On the dead and the dying....

Today is Halloween which means in two days, many people I know will be celebrating Day of the Dead. I'm always fascinated by this tradition. Two of my oldest friends (and many of their family members) gather at their grandparents gravesite and have a big picnic and celebrate the magical lives of those they've lost. It's a wonderful tradition, if you ask me.

I had the chance, over the summer, to do something similar. I visited my grandma for the first time since we buried her about seven years ago. It was sad, to be sure. It was the first time my sister had seen Grandma's headstone so she was a bit teary for a little while. But after a bit, the tears subsided and my sister and I, along with one of our friends, spent nearly an hour running around the cemetery, chasing fireflies...it was the most appropriate way I could think of to honor my grandma's life. She's the first one that ever showed me how to catch a firefly (ah, the wonders of the midwest in the summer) and use it as a nightlight. She loved all the pretty bugs...fireflies, butterflies, ladybugs. I think Grandma was all kinds of smiles that evening, watching us run around like that.

Not long after my grandma passed away, one of my grandpas left. It was pretty gut wrenching to lose another grandparent so quickly. But there are two things I gained from those losses:
1. I was 26 years old before my first grandparent ever died. That's a really long time to have all of them around. Like, a REALLY long time. I am a lucky girl.
2. Spending the weekend of the funeral with my family was the first time I really remember connecting with Crazy Cousin Jackie on a deep and meaningful level. Makes me sad we didn't grow up living near each other, but there's nothing in the world I'd trade for the friend I've made in my cousin since then. She's pretty badass. You should all be so lucky to have a cousin like her.

I've experienced some pretty significant loss in the last few years, but this Halloween, rather than wallow in the sadness of the people I've lost, I think I'm going to choose to remember everything about those people that made me smile....the butterflies, seashells (an absurd amount, really), gravy, swing music, books and bookmarks, shopping, fresh bread, swimming, newspaper clippings, nicknames, eccentric hats, after-dinner tea...there's a great deal of happiness to be had!

So this year, I challenge all of us, while we're enjoying the candy and scary movies and costumes, to think of the people we've lost and try to remember the happiness they brought to our lives while they were a part of them.

On fighting fights and running races....

Over the last year, I've had some pretty emotional days. Big highs, bigger lows. It's been a pretty intense 12+ months. Sometime in early -2012, I decided to put some of the angst to good use and start running. Like, really running. I've tried my hand (or foot, as it were) at this a couple of time and every time, I just give up. It starts to feel like too much or my knees/shins start to feel like they're just going to fall off or a million other excuses. I don't know what triggered me to start running again this time, but I knew I wasn't going to give up. I was just going to power through. So I downloaded some apps and started very VERY slowly. We're talking 20mins at a time, with intervals of 60sec of running and 90sec of walking. I felt like a tool doing it every single time. I have tons of friends that are distance runners (some even ultra distance), but I think what my goal really was this time was to NOT compare myself to anyone and to not have a goal other than to finish the training. I wasn't going to sign up for anything or put some kind of time frame on my training. I was just going to go until I was done.

Then I remember going to the gym at work one day and both the treadmills were taken. And I was pissed. I was annoyed that other people were doing was I wanted to do. I was irritated that I wasn't going to get to run that day...and I was shocked that I actually *wanted* to run, I didn't just *need* to run.

There was one day back in April that I came home from church and the weather was gorgeous. So I laced up and headed out and 3.5miles later (at dastardly pace of about 9:45) I felt like a freaking champ. By that time, I'd found the running pants, shirt, bra, socks, and shoes that I loved so running got that much more fun every single time.

By July, I was fully in love and broke my first promise. I signed up for a race. A half marathon trail run. I don't know what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was the promise of a rad tech shirt. Maybe it was the measly $60 entrance fee. I don't know. But I signed up and talked my Colorado BFF into doing it with me. The training kicked into high gear at that point. I was running every day at lunch and every Saturday, I'd map out a distance run and, well, do it. I never realized how many horrible hills my city had until I had to run up them. Holy crap.

I learned a lot about myself on those weekend runs. I learned that I had more in me than I ever thought I would. I learned that heavy beats are almost the worst thing to run to and that I love actually paying attention to lyrics when I run. I learned that slower is sometimes better and that I can push myself to run further and harder than I usually think I can, but that stopping to walk or stretch doesn't make me any less of a runner. I learned that I hate running through neighborhoods. Concrete is what trails in hell will be made of, followed by pavement. I learned really fast that cotton is about the worst thing ever to run in and that even if my run starts out cold and I wish I'd have worn long sleeves or a jacket, it only takes about half a mile to heat up and know that my clothing choices were correct to begin with. Sunscreen is a necessity, but man does it hurt when it sweats into my eyes! And yes, running with my glasses on is far easier for me than running with my crappy contacts (which I should replace soon anyway). I learned that I love the feeling of my lungs burning for several hours after a run and that a good calf stretch is nothing short of amazing. I love feeling like I just conquered the world and that eating a pizza (a personal favorite) is both warranted and not worth it. I learned to celebrate the small things: my first 6 mile run, my first trail run, my first hydration belt. But probably the best thing I learned was that I am, in fact, a runner.

So I ran 13.1 miles yesterday. Well, that's a bit of a stretch. I ran 8 miles until my knee gave out on me and I had to move between limp-running and walking for the last 5 miles. It was disappointing, at best. I was told not to have a goal time, but I secretly did...and I didn't even come close to making it, despite my best efforts. But you know what? My best friend was with me and she made sure to slow me down, stretch me out, and keep me going. She taught me how to focus away from my pain and run through it as much as I could. The last quarter mile was excruciating, but damn it, we ran. And we got our medal, some pancakes, and a well-deserved beer.

I cried the entire drive home...partly from the pain in my knee and partly from sheer exhaustion and partly because I honestly still can't believe I did a half marathon. Laura reminded me, as we crossed the finish line: "You are now part of only 5% of people IN THE WORLD that will ever do this!" If that's not encouraging, I don't know what is. I may have had a dismal pace, but it was an elite dismal pace....and it can only get better from here!

So here I am. A reformed cold-weather-hating-run-avoiding indoors girl. I'm ready to take on the next challenge...just as soon as my knee lets me.

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On internal bleeding....

It's been a long time since I've really written anything from my heart. I love writing, but with the chaos that has been my life for nearly a year, I've found myself only able to write with the help of "prompts" delivered to my inbox every day. It's like I have to force myself NOT to think about the last year of my life in an effort to write anything at all.

My heart is just incredibly heavy most days. I put on a good front...at least, I think I do. I've always been pretty good at "faking it till I make it," but the reality is that I very often do not even come close to "making it." I've been on the brink of tears every day for at least two weeks, for any number of reasons. Fall is coming and there's one more reason this year for me to be in absolute hate with the season. I'm dreading that day coming. I don't even know how I'm going to manage through it. There's the possibility of calling in sick, but I'm not sure laying in bed all day is the best or most productive way to get through it. It still might happen. I don't even want to think about it, but I know it's going to be the only thing that comes into my head all day long. It's going to be even worse this year because of the actual day of the week it falls on.

I wish I could just physically throw up all of the emotional crud inside of me.

I'm reading a book right now on grief recovery and so much of what the authors say seems so true. I feel conditioned to need to "get over it" and "move on," but I'm not sure it's possible to do either of those things. Ever. This will stay with me forever. It's a part of who I am. It's my experience, my life, my past, and will affect my future. But even if I never "get over it," I'd like to know that it's going to hurt less, be less mind-numbing at some point. I'm a schedule-driven person so I'd like to be able to put that on my calendar. To just write down "Today it will no longer hurt."

Some days, I just feel like Carrie Bradshaw in Mexico. I want to sleep and cry and be ugly. I want someone else to deal with my shit. I want to not feel abandoned or alone. I want my best friend to lay in bed and watch movies with me while I cry at the drop of a hat.

I'm a champion at forcing my feelings away. Even when I'm deliriously happy, I tend to remain pretty composed. I'm tired of doing that. I know it's in my best interest to feel fully everything that happens to me, happy or sad, good or bad, whatever happens, I should really experience it. I haven't let myself do that in a long time. Probably not since my grandmother died some six or more years ago. I lost my cool in the privacy of my own bedroom, but around other people, I kept it together. After all, it was my mom's mom that died...she needed all the support she could get. She didn't need to have to worry about herself AND me. So I pushed it away. I'm sure I could tell you the last time I was so insanely happy, I could hardly contain it...but I did. I kept it under control.

And maybe I'm sick and tired of keeping it under control.

Maybe I want to scream and jump and be nuts when I'm happy and excited. Maybe I want to dive head first into the ugly cry and NOT be in the shower where no one can hear and the tears get washed away immediately. Maybe it's perfectly acceptable to be unweildy ball of emotion from time to time.

I want October to fly by. I want November to get here quickly and linger for a while. I want December to bring me the joy and peace that it so often does (not to mention the happy calories!). I just want to feel okay again.

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On urban hunting....

I'm a bargain hunter. I love shopping around for the best deal, whether it's groceries or a new dress or a flight. I just love it! I'm not sure where the thrill lies in bargain hunting, but it's something of a stress release for me. I have no idea why.

That said, I draw the line at garage sales. I've always hated them. I hate going to them. I hate having them. There's little that's enjoyable about it for me. Growing up, my family hosted more than a few garage sales and we'd end up hocking vegetables from our giant garden during the summer. It turned into quite the adventure getting everything together for those Saturday mornings. It was just exhausting.

Several years ago, I lived with a girl friend of mine who was known for her abilities to garage sale and dumpster dive and wind up with the most amazing stuff you can possibly imagine. She managed - ONE TIME - to sucker me into garage saling with her and I wound up with one of my favorite kitchen items ever. I got my roasting pan. It looks exactly like my dad's but is slightly smaller (as I was cooking only for me at the time and didn't need to roast a 15 pound bird). I love that thing and I still have it...and I use it relatively frequently. It's kind of the reason I love throwing dinner parties. When else do I get to roast a turkey or prime rib? I'm certainly not going to do it just for myself! It makes me want to do a prime rib and have a party right now, actually.

Not so many years ago, when my parents were moving into their new house, they had yet another garage sale. The only good thing about parents having a garage sale is that I can get stuff for free. So I went over to peruse the goods and was shocked to find they were selling my dad's marble rolling pin. WTF?! Why would someone ever get rid of something so amazing and perfect? I took it. It's still amazing, but my dogs, for reasons I cannot understand, managed to gnaw up one of the handles and scar the marble a little. Stupid animals.

Those two garage sale finds are cornerstones for my holiday cooking now. How else would I roll out pie crusts and THE perfect sugar cookies? How else would I gather drippings for what can only be the greatest gravy ever made?

So yes, I hate garage sales and I don't see myself going to another one any time soon...but those were some pretty awesome steals!

On a life of simplicity....

The idea of living a simple life is incredibly appealing to me (hmm...I initially typed "appalling" rather than "appealing"...my subconscious is getting the best of me today). My brother lives this way. Basically everything he owns, aside from his car and record credenza, fits in a hockey bag. It's pretty remarkable. There's a reason he can up and move to another city or country just about any time he wants to.
 

I have an astounding collection of "stuff" that I'm trying to weed my way through. I just don't need most of it. My collection of Christmas crap alone is unimaginable. I'm looking forward to digging all the Christmas stuff out this year for one over-arching reason: whatever I don't put up or out is going straight to the Goodwill. I have high hopes that I'll be able to lighten my load significantly.
 

I still believe that "stuff" regenerates every time I take a load of things to the Goodwill. About once a month, I'll take a trunk full of things to donate and when I come back home, it seems my house and garage haven't gotten any less cluttered. It's a very strange phenomenon. There's always something else to straighten or shred or throw away or give away or clean or sell. It's a never-ending process.
 

I live in a very dichotomous world when it comes to this. I love having "stuff" and "things," but every time I think about moving, I wish I had about a third of the things I have. I hate packing and moving. It would be so much easier if I could just throw all my stuff in a hockey bag, jump in the car, and peace out. Alas...it would take a team of movers (and friends) to get my crap packed up. Sigh.
 

So yes, living the simple life sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Now to clean out the sheds...

On the choices we make....

I was recently asked, "What's the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?" I think it's safe to say I know the answer to that question, but am not willing to elaborate on it. Maybe not ever.
 

So instead, I'll talk about A difficult decision, rather than THE difficult decision. I promise, it pales in comparison.
 

I made a choice when I was a senior in high school that might be the only thing I've ever regretted. I try not to live a life of regrets. There's nothing I can do to change the past, so there's little point in dwelling on it. But this one tends to haunt me from time to time. And it's really not even that big of a deal.
 

I chose to sing in a band rather than be a cheerleader my senior year. I desperately wish I wouldn't have made that choice. Yes, I loved singing with that band and I learned a lot, musically and personally, by being with those people, but cheerleading? That was, by definition, who I was. I fought long and hard to get to that point and I was told by my coach that there'd be no voting, no nothing...her decision to have me as captain was final and certain.
 

Having to tell her that I wouldn't be part of the squad was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had. I wrote a formal letter and sat down to talk with her. Even at 17 years old, I knew it was going to be difficult and I tried to go about it the best way I knew how. It was incredibly painful.
 

Watching some of my closest friends cheer at every football and basketball game sometimes became too much and I'd leave games early (sometimes in tears). I missed out on a lot that year. A LOT. I tried to make it up to myself by coaching a junior high squad for two years after high school and that, in and of itself, was incredibly rewarding. I still get to see and talk to some of those girls and it's fun to hear their stories and versions of stories from when we worked together. But even working with them made it hard not to be a part of "my" squad.
 

Yes, it's probably a very silly thing to have a regret over, but I do. I don't think about it often, but when I see my box of high school memorabilia (which contains a pair of contraband poms), I get a bit wistful. Not the way I'm wistful when I see another box in my storage shed, but wistful, nonetheless.

On a circle in life...

For the last several months, I've had to learn what it means to be alone. I've spent a significant amount of time alone recently. Sometimes that's good, sometimes it's bad. For a long time, I've thought that "being alone" was kind of a bad thing, like something was wrong if I was alone (or if anyone was, for that matter), but what I'm coming to realize is that being alone is kind of refreshing. Almost necessary.

I'm not prone to spending time alone. I like being around people. I like noise. I like distractions. So in the last few months, this being alone thing has taken it's toll on me. I don't have people calling me up very frequently to hang out with me or just to talk. So I find myself spending a lot of time working out and watching TV...and more recently, I've been going to the local brewery and reading for hours on end. I was never one to really go out by myself...seeing movies alone or going to dinner by myself or taking me out for a drink just seemed awkward. Now I relish in it. About a month ago, I took myself to see a movie because a) I could and b) I wanted to see if I could really do it. Turns out, it was actually a lot of fun! I spend a ton of time with my dogs...we wrestle and go for walks to the park and play outside. They are guaranteed happiness.

So while I've found ways to enjoy being alone, I also miss NOT being alone. It's nice to have someone around to talk to or hang out with or have adventures with. It's nice to having someone to go to the movies with and make dinner reservations for.

I think there's an interesting cyclical balance that's struck between solitude and companionship. Being alone teaches me that I need to be around people, while being around people shows me that alone-time is good and sometimes necessary.

On playing by the numbers....

I'm not a huge fan of numbers. I deal much better in letters and words. They make much more sense to me. I think that's because I was born largely without a left brain. Despite my unending love of words, there is a singular number that has held a very special place in my heart for more than half my life.

42

I love that number. It has a funny backstory in my life and it also seems that whenever I see the number 42 crop up in life, something good happens. Several months ago, I went to one of my favorite burger places and my order number was 42. That was a damn good day. It's hard to have a bad day when you get to have an amazing burger followed by an even more amazing massage. Then, two weeks later, I went back with one of my best friends to the same burger place and our order number was, you guessed it, 42. Again, it was a magical day! The 42nd day of 2012 also happened to be a really good day for me. And every 42 days, I get to have a manicure (and several additional times in between).

Generally speaking, 42 just makes for a good number for me. It also makes me curious...what will my 42nd birthday hold? What other instances of 42 come up in my life that I don't recognize or just completely miss?

And if you can guess where my original love of the number 42 actually comes from, bonus points to you!

On knowing my pain....

In the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty lucky when it comes to injuries. I've never broken a bone (that I know of...I might have broken a toe before, but it didn't hurt enough to go have it checked out) despite cheerleading and skiing basically my entire life. But there are two injuries I have had that make me cringe just to think about. Because they HURT.

The first was when I was in grade 8 and got into a pretty nasty car accident at church. My friend was pulling her parents van around to the front door, something the regularly let her do. It was a small church with an even smaller parking lot, so this wasn't a big deal. Until that day. She slammed on the gas thinking it was the brake and rammed us head on into a light pole. I bashed my head into the dash board and my glasses shattered. I ended up in the ER with probably a reasonably-sized concussion. I don't think I've had a headache that bad ever since and that includes the time I had to get a CT because my doc thought I might have a tumor and/or  aneurysm (I didn't). The worst of it all was that the accident happened the day before end-of-year finals at school and I forgot almost everything I'd studied in the previous weeks. It was horrible. I barely passed most of my finals that year despite being granted a significant amount of mercy from my teachers.

Then when I was probably in grade 10 or something, I was horsing around on our trampoline with my brother and damn near snapped my femur. Now, I realize it takes quite a bit to do that, but I came very close that summer. He and I used to play this game where one of us would sit in the center of the trampoline while the other would run around and the sitter would try to grab the runner's ankles and trip them. It was actually quite a lot of fun! Except for this one day when we failed to put the mats around the edges. I dodged my brother and in the process, my right leg fell through a set of bars and springs and I tumbled over the edge, leg still stuck in the bars. By the time I was able to right myself (with a little help from my brother), I had already developed a black, green, and purple bruise the size of a volleyball on my thigh. My mom, not knowing what had just happened and reacting solely to my banshee screams, told me to "walk it off." Then she saw that I couldn't exactly walk. That one...well that hurt for a while. Which made cheerleading practice that summer quite challenging.

I'm telling you, both of those injuries hurt way worse than either of the times I stepped on rusty nails.

On the road less traveled....

Running has quickly become something I love. I left my office the other day and walked out into a beautiful day with a slight breeze and actually whined to myself..."UhhhhhhhUH! It would be PERFECT to run tonight!" but I didn't get to (because I was taking a gun class which was equally as fun and empowering as any run I've done recently). I love the feeling I get when I complete a run, knowing that I frickin' did it. It's been a long time coming, this running thing. And each day, I get closer and closer to being okay with calling myself "a runner"...I think I'll do that when I finally hit 5 miles.

When I go for runs outside, I start and end at my house. I run through a great park in my neighborhood and sometimes wander through the neighborhoods themselves. There are gorgeous trees and a pretty creek to run next to...being in nature feels good! There's a more ghetto side of the trail I run and I only really do that with a friend because the one time I ran it alone, it was a bit sketchy. And by "a bit" I mean "almost entirely riddled with sketch characters."

It's interesting to me, the metaphor of running away from and toward my house. I feel like that's something I'm kind of experiencing right now. I'm in a state of heightened emotions and running has given me the opportunity to get some of that out of me. It also allows me an hour or so to just be with my thoughts (and my music) and really evaluate and take stock of things. I guess I'm not entirely sure what I'm running away from, or even toward. At a base level, I'm running toward 13.1 miles. I want to hit that goal so badly I can taste it. Running is allowing me the chance to see how capable I really am. I've given up on dreams of running several times in the past and now? Now I just go for it. I want to be the person that puts her mind to something and does it...and does it well.

Sometimes, running away from and toward things can be terrifying. What's behind me is comfortable and easy; what's in front of me is somewhat unknown and will probably be at least a little challenging. What's an adventure without a little challenge though, right? It means letting go of what I've known for so long and being brave enough to trust myself in the future.

On embracing the unknown....

Change is absolutely petrifying to me. Well, some change is. Most change probably, but not all. I get nervous about life and start over-thinking all the things that could go wrong or all the unintended consequences of change, whether realistic or not. I wonder if that's, in part, due to the fact that I've never really done change before. I've never up and left anywhere. I've always been the responsible one (it's been determined that, in my family, I'm the "responsible failure", my brother is the "irresponsible success", and my sister the "reponsible success"), the one that does things the right way and thinks things through, often to a fault.

So maybe that's why I'm so antsy for a change right now. A big change. Something that takes me somewhere new and exciting, either physically or emotionally...or both. Life is ripe with opportunity and I don't know that I've ever really taken advantage of unexpected change. Maybe it's time to do that. Consequences be damned (sort of. I am a grown up, after all)!

I start to get really excited about things changing (when it's good, anyway) and then I wake up the next morning and say to myself, "What the frick was I thinking? I can't do that!" but at some point, I need to stop doubting myself. I'm learning lately that I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was. I can barrel through a lot more crap than I ever thought I'd be able to. Maybe it's time to put my money where my mouth is and really test my strength. I'm not entirely sure what that looks like right now, though I have some ideas. And maybe something will come of all of this sooner rather than later. Who knows?

On joining the club...

"There's a club. The Dead Dads Club. And you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try to understand; you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss..."

Admittedly, I've been watching Grey's Anatomy in excess lately. Despite that, and despite the fact that I said I'd probably never watch the show (let alone LIKE IT), there's some damn good writing that goes on. And there have been a lot of things one or more of the characters have said that resonate with me. The statement above? One of the biggest.

I think it's because my pain feels unbearable and lonely more often than not. I have few friends that can understand what I'm feeling on a personal level. I don't even need one full hand to count them. Yes, I have friends that have watched friends and parents go through what I'm going through. It's awful and painful, but as with so many things, you can't truly understand until you've been there yourself. Frankly, it's a crappy club to be in, but I'm grateful I'm not in the club alone.

I don't know if everyone feels the same way I do about these clubs. I have a friend who sustained a pretty grim injury last year that left her more than a little debilitated for a long time. I've been fortunate enough to never have broken anything more than a fingernail so there was really no way for me to understand what she was going through. Not the pain, not the inability to do the easiest things, none of it. All any of us could do was make an effort to empathize and try to be there as much as we could (and I'll be the first to admit, I did a pretty crappy job of "being there"...I could have done a lot better, frankly).

It's hard being on one side or the other. Because I've never had a major injury, it's hard for me to understand how, or even why, it takes so long to recover. But I assure you, the last thing anyone wants to be told is to "get over it." I've had people say that to me and I want to punch them in the face repeatedly. There's no hard and fast rule for "getting over" an injury, be it physical or emotional. We can read books or go to therapy or talk to our friends, but at the end of the day, once you're in the Club, you're in it and I just think people should be a little more understanding, especially if they're not in the Club.

So if you're in the Club of Whatever, welcome...and I'm sorry you're here. But there are lots of us and there are lots of Clubs. So do what you gotta do. And if you're not in the Club, please just be there. The Club members could use a drink or some company or even just a friendly text reminding us that we're not forgotten and we're not societal lepers.

On changing of the guard....

Inhibitions are funny things, aren't they? I think for all of us, we have and lose them with a great deal of regularity. The frequency of that change is debatable and probably changes quite a bit, but they come and go nonetheless.

Ten years ago, I was 22 years old. Lord knows, I was markedly less inhibited. I was nigh on crazy, if I'm being totally honest. I made stupid choices (resulting in often-painful consequences) and generally lived life as if every day were my last day on earth. I was silly, reckless, out of control, and more often than not, a pretty horrible person. That said, I was also pretty reserved, as far as my emotions were concerned. I did just about everything I could to keep people from getting in. I had things happen to me in my early 20s that kept me from letting people access who I really was. So while I was outwardly a complete headcase, everything the mattered remained hidden. You don't go through those kinds of things and not wind up a little hardened.

Ten years later, I'm discovering that everything has sort of flipped. I maintain a considerable amount of control over my person (and my wallet, thank God)...well, most of the time. I still have my moments of crazy, but they are just that: moments. It's not a lifestyle anymore. And when it comes to emotions, hard as it may be, I'm a little more apt to let people see all of it...the good, the bad, and (unfortunately) the ugly. I don't know how I could have gotten through the last several months without experiencing some semblance of emotion. I think I probably still have a hardened exterior. It's a select few that get to see the "real" me. I still have a compulsion to maintain a front. I'm working through that and trying to remind myself that perfection, while a nice idea, is unattainable and nobody really likes it anyway. It's the communism of emotions.

Fully experiencing emotion is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I also think that, at some point, it will be one of the most rewarding. Feeling how I feel right now isn't easy. Loneliness, abandonment, and fear are horrible places to be. But I know that the flip side of all of that has to be on the horizon, however far away it might be.

And every morning, I get to look east toward what is, can, and probably will be a beautiful horizon...I just have to move toward it.  

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On dressing the part....

Generally speaking, I avoid dressing how I feel. This is due, in large part, to the fact that I feel exhausted much of the time. If I dressed how I felt, you'd see me bra-less, in a crappy t-shirt, sweatpants, and athletic socks to my knees. It would be ugly. I'd whip my hair up in a sloppy French twist and maybe muster the energy to put on deodorant and mascara. But that would be pushing it.

There's something to be said for dressing the way you WANT to feel. I'll admit it: I've had some really rough days in the past few months. And nothing can start turning that feeling around faster that putting on a great dress and killer heels. That's only the beginning, though. I can't even begin to tell you how great I feel when I buck up and pop contacts in and put on a full face of makeup...we're talking four shades of eye shadow, liquid liner, curled lashes, the works!

I won't ever discount the validity of wallowing in a crappy feeling for a while. Sometimes, it just feels good to be in crappy clothes and not give a rip about how you look or who's judging you for looking that way. Screw 'em. We all deserve to have that day (or those days, because sometimes feeling crappy is a persistent bitch).

But at some point, enough is just enough and it's time to pull myself up and just pretend that I feel better than I actually do, because more often than not, I end up feeling better just by doing that.

So here's to party dresses, fancy heels, make-up, and anything else that makes me feel like a million bucks!

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On needing to feel needy....

If someone asked you, "What's the one thing you need, really NEED, right now?" how would you answer? I think most people would quickly answer with either sleep or money. And really, who doesn't need either or both of those pretty much every day? Sleep is a huge one for me, especially now, given that I'm running on about five hours, and even that wasn't uninterrupted. And money? Well, yeah, I definitely would have liked to win that Mega Millions jackpot...didn't we all? Oh, the places I'd go and things I'd do. If only.

But if we think a little deeper than just the surface of our physical lives, what is it that we really need? For each person, it's going to be a very different answer. Some need determination. Some might need some rest...not sleep, but rest. Some need to be understood while others need understanding. There are plenty of things we all need.

So what do I need right now? The easy answer is "a vacation." I can't even begin to describe how badly I want to get away for a week. Sadly, that just isn't in the cards this year. But what I think I really need is some peace and some understanding....of myself and of others. I have been feeling very lonely the last few days. Generally speaking, I've felt pretty good and mostly normal, but I have moments when the loneliness sets in more heavily than I could have ever expected. It's often so overwhelming that I'm not sure what to do about it. Do I cry? Do I exercise? Do I call my friends? Which friends do I call? Needing something makes me feel needy, which is not the way I ever want to appear, be, or feel. Sometimes my dogs even seem like they don't want to hang out with me. I know it's not true...they just like laying on their bed, which is in the bedroom and not in the living room where I usually hang out alone.

Maybe what I really need is a sense of accomplishment. To know that I started and completed something. Cleaning my house would be a good start. It's not trashed, it's just that there are things that could be cleaner. Like the floors. I should polish those...

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On chilling out...

I'll be the first to admit: there are times in life when I really need to take a chill pill. Wouldn't it be nice if those actually existed? If I could get a bottle of chill pills at the grocery store or, heck, while we're wishing, if I could get a prescription for it, I'd probably be able to manage stress and/or heightened emotions much, much better.

Recently, things around my office have been, shall we say, sheer insanity. At least four times in the last two weeks, I've definitely needed a chill pill. I just needed something to help me calm down and take things one step at a time. I'm usually pretty all right in high stress situations, but every now and again, one gets the best of me. And I've had two of those situations in as many weeks. It's exhausting. It drives me to the point of tears. I hate not knowing what to do when sh*t hits the fan. I'm usually the one that has that kind of stuff under control. Take a wedding I did last summer. I have never, in my life, seen one thing after another go so apocalyptically wrong in one day. But for whatever reason, I knew exactly how to handle each situation as it came along. I was able to see the bigger picture (let's get these crazy kids married) and work some scheduling magic to fit in some pretty key elements for the couple and their parents...all the while, not letting on that I was losing my frickin' mind over making it happen. The father of the bride came up to me during the reception and asked, "How are you so calm?!" There's no easy answer for that, but the truth is, there's no point in me getting worked up. It just makes things worse for the people at a wedding that matter the most (that being, everyone but me).

So why can't I manage the rest of my life the way I can manage wedding madness? Maybe it's because I don't know as much about my day job as I do about weddings. Maybe it's a lot of reasons. And because of that, I desperatelly wish that drug manufacturers would develop a chill pill.

However, there is another thing that certain people (cough cough Todd Newton) would say I need an even bigger chill pill for: Professional sports...especially regarding basketball...even more especially regarding Carmelo Anthony. I'm getting worked up just thinking about it.

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On taking the first steps....

Let's talk baby steps. I seem to be surrounded by them lately. My friend's son just took his first steps the other day (and really, is there anything cuter than that?); my best friend's son will likely be toddling about in the next few months. A co-worker's daughter is getting very close to walking.

It's interesting thinking about baby steps and watching them happen. I remember a picture of little Eli, nearly hysterical trying to pull himself to a standing position inside his crib. My best friend is, in every sense of the word, a wonderful mother...proven by the fact that she took the picture of Eli before calming him down. HA! But that little nugget was not going to quit until he was standing. Nope, he was going to do whatever it took and boy, did he!

We adults could learn a lot from these little ones. They just won't give up until they get it right. "I can't do it" is a phrase that simply doesn't exist for them (yet). They stumble and wobble and fall down, but no matter what, they get right back up and try it again until they finally get the hang of it.

I'm starting my own baby steps...again. With running. I want to run (I think). Well, the reality is that I *need* to run. I love cupcakes so I'll tolerate running in order to eat the cupcakes without guilt. I used to run. Well, I trained for one race and I thought I did all right with it. Then I just quit. It hurts. It gets hot. My lungs burn. I hate all those feelings, mostly the burning lungs.

But I'm going to give it another go. And maybe this time, I'll get it right. Maybe this time, I won't give up five weeks into training. Maybe this time, I'll convince myself to push harder and go longer. I'm not going to give myself a goal other than that. I won't say "I'm going to run a marathon" because the fact is, I don't know if I want to.

That's what my baby steps look like right now. Just get back on the treadmill a few times a week and not give up...and maybe read a book or two...

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On life's abnormalities....

I think we all have moments in life when we think, about ourselves, "Well, that's not normal!" I can think of plenty of things, situations, attributes about my life that have made me think that. Certainly there are some life changes that have taken place that make me feel extremely abnormal. There's the fact that it took me 11 years to get a bachelor's degree...that's not really normal. I could probably come up with an endless list of things that don't seem "normal," but if there's one thing I'd really like to change, it's this:

My perpetually chapped lips. I HATE that I can never seem to get my lips as soft and smooth as everyone else's appear to be. I have a remarkable supply of chapstick at my disposal and still, nothing seems to work. I've tried just about everything. I do masks (yes, I have a lip mask) and scrubs. I keep chapstick and moisturizing lipstick on hand and in every purse or bag I carry. I have it in my car and at my desk. It's ridiculous!

And apparently I'm about the only person I know that actually hates running. I wish I liked it. I see so many of my friends running and how much they love it and think, "I wish I had more normal knees and shins and could do that," but I don't, so whatever.

Sure, there are plenty of things about me that I'd like to change in order to seem more "normal," but without our (seeming) abnormalities, we'd be a pretty boring bunch, don't you think?

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On choosing the right tools....

When I was about 22 years old, I decided to buy myself a really nice set to Craftsman tools for Christmas. It was one of the most useful things I've ever given myself. And there's nothing quite as fun, at least for me, as the first time you buy a really good tool.

I grew up around tools. My dad is a master with them and always had the best of the best for everything from hammers to tablesaws. It helps to have a garage filled with nothing but Craftsman and Ryobi when you're building and remodeling entire portions of a house. Generally speaking, I know my way around a hardware store and can usually sound well-informed when asking about products and tools.

I'll never forget the first time I got a power drill. Oh....m'gawd. There was so much I wanted to reinforce just because I could! My dad taught me how to use one when I was probably 8 or 10 years old. It's a very empowering feeling for a little girl to have control over such a massive tool!

Yet, despite all those amazing home improvement tools, the best tool I have ever gotten (as a gift, nonetheless) is my apple slicer/corer/peeler. During the summer and fall, I use the crap out of that thing! I could make 10 pies a day, just because I have that magical tool. And BONUS! I was recently schooled on how to get the thing to *actually* suction to the counter, making it infinitely more enjoyable to use! 

It's really kitchen tools that make my heart skip beats. I'm a champ with things like hammers, drills, tape measures, and the like (I've even been known, on more than one occasion, to request a pink toolbelt for Christmases and/or birthdays *cough cough wink wink*), but there's little else that excites me the way a new KitchenAid attachment, spatula, or veggie slicer does.

And let's not get started on cookie presses and cutters...

On giving it a name....

I have long had a love-hate relationship with technology. There are few things in life that I enjoy and despise as much as consumer electronics. Every time a new gadget comes out (especially if it's from Apple), I feel like I have to have it! But the second it breaks? DRAMA!!!

Despite all of the emotions I experience when it comes to technology, each piece I've ever owned has a special place in my heart. So special, in fact, that I've been known to name my stuff.

Several years ago, I was in dire need of a new laptop. This was years before I'd be converted to a MacGirl, so I was given a lovely Dell computer as a gift that arrived at my office and, lo and behold, it was PINK! I mean, obviously it would be pink. That just makes sense for me! Around the same time, this incredibly obnoxious commercial played routinely on Saturday mornings...it was some bizarre toy for girls and the commercial just kept screaming, "Pink! Sparkly! Fun!" over and over again. One day, the commercial was playing while we were formatting my computer (and by "we" I definitely mean "he") so the computer was offically named PINKSPARKLYFUN.

Ever since then, every single bit of technology I've owned has been named that...I currently have a PINKSPARKLYFUNiPhone, a PINKSPARKLYFUNiPad, and a PINKSPARKLYFUNMacBook. Ironically (or not), every single one of them has a pink case (though none of them necessarily sparkly, but definitely fun).

So there you have it. Even when I think I hate something, I still love it enough to give it a name.

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On style choices....

Style intrigues me. It always has. As a girl who was born in the 80s, grew up in the 90s, and really came into her own in the 2000s, I've seen a lot of styles come and go...and sometimes come around again. I wore neon and scrunchies. I tight-rolled my jeans. I rocked the overalls with one strap unhooked. I even went so far, at one point, as to wear giant, stove-pipe jeans, tight hoodies, and skater shoes. Please don't ask what I was thinking...clearly, I wasn't.

But clothing really isn't the only thing that encompasses style, is it? When I think about my personal style, it goes beyond feeling trendy and/or professional. My style is very non-confrontational. I'm a people-pleaser and a traditionalist with not a little bit of feminism mixed in. Sometimes my clothing reflects that, sometimes not. It's not that I ever don't give a sh*t, it's just that sometimes, I don't have the energy to dress in more than sweats and a t-shirt. But I'm always at least wearing nice and clean sweats and generally I try to look pulled together, even when I'm scrubbin' it.

A big part of my personal style is being happy. I love to laugh and I love making people laugh. I was lying in bed last night with a glass of champagne watching Jim Gaffigan, giggling and snorting and guffawing the entire time. There's really nothing I love more than a good laugh. Without laughter, life just ain't worth it.

So there you have it. My basic style, both in clothing and personality.

On seeing love everywhere....

Valentines Day.

Admittedly, I used to hate it. HATE. IT. I was the girl that wore black on February 14th and was generally unpleasant to be around. I can't even tell you why I hated it. I just did. I probably hated it because someone else in my life did and I thought it was cool to be bitter on Valentines Day.

My perspective changed several years ago. I was told by someone that while Valentines Day can be cliche and over-priced and commercialized, but it can also be a really fun to day irritate the hell out of people with how in love you are. Sure, it's cliche, but cliches can also be a lot of fun, if you ask me. So yes, I relish in getting red roses and cards and going out to dinner and being all stupid and lovey-dovey on Valentines Day.

This year is a bit different for me in the romantic love department, but that's not stopping me from celebrating one of the most glorious days of the year. I baked a metric ton of Valentines themed cupcakes yesterday to start my celebration.

So this year, I choose to recognize every different kind of love that's in my life.
I love my job and my co-workers.
I love my dogs and they love me back.
I have tons of friends that love me and that I also love.
My family loves me and I love them more than I can describe.
Jesus loves me.

And that's just the very beginning of all the love in my life...

On celebrating life's cupcakes....

"Nobody notices the bridge that doesn't fall down."

My dad, in all his infinite wisdom, said that the other day. It stems from a conversation he had with another person regarding choosing to see the good in life. As humans, we're pretty notorious for only noticing the bad and the ugly. Just looking at the daily news proves that. Big earthquakes mean big death tolls. Crazy moms that (allegedly) murder their children. Cruise ships that run aground and the people that die. Snowstorms that cause insane traffic pile-ups. I mean, look at how long coverage of 9/11 lasted (and, honestly, continues to last). We fixate on things that are just horrible.

Really, when was the last time you heard AND REMEMBERED a happy news story? I have no idea. Sure, part of that stems from the fact that I don't have television right now, but I've always been a chronic news-watcher/reader and I honestly can't remember the last happy story I heard.

Because of this (and a million other reasons), it has to be a conscious choice, a concerted effort, to see the good in life. There are crappy things that happen all the time, we can't get around that. But what's stopping me from ignoring the bad and fixating, instead, on the good. My pastor said it best, I think: "There are no bad endings." It makes me think of the SEVERAL crummy days I had last week. I can continue to think about how bad those days were, dwelling on things I can't change, or I can remember that because of those bad days, I treated myself to a cupcake! And let's be honest...cupcakes are a pretty good ending (at least, for me)!

Of course, there are much bigger, much harder things to wade through. Much more distressing than anything that happens at work. My personal life is in a bit of upheaval right now...kind of the most upheaval I've ever experienced. It's a crappy ending right now. It's nearly impossible to see the good in it. I have a friend that is experiencing similar personal turmoil and I don't know how or if she's able to see the happy ending in it. But what I believe for myself and for her is that somewhere, somehow, there can be a pretty thick silver lining. It might not happen tomorrow. It might not happen for YEARS. But I'm choosing to believe (for both of us) that it can and will come around.

And in the meantime, I'll celebrate my cupcakes!

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