on sand and snow

I was looking through photos on my computer from the past couple years, in a feeble attempt to begin thinking about getting them a little better organized (small, manageable goals). Whether I make it all the way to having them organized is really left to be determined, but at least I started thinking about it. Happy news for my internal to-do list. Start thinking, check.

Anywho... I came across a number of photos from several trips I've taken over the past few years. I think now more than ever, I really appreciate the opportunity to go somewhere else for a few days. We always took fun vacations as I was growing up, but really, how hard is your life when you're 10 years old and you're really only worrying about whether or not your best friend is going to be in your class next year. Okay, that really was stressful... but how little did I know then... It's not like dealing with a crazy job or being the person who has to pay the bills and put food on the table... and I'm only responsible for myself. Thank goodness. In any case, it's so nice to be able to escape into a new world for a few days, learn about the history, eat the food, and experience the beauty that God has placed all around us. Looking at my pictures, even though the places I've traveled have been pretty different from one another, I've seen a recurring theme in the moments that have felt the most still and calm...

Yep. Those are two very different places... a sandy beach in Florida and a snowy field in Indiana, and yet for me somehow they evoke the same sense of silent freedom from the rest of the world. I'll start with sand.

I didn't always love the ocean. Some people grow up loving the beach and the only thing they would ever want to do in the world is find some sand and sit on it until they turn into lobsters. I am not one of those people. See, I am one of the pale freckle-faced kids who was always forced into a t-shirt mid-day to avoid death by sunburn. No one wants to do ANYTHING in a huge soggy t-shirt. You're trying to play in the sand and have some fun, but instead you're just dragging a sopping mess around everywhere you go. You know how sand collects in every single thing you take on the beach? Well, dampen all that stuff, then cover it in sand, and drape it all over your body, and that's what the t-shirt feels like. I was at the beach with my best friend a couple years ago, and a family with young kids was playing next to us. At one point, the mom said, "Okay, it's time to put on your t-shirt." And the one kid yelled emphatically, and in slow motion, "NOOOOOOTTTT... THE... TEEEEEE... SHIIIIIIIIIIIRT!" I so knew what he was feeling. Poor guy. And of course, no matter how much time you spend in the gross drippy sand-infested t-shirt, you still get sunburned. It's so not worth it.

Another charming fact: I'm also the person who attracts jellyfish everywhere, literally, every. where. I go. I've been stung six different times now, in six different beaches across the western hemisphere. Some weren't as bad as others... some were sort of innocent brushes of momentary sting and redness. One was the worst possible hell you can imagine. I am prone to exaggerate from time to time, but I'm not kidding about this. When I was 14, my parents took me on a trip to Cancun for spring break. This sounds super awesome right? Let me remind you, I was 14. And with my parents. It was lovely, but I assure it looked nothing like your vision of spring break in Cancun. As people do in Cancun, we took a day trip snorkeling. It was one of those throw-all-the-white-people-on-a-bus-and-drive-them-away-from-the-resorts-and-past-all-the-poverty, let-them-swim-and-get-sunburned-and-then-feed-them-food-that-may-or-may-not-be-safe kind of deals. The first part of our trip, a stop at the ancient ruins of Tulum, was really cool. I was kind of always a history nerd, so I really did enjoy that. After lunch (which didn't kill me), we boarded the bus again and drove to a beach where the water was crystal clear blue and everything seemed perfect and idyllic. We threw on our snorkel gear and headed out. We'd been seeing floating drifts of what looked like seaweed along the way... no big deal. We kept swimming. It drew near time to head back to the bus, so we started swimming toward the shore. Oh, look, more of that seaweed. Oh, wait... no... something is burning... Oww, no, it's really burning... These must be jellyfish... Shit! Let's get out of them... Oh, God, now they're everywhere... The only choice we have is to keep swimming to the shore... Now I can feel them in my bathing suit... Am I dying?!! I think I'm dying... Did I go to hell? Because this feels like hell... Oh, praise Jesus! My foot is on the sand... I'm running... I'm still dying... I'm pulling of my damn bathing suit and ripping these little motherf*ckers (which wasn't even in my 14-year-old vocabulary) off of me... Showers! There are showers... Oh, thank God. Rinse... And yes, let's pull that bathing suit back up... Seriously. Miserable. Imagine the worst pain you've ever been in. Now imagine that you are experiencing said pain on a hot humid beach in Mexico, where your 14-year-old body is mostly naked in front of 15-20 foreign and domestic strangers. Suh-weet. I had red and purple whelps from those bastards (the jellyfish, not the strangers) under my arms and across my chest for about 8 weeks. The most awesome part is that this happened at the beginning of the trip, so I got to spend the rest of my time afraid to even walk next to the ocean and also in pain. Double sweet. Since then, I've been stung a couple more times, once by jellyfish larvae that you CAN'T EVEN SEE IN THE WATER. So unfair. I feel like invisible things shouldn't be able to wreak havoc. Amiright?

So yes, suffice it to say, I was not always a fan of the beach. I'm a Pisces, which is a water sign, so I've always had a love for water - being in it, near it, whatever - it's just been rough going with the other things hanging out in there, too. I guess you could call me a "pool person." But as I've gotten older, the beach/ocean and I have come to more of an understanding. It promises to try not to screw me over with creatures, and I promise not to curse and mock it publicly. After spending time on the coast in Rhode Island and Boston's North Shore and experiencing the simultaneous peace and power of the ocean, my cold heart started to melt a little. I felt safe and secure and completely happy there. Spending a week in the slow-paced quiet town of Amelia Island - and magically not getting touched by any animal! - I started to feel a true calm, looking out into the expanse. This past summer in Key West, I almost felt like I was at the edge of the world, and all I could see ahead was perfect emerald water and sky, blended into one. There's something to be said for perfect capped white peaks and the world beyond the sand.

As we move into the winter months, with the holidays upon us, I can't help but think about snow. Unlike my rocky relationship with sandy beaches, my relationship with snow has been pretty consistent. It's like a great old friend who lives somewhere else. I don't see it that often, but when I do, it's pretty much perfect. It reminds me of Christmases spent at my Grandma's in Indiana, sneaking an extra chocolate chip cookie, and racing my cousins down the stairs (on pillows, not feet) in the old farm house. It makes me think of the time that a random blizzard hit the southeastern United States, and we spent the week living like pioneers with no power, lighting fires, huddling in one room to sleep at night, and watching the dog, unseen, burrow a trail in the 5-foot snow drifts. After day number five of melting snow to flush the toilet, that whole thing got a little old... but in the early stages, it was pretty fantastic.

I realize that there are people who live places where snow is consistently a pain in the butt. Where it gloms on city sidewalks, covered in dirt from street sweepers... Especially after the blizzard experience, I can appreciate that some of the magic might get lost when daily life and all practical functions are interrupted. But for now, snow is perfect Christmas music and hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets and twinkle lights (the kind that are beautiful and well organized - not the ones that are randomly hung and blinking spastically). Snow is my first Notre Dame football game. It's a long deep breath with a slow exhale. It is clean and crisp and white, and when it covers everything as far as the eye can see, disguising any imperfections underneath, it's like somehow everything is suddenly right in the world. And it just makes me happy.

All photos are by me, taken with all sorts of cameras/phones in all sorts of places.

an entire month of thanks

If you read my blog or follow me on twitter, you know that I made an effort to post the things I was thankful for each day in November, as a reminder of how many large and small wonderful blessings I have on any given day. It's been a nice change of pace from all the grumbling I seem to hear around me - and even the grumbling that has been coming directly from me. It's refreshing to let that stuff go sometimes and just be happy you have something simple like a cup of hot chocolate with toasted marshmallows. (Yes, that's a new trick I discovered - toasting them with a creme brulee torch = liquid s'mores. Win.)

So anyway... I thought I'd wrap it all up with a final summary of all the thanksgiving posts from the last month. I probably won't continue with the daily public posting, but I am going to make an effort to continue keeping track of those things privately. Now, to the list!

November 2

Today I'm thankful that I don't work at that college on the other side of town.

Today I am also thankful for fuzzy blankets and bubble baths. And fun fingernail polish.

November 3 

Today I'm thankful that it isn't 58 degrees in my office like it was yesterday. I'm also incredibly thankful I get to work with good people.

November 4

Today I am thankful for my incredibly comfortable bed, and I'm looking forward to crawling back into it tonight.

November 5

Today I am thankful that this morning's trip to Honeymoon Bakery was at least partially negated by the fact that I walked there.

November 6

Today I am thankful for the beautiful fall weather and changing leaves, football games, and hot beverages.

November 7

Today I am thankful that I have a car, even if it means I also have to make a car payment.

November 8

Today I am thankful for music: the gift to perform, study, teach, & listen; the opportunities & wonderful people it has brought to my life.

November 9

Today I'm thankful for the friends I've known the longest. Amazing to grow up and change while still maintaining the same bond. #BFFsAreReal

November 10

Today I'm thankful for soup. For real.

November 11

Today I'm thankful for my hairdresser Tina. She is not only super talented but also has a huge heart. Plus she's hilarious.

November 14

Took a technology break this weekend. Good times. Today, I'm thankful for great weekends that make all the crap in between worth it.

I'm also thankful for my mom, who is awesome and totally my BFF, as well as the opportunity to meet some new friends this weekend.

November 15

Today I am thankful for the rain and hopeful that it will help me sleep. Too much going on this week.

November 17

Today I'm thankful for my dad's surgical team, who completed his surgery with great success & is taking great care of him in the hospital.

And since I missed yesterday, today I'm also thankful for peach tea, which I believe might be the nectar of the gods. Second to wine. Yum.

November 18

Today I'm thankful that I have some holiday time coming up. Looking forward to a break. Light at the end of the tunnel, I see you.

November 19

Today I'm thankful for my awesome boss and co-workers who keep things going for me at a HUGE event so I can leave to take care of my dad.

November 20

Today I'm thankful for soft cotton PJs and high thread count bamboo sheets, and for parents who love and appreciate me.

November 21

Today I'm thankful for coffee & the Ok Go station on Pandora that my lovely friend Aajay shared with me. Good start to Monday.

November 22

Today I'm thankful for opportunities, and I pray for the wisdom to follow the right ones.

November 23

Today I'm thankful for today's 2.5 mile jog that will allow me to feel less guilty tomorrow. :) Oh, and Friends re-runs.

November 24

Today I'm thankful for family traditions: cinnamon rolls, Macy's parade, and coffee, all in our pajamas. Now time to finish food prep.

November 26

Yesterday I was thankful for shopping deals, finding Steelers stuff for my dad in Chattanooga of all places, and Love Actually.

Today I'm thankful that I got to sleep in and drink awesome coffee. Now helping my mom with Christmas decorations. Yay holidays.

November 27

Today I'm thankful for Dave Grohl. I don't think I need to explain any further. I just love him.

November 28

Today I'm thankful that payday is almost here. Gurl needs to do some Christmas shopping. And you know, buy food and pay bills.

November 29

Today I'm thankful that I didn't get stuck in what I assume to be Rome Christmas Parade traffic. Cold people all up in the way around here.

November 30

Today I'm thankful for the internet. So many ideas for Christmas gifts, decorations, recipes... Now to ignore it all and create my own! :)

Here's to hoping for and believing that there will be so many things to be thankful for this entire holiday season. Happy December!

ode to dave grohl

So, yesterday my "today I'm thankful for..." was Dave Grohl. I said it didn't need further explanation. I just love him. Since posting that, I've been listening to Dave almost non-stop... and with that listening, I have come to the realization that while it doesn't need further explanation, maybe it does deserve it. I'm not going to go through the complete history of Dave Grohl or even address every single thing he does... I mean, you can find that on the internet from much more credible sources than me. What I am going to do though is chronicle why I think he's so fantastic... and that comes with a little history, gushing, and visual effects.

I should probably start with a little context here. If you know me very well, then you know that my love for Dave has been lengthy and is currently without boundary. But people who know me only casually probably wouldn't necessarily automatically place me as a lover of that kind of music. I'd like to think of my personal style as "classic with an edge," though years of work in higher education has dulled my edge a little. While we're frequently liberal in thought, we're still often very conservative - and frankly a bit boring - in practice. It's pretty safe to say that on the outside, I don't really scream "hard rock." But that's one of the reasons I love Dave so much. You don't have to scream hard rock in order to appreciate him. 

Flash back to the early 90s. I was in middle school when Nirvana came on the scene. A brief historical perspective... This was a time when pop was at its peak. Popular music was incredibly mainstream, top 40, easily accessible. Whitney Houston. Michael Jackson. Richard Marx. Folks like Mariah Carey and BoyzIIMen were beginning the pop-hip hop movement, but those were still the soundtracks of every middle school dance and cheesy TV moment. I certainly owned my fair share of those songs, and I still enjoy the heck out of them. "Rock and Roll" had largely forgone the days of Led Zeppelin and the Allman Brothers and The Who and Pink Floyd and had evolved (or some might say devolved) into the likes of faux leather and spandex and the biggest hair possible. If I'm being perfectly honest, I have no beef with hair bands. In fact, I was and still am kind of in love with Bon Jovi and Def Leppard and Journey. But the point is that it was all about the big production. The arena rock show. It was mainstream in its own way because it was a spectacle, and it was making a lot of money. There wasn't an independent presence in popular music that I can recall. I'm sure historians could correct me, but the point is that I don't remember it. Punk existed, but it wasn't in the circles of standard everyday people. I mean, those dudes were loud and scary as hell, and of course our parents weren't going to let them into our homes. But then something crazy happened. Nirvana recorded an album on a Happy Meal budget and people actually started listening to it. It wasn't polished and bedazzled like arena rock. And it sure wasn't "easy listening" by any standard. But it had emotion and a sort of frenetic raw energy. It had balls.

Nirvana performing live on MTV.

Nirvana became a sensation against any practical odds. The grunge movement leapt right on out of Seattle and landed squarely in my middle school. Boys who formerly wore Tommy Hilfiger like their parents owned stock in it were now dropping their polos in favor of their dad's old beat up flannel shirts and jeans. Girls who had lived and died by Guess? and Esprit were now wearing combat boots with dresses. WITH DRESSES! All the kids with lenient parents were coming to school with hair dyed using Kool-Aid paste. (My mom, despite being admittedly really cool, never let me do that. It's probably why I've paid good money to color my hair constantly since I turned 18.) It was crazy, really. Baggy jeans and Converse One-Stars (not Chucks, mind you - these were more like skater shoes) and huge t-shirts. All these mainstream kids were trying to have an edge. Of course, I lived somewhere in the space between these two worlds. Middle school is a horrible time when you search for acceptance more than any other time in your life probably, and I wanted that just as much as anyone. But I didn't really want it from only one group. I wanted it from everyone. Thinking on it now, I'm still that way... but it's not so much that I want them to accept me - it's more that I want a little of what every group has to offer. I love our differences, and I love it when people are passionate about something that is a little foreign to me. Some boys I had known all our lives had become these grunge "alternative" kids, and I guess I was kind of intrigued by them even if I didn't fully understand it. It's easy to forget that there was a time when alternative wasn't the norm. I bought my combat boots and proudly donned them beneath a long floral dress worn over a waffle-weave long-sleeve tee. I had my flannel and baggy jeans and Converse One-Stars. And despite my mother's protests, I listened to Nirvana. I watched MTV and My So-Called Life, and a little part of me fell in love with the honesty and lack of pretentiousness in these folks who were not exactly like everyone else. That's when I met Dave Grohl. 

He was so young and wittle. And sweaty, and partially naked. But hey.

Of course we all know what happened to Nirvana upon the unfortunate death of Kurt Cobain. There's a part of me that will always wonder what might have been had he not died so young and so early in his career. But that occurrence also proved to be perhaps the most seminal moment in the development of the entity of Dave Grohl. See, Dave was a ridiculously talented drummer. But he started out as a guitar player and frontman. He wrote his own music while he was the drummer for Nirvana, but as he said, "You're the f*cking dummer. No one wants you to sing." I have to think a little bit of his creative talent might have been stifled while he was part of the Nirvana machine. That was likely to change over time, but we can't know for sure what might have happened. Dave was reportedly devastated by his friend's death and almost left music entirely, but something grew out of that grief. Dave kept writing and started performing again, recording the first Foo Fighters album - all instruments and vocals - completely on his own.

Big Me was one of the singles from the first album. And the video is still hilarious to me.

In high school and early college, when boy bands were the new black, I was in my "too cool for pop" phase. I dated a rock band. Well, I dated a boy who was in a band. But anyone who has ever dated a boy who was in a band can attest to the fact that if the boy is at all committed to the band, and you are at all committed to the boy, then you are by default committed to the band. That relationship was never going to last forever, but it gave me such an appreciation for the musicianship involved in good quality rock music. Those guys introduced me to music that I might have ignored without understanding how much talent it takes to play it well. And that's when I really fell in love with Dave Grohl. Seeing the Foo Fighters live (with the Red Hot Chili Peppers - awesome) only cemented my love. You can make a lot of money off of three chords, but it takes more than just being loud. You have to have some measure of skill, and in order to keep making money - certainly in order to keep making art - you have to change it up. It's now been almost 20 years since Dave recorded that first Foo Fighters album, and with the evolution into a multi-member band, the Foo Fighters only seem to be growing in popularity, both critically and commercially, as their most recent album has been their most successful. Now for some samples.

Here's a live video of Best of You. Dave wails. And it is awesome. (Oh, and shout-out to Taylor Hawkins on the drums. Beast.) 

Here's the acoustic version of one of the Foo Fighters biggest hits, Everlong. This song will never, ever get old to me. And I love how beautiful and understated it is here. 

This is one of my favorite things ever. Dave and Taylor have been asked to cover Stairway to Heaven on the Craig Kilborn show. By themselves. Insanity and amazingness ensues. 

That, folks, is why I love Dave Grohl. He sings, he plays guitar and drums, he writes, he produces, he SINGS guitar solos, and he surely doesn't seem to take himself too seriously. He continues to grow and develop his sound. He continues to take risks with what has now become a mainstream product. A few years back, the Foos won the Grammy for Best Hard Rock Album... and you know what they did next? They released a double-disc album that had one entire disc of acoustic music. ACOUSTIC. We're talking singer-songwriter-y guitars and pianos, and even a duet with freaking Norah Jones. Who does this guy think he is?! His music sounds every bit as good as a mellow guitar track as it does wailing on stage with a full band. He collaborates with everyone... Paul McCartney, Tenacious D, Rob Zombie, Puff Daddy... He has his own projects on the side. He has his own studio where he produces stuff himself. He literally does everything. That most recent best-selling album? In a world where digital is king, they scrapped all the autotune and computerized technology and recorded on real live analog tape. No one, literally, no one else does that now. They're too afraid it won't be perfect. But not Dave. No, no. Dave still embraces that imperfect sound that gave him a way into the world of music, and he continues to expand his own musical world with the influences of the people who inspire him. As someone who loves music as much as I do, that idea makes me feel all tingly and warm inside, like I want to start having musical babies with him or something. (The only reason I didn't say "real babies" is because he seems to be happily married and loving his real life with his own live actual children. Super cute, btw.)

You know how he recorded a duet with Norah Jones? Well, he also performed with her live at the Kennedy Center Honors, when Paul McCartney was honored a couple years ago. It's ridiculous that the same guy who was wailing up there is doing this beautiful thing here. I may or may not have cried.

There aren't a lot of people from that original grunge music still finding success, but somehow Dave's projects continue to reinvent and add to the world of rock music. I guess that's what I love about what's happening out there now. Some music is so hard to classify, and I think that's super cool. You don't have to be just one thing. You don't have to have just one sound. If you have the talent, you can showcase that and use it to reach other people in so many different configurations. It doesn't have to be perfect to be good. It just has to be honest and real, and people will respond. And it also doesn't hurt if you happen to be a hot tattooed beast of a man. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for scruff and aviators. ;)

on giving thanks.

"Thank you." Those words are so simple. For those of us who were raised "right," they were ingrained in our vocabulary from an early age, along with big brother "please." But perhaps second only to "I'm sorry," I think those two words are often the hardest to say. I'm not talking about the basic auto-response when someone opens a door for you or hands you the cup of coffee you just ordered... I'm talking more about remembering to be thankful for the big physical things like jobs, homes, cars, clothing as well as more intangible things like personal relationships, talents and skills, and even the blessings of hopes and dreams.

Those things seem sort of obvious when you type them out - I mean, duh, of course I'm happy I have a nice place to live and a car to drive to the job I'm grateful to have. Absolutely, I'm thankful for my family and friends and the gifts they share with me and that I am able to share with them. But those things are also frequently the things we so easily take for granted. Maybe it's just me, but it's hard to be thankful for a job when you feel your blood pressure rising and find yourself emotionally drained every day. It's hard to be thankful for your family when you have those moments of tension and difficulty. It's hard to be thankful for your friends when they do things that drive you crazy. At the end of a rough day, though, those are the things you have to stop and appreciate most. Perhaps most unfortunately, those big picture things are also the things that make you lose sight of the little things that can add up to make or break any day.

If I thought it was hard to remember to be thankful for those more obvious good things in life, it's damn near impossible to be thankful for the difficult challenges and adversity we face every day. I mean, let's be real. Who is happy when they feel terrible? Who looks forward to having a fight with someone? Who really likes meetings that last for hours only to end with no resolution and more difficult questions? I'm pretty sure no one ever thinks, "Man, I hope I have major car trouble that interrupts everything I want to do today and ends up costing me a lot of money." And my goodness, I can hardly bring myself to list the unthinkable, like losing a family member or friend, or even a pet. But when things don't go our way, we have opportunities to learn and grow and become better at being who we're supposed to be. That thought pretty rarely makes it easier in the moment for me. No one wants those things to happen, but even through those difficulties, we have a God who is faithful to us - even to the tiniest, seemingly most insignificant detail - and will bring us through them. It's the old saying that "when God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window." I'm not a big talker when it comes to my religion and personal faith, but I feel like this is something I'm willing to put out there. That's where I find my Peace, and that's where I try really hard to find my Joy. I capitalize both of those - Peace and Joy - because they're not just small, generic notions to me. They are the ultimate gifts that come along with everything else, positive and negative, for which we should be thankful.

I think all of our lives have peaks and valleys where we find it easier or much more difficult to be happy. But through all of that, we should have Peace and Joy. Happiness is not the same thing. Happiness is an emotion, and emotions are fleeting and changeable. But Peace and Joy are sustainable gifts that should be there no matter the circumstance because of the Faith that our God will carry us. This whole idea has been a major struggle for me lately. I think sometimes you can talk yourself into moving on or changing your attitude, but there are times when you really need a little bit of a jolt to move you in the right direction of trusting God for those things. I got that jolt last week.

I found myself in circumstances that really weren't so bad... it's not like I'm facing any major crisis or anything. But all those little things were building and frustrating me. I was dealing with situations fraught with incompetence (one of my biggest pet peeves), I was feeling stressed and ready for a break, I was feeling overwhelmed by things going on with other people in my life, with decisions and choices that seem incredibly unfair and unjust and, in some cases, even unholy. Those are the things that can pile up on you when you're not paying attention, and you end up feeling like you're at the end of your proverbial rope. When I feel like that, my first step usually is to consult my mom, because not only has she been there, but she also has the ability to be one of the most calming forces in my life. She's a no BS kind of person, and she takes you back to reality at a pretty alarming pace, while also having this ability to still do the mom thing and feel sorry for you if that's what you need. We prayed over the phone, and when that wasn't really enough to get me to that place, we prayed together in person after I went home to get a hug and a mom-cooked meal. And then I went out of town to one of my favorite places in the world, the University of Notre Dame.

I know it's weird, since I didn't actually go to school there. I'm also not Catholic. But my parents are from Indiana, and I grew up with the mystique... The Four Horsemen, Knute Rockne, the forward pass, The Gipper, even Rudy (I can't help how much I love Sean Astin, and let's face it, really ANY movie about football)... and I became a fan from an early age. I visited the campus for the first time when I was in high school, and I fell in love with the beauty of the buildings, the trees and green quadrangles, and yes, the Golden Dome. It sounds cheesy to say it this way, but it represented everything that I felt was good in the world - education, faith, exploration, and the beauty of creation. When I go there now as an adult, I still feel those things. It is sort of the real life Dead Poets Society, full of hope and nostalgia and innocence... and like the ocean or the sprawling flat cornfields in Indiana or the snow-covered streets in a sparkling city at Christmas, it's one of those places where I feel the ultimate Peace and Joy. Standing in the near-silent stadium on Friday afternoon, I was completely taken with the peacefulness I felt looking at the unadorned grass field and the expanse of empty original California redwood plank seating. It was almost like I breathed a sigh of relief that the ugliness of the week was over, and I had finally made it.

And it was exactly what I needed, leading into this month of Thanksgiving, to help me realize that there are too many blessings in my life to allow the energy required to maintain the stress and general "ugh" I had been feeling. I remember in those moments of prayer with my mom that she said, "When you get to Notre Dame and everything falls into place, remember that it was God who answered your prayers, and give Him all the glory." In the most difficult circumstances, all those big ugly overwhelming problems, God sees to it that the smallest details come together for us to create the perfect moments and experiences.

So in this month of Thanksgiving, as I've seen others do, I'm listing those things for which I'm thankful, no matter how silly, on a daily basis. I'm making a concerted effort not to take those small things for granted, not to forget to thank others for what they do for me or to thank God for those big blessings, and even to be grateful for those difficult times and the lessons they bring. Here's to a season of Peace and Joy for everyone.

on normalcy.

I feel like I don't spend enough time here. It isn't necessarily that I believe blogging is the most worthwhile use of time, but I feel like blogging gives you a chance to say something... and when you're regularly saying something, if you're coming from an honest place and being the most authentic version of yourself, some really fun or creative or even life-altering things can happen. That sounds a little touchy-feely and crunchy granola I guess (Kum-Ba-Ya, anyone? and please pass the s'mores), but I guess I'm just sort of at that point where I'm really yearning for more of those moments that bring clarity and inspiration all at the same time. I seem to have flashes of brilliance in my work life, but small victories in writing Access queries or designing a presentation on web content with role-based security are hardly things I ever expected would inspire celebration in my life. I mean, yes, I always wanted to be good at what I was doing. I just never thought what I was doing would sound so frightfully (a better F-word than the one I'd really like to use) boring when I said it out loud. I feel fortunate that in the midst of technical jargon there's room for creativity in my job, but I miss those moments of creating art purely for the sake of the art itself or for the connection it made me feel to the world around me. I so very much enjoy seeing when other people find those moments - in fact it's probably one of the things that brings me the greatest joy - but I'm missing them in my own life. It seems like I come to this space more often to talk about the things I wish I were doing than the things I'm actually doing... probably because those wishful things seem so much more appealing. But really, what exactly is stopping me, any of us, from creating, or at the very least appreciating, beauty in this world?

Sometimes I think it's the comfort of the mundane. It's good to feel normal, maybe even regular, because there's some connection there. "I'm not nuts. I have a job. I live in the same place every day. I pay for things. Just like most everyone else." There's some kind of human link in having a routine the way other people have a routine. It's hard to have a routine that differs from the norm because, frankly, it proves very difficult to have conversations with people who are asleep. We all do business at the same time. We eat meals at relatively the same time. But we have the power of free will... that's supposed to be the thing that separates us from the cows who all move in the same direction when they graze. (Seriously, they do this. Go find a field and watch them.) That free will is supposed to help us set ourselves apart from the masses, make our own unique imprint, follow the path that seems most appropriate for our individual needs. But if you choose to live in a mainstream world, you still (presumably) have to pay your mainstream bills. And unless your particular brand of weirdness develops a mainstream appeal, you ain't makin' no cheddah off that goofy idea of yours and will find yourself homeless on the streets or mooching off your friends. I'm all about helping a brother out if he really needs me, but at some point you also have to put on your big kid pants and take care of yourself. So I guess what I'm saying is there's a fine line between being brilliant yet practical and just absolutely suffering for your art. I've always fallen more into the first category (probably minus the brilliance) and just don't want a huge part of the second category. I remember a beatitude about suffering, and I'm sure there's merit to that, but the whole idea doesn't really appeal to me on a grand scale if I have the means to avoid it.

Somewhere, somehow, it all comes back to finding a balance. I'm sure not everyone would agree with me on this. So many true artists were able to create lasting beauty perhaps only because they let themselves go to those dark places or to those places where they were truly the first person to push those boundaries of comfort. Those people who successfully reached those places and pushed those boundaries were revolutionary. But sometimes it's hard to turn off the crazy. And there's a point where you either move forward into the land of the truly scary (though potentially earth-shattering) and risk absolutely losing your grip or you shut that mother down and risk living a life of nothingness. But for me the risks in either direction are too great... I'll be okay with my life if I never create a revolution, especially provided that I don't become a real-life version of that scene in every crazy chick movie where the girl cuts all her hair off with a butcher knife before the real crazy shit goes down, but I also don't want to miss out on all the colorful opportunities afforded to us through our God-given talents and passions. We're here for a reason, and I shudder to think that reason is to move through a gray fog of normalcy. Our planet is full of too much color and life, our gifts are too rich, our souls are capable of being too full not to make the most of those moments.

It's easy to make a resolution. But it's damn hard to stick to it. I'm pretty good about taking little steps... I'm not so good at making myself take big leaps. But I think maybe it's time to be a little bit more courageous, a little more committed, and a little less normal. (I'm sure the people who hear me burst into song on a regular basis would argue that I've got that last one covered. But you know what I'm saying.)

happiness is...

... reconnecting with old friends and learning that they are happy and successful. Sometimes it's just nice knowing that these people exist in the world, but it's even better when you actually get to be part of their lives again.

... figuring out that my parents are just as much fun to hang out with as most of the people I call friends. I'm not sure if that means they're getting cooler or I'm getting more lame (or maybe it's just that yucky m-word m.a.t.u.r.i.t.y rearing its ugly head), but I'm not gonna argue with it.

... the feeling of being really clean after you've just been really dirty, grimy, and frankly, a little bit funky. I never thought I'd be a person who enjoys the getting sweaty part of exercise or yard work, and I'd probably argue that even though my body now feels twitchy when I don't get in my 30-45 minutes of post-work activity, it isn't the exercise I'm addicted to - it's the cleaning up and putting on my PJs afterwards. But I'll take it.

... driving with no real destination in mind, especially when the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the fields by the highway are green and dotted with colorful wildflowers or perfectly straight rows of corn, and you've got some really good music as your only companion.

... really good makeup and hair products. I know this seems superficial, but there's really no substitute. Thanks, MAC cosmetics and Paul Mitchell hair care, for rocking my world.

... dinner parties with friends who are every bit as silly now (as adult parent type people) as they were when you became friends with them in college. We might have graduated from box wine and have a better menu now, but the fun lightheartedness remains.

... fresh, perfectly cooked vegetables. And s'mores. Not together of course.

... a house that still feels cool and light even in the hot blazes of summer. This is especially necessary when you live in Georgia.

... an ongoing list. :)

a homemade life

I started reading a new book last night, A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg. I'm only a couple "chapters" in (I use that term loosely, for reasons detailed in a moment), and already, I'm smitten. This was one of those impulse "It's-a-gorgeous-Saturday-and-I'm-at-Barnes-and-Noble-yearning-for-something-new-and-relaxing-and-interesting-to-read-during-the-summer-that-will-help-me-feel-inspired-and-ease-thoughts-of-wanting-to-slap-everyone-I-come-into-contact-with-on-a-daily-basis" kind of purchases. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It might not happen at the same time of the year for you... for me, it's always late spring/early summer, when things are finally starting to calm down, and the magnitude of the uber-stressful school year finally hits you as it comes to a close. But I'm sure you've felt that before, too. When I feel that way, I begin looking for an escape. Luckily, my escape-route isn't through alcohol (well, maybe a little) or hard drugs... And oddly enough for someone who has always seemed to live and breathe music, even the most beautiful of melodies and harmonies isn't quite enough when I'm feeling this way. I really do want to be inspired, and I find that the things that inspire me the most these days center around people who find ways to turn their passions into something easily accessible through every-day-living, and they take the next step of sharing those things with everyone else. Those stories make me feel good. It's that "sell everything and move to a beautiful country cottage in France and tell you all the wonderful things you can do to bring that same joy into your world" kind of story. I especially love the ones that delve into some sort of creative pursuit (art, writing, food, and yes, music), and that's how I stumbled upon this little treasure of a book.

They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but there was really no possible way for me to look at that cover (seriously, go look at it) and not feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. The aesthetic felt like it would have that "ahhh factor" for me, and the color combination is currently my favorite (actually that's what my living room looks like, though I'd simply die to actually be allowed to paint the walls that shade instead of the much lighter version of it that they are currently). Then I discovered she was sharing recipes and telling witty, charming, and heart-warming stories to go along with them... and it seemed perfect. And I'm happy to report that a few chapters in, my theory is holding true. It's a combination memoir and cookbook. Though I rarely stick to someone else's recipe, I absolutely love reading them. I love the process of cooking just as much as the final product. How wonderful it is to start with a list and pile of separate ingredients and see them develop into a perfect pumpkin cheesecake with bourbon-caramel-pecan sauce. I love morphing the original plan to come up with something more interesting (see aforementioned sauce) that turns out great. (I'm sure there's some tie-in here with my love of putting furniture together, though I do follow those instructions to the nose, lest I end up sitting in a crumpled heap of wood fragments and tiny allen wrenches instead of the beautiful dining room chair I just tried to assemble.) The whole thing is just great. And this author, Molly Wizenberg, describes that process and her time in the kitchen to perfection.

Each chapter is built around a recipe. But it's not like "bam! here's the recipe, and here's something quippy about how happy it makes me." She explores all the joy and pain that we associate with family memories - we all have those. Some make us cry with laughter, and others make us feel like we've been punched in the stomach. And in her family, all of those memories could be associated with family time in the kitchen, and she uses this book as a way to weave together tales both of great humor and the pain she felt as she watched her father battle and eventually lose his life to cancer. Before getting into the recipe, she starts each chapter with a story... and it's not just about how wonderful the recipe is going to be, but she almost uses it as a way to validate the importance of the recipe. And I mean that in the best way possible. Like, it might just be potato salad to someone else, but to her, it was a perfect reflection of a father that she absolutely adored.

That all sounds fun, right? But my favorite part is her honesty. She didn't have to bare her soul when she talked about her mom's poundcake, but she did. She didn't have to tell these tales like a normal person - she's a published author, after all. But I mean, she actually used the word "ballsy" to describe the amount of dressing used in her dad's potato salad. It made me laugh out loud, in the quiet stillness of my room. (Yes, it was one of those awkward ones, because I was by myself and it echoed all around the room.) Anyone who will just be that open about salad dressing is going to get my vote. Just saying.

The best part of this discovery is that she also has a blog. In fact, the blog is what started the journey to the book. She writes a column for Bon Appetit magazine (a subscription to which my dad has given me as a Christmas gift for several years now), but I didn't make the connection. Who knew? Anyway. The blog is also super fun and has lots of pretty pictures that make me feel happy. You should check it out too: Orangette.

I guess the next question for me is what am I going to do with this new-found inspiration? There's a part of me that just doesn't have the energy to try to undertake the things that people like this somehow manage to do, and then write about, so beautifully. But I love doing stuff. And I love writing about doing stuff. I just don't do it because I feel like things in my life take up my time. But what am I really doing with that time? Am I being productive? Am I being creative? Am I doing anything that brings joy not just to myself but might also have an impact on someone else? Usually not. I'm usually wasting time - time that I can't ever get back - on something that doesn't really feel important. Then again, you could argue that in the vast expanse of the universe, maybe a food blog isn't important... but it sure has created a wonderful opportunity for this person to share her experiences and create a shared community for like-minded folks to connect. In the vast expanse of the universe, nothing any of us does can really be significant, but in our own little worlds, this is all we've got.

So I don't know... I guess it's time to do more. My problem is never the idea, it's the follow-through. And it's not that I'm incapable of follow-through. After all, that's what I get paid to do - come up with an idea or a vision and make it happen. I'm actually really good at it. But I have a paycheck and job security as motivation, whereas in my own real life, there's no one but myself to push me. And sometimes myself would rather spend time stalking someone on facebook or watching some mindless reality show. But stories like Molly Wizenberg's give me some perspective. I have dreams and ideas and hopes. And those are things I can pursue, even if I don't quite have the resources to make them all happen at this point. Maybe it's time to try to set some things in motion. It seems like everyone has a blog or some random corner of the information market these days. I don't know that I really have so much great information to share, but maybe sharing things more regularly will also provide inspiration for myself to do things more regularly. Who knows. The wheels are turning though. The wheels are turning, indeed. Thanks, Molly Wizenberg!

workity work work. jobbity job job.

I know... I really probably shouldn't be writing this during the middle of the day when I'm clearly supposed to be working. But I need a minute away from the madness of an event week. Fortunately, it's our last event of the season, and then welcome back, weekends! Oh, how neat it will be to have some time back to myself without obligations and craziness. But all that busyness sure has made the year zoom by. I can't believe another school year is almost over. The kiddos have 12.5 class days left, then finals, then poof! they're gone... some just for the summer, others forever.

I guess that set of sentiments is probably the inspiration for my current general state and the blog I'm about to drop on you. I'm so excited that things are going to calm down a little bit, but at the same time, I'm not totally looking forward to the end of the school year. I've been fortunate in my 5 years of higher education employment to have some great students working with or for me, but this year is probably the first where I've felt truly attached to "my kids." While I'm so very appreciative of that little bond, I also understand that with it comes a certain measure of sadness in knowing that they'll move on. My senior is graduating. I'm so so proud of her and happy for her and the life she is planning for herself, but frankly, I'm just going to miss her. When I did my graduate internship, the administrative coordinator in our office said she thought the hardest part of her job would be getting to know and love the students and interns and then having to see them leave. It didn't really occur to me until this moment how true that might be in my life and job now, too.

It's an interesting mix of work that I do... I get to plan fabulous and informative events of all scales, coordinating fun things like promotional materials and logistics and catering and overall event look and feel. That's the glamorous side, I guess, and it's what people think of when they imagine "event planning." But unlike a lot of event coordinators, I also coordinate all the technical stuff - we create websites, build electronic registration forms, manage the database side, and provide numerous detailed statistical reports on attendance and evaluation data from all of our events. We compile multi-year reports of satisfaction scores and yield rates to analyze trends and determine budgets. My immediate work responsibility is both creative and extremely technical at times, requiring a lot of mental energy and detailed efficiency. That might be the work, but it's really not my job as I see it. If I did all of this for a random corporation, I'd probably be making a six-figure salary... or at the very least double my current one. But I've chosen to do this work in a college, which means I don't make six figures, but it does mean that my true job might actually be a little more important. To me, my work helps advance the institution that has hired me to do it... but my job is really to help advance the young people who have chosen to attend college at said institution. And how much more awesome is that than just planning dumb events? (Granted my events are friggin' awesome, but you get the point.) The work we do here actually has the potential to mean something to these students. And in the process of consciously creating a meaningful experience for someone else, I think it's almost impossible not to pick up a little bit of meaning in that for yourself.

I don't think of myself solely as an event coordinator (and now, my work involves doing a bit of that technical stuff for more than just events anyway)... even though my work revolves mostly around coordinating programs to help recruit students and grow our enrollment, my job is really that of an educator. I just don't have a classroom or a chalkboard (though we're considering painting my walls with that chalkboard paint because we tend to do a lot of note-taking in our planning... and how fun would it be to just write on the wall? awesome.) But I digress. The point is that I get to learn as much from "my kids" as I hope they're learning from me.

The greatest educational value I've ever had was probably my graduate internship. They taught me SO much and helped me learn how to deal with all of the crises inherent in working in a college setting. When I left there, I felt like I was equipped to handle pretty much anything that came my way. But I also realize now how much my supervisors and the staff in that office really cared about all of the interns - not just providing a place for us to do some work (interns=cheap labor), but really teaching us how to apply that to everything we do in the future. I appreciate so much the time they spent just listening to me process the new information that was coming at me. As I approach the end of this school year, I can only hope I'm able to provide a safe and fun place like that for my students to learn how to take on the world. It seems like if we create some awesome events and provide a fantastically efficient technical process, and they go on to do great and wonderful things when they leave here, then I've done both my work and my job.

procrastinating sleep.

It's a weird habit I have. When I don't really want to do what the next day entails, I tend to stay up way past the point that I should have gone to bed. Maybe in my mind delaying sleep time, which seems to go by so much faster than awake time, means I'm delaying the things I don't want to do the next day. In reality, it just means that I'm more tired while I'm doing what I don't want to do, and as Captain Crankypants with no sleep, that obviously doesn't do me any good. Oh well. Here I am. Not sleeping.

Last night was my first night in the new house. There was an insane storm that blew down trees and power lines and caught things on fire. Fortunately, nothing fell on my house or car, and nothing in my immediate vicinity was on fire. The Volvo two houses down wasn't so lucky. Smash-o-rama. The whole thing was almost too much for my exhausted-from-moving-for-four-days brain too handle. It's already a little creepy-quiet here for me in general, but sitting here in total darkness due to power outage with all the ruckus happening outside was even worse. Every noise I heard was either an innocent tree branch scraping the house or a big scary man seeking to axe murder me as I stared at the lightning-lit ceiling in my new bedroom... it was hard to decide, really. But obviously I'm typing this, so you know, I guess no one was trying to attack me. Or they didn't win, anyway.

Things are starting to come together here, even if I still feel a little annoyed by the boxes that are in my way. I can see the beginning of a real house, and I can see the end of my-life-in-boxes. It's a weird sensation surveying everything you own contained by a mountain of cardboard and plastic storage bins. Life feels so big and overwhelming sometimes, but seeing it all fit in one room (albeit one with 12 foot ceilings) gives you some perspective. If you can pare it down that much, then surely there's nothing so big or mysterious about it that would render you incapable of dealing with what it throws your way. There's something comforting about that.

The process of getting to know a new place is interesting. Many of the sounds are foreign (see previous axe murderer fear) and the smells are different here, but it already feels more like home, more like "me," than the last place. I feel more like I belong in this space and that it seems welcoming and inviting and interesting. Meanwhile, I'm still getting used to the creaks of original hardwood, the taps of limbs on the windows, and the clangs of all the church bells in the vicinity. I'm sure I'll come to love hearing the trains and feeling the energy of movement as they pass through town a few blocks over. I might even stop minding the frenzied excitement of sirens as the fire trucks leave the station and head over the downtown hills. I didn't think about how different I'd feel inside here in relation to the outside world... somehow this place is more connected yet simultaneously peaceful and relaxing (despite previous axe murderer fear, as referenced not once but twice above.) This change is good. It hasn't always felt that way over the last few weeks, but sitting here in the stillness after midnight, it seems like all is on its way toward rightness and balance... and nothing a good night of sleep can't fix.

100 layers of bloggedy goodness.

I am in love. A designer whose blog I follow recently referenced this ah-mazing website - 100LayerCake - in one of her posts, and I love it so much that I think I need to share it. Even more than the main website, I am completely in love with the blog portion of the site. Yes, it's a wedding site. And since I'm not getting married at any point in the foreseeable future, and I'm not really one of those "dream all day about my own possible fictional wedding" kind of girls, you may wonder why I have such an obsession with this site. Well, basically, it's because everything in the world that could seem remotely beautiful to me appears here. Forget having a wedding like this... I want my WHOLE LIFE to look like this. It gives me the same feeling of happiness I get when I go to anthropologie. I can't usually afford anything there (though I did recently splurge on some new awesome kitchen stuff) but the whole place just makes me feel calm and inspired and like everything is right in the world. The beauty of 100LayerCake is that the point isn't spending tons of money - it's finding ways to make beautiful and creative things yourself. There is nothing generic or cookie cutter about the weddings they feature on the site. It all seems so personal, and even the stuff that I probably wouldn't personally do (carnival-themed wedding - could be SO scary; heart-shaped stuff - usually makes me barf) ends up being so beautiful and interesting because the people find ways to make it unique and awesome and not cliche. And there are so many little projects and funsies that you could so easily work into designing your home or a random gathering of friends.

It makes me want to do something creative. I think most people I know think of me as a musical person (mostly because the synapses firing in my brain lead to frequent and random outbursts of song), but I've always been incredibly visual more than anything. I guess part of the beauty of music for me is sort of the resulting image I can envision from a particular song. I haven't been doing much singing over the last several months, but it has also given me a chance to take myself out of the equation and completely appreciate the amazing stuff that other folks are creating. It's interesting to me to see how my tastes have evolved as of late, too... In the past, I had a hard time listening to music if I didn't like the singer's voice. I've never been big on over-production, but now more than ever, I appreciate much more the live quality of performance. In a world where auto-tune and a calculated wardrobe malfunction are enough to make a person famous, I find that I'm so much more drawn to the imperfections and honesty of a live performance. If you still sound good enough to evoke a real connection and reaction from your audience, then even if it's not "my taste" I can still find a way to appreciate it.

I'm sure this is a little bit of a stretch here, but I guess what I feel when I hear folks like The Avett Bros or Chris Thile or Ray Lamontagne and countless others is probably the same sense of comfort and awe that I feel when I see something that is beautiful to me, especially when that beauty is organic or handmade and slightly imperfect. It isn't manufactured and sterile. It's natural and a little raw. It's like a field of wildflowers on a perfect pre-dusk evening or watching hundreds of sailboats on the water glistening in the sun. I know it sounds a little ridiculous, but it's that "ahh" factor that I love so much. It makes me want to quit my job and just sit around and make stuff. Of course, the Midwestern practicality takes over and I realize I'm not really willing to suffer for the sake of art. I sometimes envy the people who can do that, but it's just not who I am. There's no reason you can't bring a little of that bohemia into a standard day-job life though. You just have to take the time to break out of the routine. I guess that's the hardest part for me, but it's also the easiest thing to change if you have a little inspiration. Surely 100 layers of inspiration should be enough to do the trick. :)

movin' on up

... to the east side. Like, really. Not New York or whatever (or was it Philadelphia? I can't remember)... but the east side of my little town here. Okay, well, actually it's downtown, but it IS on the eastern side of downtown. Okay, shut up. Anyway. I'm excited. I've lived in my same boring duplex for almost 3 years now. This boring duplex is a different floor plan but not terribly unlike the place I lived when I was in college, and it's also not terribly unlike the boring apartment where I lived during grad school. These have all been perfectly decent places, and we always did our best to make them look fun (even on a very meager college budget), but there's still something very cookie-cutter and dull about a row of buildings that all look exactly. the. same. I'm pretty fond of most of my stuff now, but I've been thinking for awhile that it would be more fun if I lived in a more interesting place. Not to mention that the quality of my current neighborhood has diminished quite a bit over the past couple of years. I'd heard reports of vandalism, I'd seen some shadiness going on, and I'd started to feel a little out of place there... I had started looking at other options around town, but there just wasn't much that made me want to go through the hassle of moving again. It's actually been nice having the same address longer than a year for the first time since 2003.

Out of the clear blue, I was looking online one day and saw a large historic home downtown that has been split into 4 apartment units. It was super-charming from the outside, but a lot of places like that end up being grungefest on the inside or they've been hacked apart to the point that you feel like you're in a weird little box. So I tried not to get my hopes up as I planned to meet the landlady to take a closer look. When we went inside, I found original hardwoods (a little bowed and crooked but otherwise quite lovely), an original fireplace with original vintage light fixtures, moderately high ceilings, and plenty of space. Sure, there are some "old house" quirks, but that also means there's lots of charm - random little nooks and cubbies to put stuff. Everyone on those HGTV shows always talks about "lots of natural light"... Where I've been living, that means that the rooms get hotter than all hell when the sun is shining in, but the plaster walls and uber-construction of yesteryear means that this historic house feels nice a breezy even with all that light coming in. I also went in there when it was pretty cold and drab outside and found it to be perfectly cozy enough. Amazing.

We talked price - more than I'm paying now for rent, but with some utilities included, my net "living cost" will be equal to or less than what I'm paying now overall. We talked terms and conditions. It all seemed great. And then I saw the stove. A tiny, tragic little dollhouse stove. It was like my Easy Bake Oven from childhood. Like... so small that my expensive pots and pans wouldn't fit inside the oven. So sad. But I made a ballsy suggestion that they move a cabinet over 5 inches to the right and put in a real stove. And holy home improvement, Batman, they agreed! One cabinet move and brand-new-stove later, I signed a lease, picked up my keys, and started the fun.

I feel like I should post pictures because I think this place is going to be super fun when I get all my stuff in there. Maybe that'll be an exciting project. My style tends to fall somewhere between clean classic and vintage-festive. I like color, but I rarely get to live any place where they'll let me paint the walls, so I like having color in my stuff. I love black-and-white photographs just as much as the bright colorful pop-y art nouveau posters I picked up for like 1 euro apiece at the market in Paris. (That makes me sound like I just pop over to Paris on a regular basis. I don't. I went once. I loved it. And I carry that stuff with me everywhere.) And I'm also in love with lightly aged, sometimes lightly floral or natural vintage touches. I have a need for symmetry (I'm a midwestern girl after all), but I also think a home shouldn't be all matchy. It should be a collection of everything you love in order to reflect who you are or who you want to be. I don't think it has to be expensive (I just bought a living room rug for $19, and I have a full wall of flea market picture frames for less than $100 total), but I also think I've outgrown super cheap dorm-quality stuff. Chairs are worth $600 each if they last forever. And mine had better. So I feel like this place is going to end up being a nifty blend of what I believe it should be in order to be me, at least until I take the leap to buy a house. So. This should be fun. Yay for new places.

on being 30.

Wow, it's been awhile, eh? I'm surely among the most inconsistent bloggers on the world wide web. It isn't that my posts aren't consistently wonderful (don't pretend like you're not amazed by me, okay - I mean, who can double-negative like that? yes, double-negative is a verb now), but I have a hard time remembering to come here and say my stuff... or maybe it's more that I have a hard time finding the time to say everything I'd want to say. I don't want to shower the web with meaningless fluff about what I ate for breakfast (cold strawberry no frosting pop-tart this morning) or what I'm wearing (all black with magenta shoes today)... I want what I say to mean something, even if it only has meaning to me.

I'm in the midst of a lot of stuff right now - working a lot but hopefully doing good work, trying to get myself organized to move, and upgrading some things in my life (just bought a shiny new MacBook Pro, but I've yet to transfer anything from my old computer to it.) I've also managed to successfully turn 30 since my last blog. Saying it out loud or writing it down still makes it feel a little surreal. Thirty years is a long time, relative to the average human life span. But at the same time, in many ways I feel like my life is just beginning. While the pain of seeing those gray hairs, recognizing that my vision is getting just a little worse, and feeling just a little bit more achy and creaky is a little tough to bear, I also feel incredibly blessed to have made it this far. There are many people who did many wonderful things without being able to finish three full decades of life. I haven't done very many of the things I thought I'd do before turning 30, and I went through a time of feeling a lack of accomplishment as a result. But another part of me is starting to realize that the best is probably yet to come. And now I've lived enough to see beyond the basics of a given life moment and actually appreciate the real significance of the people, places, choices, events that I encounter along the way. I somehow feel much more in charge of what's happening in my life now, while also having a much deeper understanding of the old cliche (which I happen to fully support) that everything happens for a reason. I guess it's an interesting place to be in... young enough not to be tied down with tons of commitment but also old enough and with just enough wisdom to appreciate it. As much as it hurt that first time I had to put a check in the box next to "30-34" instead of "25-29", I feel like this next bracket is going to be much kinder to me than the previous one.

I think I'm going to celebrate this new-found place of clarity by making a list. Because, hey, that's what I do. Like really, I basically get paid to make lists and check things off. Seriously. I digress. I'm going to make a list. There are so many things that I think I'd like to do but somehow never get around to doing. Some bit of work or life gets in the way. I guess now more than ever, I appreciate that maybe 30 years isn't really that long, and there's no time like the present to make the most out of all the blessings I've been given. I feel so fortunate to be educated and aware, living in a place where I have the most basic of human freedoms that so many don't have, with wonderful people in my life. I still live with uncertainty about the future, knowing that where I am now probably isn't where I always want to be, but it is time to revel in that freedom instead of seeing it as a hindrance. So, it's time to whip out that new checklist template in my Word 2011 for Mac and get on it. Time to rock out. With my, err... yeah. Nevermind. (Some of us get older without really ever growing up.)