Life – Page 7 – Tipsy Typer

One Step in Front of the Other

A couple years ago my fiancé and I packed up the car and drove five hours to Leavenworth, WA during Oktoberfest. But we weren’t going for the beer, no, we were doing something much more reckless. The Oktoberfest Half Marathon! That is right- while college students were piling into beater cars and taking over the town for a weekend of boozy frolicking fun, we were pinning numbers to our tank tops and stretching nervous muscles in the freezing cold early hours of the day. This in itself wouldn’t have been a big problem- if I had taken my training seriously in the months prior to the final event. I stepped up to the starting line knowing that I was in way over my head. I don’t think I had run more than two miles straight without a break, and here I was expecting to push my body for 13.1 miles. Now, don’t get me wrong- a few weeks before the race I had decided it was important to know what I was getting myself into- my fiancé and I went for our ‘practice run’ one night. It took us hours winding through two towns to get in the full mileage. At one point I was running while dry heaving over the side of a bridge (that would be thanks to the pile of gummy bears I ate), but we did the full thing. So going into this event, I had an inkling of what to expect. And I knew it would involve a lot of pain.

The first few miles were fantastic, I felt like a superstar. There is something inspiring and invigorating when your feet are clipping in line with thousands of other people surrounding you, people who were just as crazy as you. We all went out there with something to prove, a goal to accomplish- and the excitement in those first few miles were palpable.

After a while though, even the buzzing thrill couldn’t keep my body motivated. The next miles were a collection of jogging bursts coupled with walking breaks. Intervals, they call them- and they seem to save my life every time.

When we hit the halfwalf mark, we came across a woman dressed as a bar wench, in the full German gear- she was running with us while carrying a stein full of beer. Beer that she was actually drinking. College students in town for Oktoberfest were lining the streets and filling her stein for her as she went. And you know what really killed me? She was beating me. I like to tell myself that she was drunk enough not to feel the pain in her legs, but I know the truth; she was just better, stronger, and perhaps even a bit more prepared in spite of her inebriated state. Although I can’t help but be impressed; drunk me knows better than to go outside for a jog. Drunk me wants to sit in bed with hot french fries while singing old Backstreet Boys songs to my always-patient fiancé who simply wants me to brush my teeth and go to sleep (and upon his request, this is where you insert the lyrics from ‘You Don’t Own Me’- thank you First Wives Club for introducing this little gem into my bag of tricks. This is quickly followed by some Joan Jett ‘Bad Reputation’ in response. Oh yes, drunk me can be quite clever with her song choices. She also becomes a fiercely independent woman- until she can’t open the pickle jar.)

By the end we were exhausted, everything hurt, but we were almost there. When we got within sight of that finish line we started running, every muscle in our bodies screaming, our lungs ready to burst. When we hit the finish line we clasped our hands and raised them in the air in triump- until the race attendants pointed to ANOTHER line several feet (it felt like miles) away, saying that was the actual finish line and racers had been confused all day with the inexplicable first mark. I personally think they did it because they thought it was funny- it was the cruelest joke that has ever been played on me. So we shuffled forward, arms still raised painfully for what felt like another five miles- until we were able to joyfully cross the REAL finish line.

At the end were apples and treats, along with a winning tshirt and a medal. That first bite of my victory apple was the best thing I have ever tasted. Everything hurt, the journey had been a rough one and I had been horribly unprepared. But you know what? I did it. I fought through the pain, I pushed myself beyond anything I ever believed my body to be capable of. And I crossed that finish line. Both of them. Looking back, it isn’t the pain and the cold that comes to mind first- it’s the pride, the deep satisfaction in knowing that the chips were stacked against me and I still pushed myself to do it.

We went back to our hotel, took hot showers (oh how I deeply craved a tub in that moment), and then we joined the crazy college kids at the bar for a celebratory beer while proudly wearing our medals. It was an amazing day. And it doesn’t matter that I could barely stand for the rest of the week, or that stairs made me want to cry for my mommy. I still did it.

The thing that I’ve learned: this life isn’t that different from that race. Especially for us writers (and most certainly during Nano). We all are jumping into these dreams and adventures feet first, with nothing but hope that we will be successful. We don’t always know what to expect. We don’t know what struggles we will endure. Sometimes we are rockstars, zooming through the crowd. And sometimes it feels like that woman in leiderhosen has all of her shit figured out while you are bumbling around like a blind man. You lose your faith in your abilities, it seems like everyone else has the secret except for you. But you keep pushing and you keep fighting, even when every fiber in your body wants to give up and call for a ride home. We are fighters, we push through all of the odds. We are plagued with fatigue, with feeling ill-equipped, and occasionally with false finishes that hide the distance you still have left to travel. But you don’t give up. As a writer, I sit down in front of my laptop even when the words won’t come. I type out my blog on a tiny touch screen cell phone when a roadblock falls in my lap (yes, I am still raining curses on my laptop and it’s inability to miraculously fix whatever is wrong with it). We find a way, no matter what. Because it all that we know, because standibg still means defeat and we aren’t ready to throw in the towel yet. We owe it to ourselves, we deserve our success. We must believe it, even if we don’t feel we are ready for it.

Why am I Hiding?

Last spring I accidentally sent my fiancé’s brother a picture that was meant for my fiancé. Now, before your eyes grow too wide at the thought of it- let me preface this conversation by saying that it wasn’t a ‘bad’ picture or anything like that. It wasn’t something that I would be embarrassed for people to see. I had decided on a whim to get back out and start running again with the dog, and I was proud of myself. So I did what any self respecting 20-something would do, and I took a selfie.

He jokingly responded that at least it wasn’t something more risqué, and in my usual fashion I made a half-serious, half-jesting comment that the reason I was working out was so that I would feel comfortable sending one like that. Now, I have known Josh since I was about fifteen years old- well over ten years, although there were a few in the middle where we didn’t really have anything to do with one another. We’ve always had a lot of the same friends, but we were never particularly close. We’ve always just joked with each other. But this time was different, instead of taking my comment as a half-hearted joke, he looked past to the underlying meaning and made a comment. From there we had an actual conversation: we were both in the process of trying to get ourselves in good shape and find a place where we were comfortable in our own skin. We both had our insecurities, but neither of us really realized them about the other. For once we both understood that we were feeling exactly the same, underneath all of the jokes. At the end of the conversation he said something that struck me: he said that was probably the first time I had ever opened up to him about anything. I was shocked at the truth of it- how was it possible that I had known him over ten years and we had never really had a conversation of substance?

I’ve always been a private person, but I never realized how truly guarded I am. There are only a few people in my life who know me inside and out, who can tell what I’m thinking before I ever say a word. It wasn’t always like this. I used to be such an open book, but somewhere along the way I closed the pages and tied the cover down so no one could see the content. I remember in high school- once people really started talking to me they would always say ‘you are nothing like I expected.’ I used to pride myself on that; I always knew that my reputation didn’t match the girl inside. Outside I was a ‘good girl,’ one of those quiet straight-A types that don’t have any sharp edges. Inside I was tougher, a rocker chick who was vastly misunderstood. As I grew up my different sides started to merge, and now I’d like to think that I am a more well-rounded person.

This conversation bothered me enough that today I am still thinking about it, months later. Mainly because I see how true it is. I’ve always prided myself on being honest; but is there true honesty when you are constantly hiding? I don’t mean to, I guess I just assume that people wont really care what I have to say. I guess after all is said and done, I am still like that little girl who is afraid of rejection. It is easier to be rejected for a public persona when I know that isn’t actually me than it is to be rejected for the person underneath. How many times do I share little anecdotal stories instead of spilling the truth?

If I were to die tomorrow, how many people would know who I really was, and how many people would know the face that I put on in the morning? It’s not that I’m being fake, I am who I am. But I’m not being deep. I’m not sharing all of who I am or what I do. Take my writing for example: it is a huge part of my life, it is my heart and soul, it is the thing that drives me. But I can probably count on one hand the number of people who know that it is even a hobby of mine.

So who am I? And why aren’t I more open? Those are the true questions, and to be honest- I don’t know if I have a complete answer. When you brush past the superficial responses of what I do for a living and what my hobbies are- who is underneath? I’m just a girl who is always trying to be better. I’m a girl who can’t process the world without a pen in her hand. I’m a socially awkward goofball who can dad-joke and nerd talk with the best of them. I’m opinionated, but I don’t like making waves unless I know I can trust you with my thoughts. I don’t make friends easily, mainly because I’m painfully shy, but when I do I am fiercely loyal. I am the kind of girl who refuses to go to the movies unless I can get popcorn too. I would choose beer over wine any day of the week. I find solace in books, living a thousand lives through fictional characters. I am a hopeless romantic wrapped in the hard candy shell of a realist. I am an enduring optimist who will run over to refill your cup if it’s half empty. I’m a terrible liar. I smile even when I feel like crying. I do a lot of the wrong things for the right reasons, and occasionally stumble across the right things for all of the wrong reasons. I am an enigma, a world of contradictions wrapped up in a Harry Potter t-shirt. I am a girl who has found her happiness, even though she is completely clueless half of the time. I am a girl still figuring out who she is, and for tonight, that will be good enough. The key though? Learning to let others see what I have discovered on this adventure. No more hiding behind smiles and polite comments. Love me or hate me, I want people to know me.

Love in a Time of Hate

“This will always be the land of the free, so long as it is the home of the brave.”

-Elmer Davis

I don’t know when our differences became bricks we used to wall ourselves in and close ourselves off from one another. I don’t know when we decided that we must scream to be heard in a world that is already far too loud. I don’t know when belittling another’s opinion made us feel more emboldened with our own. I have no idea when we decided that the world had to be seen in black and white, right and wrong; without the shades of gray I’ve always so dearly loved. We drew a line and determined that everyone must take a step, make a stand, choose a side. And then grab a stone to hurl towards the other crowd. All while forgetting that we know so many faces over there. If we demonize them and their ideals, then we can forget the people underneath. We seem to forget that this country of ours is not a comic book- we do not have heroes and villains. We have people. Perfectly flawed people with beautifully varied colors that shade our background and our perspectives. When did we decide that we had to prove the other side wrong to believe in our hearts that we are right? When did we determine that there had to be a wrong answer?

Because tonight, I am exhausted. I am disheartened, I am frustrated. The worst part of this whole mess: we did this. We are still doing this. We want to point the finger at someone, we want to cast blame and doubt, we want to force the other side to concede when they feel just as righteous as we do. We are chasing each other around in circles and we don’t even recognize that the hate we are pointing out in them is also being mirrored in ourselves.

I don’t care who you voted for, just as you don’t care which box I checked on that piece of paper. It doesn’t matter. No lines need to be drawn on my sand, there is no tallied score. We do not need to tear one another down to build ourselves up. We do not need to search the darkest corners of the other’s camp, and hold their worst up into the light as a glaring example of what is wrong with them and their opinions. Because these dark corners- they do not make up the whole of our respective camps. You can not paint millions of people with one brush. Those shadows- they are only a small percentage, they do not define the group.

I am not a democrat. I am not a republican. I am not a conservative. I am not a liberal. I do not wear a label like a name tag. My views land all over that beautiful board we call democracy. What happened to us? How long have we required a title; locking someone up in a box with a small description of the contents- we do not belong in a zoo. ‘Over here you will see the moral fallacies of the Republican Party, and if you take a left at the Statue of Liberty you will behold the dark lair of the Democrat and their misguided ideology.’ No. This is not us. This is not the country that I have always loved, this is not the country that I was raised to believe in.

Not every person who voted for Trump is a racist. They do not all hate the LGBT community. They do not all feel that women are objects to be used and thrown away. Just the same way that not every person who voted for Clinton is corrupt, on a witch hunt for your guns, or a ‘libtard crybaby,’ if I have my terminology correct. Yes, there are some that fall into these categories, but I do not believe that they are the majority. If anyone would take just a moment to stop and actually listen to someone of the opposing opinion without interrupting to explain why their views are better- then maybe they would come to this same conclusion. The point that I am trying to make is that, if you speak to people on either side of the line, you will realize that both have a deep misunderstanding of what is important to those opposing them. It is fueled by fear and misinformation. We need to stop assigning labels to people and inferring their beliefs and opinions based on these snap judgments. We do not belong in boxes. We do not need to drag others through the mud in order to bring more credence to our own beliefs.

Wasn’t that the beauty of this country? We were a haven for those who didn’t belong, those who were persecuted for their beliefs, for their views, for their way of life. We spilled our blood to defend our right to maintain our own opinions without fear. And here we are- destroying each other and everything that we hold dear.

There is a difference between maintaining your views and being respectful of another’s. We are not monsters here, none of us are. And if we took away the labels, perhaps we would begin to realize that our views really aren’t that far apart. Perhaps we would begin to see the path that needs to be followed. Perhaps we would find our compassion again and rediscover the beauty that we used to see in one another long enough to listen- truly listen- with an open mind, without pre-recorded objections and insults to shoot out randomly like poisoned barbs.

We are scared of one another- in a country that prides itself on bravery, we are terrified. Is that it- is that the crux of our anger? Because we don’t know what will happen and we don’t recognize the world that we’ve always lived in. We lost our compassion. I believe that we have a responsibility to one another. We have to look out for each other. We have to protect one another and our rights.

I will admit that I am afraid for us, for my friends, for the values that I stand for; but I am not alone. So to those of you who are in fear because of the color of your skin, your nationality, your religion, your gender, your sexual orientation- for those of you who feel exposed and unprotected in a world that suddenly feels so cold- I stand with you. I stand for you. I will not watch from a distance as you are screamed at, pushed, threatened or hurt. I will fight for you with every fiber of my being. Because I believe in you. I believe in your rights. I believe that you make us better, stronger, more compassionate. I believe that you bring light to a dark part of our society. In a world where you feel like your voice is being lost, I will listen. And to those of you who are afraid for your right to free speech, religion, the right to bear arms- I will protect you. I will not stand idly by if you are unjustly called a racist, a sexist, a homophobe, a xenophobe. I will defend you when you are in fear of retaliation for ideals that you personally do not hold. Whether your belief systems align with mine or not- I will not let someone harm you. Because I believe in peace, I believe in leading by example. I believe in treating others as I wish to be treated. I believe that we are responsible for creating the world that we wish to live in.

In Portland yesterday there was a protest that devolved into a riot. It made international news- there was damage, and as I drove by the city today I could not miss the signs of hate left behind. But what you probably didn’t hear about are the volunteers who got up early today to clean up their city. They did not go to the protest, though many of them supported the protestors. They were not responsible for the damage. But they did not want to see their city hurt or torn apart by hate. So they cleaned, they painted, they erased the harm and brought back the beauty. The peaceful protestors that started the event did not condone the violence that erupted. And yet, though they did not personally resort to violence themselves, they still chose to raise money to pay for the damages. They raised $10,000 in one day. They took responsibility for the world they wanted to live in. These are not things that you will probably hear reported in the news. But these are the people that we must emulate- these are the one who responded to hate with love. They do not question who is right or who is worthy of their respect. They do not cast blame for what has happened. They simply want to see their community thrive. This is what we need. We need to protect each other. We need to respect each other. And we need to remember that our differences are the very things that make us so formidable. United we stand, divided we fall. I do not have to agree with you to respect you.

No more hate. Our candidates have dropped their stones, the mud has stopped flying. That does not mean that we need to pick them up and continue this bitter war. We must stay vigilant; we must still protect our ideals. But we do not have to destroy each other in the process. We are past the point of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ No, now we must come together. The time for fighting is gone, the dice was cast and we have a future to work on. Now we need to look forward and have an open discussion. We have come too far to fall apart now. We are worth too much to destroy ourselves.

I love jury duty (and why you should to)

I love jury duty. Now, let me qualify that statement by saying: I love jury duty when I am not the juror…or the bailiff. I work in the court systems, I have played a multitude of roles in this field for nearly a decade (I believe I am closing in on nine and a half years). One of the things that I love most about it: the people.

Everyone has a story, everyone has a reason to go from day to day, every one has biases and belief systems. Everyone is different. And the courtroom is a damn good place to hear some of these stories. One of the more recent cases I covered, a prospective juror flippantly mentioned in an off-hand way that she was shot during a robbery once. Now, that is not a story you can idly gloss over. She had been counting out her till when a man with a gun came charging in to the place where she worked- she gave him all that she had, but it wasn’t enough. He got mad and shot her in the shoulder. She told the whole story with a wry little chuckle and a knowing smile. There was also the man who crashed his private one-man plane into a river after trying to show off doing small areal stunts. Or the man who pulled out his own gun when a robber ran up and pulled open his car door in an attempted car-jacking. Then there was the woman who grabbed the red Pizza Hut sign off of the roof of a delivery truck and repeatedly hit an assailant with it when he tried to rob her friend. And who can forget the woman who managed to run over herself with her own car? Don’t worry- she is just fine, no lasting damage.

Every single person has a unique perspective in life. Every single individual has a story to tell, most of which are much stranger than any fiction you could possibly come up with. I love this aspect of my job because it is an open venue to hear these stories without the awkward daily social games we play with one another. As someone who tends to become rather anxious in new social situations, its rather refreshing to be able to skip the dance and go straight to the heart of the story.

So perhaps next time you get that summons in the mail, you wont let that first expletive-ridden thought control your outlook on the event. At the very least, you will probably be able to hear a few damn good stories while you wait. Inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places, if you are only willing to open yourself up to the possibilities.

Shrodinger’s Election (it’s almost over)

I didn’t think this election season would ever end, but alas, here we are on that illustrious Tuesday that will determine the road we will take from here. Now, don’t worry, I’m not about to start pelting you with my political opinions and assail you with how ours might not align perfectly. We are all entitled to our individual opinions, and while we might be strongly opposed, we must respect one another’s right to maintain their respective stance.

I believe tonight’s election will be telling, though I am fearful. Partially fearful for the results, but more so for the reactions to these results. I have never seen our country as divided and charged as we were this year, and I will openly admit that I am worried how some will respond if their candidate is not chosen. After an election season that consisted of more mud slinging than general debate and more debasement than productive conversation, I can only hope that we will take these lessons we have learned and use them to better ourselves. It’s no secret that this election has been a royal mess- one played out on an international level. However, in spite of all of the name-calling and general embarrassment, one thing has happened: people have been forced to start those difficult conversations we have been avoiding. And while we might not like everything that has been said, it is a genuine step forward that the words have been spoken at all. Now we must take this momentum and use it to move forward. We must remember our compassion and find our respect again. We must remind ourselves that we have to come together if we ever want to make progress. We must remember that there is a time to speak and a time to listen.

No matter the outcome, I can only hope that we have learned something that will serve us well in the future. This is our country, these are our responsibilities. Cheers, my friends, may we find peace and progress in the coming months. (I know- a girl can dream).

I Will Never be ‘Normal’ (and how I inadvertently discovered ice cream tacos)

I have always had an idea in my head of the type of woman that I wanted to become. I pushed aside all of my personal phobias and eccentricities; I don’t know if I thought I would grow out of them, or if I believed that I could simply will them into nonexistence. If I stopped acknowledging my flaws, perhaps they would just disappear. I knew that the person I was didn’t align with the bold woman that I envisioned to grow into. I was going to be that shooting star; a bright, intelligent woman with style to boot. I was going to be clever, I wouldn’t be afraid to dance in a crowded room, I would jump at any and all opportunities. I would have a thousand stories for the hundreds of off-the-wall experiences I had. I was going to be fun, sparkly and spontaneous. Impromptu midnight drive to the coast so we can watch the sunrise? Bring it on. Skinny dipping at the lake- why the hell not. Learning a new dance in a room full of stranger? I thought you’d never ask.

I didn’t expect to be the way that I am, wrapped up in my own little shell like a turtle. I didn’t anticipate that my tongue would still tie at the most inconvenient moments, forcing my face to turn ketchup red as I scurried away to internally berate myself. I didn’t think that twenty-seven year-old me would still be intimately familiar with the flash of panic that raced through my nervous system at the mere prospect of being left alone in the room with another person to partake in that dreaded act known as small talk. I didn’t think my hands would still get clammy and my voice would get quiet when I made a comment and didn’t get immediate responses. I didn’t think that adult Katie would still be fighting the same demons that I raged against ten years ago. No, I did not think that these would be daily struggles in my life.

I am a master in the arts of self-sabotage. I am a creature deeply in love with her comforts. Tonight I knew exactly what my plans were going to be when I got home from work. I was just settling into the rare treat of a hot bubble bath coupled with a good book I’ve waited all day to read. And then a wrench came flying, smashing right through my meticulously well-laid plans. My fiancé knocked on the door and let me know that his friend reached out and invited us to meet them at a cool foodie place over in Portland. And we would have to leave right away. You see, his best friend got engaged last weekend, and today his fiancé got a promotion at work- they wanted to celebrate, and they wanted to share that moment with us. I am ashamed to admit that I actually hesitated. One part of me was bouncing up and down screaming, ‘yes, it’s Friday night, let’s go do this! Where are my boots?’

But then there is the other voice. It’s a quiet but persistent little creature. It twists my stomach in knots as it stand awkwardly in the corner, tugging on my sleeve and whispering to me that it’s not a good idea- I’ll just say something stupid, there will be those awful moments of complete silence and wouldn’t it be so much better to just ignore the entire world while I hide with my bubbles and book? This is the voice that takes my self-esteem, crumples it up into a little ball like it’s nothing ore than a piece of tarnished notebook paper, tosses it on the ground and then drives a Zamboni overtop of it. Twice. And then takes a match and lights it on fire for good measure- all with an apologetic little frown. If you’ve ever seen the movie ‘Inside Out,’ I like to picture Sadness- turning everything she touches blue. That’s what my little voice is like, she is the unofficial face for all of my anxieties.

The rational part of me understands that my fears are generally unfounded, but emotions can easily overpower any and all rational thought. It is a battle that I am not always well equipped to fight. I had hoped that if I started pushing myself out of my comfort zone, that the fear would stop and I could learn how to function like a relatively well-adjusted adult. But alas, that is not how this war is won. It must be fought one battle at a time. I have to learn to push myself out that door no matter how many times that little voice inside tried to throw herself on the ground kicking and screaming at me to turn around and go put my pajamas back on like a good little girl.

And yet tonight, I took a deep breath and said okay. Because I knew it was the right thing to do, I knew that I would have fun once I got out of my own head, and I knew that I would regret it if I didn’t. You see, I have one fear that is actually bigger than my fear of all forms of social interaction- and that would be the fear of watching my anxieties slowly erode all of the relationships that mean anything to me. Because sadly, that has happened in the past. This is a tragic tale I am all too familiar with, a lesson I have learned too late- one that I do not wish to breathe fresh life into.

So I put on my cute jacket and my new necklace. And I started typing this post in the car as my fiancé loudly sang his new favorite song ‘The Death of a Bachelor’ as we drove to Portland. And you knew what happened? We had a great time. We hung out, we talked, we laughed, we ate some awesome food (including an ice cream taco- what? Yes, you heard me right- a waffle cone ‘taco shell’ with ice cream inside, drizzled with magic shell chocolate sauce to keep the whole mess contained). Tonight we did what normal people do. And it felt fantastic. Because I forced myself to get out of my own way. Because I chose to control my anxiety instead of letting it dictate my life for me. And that little voice inside? She was too busy happily munching ice cream to poke at me.

Tonight I won a small battle in a war that I have to fight every single day. And you know what? I’m proud of myself. Because for one night I did what everyone else does, and I enjoyed myself. Growing up I always had an idea of the type of woman that I wanted to be. But it wasn’t realistic. I am not that perky picture-perfect spontaneous woman. I like to have at least a semblance of control over the situations that I put myself. But that doesn’t mean that I have to hide in my house and avoid the world. It just means that I have to try a little bit harder to get myself out that door. It means that I have to force a smile until I start to feel a real one forming. It means that I have to laugh and joke until I feel the tension ease from my shoulders, until the sickening knots in my stomach begin to untangle. It means that I have to be stronger than I ever imagined, it means that I have to fight. And you know what? I am so proud of the woman that I have become. I am not the woman that I had always envisioned, but I am stronger than she ever could have been. I am awkward and quirky, I am nerdy and passionate, I dance even though I have no rhythm. But I force myself to step out of my comfort zone to truly live my life every single day. So yes, I am proud of the neurotic mess that I am. I am unapologetically me- and that is the best battle I have ever won.

Work Isn’t Everything

We live in a society where we are expected to do it all, to have it all, to be fueled by some mysteriously ever-burning fire that will propel us to new heights. We are told that if we do not hit the ground running then we are lazy. We are told that working over 40 hours a week is the only way to achieve those illusive dreams. We watch people who have their fingers in so many pies that they don’t even know what flavors they have stuck under their fingernails. We are used to pushing, to fighting, believing with the very fiber of our being that if we work hard enough, we will be able to achieve anything. This advice, while not wrong, can be somewhat misleading. We work hard hoping that someday we will play hard. We are so used to clawing our way to the top that we forget to look around.

There is a season for everything, we are told, and yet we are constantly attempting to reap what we have hurriedly sowed. I am no different from the rest of my generation. I work my ass off in the hopes that it will help me build my name, cement my reputation and get me where I have always dreamed of going. And then something happened that forced me to throw a flag on the field. There is a season for everything, and sometimes you have to remember your priorities. You have to pay attention to where you have run. You have to stop and take a breath.

On a Thursday night as I drove home I could hear my phone buzzing periodically as I listened to my audiobook. When I finally pulled into my driveway I turned off my car and looked down, seeing my siblings and mom’s names. I expected a group chat about something- perhaps about my brother’s wedding that was a couple of days away, or a reminder for a family dinner. Swiping it open, I was soon proven gravely wrong. My mom was on her way to the Emergency room, per the insistent instruction of her doctor. We didn’t know what was wrong, we didn’t know how serious it could be, we just knew she was scared and required immediate help.

We went to the hospital and waited with other family members in a surprisingly busy waiting room. We waited for some indication of what was happening, we waited for some word that would give us a direction. We waited and we waited. I eventually texted a few of my friends/co-workers, needing someone to talk to, someone to send good vibes our way. Immediately a close co-worker sent me a private message letting me know that if I needed to take the next day off, he would make arrangements to cover my work- something that I know is damn near impossible given the fact that we have been short staffed for far too long and Fridays are the busiest days of the week. Right off the bat I told him that I would be there, even if I didn’t get any sleep. It wasn’t until after I sent it that I stopped and looked at the words that I had typed. When had that become me? When did I become the girl who would drop family to go to work? When did I become the one that put everything else on hold? At what point in my life did I turn into the girl who would leave her mother in the emergency room to go spend over eight hours in an office?

In emergencies I am always the utilitarian one. I fall apart in private, I don’t like crying in front of people and I am not cut from the type of cloth that lends me to panicking easily. At hospitals I am usually the one with positive things to say who is taking coffee orders and reminding people to eat a sandwich, even if they don’t feel hungry. I am the one running through the list of items that the hurt person may need- do they have fresh socks? Will they need a pair of tennis shoes when they get released? Has everyone been notified? I find tasks for myself to do because I can’t stand just sitting there. I would like to think that my initial reaction to go to work during this crisis was something that fell into this category- this desire to keep myself busy. But I don’t know.

It’s true that I have the kind of job now where dependability is not an option- its not a box you can check one day and not the next. Calling in sick because I just don’t feel like facing a Tuesday is not an option, hell calling in sick because I am actually sick is treading on some thin ice. I am the coverage. I am the one that you call when you decide that you can’t face Tuesday. I am the one that has to be dependable when others are not. But that is not everything.

I came to the sudden realization that I don’t want to be that person- I have never been that person. I am the one who will drop anything for anyone. I have taken time away to get my dad to the doctor, I am the one that you call when you need help- I’m that kind of dependable. I don’t want to be the one that is so focused on climbing a ladder that I miss out on time with those that enrich my daily life.

Perspective is everything. There is a time to push and to fight, and there is a time to take a step back and recognize the things that make your light shine. I am nothing without the people in my life. My job will continue on whether I am there or not. I am replaceable. They survived without me before, and they could easily do it again. But I only have one mom, and as terrifying as the thought is, we all only have so much time we are allotted to spend with those that we love. My life needs to reflect my views and my morals. My job is not my life, my family is. And while I will always go above and beyond with my work, there are lines that should not be crossed. Sometimes it takes a terrifying moment to remember that.

Luckily for me, she is okay. There will be more tests, there will be more changes, but she will be okay. And I will be thankful knowing that I have more time to spend with those that I love, and a reminder that my job is not the end-all-be-all of my life. I can be a good employee and a good daughter. I can be there for those that need me when it is important. I can work my ass off day in and day out, I can leave my day job and come home to type away for my passion a couple of hours. But its important to remember the balance. It’s important to keep your heart open for those that need you, for those that you need.

Small Words Leave a Big Mark

People come into our lives and leave a lasting impression, sometimes with nothing more than their words. When I was a little girl I had a few teachers who innately recognized my love for story telling. I don’t think anything I wrote was particularly noteworthy, but they nurtured that love nonetheless, perhaps seeing the passion it kindled in my soul- they taught me how to ignite it and set myself on fire. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a writer, there was never any question about it. As I grew up, this driving love I carried within me became something that I closely guarded.

Sometimes my writing feels like a secret, a deep chasm I hold within my heart that only those deemed truly trustworthy will ever bear witness to. Most people in my life don’t know much about my writing, in fact, there are only two that know of the existence of this blog. This is something that I have always regretted; I don’t know why I have never been able to yell it from the rooftops like other people that I know, instead I keep my words hidden away like sacred objects. Perhaps sometimes it just feels too personal for a girl who has mastered the art of masks and social cues. Or perhaps it’s because at the end of the day, I can’t help but wonder if I’m actually any good. I have a fear that the words of my soul don’t resonate as poignantly as I had hoped. At the end of the day, I am still that terrified little girl standing on the edge of the playground hoping she wont be rejected.

And yet, I can boldly write out my ramblings and post them for all the strangers of the world to see. It’s a funny little dichotomy I have here.You see, on this little patch of internet, I can be unapologetically myself. And yet, that doesn’t keep the question at bay: am I really any good at this? I think it’s only human nature to desire validation, and it seems that the older we get, the harder that can be to find. As adults, we generally aren’t in the habit of handing out gold stars to one another. And yet, there are those rare few who can change your whole worldview with just a few simple words.

Tonight, I want to take the time to thank someone who doesn’t realize what an impact they have had on me or my work. She is an unbelievably supportive woman who reminded me why I keep coming back and stringing these silly words together at a time when I was questioning my value as a writer. The funny thing is- I haven’t even actually met her. We know one another through a Facebook writing group that we created during Camp Nano this past year.

All it took were a few kind words to give me the validation that I needed to keep pushing through, to keep improving. Now, I know that I wont ever stop writing, I don’t think I’m capable of giving up such a large part of who I am. My writing is my identity, it is my soul in physical form. It is my patronus, of sorts; it is every good and every bad thing that has ever happened to me. Writing is in my blood, it’s in my soul. But I was beginning to question whether my words were good enough to be sharing with the world, or if I should hide them away. I am, and always will be, a writer. But I did not trust in my identity as a possible author. I wasn’t sure anymore if my prose measured up to be tossed out here for anyone to stumble upon, perhaps they were safer hidden in my notebooks. She gave me the confidence that I so desperately needed. And she still does.

It is crucially important that, when we see something that inspires us, that makes us think, that makes us smile- we should let that person know. It just might make all the difference in the world to them, it might give them the motivation that they need to continue on and chase those dreams; to keep writing, to continue tossing their words out into the void of the internet in hopes that they will make it to someone who will understand them on a deeply fundamental level. As creators, we need to remember the value of nurturing those embers of passion in another. Because silence can be as damning as any negativity. It is human nature to assume the worst, and without someone reminding you that your work is valuable, it is so easy to think that no one cares, that you are falling on deaf ears, entertaining an empty room. It’s easy to let those demons of self-doubt crowd into your mind and convince you that perhaps you really don’t have what it takes. So be someone’s beacon today, nurture the passion, feed that flame. After all, we are all in this together.

So Cindy, this one is for you- don’t ever stop being the bright shining star I look forward to talking to, even if it’s just on a Facebook message board. And thank you, for saying the words that I didn’t realize I was desperately in need of hearing. On those days when I feel like I don’t have it in me, your kind words help propel me forward. Thank you for making me feel a little bit less alone on this journey. It has made all the difference in the world. You are a truly inspiring person, and for that, I can’t thank you enough.

Happy Halloween! (and may the odds be ever in your favor, Nanoers)

Happy Halloween to all of my ghosts, ghouls and goblins out there this lovely day! It’s hard to believe that October is coming to a close, and in a mere few hours the hustle and bustle of Nano (and the upcoming holiday season) will be settling in.

I will be honest, I did not accomplish everything that I set out to do in October. My editing projects floundered a bit, but I did get some good ideas ready to go for my Nano project, and got some fresh content for this humble little blog sorted out. All in all, I would rate it as a successful month. After all, I did get to run through downtown Portland dressed up as a banana while being chased by Gorillas.

And I got to spend a little bit of time visiting one of my favorite spooky spots, Halloweentown:

Not to mention trying on a few costumes at Target, and carving pumpkins with the family. I didn’t hit all of the holiday things that I wanted to do this year, but let’s be honest- there isn’t enough time in the month to do everything on my list.

I had a blast and went out into the world instead of spending so much time lost in my own thoughts. Sure, I could have managed to get a bit more work done, but every now and then we need to stop and remember that life is about more that a word count. And sometimes the best inspirations you will encounter will be out there in the world, not at home staring at a screen.

Now we are quickly hurdling towards November. I already went over my goals for the month yesterday, so I wont bore you by repeating myself. But I cannot believe that Nano will be here in a matter of hours! I feel like a little kid at Christmas, only instead of getting presents, I’ve been invited to work a season in Santa’s workshop- it’s a lot of hard work, but its also a dream no self-respecting child would pass up.

I planned ahead this year and even managed to snag a few days off from work so that tonight I get to indulge myself and stay up late for the midnight start! Woohoo! I think I’ve only managed to do that once or twice in all of the events that I have participated in.

So tonight, I will be dressing up the dog and taking him for our nightly walk. I will come home and eat pizza while I watch Hocus Pocus. I will glance at the clock every five minutes or so to see how close I am to midnight. And when that clock strikes, poof- I will turn into a moonlight writer, chasing my dreams through the flitting words on the page.

Good luck, my dear friends, have a safe and happy Halloween. And when you get a chance to sit down and start writing, my wish for you is that the words flow smoothly, the ideas never wane, and the characters dance through your dreams with a lively enthusiasm. This is what we do, this is why we can’t stop. We spill our souls onto the page and hope someone will read their own when they see the words. May the odds be ever in you favor.

Going Bananas (while being chased by gorillas) – for charity.

Only in Portland will you find yourself dressed as a banana, running for your life across a bridge as a brigade of gorillas chases you. That was a snapshot of me at 9:30 this morning. Today was the first annual ‘Go Bananas’ fun run, supporting the ‘Free to Smile Foundation.’ The people who put it on were quick to let us know that they had never organized an event like that- but they did an amazing job! We were provided with costumes, food, drinks, coffee mugs, pens, keychains, banana flavored chap sticks, and shirts. The best part: every penny went to the foundation, which provides surgical and dental services to poor and underprivileged children throughout the world. A few local dentists participate and decided to help out a great cause in even more ways.

I haven’t been running in a long time, I will openly admit that I haven’t followed through with my fitness plans the past few months. But when you are presented with the rare opportunity to run through town dressed as a banana- this is not something that you can pass up. I was looking forward to it all week- singing the old ‘go banana’ cheers that I learned when I was knee high to a grasshopper (sorry, I love that saying and never get to use it). That being said, I was very surprised that I was actually able to run the majority of it. Granted, it was only a 5k, but that’s still a lot when the only marathon training you have participated in over the past few months involved Netflix or Hulu and bags of popcorn.

I had a blast, they made us feel so welcome. My mom went with me, and we met a few of my coworkers there. We got there early and were able to spend some time with great people- you would be surprised at how many inappropriate jokes you can come up with when you are dressed as a banana- I’ll spare you my witty puns, but rest assured- they were pure gold. Although, I must admit, it was a bit off-putting to be given a banana as a pre-race treat (and yet it did not stop me from actually eating it).

The dentists who were running the event dressed up as our gorillas and ran the entire thing with us- ‘chasing’ us along the trail in full costume as people (and the local fire department) took pictures. It felt good to be passing smiles along to unsuspecting people who were just out and about on their regular business and wandered by when a bunch of bananas were running down the sidewalk from a pack of hungry gorillas. All in all, I would have to say that today was a rather successful day. Another memory made, another race I will be sure to join next year, and a whole new level of motivation to get back out there and start running again. It felt so good to cross that finish line- and knowing that a few boxes of voodoo doughnuts were waiting for us didn’t hurt either.