It took a lot of convincing for me to write this. Of course that’s what happens when I try motivating myself to motivate myself. But in all honesty, for one reason or another, I’ve been finding myself much more motivated recently, mostly because I stopped looking for myself when I wasn’t motivated.

You might be wondering what the most Jewish movie of the summer is this year. Is it the annual Woody Allen flick (Blue Jasmine)? Is it Grown Ups 2 (thanks again, Adam Sandler…)? No, it's Man of Steel. If you don't know what's Jewish about Superman, first, shame on you, and second, I apologize for that, I didn't mean it (mostly). Please allow me to explain.

There are as few words as loaded as the word “feminist.” And few as misunderstood. Many people who are feminists in actuality rebuff the label due to misperceptions about this word. So I thought I’d share why I am a feminist, in hopes that others more easily and comfortably identify themselves as one.

Growing up in Chicago, I have become accustomed to giving into my body’s seasonal cravings. In the winter I want “stick-to-your-ribs” food, while as soon as the weather becomes warm, all I crave is to sit outside with a bowl of fruit. Considering Chicago’s weather is not all that reliable, our bodies can be confused with what they crave.

It was too big. I knew it the moment I saw it, as she dropped it off, bringing it through the heavy front door of my apartment building. "I didn't realize it was partially broken," she apologized, gesturing to the slight incision in the plastic seat. She had given me something before, something equally used, appearing as if it had been rolled around in the mud for a while and then hastily cleaned.

I don’t believe much in serendipity but sometimes when situations knocks you right in the face, it’s hard to deny them. This morning on my walk into work, I received an email from my vet wishing our dog Toby a, “happy birthday.”