California

It was a little too cold, not quite beach weather. We were lying in the sand, and he asked me if I was a mountain or beach person. I snuggled into my sweatshirt, and protested that I couldn't possibly choose. He took my hand and pulled me up. He had a Cheshire Cat smile and teeth that were perfectly straight and a little too white. He smoothed my hair behind my ears, and stroked my flushed cheeks with his thumbs.  He told me I didn't have to pick; that the mountains and the water wait for us, whenever we need them. I grinned, partly because it was a really cheesy thing to say but mostly because he smelled good.

We talked over sushi. Him, going into great detail about his recent series of relationships. Me, interjecting occasionally and pretending to be interested. I had an early morning flight to catch, so we decided to make it an all nighter. Karaoke, followed by coffee and cards. He grabbed me on the sidewalk and swung me around to the music playing in a nearby bar. I contemplated what it would be like to love like this. A series of cross-country boyfriends, stolen moments in my favorite cities, leaving little bits of my heart scattered by the ocean and mountains. Compartmentalizing the things I liked about each one, until I had what felt like something whole.

He dropped me off at the airport and we stood on the curb and hugged. I noticed the lines around his eyes, the ones that had appeared in the 10 years since I had last looked at his face. I immediately thought of my own wrinkles and wondered if he had noticed the same changes in my face. We didn't make any promises to call, and that was okay. I collapsed into my seat and fell asleep before the plane even left the gate. 

It felt good to come home and not worry about what would come next. To not analyze every part of my trip and replay every part of our conversation. To just be with somebody in that moment, and share a little bit of life. 

My feet aren't planted firmly on the ground just yet. And although I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, I'm not sure that I have it in me to be a frequent flyer kind of lover. But for now, I'm enjoying living here, up in the air. 

On Storytelling

I haven't been around much lately, but only because I have been focusing on some other projects that popped-up. I'm planning to make some changes to this blog in the coming weeks, and move the entire thing over to a new website. More to come on that.

In the meantime, I have been thinking about the story that I'm living. I attended a conference a few weeks ago that was led by one of my favorite authors. Much of the discussion was around taking risks and living the story that one feels compelled to live. I have been thinking a lot about my own story since the conference, and what that looks like for me.

At the conference, I met a lovely mother and daughter who I spent one day of the conference with. They were from Texas, and very much embodied the stereotype of a southern lady. I have lived in Nashville for 10 years, and I am a bit skeptical of the southern lady types; I found in some cases the southern charm was a facade for judgment and cattiness. But these two were different, and I felt it immediately. They accepted me without question, and I felt comfortable enough to spend an entire day with them. We shared coffee, and talked about our lives back home.

What struck me the most about this mother and daughter was how open and accepting they were of one another. The daughter was about 20, and had told me that she had decided not to go to college. I was surprised to hear that her mom had encouraged her kids to find their own path, even if it meant that college wasn't included. I don't know a lot of parents who accept a kid's decision to do a little self-exploration before deciding what they wanted to do with their lives. It was refreshing, and they seemed to come from a very loving and accepting home. The daughter also had great stories about traveling the world, helping others, and learning about herself.

I often think about how my life might have been different if I had followed my instincts and travelled before I settled in a job and school. I come from a family of very practical mid-westerners. If you didn't go straight into college, then you had to go to work. There was no period of self discovery or globe-trotting allowed; those were the kinds of things that whimsical or abundantly wealthy people did. While I don't have regrets about the way my life has turned out, I do wonder about the story I'm living.

I have dreams that go beyond the my corporate job. I have dreams that are small and big, dreams that will require a lot of work and dreams that require very small changes. What I realized from the new friends that I made, and from the conference overall is that dreams are what make my story meaningful. They're the glue that holds together the seemingly mundane parts of life. They're the things that test our resilience, character, and ambition.

I feel like this new chapter is one that has been slowly unfolding over the past few years. There are definitive changes in my life that had to happen to lead me to a place where I was ready to jump, ready to take a risk and follow my dreams. So here goes.

Detachment

I watched a movie the other day about a woman going through a divorce. She was living with her parents, and not moving on with her life at a pace fast enough to meet their expectations. She eventually meets a much younger man, and starts a very tender and intense affair with him. There is a great scene in the movie, where she meets with her soon-to-be ex-husband, and tells him that she is glad he ended the marriage. She tells him that she was never happy, but that she never would have left if he hadn’t ended it.

I have spent a lot of time over the past few months examining what happiness looks like. For me. And as I get past the anger, sadness, and loneliness that has underlined this breakup, I’m starting to see that I wasn’t content in the relationship. I don’t think that I had convinced myself that I was happy, I just think I had accepted our relationship as something that was as good as it was going to get. It didn’t occur to me that there might be something better out there, even if it meant being alone.

On my birthday last year, we had gone to see a Mariners baseball game. The Mariners were playing the Detroit Tigers, my home state team. I remember having this really frustrating conversation with him because he was cheering for the Mariners. He had only been in Seattle a few months, and I questioned (jokingly) why his alliance was suddenly to this team. We had always rooted for each other’s home teams, unless they were playing against each other. The conversation was very light and teasing, but in the end he held fast to this new alliance.

I didn’t want to make a big deal out of something seemingly so small. But it nagged at me, the frustration that he didn’t understand why those little nuances in a relationship are so important. Why it’s sweet and generous to root for a team simply because the person you love, loves them. This was such a small issue, but looking back I realized that a lot of these small issues had piled up around us. Looking back, I realize that it probably bothered me because I knew there was actually something much worse that was really bothering me. That conversation ran through my head all day, and that night I laid awake quietly weeping.

If I’m being truthful, there were a lot of nights like that. Him curled next to me, long limbs balled up to his chest, deep into his dreams. Me, restless and discontent, trying to keep my crying from making a sound. It wasn’t as if we fought all the time, or had some abusive relationship. I just felt alone so much of the time. Alone, right there next to him. Alone, to deal with it on my own.

I had thought that being with someone else made me alive. I thought that the things we did – the travel, the exploration of new hobbies, the late nights talking, the intimacy – made us the happy couple I so badly wanted us to be. I see now that I needed to hold onto this version of happiness because I thought it was what I deserved. That feeling alone in the relationship was normal and that expecting more than that was expecting too much.

It’s probably not fair to say that I’m glad that he ended it. I still believe that we could have overcome the hurdles we faced as a couple and as individuals. Perhaps that is naivete, or perhaps it’s just old fashioned stubbornness. In a perfect world, he would have fought for me as hard as I fought for him.

It hurts to recognize this, to acknowledge that I accepted less than I deserved from myself for so long. But I do know that recognizing this helps me focus on how to change it in the future. And while all of this is really terrifying and new, I’m holding so tightly to the hope that I can change. That I can ask for more for myself.

You didn't see me, I was falling apart
I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park
You didn't see me, I was falling apart
I was a television version of a person with a broken heart

All The Pretty Girls

I'm coming up on my one year anniversary of beginning my weight loss endeavor. I'm nearing the finish line of this, having only about three more months until I hit my ultimate number goal.

It feels weird being in this place. It would have been silly to think that finally losing this weight would have solved all of life's difficulties for me, but I still find myself feeling a little uncertain now. I'm not quite sure that it's sunk in. I'm doing it. I did it.

A friend of mine was giving me grief the other day because I had bought a shirt that was way too big for me without realizing it. It has taken me a long time to turn off my auto pilot. I don't have to shop in plus-size stores anymore, but I feel like an intruder when I walk into Ann Taylor. It's scary, I think in part because there's the possibility that I could be back in those stores.

I read something awhile back by a woman who lost a significant amount of weight. She was worried that she would gain the weight back, and started a list of all the differences she noticed in herself after she lost weight. She would refer back to the list when she was feeling scared, or down, or taunted by a bag of potato chips. I thought it might help if I put together something similar.

I can take the stairs at work and not be winded by the time I get to the third floor. In fact, I actually feel energized.
It takes less alcohol to feel a nice buzz.
I can run an entire mile without stopping. Not even once.
Sex is more fun. I feel less inhibited and more confident in my abilities.
I've found that it's way more fun to share plates when I go out to eat. I don't feel deprived, and I get to enjoy my friend time (and crab cakes).
Airplane seats are much more comfortable.
Yoga. So much yoga. Even the bendiest of poses. And Pilates.
I love restaurant booths now that I fit comfortably in them.
I don't feel self conscious on public transportation. My butt takes up only the space it's allotted.
I have way more confidence in front of clients. Whether real or imagined, I felt like I was always fighting that initial negative reaction I was sure people had based on my appearance.
I can shop with my girlfriends and actually buy things from the same stores.

I know it's going to take awhile for the reality of what I have done to sink it. For the reflection in the mirror to show the person I actually am, instead of the girl I used to be.

Filling Space

We were sitting side-by-side on the couch. He was watching a football game, I was reading a book and absently scratching his back. He made a noise, something in response to what was happening during the game. I looked up, and noticed my hand tracing circles on his back. My eyes welled up, and I had to excuse myself, careful to hide my tears. I knew it just didn't feel right. I was scratching the wrong back.

I started dating a little before Christmas. Setup by friends, or a happenstance encounter at the community center where I work out, or just because it was right in front of me. I convinced myself I could do it, that I was ready to get "back out there." I was up front about my situation; I wasn't sure what I was looking for, as I was fresh from the conclusion of a long-term relationship. It felt good, the novelty of it. The newness of exploring someone else. Convincing myself that it was okay because I was aware of what I was doing. That I was choosing this.

I tried, but I just couldn't do it. As much as I want to be the girl who can casually invite a boy into my bed, the girl who can share a few flirty cocktails with a stranger, the girl who can make out in the car on  a Wednesday night, that girl, I cannot be. Not without attachments, not without feeling bad, not without worry. Not without emotional consequence.

I'm a little angry. I've done everything right. I read the books. I meditated. I journaled. I developed a new hobby. I spent time with family and friends. I didn't make any hasty decisions. I traveled. I'm supposed to be okay now, right? Healed? Ready to progress?

The first time I kissed someone new, I narrated it in my mind, as it was happening. We are kissing. He is touching me. I am touching him. It was new. It was weird. It was uncomfortable. 

Missing someone and not being able to do anything about it is a weird kind of pain. It's unsettling. There's no countdown to when I'll see him again. There's no light at the end of the tunnel. There's no guarantee that one day I'll stop missing him and then it will be okay again. I am believing that the okay again will happen, but there is a chance that it won't. And I am incredibly humbled to realize how much missing him knocks me over, just when I think I've made such progress in my grief.

So on a night like tonight, where sleep does not come readily, all that's left is Adele in the dark.

On Getting Back Up

I've had a word dancing on the tip of my tongue the last few days: resilient.

I came across this picture when I was cleaning up some files on my computer this week. It's almost exactly a year ago, and was taken on New Years' Day, 2013. I weigh about 120 pounds more in this picture than I do now.

When I look at the woman in this picture, I don't recognize her. And not just because she looks physically different than me. I don't recognize her because I have become a different version of her. That woman had no idea what was in her. She had no idea how strong and capable she was. That she had it in her to do what a lot of people told her she couldn't. 

I've been knocked down a bit these past few months. Work has been a particularly disappointing type of grueling - exhausting, with no silver lining of success. My confidence has been shook a little bit. I have been feeling like I'm standing on less than solid ground. I'm still not whole after the breakup, and I've had some rather upsetting drama happening within my family as well. It's been a trying few months.

I went off plan for a time, mainly to enjoy the holidays, but also just to be gentle on myself during this time of high stress. I went back on plan a couple weeks ago, and quickly dropped the few pounds I had picked up during my hiatus.

The biggest difference between me and that girl from a year ago, is that I've got some resiliency. This has probably been one of the most challenging times of my life, but I'm facing it. I'm looking it square in the eye, and not drowning it food and sleep. My life isn't perfect, but it's beautiful, and I feel like I'm actually living it now. I have promised that girl from last year that there will be no more half-living, no more just surviving.

My life has taken a different path than the one I had imagined for myself. And while I don't have a clear picture of what a year from today looks like, my hope is that I keep that promise to my old self. She's still in me, and I wouldn't be able to appreciate all that I have now if it hadn't been for her. The one thing we do have in common? Resiliency.

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of some else's game

Too late for second guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes and leap!

January Musings

I have been racking my brain these past two weeks, trying to come up with a post that effectively summarizes last year, while also looking forward to what the new year will bring. I wanted it to be effortlessly wise, reflective without being contrite, and incredibly witty.

Then I watched this interview between Louis CK and Jay Leno, and realized I was being ridiculous.

I don't much care for New Year's resolutions, or the concept that life somehow resets simply because the date has changed. And Louis is right; a much more realistic expectation is that any given year will bring a mixed bag of good and bad, high and low. I can't think of any time when only good or bad things have happened to me, particularly for an entire calendar year.

What I do know is that with every passing year, I enter the first day of January with a little more life under my belt. A little more self assuredness, a little less second guessing who I am. Is everything perfectly in place and exactly where I would like it to be? Absolutely not. Do I have some laundry list of resolutions will most decidedly make me a smarter, faster, skinnier, and funnier human being? Nope.

What I do take into the New Year is my resolve. The past year has been nothing if not one of great challenges and chances to grow. I feel like I made my own path, even in cases where I couldn't control outside factors. While the next year naturally brings some uncertainty, I feel like I can handle it. That I'm made of tough stuff, and that regardless of where I end up professionally, romantically, geographically, or otherwise, I will be okay. That I am more than the sum of my achievements and failures.

I heard this song a couple weeks ago for the first time in many years. It's been soundtracking my days ever since, and I don't think it's entirely coincidental.