me that way. We stumbled, and he fell on me.” “You’re wearing evidence that says otherwise.” He had a point. And the night before, sand grinding into her back, she’d been convinced she was in danger. “Don’t like the idea of you and the kids here alone.” “Aren’t you the one who thought the partitions were silly?” “Never said that.” “Didn’t have to.” She gave a wry smile. She was pretty good at reading people. Like just now, he was thinking she was right. “Maybe I did.” He leaned a shoulder on the shingled wall, looking every bit as cocky as he had that first day he’d turned up on her doorstep. It didn’t bother her just this minute. “I know I said I was done with the repairs, but what would you think of finishing the ones that aren’t too costly?” His gaze intensified. “Really?” Meridith collected a basket and began filling it with shells. “You mentioned the fireplace. I’d like to get it working again. We have tree branches hitting the house, a couple trees that a stiff wind would blow over—if you do that kind of work. Not to mention the other things on the list.” Jake walked to the railing, staring out to sea. When Piper joined him, Jake ruffled her fur. Maybe he didn’t want to stay now. Maybe having the kids underfoot all week had been a pain. Maybe he’d been offended at the way she’d confronted him about being alone with Noelle—a notion that now seemed ludicrous in light of the way he’d come to her rescue. “I mean, if you can’t, that’s all right. You probably have other work lined up.” It was only a couple months. They’d be safe that long, right? She saw Sean’s hardened face, heard the bitter slur of his words, and shuddered. “I’ll stay.” “Are you sure?” Her words rushed out. “Glad to.” She smiled. “All right then.” He straightened, winked, and she felt it down to her bones. “Back

What’s wrong?” Jake’s voice, deep as thunder, unsettled her. Why did he have to be so handsome? She wanted to fall right inside those brown eyes. “I saw you in the living room with Ben . . . earlier.” His lips pulled upward, no doubt remembering Ben’s belly laughs. “He’s a fun kid.” She hated to wipe the smile from his face. “I know you mean well, Jake, but I think it’s best if you avoid spending time with the children.” The smile slid south. “We were just playing around.” “The children are getting attached to you. I don’t think it’s healthy.” His jaw flexed, his shoulders squared. “They need relationships now more than ever.” “Not from someone who’ll soon exit their lives.” He flinched. She hated to hurt his feelings, had a physical ache from wounding him. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said finally. “I don’t want to exit their lives. I don’t want to exit your life.” Maybe he thought they could be some happy family or something. It was time to tell him everything. “I’m selling Summer Place. We’ll be leaving the island soon. The Goldmans—our guests over the daffodil weekend—made an offer, and I accepted. I haven’t told the children yet, so I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t mention it. We’ll stay through closing in late June.” Jake’s lips parted. A second later they pressed together. He walked to the end of the porch and back. He reminded her of a caged tiger, constricted by the boundary of the porch. She hadn’t expected him to be so upset. When he passed, she set her hand on his bare arm, stopping him. The muscles flexed beneath her palm. He was so strong. She had the sudden image of him hitting Sean, using those muscles to protect her. She pulled her hand away as if his skin burned her. “They’ve had enough loss. They’ve already become attached to you, and that’s only going to hurt them more when we leave.” His face softened as he stared, his lips slackening, his eyes growing tender. His face had already darkened under the sun. Faint lines fanned the corner of his eyes. He reached toward her and ran his finger down the side of her face. “Don’t leave.” His touch left a trail of fire. She pressed her spine to the column. How could she want to dive into his arms and run away at the same time? Inside a riot kicked up. She was back in the apartment on Warren Street, coming home from school, slipping in the door, unsure if she’d find her mom racing around the kitchen, slumped on the bathroom tile, or just gone. The same uncertainty roiled in her now. “I have to.” “This is their home. Your engagement is over,” he said gently. “Is what you’re going back to as important as what you’re leaving?” He didn’t have to say he meant them. Us. She shook her head, dislodging his hand. How had he turned this all around? She

We can’t afford to stay here, honey.” “Don’t call me that. You were just going to sell our home and take us away and not even give Uncle Jay a chance!” “I know you’re upset, but I was going to tell you this week, Noelle. Boys, I—we can’t stay. I wish we could. But you’ll like St. Louis once we get settled there—” “What about Uncle Jay?” Max asked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, what about Uncle Jay?” Ben’s chin quivered. She’d forgotten Jake was there until he touched her shoulder. “Meridith—” “You said you’d give him a chance!” Noelle screamed. Tears leaked from her eyes. “You’ve been planning this all along and lying to us! You’re a liar!” She hated that word. Meridith tamped down her own anger. “I didn’t lie, Noelle. I just hadn’t told you yet.” “You were never planning to give Uncle Jay a chance! You were planning to sell our home and take us away from day one.” “No, I wasn’t—” “Uncle Jay would never take us away, he’d never sell Summer Place, and he’d never lie to us like you have!” “Well, your Uncle Jay wasn’t here to make those decisions, and if he’d be such a wonderful guardian, why isn’t he here now?” “He is here!” Noelle’s eyes went past Meridith’s shoulders. “He’s been here all along, right beside us, and we want him to be our guardian, not you!” The words sank in slowly. Noelle’s eyes, darting toward Jake. His hand tightening on her shoulder. The boys staring wide-eyed at him. He’s been here all along, right beside us. “Meridith, I—” Meridith jerked away from him. Think. She needed to think. Scenes from the past three months raced through her mind. Jake arriving on her doorstep. The low bid. Jake carrying Ben to his truck. Jake teaching her to dance. “Meridith.” Jake asking to stay here. Her chiding him for being alone with Noelle. Hysteria bubbled in her throat. His niece. Jake saving her from Sean. The day of the parade. The kiss in the dark. His declaration of love. She choked back a laugh. Her own declaration of love. “Meridith—” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me.” She pushed his hand off, backed away. It made sense now, all of it. The way the kids had bonded to him so quickly. They’d been keeping a secret from her. Jake, the children. Everyone in the house knew but her. She felt like such a fool! But . . . the tender moments between her and Jake, his words . . . Was it just a show, some horrible pretense to get access to the kids, to get custody of the kids? She’d let herself trust him, let herself love him—told him she loved him—and it was all . . . “Get out.” He held out his hands, palms down. “Meridith, just let me—” Meridith put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it!” Her thoughts spun in so many directions, making her dizzy. Max and Ben were crying. She couldn’t process the chaos, didn’t want to. “Get out, Jake. I mean it.” “All

You said you’d give him a chance!” Noelle screamed. Tears leaked from her eyes. “You’ve been planning this all along and lying to us! You’re a liar!” She hated that word. Meridith tamped down her own anger. “I didn’t lie, Noelle. I just hadn’t told you yet.” “You were never planning to give Uncle Jay a chance! You were planning to sell our home and take us away from day one.” “No, I wasn’t—” “Uncle Jay would never take us away, he’d never sell Summer Place, and he’d never lie to us like you have!” “Well, your Uncle Jay wasn’t here to make those decisions, and if he’d be such a wonderful guardian, why isn’t he here now?” “He is here!” Noelle’s eyes went past Meridith’s shoulders. “He’s been here all along, right beside us, and we want him to be our guardian, not you!” The words sank in slowly. Noelle’s eyes, darting toward Jake. His hand tightening on her shoulder. The boys staring wide-eyed at him. He’s been here all along, right beside us. “Meridith, I—” Meridith jerked away from him. Think. She needed to think. Scenes from the past three months raced through her mind. Jake arriving on her doorstep. The low bid. Jake carrying Ben to his truck. Jake teaching her to dance. “Meridith.” Jake asking to stay here. Her chiding him for being alone with Noelle. Hysteria bubbled in her throat. His niece. Jake saving her from Sean. The day of the parade. The kiss in the dark. His declaration of love. She choked back a laugh. Her own declaration of love. “Meridith—” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me.” She pushed his hand off, backed away. It made sense now, all of it. The way the kids had bonded to him so quickly. They’d been keeping a secret from her. Jake, the children. Everyone in the house knew but her. She felt like such a fool! But . . . the tender moments between her and Jake, his words . . . Was it just a show, some horrible pretense to get access to the kids, to get custody of the kids? She’d let herself trust him, let herself love him—told him she loved him—and it was all . . . “Get out.” He held out his hands, palms down. “Meridith, just let me—” Meridith put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it!” Her thoughts spun in so many directions, making her dizzy. Max and Ben were crying. She couldn’t process the chaos, didn’t want to. “Get out, Jake. I mean it.” “All right.” His hands dropped. “All right.” He moved toward the door. “No!” Ben ran to Jake, wrapped his arms around his leg. “You’re the meanest person ever!” Noelle screamed. “Let go, Benny.” Jake pried his hands off. He set the boy aside. “I’ll be back.” His gaze flickered to Max, then to Noelle, and back to Meridith. No, he wouldn’t. She was never letting him in her house, in her heart again. Meridith walked around Jake, opened the front door. “Don’t go, Uncle Jay!” Noelle said. Jake motioned her to settle down. He paused beside Meridith. She wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Could barely contain everything that was building inside. His shoes blurred. She would not cry. “I’ll call you,” he whispered. “Don’t bother.” He

As you’ve heard in Ms. Ward’s testimony, she is declining guardianship of these children. As per the stipulations in your sister’s will, you are to be offered the legal guardianship of the Ward children. Mr. Walker, do you accept the role of guardian for these children and all the responsibilities that accompany that role?” “No, Your Honor, I don’t.” Meridith’s eyes darted to Jake. He was staring straight at her. She’d misheard. The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Walker, perhaps you misunderstood the question. Do you wish to be guardian of the children?” “No, Your Honor, I don’t,” Jake said clearly. She didn’t understand. What was he doing? The children— “Mr. Walker—” “Not unless . . .” Jake lowered his voice. “Not unless Meridith Ward agrees to stay.” His gaze beat a path to her heart. “In fact, not unless Ms. Ward agrees to marry me. Only then will I agree to share guardianship of the kids.” What? Meridith’s mind couldn’t assimilate the facts. But the love shining from Jake’s eyes said more than his words. Her eyes burned. “As it turns out,” Jake continued slowly, staring right into Meridith’s eyes, “I’m wildly, madly, and passionately in love with Ms. Ward, and I want us to be a real family.” “Me too!” Benny said loudly. “Me three,” Max called. “Ditto.” Noelle. Even Noelle. Had they known? She turned and looked at the children. Noelle’s eyes were teary. Benny and Max stared back, hope and worry lining their faces. She turned back to Jake, got caught in his eyes. He blurred in front of her. Her lip trembled, and she bit it still. The judge cleared his throat. “I see. This is most unusual. Well, I think a recess might be in order. Would you like to take a moment, Ms. Ward?” He loved her. Jake loved her and wanted to— Could she find the courage to love, to walk in uncertainty? To risk being hurt? She knew her foundation was stable. Everything else she had to take one day at a time, right? “Ms. Ward?” “Uh . . . yes. A recess, please.” The judge and bailiff exited, and Jake stood. She watched all six feet of him close the gap between them. Somewhere behind her, the children were as quiet as fireflies. Meridith stood, her legs trembling beneath her. And then Jake was there, standing in front of her, his solemn brown eyes shining. “I’m so sorry, Meri. I was a jerk. I’m sorry I hurt you, sorry for everything.” He took her chin in his hand. “And I do love you,” he whispered. “I want you to be my wife. Not for the kids, but because I want you with me every day for the rest of my life.” It was enough. More than enough. She swallowed hard. “I want that too. So much.” Jake

From the edge of consciousness, whispers intruded. “Are they fiancéd now?” “Engaged.” “Well, are they?” “What d’you think, runt?” Meridith pulled away, her lips curving into a smile that mirrored Jake’s. “Yeah, little man,” Jake said, not taking his eyes from Meridith. “We’re engaged.” Before he finished speaking, they were swallowed by the children’s arms. “I’m sorry,” Noelle whispered in Meridith’s ear. “I’m sorry I was so mean and that I lied to you.” “We’re all sorry,” Max said. “We acted like spoiled brats.” “It’s okay.” Everything was okay now. More than okay. “I love you, Meridith,” Max said. “Me too,” Ben said. “I love you guys too.” She wouldn’t have to leave them. Would get to see them tomorrow and every day afterward. Even while happiness flooded her soul, a lone thought dampened her spirits. “Summer Place,” she said. “After all this, we’re going to lose their home.” “Nuh-uh!” Ben said. “Tell her, Uncle J!” Meridith looked up at Jake’s handsome face. “Yeah, tell me, Uncle J.” He smoothed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear. “Talked to Mr. Goldman yesterday and explained everything. If you want to keep Summer Place, they’re willing to forfeit the property.” “But they really wanted it.” “Apparently Mrs. Goldman thinks all this is terribly romantic. And I think between the two of us, we could stay afloat. But it’s your call.” The joy that bubbled up from inside overflowed in the form of a smile. “As long as we’re together. That’s what matters.” Noelle whooped, and a group hug followed. The

stay quiet, keep your heads on a swivel, and when the shooting starts, stay in your lane. Let’s

The old—and never especially helpful—adage write what you know has morphed into something more like a threat: Stay in your lane. This principle permits the category of fiction, but really only to the extent that we acknowledge and confess that personal experience is inviolate and nontransferable. It concedes that personal experience may be displayed, very carefully, to the unlike-us, to the stranger, even to the enemy—but insists it can never truly be shared by them. This rule also pertains in the opposite direction: the experience of the unlike-us can never be co-opted, ventriloquized, or otherwise “stolen” by us. (As the philosopher Anthony Appiah has noted, these ideas of cultural ownership share some DNA with the late-capitalist concept of brand integrity.) Only those who are like us are like us. Only those who are like us can understand us—or should even try. Which entire philosophical edifice depends on visibility and legibility, that is, on the sense that we can be certain of who is and isn’t “like us” simply by looking at them and/or listening to what they have to say. Fiction didn’t believe any of that. Fiction suspected that there is far more to people than what they choose to make manifest. Fiction wondered what likeness between selves might even mean, given the profound mystery of consciousness itself, which so many other disciplines—most notably philosophy—have probed for millennia without reaching any definitive conclusions. Fiction was suspicious of any theory of the self that appeared to be largely founded on what can be seen with the human eye, that is, those parts of our selves that are material, manifest, and clearly visible in a crowd. Fiction—at least the kind that was any good—was full of doubt, self-doubt above all. It had grave doubts about the nature of the self.

Know your lane. Stay in your lane. Love your lane. Jesus called you to your lane. Jesus equipped you for your lane. Jesus empowers you in your lane. Jesus is with you in your lane. You have grace for your race.

The clock is ticking, and it might feel like the pressure is on – but here's the good news. Once you make a conscious decision to stay in your own lane, it's like time slows down, but your progress speeds up.

You may look at my life and find it boring. That's alright. You are in a good position; a position of living your life the way you envision mine. I'm living my life in an authentic way. And, with all due respect, it is not aimed at pleasing you.

The rise of white nationalism has led to many nonwhites defending their identities with rage and pride as well as demanding reparative action to compensate for centuries of whites plundering from non-Western cultures. But a side effect of this justified rage has been a “stay in your lane” politics in which artists and writers are asked to speak only from their personal ethnic experiences. Such a politics not only assumes racial identity is pure—while ignoring the messy lived realities in which racial groups overlap—but reduces racial identity to intellectual property.

You think I don’t know that? I was feigning ignorance for effect. But thanks for trying to teach a black man about the motherland. Next you’ll be trying to school me on jazz, teaching me how to dunk a basketball, or telling me how to build a video game console or a pacemaker. My people invented those last two, you know. Stay in your lane, white devil.

He watched the ghostly army on the march. Headlights swept the immigrants. The concrete gleamed wet and black beneath their boots and gym shoes. His countrymen covered their heads with hoods, baseball caps, newspapers, plastic bags. Or they simply hunched their shoulders, impervious to the rain, the fatigue, the roar and hiss of metal monsters rushing by a few feet away. The immigrants knew the freeway median was a reasonably safe limbo in some ways: no bandits, no Border Patrol, no rough terrain. Just put one foot in front of the other. Pray the cars stay in their lanes. Try not to think about the moment when you'll have to sprint across this cement deathscape hauling your wife, your kids, your worldly possessions. Maybe the moment can be postponed indefinitely. Maybe you can just keep walking north and the freeway median will take you where you want to go.

They remained standing on the road, which ended up being a big mistake for Luke. As he saw the bus barreling down the other lane, Luke also noted a sizable puddle in front of it. He quickly put himself between Shelby and the bus, pressing her up against Doc’s open window. With a hand on each side of her, he covered her with his body, barely in time to feel the splat from the puddle against his back. Shelby stifled a chuckle. Macho man, she thought with some humor. Luke heard downshifting, then the squeal of brakes. “Jesus,” he muttered as he backed off the girl and glared after the bus. As Luke turned and scowled at the bus, the driver leaned out the window. A round-faced woman in her fifties, rosy cheeked with a cap of short dark hair, grinned at him. She grinned! “Sorry, buddy,” she said. “Couldn’t hardly help that.” “You could if you went a lot slower,” he yelled back at her. To his astonishment, she laughed. “Aw, I wasn’t going too fast. I got a schedule, y’know,” she yelled. “My advice? Stay out of the way.” His scalp felt hot under his short hair and he really wanted to swear. When he turned back to Shelby and Doc, he found her smiling behind her hand and Doc’s eyes twinkling. “You got a little splatter on your back there, Luke,” she said, trying to keep control of her lips. Doc’s

I pulled my knees in to my chest. As I did, I felt something small and jagged against my leg. A small shard of glass, I figured, or maybe a rough pebble. I looked down at the ground, and with mounting dread, I saw that it was neither. It was a tooth. My breath caught in my throat. I looked across and saw a hint of a smile on Otto’s model face. He opened the box, revealing a set of rusted tools. I saw a set of pliers, a hacksaw, a box cutter—and then I stopped looking. Bob: “Where is she?” “I already told you. I don’t know.” “That answer,” Bob said. I could see the back of his head shaking. “It’s very disappointing.” Otto remained impassive. He kept the gun aimed at me, but his gaze kept sneaking a loving look at his tools. The dead eyes would light up when they landed on the pliers, the hacksaw, the box cutter. Bob again: “Jake?” “What?” “Otto is going to cuff you now. You won’t do anything stupid. He has a gun, and hey, we can always drive back to campus and use your students for target practice. You understand me?” I swallowed again, my mind whirling. “I don’t know anything.” Bob gave an overdramatic sigh. “I didn’t ask you if you knew anything, Jake. Well, I mean, yes, I asked you that before, but right now, I’m asking if you understand what I said—about the handcuffs and the student target practice. Did you understand all that, Jake?” “Yes.” “Okay, so stay still.” Bob used his blinker and slid into the left lane. We were still on the highway. “Go ahead, Otto.” I didn’t have much time. I knew that. Seconds maybe. Once the handcuff was in place—once I was fastened to the van wall—I was finished. I looked down at the tooth. A good reminder of what was about to come. Otto came at me from near the back door. He still held the gun. I could rush him, I guess, but he’d be expecting that. I considered trying to open the side door and roll out, take my chances with this van moving more than sixty miles per hour on a highway. But the door locks were down. I’d never get one open in time. Otto

It is quite disturbing to know that anyone can look at what we are doing online at any given moment. There are millions and millions of other people using the internet who choose not to take special precautions. Without taking the extra step to protect your online activities, anyone from the NSA, FBI, and general hackers can see what you search while on the internet.     

Have you no sense?" he snarled. "I tell you that you are 'in danger' and to stay inside the abbey, and that causes you to go tripping about the countryside?" She tried to step back. "I merely-" "No." He yanked her into his chest, his face within inches of hers, his breath hot on her lips. "No explanations, no excuses. I've had enough of your carelessness, madam." Her eyes widened and for a second she was almost afraid. Something in Raphael's face twisted and changed. "What you do to me-" He slammed his mouth onto hers, forcing her lips apart and thrusting in his tongue. She mewled helplessly as he bent her back over his arm. Her senses were filled with the taste of coffee and the scent of cloves and she couldn't think. He lifted his mouth from hers so abruptly she could only stare up at him, dazed. Then she heard the sounds of wheels on gravel. A carriage jolted down the drive at a fast clip and halted in front of the house. Raphael swung her to the side and partially behind him, his grip on her arm still firm.

Schools had let out early and most businesses were closed in anticipation of the storm. My last ride dropped me off in Belfast, telling me that he was trying to get as far as Augusta, before State Road 3 became impassable. Standing alongside the two-lane coastal highway with darkness not far off, I was half thinking that I should turn back. My mind was made up for me when I stepped back off the road, making room for a big State DOT dump truck with a huge yellow snowplow. His airbrakes wheezed as he braked, coming to a stop, at the same time lifting his plow to keep from burying me. The driver couldn’t believe that I was out hitchhiking in a blizzard. This kind of weather in Maine is no joke! The driver told me that the year before a body had been found under a snow bank during the spring thaw. Never mind, I was invincible and nothing like that could happen to me, or so I thought. He got me as far as Camden and suggested that I get a room. “This storm is only going to get worse,” he cautioned as I got off. I waved as he drove off. Nevertheless, still hoping that things would improve, I was determined to continue…. My next ride was not for quite a while, but eventually an old car fishtailed to a stop. It was a clunker, covered with snow and I couldn’t really see in. Opening the front door, I realized that both seats were occupied. “Sorry, I’ll get into the back,” I said. Opening the back door, I saw that both people in the front were women. The car was cold and they explained that the heater didn’t work but they sounded like they felt sorry for me. “Where are you going, sailor?” the woman behind the wheel asked. “It’s going to snow all night,” the other one added. Again, I didn’t know if I really wanted to continue. “Well, I was going to New Jersey but maybe I should find a place here in Camden.” “What? No way!” I heard them say. “Come stay with us,” the younger one said with an interesting smile. She looked cute peering at me from under the hood of her green parka. The fur surrounding the hood still had some snow on it, so I assumed that they hadn’t come from that far away. I don’t know what I was thinking, when I agreed to their offer of staying with them, but it didn’t escape me that the woman driving was also attractive. I assumed that she must have been in her late thirties or early forties. The woolen scarf around her neck was loosely tied and her brown hair was up in a knot. “We’re just coming into town to get some bacon and eggs for breakfast,” the older one said. “We could use a little company. Come on,” the younger of the two, invitingly added. How could I say “no” to this kind of flirtatiousness? Giving my name, I said, “I’m Hank, and I certainly appreciate your offer.” They pulled into the snow-covered parking lot of a local food market. “We’re Rita and Connie. Let’s get in out of the cold before we freeze to death.

stay in your lane” politics in which artists and writers are asked to speak only from their personal ethnic experiences. Such a politics not only assumes racial identity is pure—while ignoring the messy lived realities in which racial groups overlap—but reduces racial identity to intellectual property.

That was what you got when you stayed up all night, talking to a teenager about his beloved older brother, who actually had succeeded in killing himself with his own fucking valor. That was what you got when you wandered around in a hospital, chased relentlessly by ghosts who all moaned terrible messages about being alone, forever alone, locked in a box, submerged in your own bitterness.

Fat adaption is a process that happens after at least four weeks of ketosis. It’s the end of your period of transition into a low-carb diet. During fat adaption, your body is fully acclimated to burning only fat. You no longer crave carbs, and you tend to get fuller faster and stay that way longer. When you eat carbs, they don’t spike your blood sugar the way they used to, and blood sugar returns to a normal state more quickly. Your body may even become fat adapted without your even knowing it.

Type 2 diabetes is essentially a disease of too much sugar and too much insulin. What decreases sugar and insulin? Fasting. When your insulin is in check, your blood sugar stays in check, your weight stabilizes or decreases, and your risk of developing any number of chronic health conditions goes down.

Stay in your lane. Hold the space. Be true to your authentic self—the best representation of yourself that you can possibly be.

stamina aren’t made any differently to anyone else,’ she was saying. ‘The only difference is they have a clear goal in mind, and a determination to get there. Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distraction. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you . . .

People with stamina aren’t made any differently to anyone else,’ she was saying. ‘The only difference is they have a clear goal in mind, and a determination to get there. Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distractions. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you...

Don't lose yourself in a world full of illusions. Stay focused and in your own lane. Move at your own pace. Your life journey should not feel like a race.

I’m more fucked up than you can imagine. So whatever little fantasy you have going on in your head, get rid of it right now. A sane man doesn’t touch a girl half his age and pretend like it didn’t matter. A good man would never do all the ugly, depraved things I’m starting to think about you. A man with any shred of decency would have more self-control than I do. Protect yourself, Nell. Stay the hell away before I do something horrible to you.

At the time of my writing, this country has seen a retrenchment of identities on both sides of the political spectrum. The rise of white nationalism has led to many nonwhites defending their identities with rage and pride as well as demanding reparative action to compensate for centuries of whites' plundering from non-Western cultures. But a side effect of this justified rage has been a "stay in your lane" politics in which artists and writers are asked to speak only from their personal ethnic experiences. Such a politics not only assumes racial identity is pure—while ignoring the messy lived realities in which racial groups overlap—but reduces racial identity to intellectual property.

Don't follow the leader or the crowds path, make your own and let them follow you.

You're not in competition with anyone but yourself. Stay in your own lane and resist the urge to try to compete with others.

Don't be intimidated by others' success, be inspired by them.

Stay in your own lane, hustle hard, and use your service as a way to add value to the community.

To whoever needs to hear this: It's never too late to change directions. Life isn't a linear path. So do not stifle your potential by staying in a lane that doesn't fit what you want for yourself anymore.

When you stay in your lane, walk at your own comfortable pace, and let them overtake you without a frown on your face - that’s the beginning of your transformation, and you will play an important role in the spiritual awakening.

Everything is only you! Sometimes my heart wants to escape with my head, But my heart beats in all directions tend to tread, And my mind that only thinks of you, Eventually lets my heart beats become an echo of you, Where your memories lie everywhere, and stare at me, From every corner, every side, every direction, it is just you that I see, And then my love Irmna, I love you, Quietly in my heart beats and my mind creates visual glimpses of you, Which appear and fade like bubbles in the sea of time, And whenever a bubble of excitement is about to reach its prime, It bursts and the bubble sprays infinite droplets of memories bearing an image of you, And then how I miss you! Maybe you will never know it, That shall be the tragedy of time and feelings of love which are forfeit, Still I shall think of you and love to create this bubble with you, And feel the droplets of your kisses, which are but distant memories of you, Time travels at its pace but human memories somehow master the art of lying in a timeless space, Where the moments from the past through the lanes of mind towards every heartbeat pace, It is so with me, yet I love to love you, Whenever I travel in the train of time I wish to journey only unto you, So let the memories be there Irma and let the feelings stay true, Let the present know, that it is past that rules and leaves a clue, For the lovers to pick, just like I in every present seek you, This clue from the past, makes me find you in the present, that Universe creates only for me and you, In every bubble of memory that bursts and creates endless droplets of memories, Which cover my body and soul with these time’s pleasantries, Where you grow over me like a skin of feelings and I feel you, Like a touch growing all over me, where everything is now you and only you!

Everything is only you! Sometimes my heart wants to escape with my head, But my heart beats in all directions tend to tread, And my mind that only thinks of you, Eventually lets my heart beats become an echo of you, Where your memories lie everywhere, and stare at me, From every corner, every side, every direction, it is just you that I see, And then my love Irma, I love you, Quietly in my heart beats and my mind creates visual glimpses of you, Which appear and fade like bubbles in the sea of time, And whenever a bubble of excitement is about to reach its prime, It bursts and the bubble sprays infinite droplets of memories bearing an image of you, And then how I miss you! Maybe you will never know it, That shall be the tragedy of time and feelings of love which are forfeit, Still I shall think of you and love to create this bubble with you, And feel the droplets of your kisses, which are but distant memories of you, Time travels at its pace but human memories somehow master the art of lying in a timeless space, Where the moments from the past through the lanes of mind towards every heartbeat pace, It is so with me, yet I love to love you, Whenever I travel in the train of time I wish to journey only unto you, So let the memories be there Irma and let the feelings stay true, Let the present know, that it is past that rules and leaves a clue, For the lovers to pick, just like I in every present seek you, This clue from the past, makes me find you in the present, that Universe creates only for me and you, In every bubble of memory that bursts and creates endless droplets of memories, Which cover my body and soul with these time’s pleasantries, Where you grow over me like a skin of feelings and I feel you, Like a touch growing all over me, where everything is now you and only you!

In a dear little village Remote and obscure A beautiful maiden resided As to whether or not Her intentions were pure Opinions were sharply divided She loved to lie Out 'neath the darkening sky And allow the night breeze To entrance her She whispered her dreams To the birds flying by But seldom received any answer Over the field and along the lane Gentle Alice would love to stray When it came to the end of the day She would wander away Unheeding Dreaming her innocent dreams she strode Quite unaffected by heat or cold Frequently freckled or soaked with rain Alice was out in the lane Who she met there Every day Was a question Answered by none But she'd get there And she'd stay there 'Til whatever she did Was undoubtedly done You might also like Mad Dogs And Englishmen Noël Coward You’re Losing Me (From The Vault) Taylor Swift Cupid (Twin Version) FIFTY FIFTY (피프티피프티) Over the field and along the lane Both her parents would call in vain Sadly, sorrowfully, they'd complain 'Alice is at it again.' Although that dear little village Surrounded by trees Had neither a school, nor a college Gentle Alice acquired From the birds and the bees Some exceedingly practical knowledge The curious secrets that nature revealed She refused to allow to upset her But she thought When observing the beasts of the field That things might have been organised better Over the field and along the lane Gentle Alice would make up And take up Her stand The road was not exactly arterial But it led to a town nearby Where quite a lot of masculine material Caught her rolling eye She was ready to hitchhike Cadillac or motorbike She wasn't proud or choosy All she Was aiming to be Was a pinked-up Minked-up Fly-by-night floozy When old Rogers Gave her pearls as large as Nuts on a chestnut tree All she'd say was 'Fiddle-di-dee! The wages of sin will be the death of me!' Over the field and along the lane Gentle Alice's parents Would wait Hand in hand Her dear old white-headed mother Wistfully sipping champagne Said 'We've spoiled our child Spared the rod Open up the caviar and say "Thank God!" We've got no cause to complain! Alice is at it again!