In the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I broke up with a guy that I had been seeing for seven months and I felt terrible about it. "I'm making plans not to make plans while I'm here," my away message on AIM stated. I really thought I meant it, too. Because what could be more true than an away message composed of song lyrics?

For as long as I can remember, I've been planning something. I applied to colleges in high school, then picked one and went after I graduated. I chose classes and planned a schedule every semester. Then I graduated and moved, and started a new job, and began graduate school, where I once again chose classes and planned a schedule and left work one half hour early every Wednesday evening.

Then Rob graduated from college and he began graduate school, so we both packed up and moved to Charlottesville, where he chose classes and planned a schedule and I served lattes every morning and wrote my master's thesis every afternoon, wondering what in the world life might look like for someone who isn't a student.

And then there was a year of working full-time and being in a long-distance relationship, where life was about planning the next trip to see each other, or where we might be this time next year, and if we should get the white or the black kitchen table.

We planned our wedding, and a move from Minneapolis to Charlotte. Bridal showers, bachelor parties, boxes. It was 200 days until this and your lease starts on August first. I had a checklist for everything and a ton of excitement and anticipation packed into every moment of my day.

Now that we are here and settled, I'm finding myself wondering what every day life should look like. Planning a fun weekend away but absolutely treasuring our uneventful nights of Netflix on the couch and Thai takeout that we say we aren't going to get but almost always end up picking up anyway. A life of top knots and an early bedtime and leggings, but also an aggressive list of goals that I sit down to write at the beginning of every month. Brewing coffee in the morning while my husband is still in bed. And making plans not to make plans, as true or false as it may be at any moment.

Happy Monday! It's been a while since our last giveaway, so I'm excited to be back with a holiday one for you, courtesy of Caribou Coffee! One lucky reader will win a package full of holiday merchandise, just like the one pictured above (I was lucky enough to get one of my own).

Here's what's inside:

• A knitted, reusable coffee sleeve.
• A gorgeous gold and white travel mug (see mine pictured here).
• The largest and most convenient cold cup in the world.
• A pound of whole bean Caribou Coffee Reindeer Blend.
• A pair of sweet little espresso cups.
• One $10 gift card to Caribou Coffee.

Enter to win below--it's super easy, and you can gain a couple extra entries by following Caribou Coffee on Pinterest and Instagram. Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This giveaway is brought to you in partnership with Caribou Coffee. All of the merchandise you see above (and more) is available online and in Caribou Coffee stores.

When I was younger, I wrote about everything. Every ex-boyfriend had an essay with some ambiguous title that didn't need to be ambiguous because there, in the second or third paragraph was his full name, copied and stapled and stacked before being handed around to each person in my Creative Writing workshop at Longwood, where they would circle and slash and write character notes in the margins.

What our relationship had meant to me was the only thing I could ever wrap my head around and I never even thought to wonder how these people in my stories might feel about the fact that I was sharing our story with a group of people they didn't know.

Over time, I learned to stop over-sharing so much in my writing, which I'm sure sounds ridiculous because I write a blog about my life for a living. The other day I put together a reader survey because sometimes I worry that I sit around all day boring or irritating you. One person mentioned that I seemed very distant lately; that I am starting to come off as impersonal and artificial. And I think that person was right.

Because the story of the death of someone else's loved one or that time your friend came out of the closet or someone else's divorce isn't usually just hanging there for us, ripe for the picking. I have told some of these stories before and I look back on them with a bit of regret.

But when you write everything, how do you process life without sharing it? I'm still trying to figure it out.

I apologize for the vagueness and the impersonality that has lingered around here lately. I want you to know that I'm here, that I have been going through something, and that I feel it, but most of it isn't my story to tell. Maybe one day I'll find a way to tell you about it, but until then--whether you know it or not--I take a lot of comfort in the belief that we're all in this life thing together.