Kendall is just a really all-around amazing person. Her writing just blows me out of the water and her sense of humor is perfect. Plus, she lives in my home state, Texas! I'm not sure it can get much better. 
Find her here: blog + twitter + tumblr + instagram

I'm Kendall, I'm seventeen, and I'm about to be a senior in high school. I've lived in Texas my whole life, and while I jump at every opportunity to travel, my favorite place is my hometown.

I love taking pictures, reading, and running -- well, actually, the latter is more of a love-hate relationship. Most of all, though, I love to write. It's how I make sense of the world. It's why I have a blog and why I have a stack of filled journals on my shelf -- on number six since April 2011. I have no idea what I want to do with my life but I know I want it to involve writing and helping + connecting with people.

Other than that, I'm always finding more things to love about living in this world. Some of my favorites: art museums, mountains, musicals, Friday night football games, karaoke, playing guitar, watching sunrises and sunsets, salted caramel everything, cruising through town with the windows rolled down and the radio on, flying kites, peanut butter straight from the jar, and laughing laughing laughing.

At first I may seem quiet, or serious, or any number of things, but I firmly believe everybody is so much more than they seem. (And yeah, serious I am not.)

eat

I enjoy breakfast foods in general way too much. In the summer, on average at least two of my meals are breakfast. I love pancakes and waffles and I think I'm legitimately addicted to cereal. I'm from Texas, too, so breakfast tacos are kind of why I live. And I won't deny that I've had queso before ten o'clock before. It's the reason I'll never be vegan. (But being 99.9% vegetarian counts for something, right?)

sleep

I love my world map that hangs by my bed. I love tracing my fingers from city to city, seeing all the places I've been, all the places I want to go, all the places the people I love are.

read

Alongside all my favorite novels like "The Book Thief" and "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" and everything you've heard recommended to you before (but you should still read) on my shelf are some poetry anthologies. Some of my favorites are Pablo Neruda and W. H. Auden; I definitely recommend both of them. I also really love Mary Oliver, and I'm always on the lookout for new books and poems to read.

wear

To be honest, I go with the Nike shorts and T-shirt combination way too often. I mean, after looking decent (think: hair brushed, no clashing colors, etc.), comfort is my chief concern. I also like to buy dresses and then let them sit in my closet. And then there's this skirt, which I like to break out when I want to feel like I'm a fairy princess.

listen
I am practically always listening to music but whenever someone asks for a recommendation, it's something of a struggle. It's nothing much new, but lately I've been loving Ben Howard, Vampire Weekend, Arcade Fire, The Shins, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey, whatever's on the radio. As for individual songs, I have to say it feels like "Who Knows, Who Cares" by the Local Natives is kind of describing my life right now.

wild card

Whenever I have to play that "Two Truths and a Lie" game, I always say "I hate skiing" as one of my truths because it's apparently hard for people to fathom that anyone hates skiing. I think I just have too many traumatic memories of frozen extremities and getting stuck half way down the slopes and an image of my sister barreling into an unfortunate snowboarder at the bottom of the hill that will live with me forever. Oh! and those ski lifts. I don't really have a problem with heights if, you know, my legs aren't dangling over the open air with nothing to secure me in except one single flimsy bar while the lift moves swiftly on, not even stopping for you to get out. Yeah, that's really a safe operation you're running there, homie. No. I'd rather go ice-skating, if it has to be winter at all. ☼

see other interviews here

   I was six years old when the world of underwater somersaults and handstands and cannonballs was finally opened up to me. At my next door neighbor's pool, I learned to swim in the humidity of southeast Texas. Armed with enough towels and swimming paraphernalia to last a lifetime, I'd tentatively dip my toes in the pool. I had one of those swimsuits outfitted with removable six air-filled floaties and every week, my dad would take out one as I ventured farther and farther into the water. And then one day, Dad took out the last floatie without telling me and I jumped in the pool and discovered I could suddenly swim. I would kick extra fast through the deep end, due to a irrational fear of giant squid lurking at the bottom.
   I've become boring now and just sit in the pool and read, but I've gotten to watch each of my siblings discover the same joys that I did. There isn't a non-swimmer in the family now and I get the greatest joy watching the littles do the dead man's float, their hair swaying every which way in the water. I sure am going to miss spending afternoons at the pool when summer ends...

I can't remember the last time I felt so happy, so free. Most of these photographs were taken last August on a little island in the north sea called Sylt. It is so, so beautiful there. We rented bicycles one day and pedaled from one tip of the island to the other and I don't think I've been anywhere quite so wild and free. At one point, you can see the ocean on either side of you, and on stormy days, the water would churn in huge, frothy waves while the wind whipped salt at your skin.

I have heaps of photographs from my trip to Europe last summer that I've never shared. Last summer. How is that even possible? It's ridiculous how much I miss it; the dull ache of never really goes away. I guess that's the price you pay for having two homes.

Really, though, I can't complain about my life now. This summer has been very different in comparison to last year's. I've been having a hard time being content with staying at home this year, doing little things like cleaning my room and going to the grocery store, when I so very desperately want to be out doing big things. Having a restless soul is not always easy; it takes a great deal of self control to stay put. I've had that end-of-summer panic attack more that once now, that desperate feeling that takes hold when the start of school is closer than you care to realize and you're all oh my gosh, what have I done with this summer? 

But still, doing lots of little things is important too. And like I said, I really can't complain. I just saw a post on tumblr that said "Someone is happy with less than you have," and wow, that really hits home. It's so easy to get sucked into a mindset of self-centeredness. Traveling, too. Don't get me wrong, it's one of my greatest passions in life, but gosh, it just feel so self-serving sometimes! I have a dream to volunteer abroad for a few weeks/months, so I can satisfy my craving for travel but help people at the same time...ah, the travel bug. Once you catch it, you can never get rid of it...

Anyway, that's enough rambling. Hope you're having a splendid Monday. :)

“I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook...," or "Poor little me...," or "This may taste awful...," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed -- eh bien, tant pis! Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile -- and learn from her mistakes." ― Julia Child

A cook I am not, but reading Julia Child's witty book, My Life in France, makes me appreciate the food my mom ceaselessly prepares day in and day out in our sunny little kitchen. Besides, Julia Child's advice is so direct and wise that you just want to hug the woman!