Life – Page 4 – Tipsy Typer

I dream of a world…

My dreams are not big or luxurious. I dream of a world where I can walk into a shopping mall, a movie theater, a school, or even my own place of work and not worry about an irate person carrying a weapon and a vendetta inside, hoping to make the nightly news in their final blaze of glory. I dream of a world where I do not have to listen and watch my surroundings as I walk to my car, searching for a hidden threat. I dream of a world where I can turn on the news and not hear about another bombing, another attack, another murder; more death, more pain, more heartache. I dream of a world where the length of my skirt does not measure my worth or the level of respect others give me. I dream of a world where no means no. I dream of a world where the color of your skin or your nation of origin is a mere cliff-note, and not the cover of your book, to be judged and tossed away. I dream of a world where a helping hand is a given, not a political opporitunity to stand on a soap box and point fingers. I dream of a world where someone asks you how you are doing- and waits to hear the answer. I dream of a world full of common courtesy and, dare I say, compassion.

I know that these ideals are the simplest and most complex wishes a person can have. Their solutions seem so straightforward, a child could figure it out, could see the flaws in our system. But alas, we are not children, and we have shaded this world is colors that they cannot see. We forgot the lessons our parents taught us when we were small; perhaps they forgot them too. We always say that the world is just too complicated- but perhaps we are the ones making it that way.

We tell ourselves that we are just one person, and as such, we cannot make a difference. But we are diluting ourselves, pointing the finger at anyone else, anyone but us. Because taking responsibility is not in our nature. We are just one person- we did not make the world turn into such an ugly place, we just live in it. It’s a cop out, an escape hatch, a way to turn the other cheek. If we want to see a change, we have to start small, we have to take a long look inside and realize the type of people that we have become. We have to recognize our biases and prejudices, those knee-jerk thoughts and judgments that come to us without thought. We are not saints, we all have them, we have too many life experiences not to. But that doesn’t make them right.

It starts with instrospection, with self-awareness, with a realization of why we are the way that we are. It builds with a change; with a simple respect, with that age-old piece of wisdom: treat others as you wish to be treated. It crescendos into action; in speaking up for someone without a voice, in asking how they are, in reaching our your hand to pull someone else in.

The world may be a dark place sometimes, but we do not have to dress to match. We do not have to change, to become bitter imbattled versions of those bright happy people we once were. The world may be a complicated place, but we do not have to be. Kindness begets kindness, a smile is more often met with a smile. A soft word is more respected than a harsh one.

I am not naïve, I know that my dreams will probably always remain dreams. I know that I will continue to reverently walk by the memorial in a mall near my home where three people lost their lives in a shooting four years ago. I know I’ll always wonder if the other shoe will drop, if I’ll find myself in the same position, running from the sounds of a rifle in what should be a safe place. I know my heart will ache every time I hear about another active shooter, another bombing, another death. I know that I will cry interally everytime I am in a room and people are asked to raise their hands if they have been a victim of sexual assault or rape. Because all too often there are more hands up in the air than those laying flat. I know that I will always walk briskly to my car, ears listening for footfalls that come too close, eyes scanning for suspicious people or vehicles, fingers gripped tightly around my keys- just in case. I know that I will always dress in a certain way to keep people from staring, to keep them from talking. I will avoid certain situations because trust is a hard commodity to find.

But I wont stop dreaming about a world where these do not have to be my realities. I will continue to find hope in those few people who ask me how I am doing and wait to hear the answer. I will find comfort in the smiles of a stranger. I will keep speaking my mind when it matters, and listening when someone needs to talk. I will keep trying. I will keep hoping, I will keep dreaming. Because some dreams are too important to let die.

Surprise Skeletons and a Late Night Run in the Rain: My Week in Review

This morning I decided that the next step in my accountability plan is to report back here- if I have to tell you about my successes and failures, then perhaps I will try a bit harder to give you something good. I know I get spotty with my follow-through, but it’s time to change my thinking and hold myself to the promises that I made. I’m also going to get a bit more specific with my goals- that way I can actually give myself a ‘grade’ for the week. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any of these new ideas in place until this morning, so this review is going to be a bit of an overview.

It’s been a crazy whirlwind of a week, mainly because of work. I went in Monday morning slightly dreading an activity I had on my agenda that day. But a co-worker turned that all around for me. I hadn’t been in my own office for more than a few minutes over the past week and half because I was busy covering for people in other departments. I missed my little hole in the wall and my lovely little plants (all named after Wild West personas). When I stepped into my hallway all of the lights were off and my office door was closed- both very unusual things. When I opened it, this is the sight that met my eyes.

Meet Burnie, borrowed from the Fire Department to give me a nice little scare. It set the tone for the rest of my day; Monday way going to be good, come hell or high water- I was going to be happy and productive.

The rest of the week was a bit of a challenge on the work front, leaving me a tad exhausted and creatively tapped out by the time I got home. I worked on my editing, but not as thoroughly as I wanted to. I was having a hard time getting into the story, I even tried switching to a different project at one point, but without much luck. I got a little bit done, but there is a lot left to do if I want to meet that goal by the end of the month. At this rate I may need to turn October into another editing month (with a dash of Nano Prep sprinked in, that’s right, we are getting close my friends!).

On the bright side, I’ve been trying to journal a bit more- to keep myself sane and mindful. And while I haven’t been keeping up with it daily, I did finish out the journal I’ve been writing in (yay). I love cracking open a new one, and actually- I’ve come a long way since I started this last one. I love going back through and re-reading where I started vs. where I ended. Today I am going to pull out a new one (I have a couple stock-piled), and see what happens in the next few months. It’s been helping. I’ve been feeling more centered, more in control of my life and aware of what’s going on around me. I need to try to unplug a bit more often though. I’ve been catching myself dinking around on my phone a lot without doing anything productive, so that is something to work on this coming week.

Last night I was sitting in my pj’s listening to the rain outside and attempting to get some editing done, but I was getting distracted by the blasted interwebs. So you know what I did? I am so proud of this- Zach and I got up, changed and went out for a late night jog in the rain! Yay for finally getting my booty back out there! We took it easy because its been so long since we last went out. But it felt good to get moving. We signed up for a Stage Race next summer, so we’re getting back in shape for that. I think I’m going to sign up for a few 5k’s to keep myself motivated.

Overall- I didn’t have a home run week, but I’m slowly adding new elements to it. Considering the exhausting work week- I am still proud of what I did manage to get done. Sometimes we have to be flexible, sometimes life throws you a few curve balls that you have to roll with. I am forever a work in progress, but at least I am still working.

Salty Sea Air, Sun and Silence

There is an inconspicuous little house on a beach somewhere, in a little town that is known for it’s local vibes as opposed to a tourist feel. It is the getaway for people like me who want the salty sea air and silence. It is the tourist destination for the hermits who don’t like tourists. My home is very busy; hell, my life is very busy- sometimes all you need is a time out in a not-so-far-away place. This has become my haven when the world gets too loud and pushy. I have an escape just a few hours away from my home.

When the world gets too busy, I crave the outdoors; long wooded trails, overhanging trees, the burbling of a river; nature makes me feel like myself again. But sometimes a walk through the woods just isn’t enough when you know you have to come back out again. Sometimes all you want is a reprieve, a quite place where you can turn off your phone if you wish and just curl up with a good book. Sometimes you need to put down your weekend warrior garb, hop in the car and drive off into the sunset for a change of scenery.

I don’t come to the beach as often as I like, but every time I do I can feel my soul coming back to life, waking up from it’s overloaded catatonia. There is something calming about rolling sea waves and light winds, about late night storms and warm blankets. There is something invigorating about combing the beach for sea shells as the puppy chases the sandpipers and sea gulls, or cooking dinner side by side with your partner in crime. There is something healing about hours spent reading books and watching old movies. There is something beautiful in the simplicity of this temporary beach life.

When I was a little kid we used to come to this same beach with my grandparents and all of my aunts, uncles and cousins. We would spend whole weekends here with the gang, and I remember how much I loved it. That was before life and family got so complicated. Now I’m only a few doors down from that old house; and while it’s proximity is comforting, it’s nice to be somewhere a little bit different, a place that has room for new experiences instead of crowding me with old memories and phantoms of my past.

This morning I sit here with a cup of hot coffee, the sun pouring in through the window. It’s quiet as Zach and Link (the dog) are both still sleeping. All that I hear are the comforting clicks from my keyboard. It’s the perfect way to spend the morning. In a few minutes I am sure that they will both be up. We will drink our coffee while we cook breakfast together, dodging popping bacon grease and attempting the master the pancake flip. Then we will grab our sweatshirts and mosey out to the beach for one more lazy walk with the dog before we come back, clean, pack up the car, and make our way back to civilization.

When we get home we will jump back into the fray like we had never left. But my soul will feel lighter, my smile will be broader, the sparkle will be back in my eyes. Because when I escape my regular world, I rediscover myself. I can go back to my life and appreciate the sounds because I have been enveloped by the calming silence.

Until next time, you beautiful place, I will miss you. Because there will always be a next time. This is my safe place, the spot that restores my soul, the calm in the eye of the storm. This is where I remember who I am; and don’t we all need something like that?

What about you, my friends? What is your escape? Is it a place, a thing, an activity? What makes you feel whole in this busy world of ours?

Keeping the Darkness at Bay: My Battle with Depression

If I could have changed things I would have. Don’t think that this was all something that I wanted. I could not escape the prison I had created and I was slowly suffocating. It was like pounding on a brick wall, no matter how bloody my fists got, I couldn’t just give up. But we all have our point of no return. We can only bend so far before we break, and I shattered into a million pieces. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, I’m so damn sorry you are paying for my mistakes now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. You were always my world, and it destroys me to know I could be hurting you. But you’re tough, you’ll do just fine. I know you- you will do more than just survive; you will thrive. You were always so much stronger than I was. And one day you will look back on me as nothing more than a distant memory, far removed from whatever amazing life you have led. You’ll realize I was meant to be nothing more than a minor detour. You’ll be better on your own. I promise. But I’ll always be here, watching over you. Like a moth to a flame, I’ve never been able to resist you. So take comfort- what I couldn’t do in life, I shall do in death. I’ll be your angel now, guarding you from any harm this world may dare to bestow on you. I love you, now and forever. And I am so sorry. I’ll make sure you’ll be okay.

I wrote this when I was sixteen; this was one of the many snippets of the many letters that I started and stopped. At the time I found myself trapped in a very dark place; I was mired down in that pit for a long time- years even. Chronic depression- that’s what they would have call it- if I had ever told anyone how I felt. But I didn’t. Every day I painted on a plastic smile and went about my regular activities, I played pretend and acted like nothing was wrong. When someone would ask questions I would laugh and brush the comment away with a generic reply. No one could know about the darkness that had invaded my soul and taken up residence. No one could find out what I was inside. I was supposed to be a golden girl, anything less than perfection was not acceptable. I was not the kind of girl that stumbled, I was not the kind of girl that fell. And I sure as hell wasn’t the kind of girl to ask for help. I was stronger than that. I didn’t talk about it. Instead I wrote every feeling out and hid the pages away in a notebook.

I’ve been going back and forth on whether I should even write this post; these are deeply personal moments in my life that very few people know about. Should I really take something this sensitive and toss it out there for anyone to find? Am I really at a stage in my life where I am confident enough to own the darkness that I held? Am I brave enough to stand here and proclaim for all to hear that I used to think these things? That I was a breath away from acting on those thoughts? I am terrified; mainly because even after all this time, I am still afraid of hurting the people close to me, I am afraid of letting them see this side of me that I hid for so long. But if there’s anything that life has taught me, it’s that when you have an opportunity to help someone else, you grasp it with both hands and you don’t let go. Today is National Suicide Prevention Day. And so, it seems only right that I take today to show you a piece of my soul that rarely sees the light of day.

I wish I could say that there was one culminating moment that led me to this path; but there wasn’t. There was a multitude of different things, some large, some small; but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter. No, it’s not about what led me to the road that I travelled, it’s about what happened when I was on it. It’s about being able to recognize the signs within yourself and those around you. That kind of darkness can swallow you whole, and no one is immune. I was a ‘good girl,’ which was perhaps a part of the problem. I was not the kind of girl who was sad or angry- not on the outside.

Every day was a game of masks; I would paint on my plastic smile every morning with an expert hand, making sure I looked as bright and shiny as the world wanted me to be. I laughed, I joked, I said all the right things at exactly the right time. But it meant nothing. At the end of the day I was empty. I just wanted the pain to stop, I just wanted a reprieve. I prayed to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in to make it stop. And then one day, I got what what I asked for. It only proved that you should be careful what you wish for. The tears may have been gone, but I was numb inside.

You see, there is something that people don’t always know about depression; there is a point beyond the pain, something that is even more terrifying that the daily anguish in your soul. You reach a point where your body and mind cannot physically process it anymore; that’s when the numbness sets in. It sounds like it would be a relief, finally an end to the pain. But it isn’t. You see, there’s something wholly unhuman about the numbness, something scary and incomplete. When you are in pain then at least you are feeling; and when you are feeling, that means you are still alive. That means there is something inside of you that is still fighting to survive. But the numbness is all-encompassing. It makes you feel like you are already dead inside. There is an eerie calm to it, one that still sets my soul on edge. I will take a river of tears over blank stares any day. If there a destructive behavior that I could try; then I did- if only to force myself to feel something, anything- that would convince me I still had something to fight for. I was a shell, I would give anything to feel again.

I mentioned earlier that I was hesitant to even post this because of the people in my life and how it would impact them. People don’t fully comprehend the conflicting emotions you feel for your loved ones when you are lost in the depths of depression. I love the people in my life with a fierce passion; if you know someone fighting this battle, know that it isn’t about you and how you love them. I knew on a fundamental level that my friends and my family loved me; and I felt an immense amount of guilt over my own self-loathing. It was never that I didn’t love them enough, it was that I didn’t love myself enough. They were collateral damage; it was about me and how I could live my life. I worried about them, but when I was lost in that maze, I genuinely believed that they would be better off without me. It didn’t matter what they said, I didn’t know how to view myself as a worthwhile human being. Your self-perception becomes skewed, you can convince yourself that the whole world would be better off without you. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love them with every fiber of your being. It just means that you don’t know how to love and protect yourself the same way. They are two distinct ideas.

I didn’t think I would live to 17, I didn’t expect that I would walk with my class in graduation or find a regular Monday through Friday job. Inside I secretly hoped for some kind of accident, that way my family could believe that I hadn’t wanted it. They could be comforted in their image of who I was, and no one would ever have to know that it was the fate I wanted at the time. Looking back now, at 27, I am amazed to see how far I have come. I couldn’t picture my life at this stage, when I tried there was just a blank void staring back at me. I thought I would be a statistic, one of those sad stories that people only thought of fleetingly during their high school reunion ‘Oh, do you remembe her? How tragic, it makes you really wonder who she’d be today.’

I don’t know what changed, much like how it started, there was no definitive ‘end.’ I didn’t have a eureka moment when I realized that I was suddenly happy. I didn’t wake up one day to birds chirping while the sun danced through my window and proudly proclaim that life was suddenly worth living. It was so gradual, I didn’t even notice. And even today I am afraid to believe it. I was lost in that world for so long, and something like that leaves a mark on the soul. I am not ashamed of my experiences, no, they are my red badge of courage. But I am always afraid that these past couple years were just a reprieve and I will slip again. I am always aware of my emotions, I am always in tune with those moments where I need to step back and take a break from my life. It was lifting your head above the water line when you thought you were drowning. It was a battle I fought every day. I had to stand up for myself, take a deep look inside and discover who I was and who I wanted to be. I had to fill that blank future with something to give me hope. I had to change.

I don’t think there is a human in existence that hasn’t felt the pull of the darkness. I don’t think there is a single soul out there that hasn’t felt the icy touch of depression on their heart. We all know what it feels like, but we don’t talk about it. Everyone’s answer to escape is different. For me, it was all about self-reflection. I wrote constantly, I bled the poison out of my system one word at a time. I found things to keep me busy, to make me proud. I discovered the art of zen living. I found something in myself worth saving, something that I had all along and never realized.

If you know of someone who you even just fleetingly suspect might be going through this; reach out. You don’t have to say anything profound or deep, you don’t have to confront them even- in fact it’s best if you don’t. Just talk to them. I remember one really bad day where I was very seriously considering giving in to a bad outcome. And then the phone rang. It was one of my friends- we hadn’t been as close, but she still called. Just to say hi, just to talk on a rainy Saturday. That was all it took to pull me back from the ledge. Just a simple ‘hello.’ I have never told her that she probably saved my life that day with just one word. This wasn’t ever a subject we discussed. Perhaps I will someday.

So please, if there is nothing else that you take from this, just pay attention to one another. Show each other kindness, because you never know what monsters someone may be facing. I was a golden girl; and while I wasn’t popular or anything like that; I was the last person you would expect to be dealing with these demons. And I dealt with them for about four years. That’s a long time to feel like you are in hell. That’s a long time to be pushing that boulder up a hill. That’s a long time to hurt silently. So smile, say hi, ask someone how they are doing and listen to the answer. If someone is sad- don’t search for the reason why, there is a good chance that even they don’t know. Just be there. Even if it’s only to watch a movie in silence. Show compassion. Take off your mask so that they can take off theirs.

There is one death by suicide in the world every 40 seconds. In the US alone there is a death by suicide every 12.3 minutes. It is the 10th leading cause of death in the US for all ages. To put that into perspective, murder is ranked #17. This means that we are more likely to harm ourselves than for someone else to harm us. For 15-24 year olds (the age I was when I dealt with my darkest days), it is the 2nd leading cause of death. An estimated quarter million people every year become suicide survivors. That’s a lot of pain, that’s a lot of sadness.

We need to look out for one another, and in the process, we cannot ignore ourselves. I know that it is a lot to ask- to convince someone to ask for help, but trust me, it is worth it. I didn’t believe that I could ever be truly happy. I didn’t believe that I would live past 17. I didn’t believe in a lot of things that I have now. I was forged through fire; because of my sadness, I can appreciate my happiness now. And it wasn’t a single event that changed everything; you don’t need a miracle. Sometimes it just happens, it changes inside of you, slowly building up day by day; but you have to be open to the change. Don’t give up. I am 27, I have a good life- it isn’t perfect, but I’m happy. I have lived through some amazing experieces because I didn’t give up when everything in my soul wanted to. Life is not what I expected; but eventually, the sun does come out, no matter how long you’ve weathered the storm. Don’t give up, don’t be afraid. Most of us have felt the pain, and no one will think any less of you for trying to help yourself. I wish I had. I could have saved myself years of pain. Life is a beautiful mess, never be too afraid to live it.

Can you be a Wine Mom without liking wine (or having kids)?

Last night I got sucked into the YouTube void when I was supposed to be editing (a fairly unusual thing for me- the YouTube, not the editing). After binge watching one of my favorite channels, I couldn’t help but ponder one of the unanswerable questions of our time: Is it possible for me to be a ‘wine mom’ when I do not actually like wine and do not have any tiny humans of my own? Because I’ve got to say- I feel like these are my kind of women.

There’s something vastly appealing about finding an identity, a group of people you can relate with, or ones that will simply make you laugh- out here in this expanse that is the interwebs. And I have to admit- the mom blogs are some of my absolute favorites to peruse. They are the front line warriors of the female race. They push on in spite of all of the challenges thrown at them (literally and figuratively): spaghetti fights at the kitchen table, 2am wake up calls by screaming children wearing rubber boots, wall art after you finally got the perfect shade for your living room, mud pies that make it into your laundry basket, and the worms- we wont even get started on the worms. These women possess the strength that I wish I had. I guess I will have something to look forward to whenever I decide to take that terrifying plunge into life with a hobbit-human.

I wish I could be an honorary member of the Wine Mom Club. Or perhaps we could create a second tier? I’m thinking ‘Margarita Aunts’ has a nice ring to it. I have six nephews and three nieces varying in ages from one to fourteen years (and don’t even get me started on the mini-panic attack I had when the oldest started high school). If this helps my case at all in my quest to join the Wine Mom/Margarita Aunt Club- I do share living space with three pint-sized minions (they are 1, 4 and 7), and while I am always quick to call their dad to come save the day when I get in over my head, I can still manage a few rounds of ‘lets see how far this cottage cheese can fly’ before I go running for the safety of my bedroom.

Oh yes, I may be a lowly aunt, but I have been peed on enough by little boys to understand the quick computing skills needed to determine the trajectory and get out of the line of fire while changing a diaper. This was a sad lesson learned after a few direct hits. I have felt the unexplainable pain of stepping on a pile of Legos in the middle of the night, and the fear that comes when the baby learns to climb through the dog door after her favorite furry friend. I have gone on quests meant only for the brave of heart- to find the lost Trash Pack Critter (only to find him two hours after the search has disbanded, mashed in the pile of goo left on the kitchen table), I have made beautiful play-dough snails just so I can be forced to watch them get run over by a plastic fire truck (to the delight of a maniacal three year old). I have kissed booboos and shoed away monsters. I have had a debate with a four year old about who’s Batman jacket was cooler (his had a cape- he won). I have been a part of their lives, but never the mom. There is something very unique about viewing parenthood from the close proximity of a shared household- without being the actual parent, and yet the joys that the Little bring me far outweigh the frustrations.

After all, is there really anything better than silly faces at the dinner table or a quick game of ‘don’t laugh’ when someone is feeling grumpy? Or how about the first time that the baby learned to play Peek-a-boo (complete with a belly laugh every time you ‘see’ her). Or the time when you got to ‘try science’ with the seven year old- hands down, my favorite simple experiment: Mentos and Coca-Cola. Or what about this last New Years- instead of going out, we hung out with the Littles playing board games, watching the ball fall and shooting off little poppers in the front yard? Better than any party we could have gone to.

So to you Wine Moms out there, I raise my glass and cheers you. It takes a special kind of woman to handle that stress, and you do it with the kind of humor that leaves me snorting with laughter. I strive to be like you someday when I have my own little terrifyingly adorable hobbits. And while we’re on the subject: any suggestions on good wines- because I want to be ready when it’s finally my time to join the club.

If you are interested in the video that brought about this odd little post, take a peek at Wine Mom, Hannah Williams, presented by Buzzfeed on YouTube. You will not be disappointed, she is an adorable gem. Here’s just one: Signs You’re A Wine Mom

Don’t Let Fear Rule You (The Social Anxiety Win)

I came to the realization a long time ago that my social anxiety will never be ‘cured.’ It is as much a part of me as my freckles, the scar on my lip, or my affinity for Harry Potter. Much like my fear of heights, I can face it, I can find a work-around; but the fear itself does not change. There are no magical solutions that will make me forget to be anxious. There is nothing that will stop my heart from racing, nothing that will keep me from analyzing every word I say and every move they make. No, these things will not change. But I have to fight through them anyways. Some days I am prepared for the battle, and some days I am holding that white flag high above my head (or more appropriately- on the door that I have locked myself behind).

I can’t even begin to explain the frustration that starts to build up after a long week of uncomfortable moments with people that could be fantastic to get to know- if I could only get out of my own way. Sometimes I wonder what kind of person I would be without it; who would I have become if this wasn’t always following behind me like a damn shadow? I have never been a big fan of ‘normal,’ and in most situations I don’t even know what that word is supposed to mean. But there are days where I would give anything to just feel normal. I wish I could understand what it’s like to step into a room and feel genuinely excited about the prospect of meeting new people, not terrified that these new people might not like me. Is it kind of like walking into a library full of new books? Full of possibilities, and promises of new adventures? What is it like when fear doesn’t rule over you with an iron fist? What is it like when you can walk into a party and not feel like you are stepping into your own personal battlefield? Tell me friends, what does it feel like to be normal?

I’ve been feeling closed off the past few weeks, no matter how hard I’ve been trying at this ‘social’ thing. The distance has been palpable, and I haven’t really known what to do about it. I keep trying- I’ve been making plans, racking my brain to initiate conversations, smiled when I wanted to turn tail and run. I even made plans for an overnight trip with another couple. I have been avoiding all thoughts of this potential adventure, because otherwise I might just start having a panic attack right here where I sit. Surprisingly, my efforts have actually been paying off- I was even able to hold a few lengthy conversations with a superior at work who has traditionally made me feel notoriously awkward. That’s right my friends- full conversations with a beginning, a middle, and an end. But all week it felt like work, desperately grasping at conversation starters. So when Saturday hit, I had mixed feelings. We were invited to a BBQ by a friend. There were only going to be a couple of people that I knew, and, more importantly, I was going to be meeting the wife of one of my fiancé’s best friends for the first time. She is a master at the ‘girl thing,’ it’s what she does for a living, and I am a twenty seven year old who still hasn’t completely figured out eye liner. I know she’s nice, but would we really have anything in common? I wanted to make a good impression, but I was nervous- very nervous. As it turns out, my anxiety was unwarranted- she wasn’t able to make it, and therefore I was left to my own devices with the other strangers.

There are rare instances where you just hit it off with people and all of the awkwardness quickly goes out the window. BBQ night turned into one of those nights, and for the first time in a long time I got a taste of what it felt like to be a normal social person. There were seven of us total, which, as it turns out, is a pretty good number to keep conversations going without it getting too overwhelming. It was interesting- these were seven very different people with very different life stories and experiences. We had some military, all but two had undergone some major relocations throughout their lives. Everyone had stories, and everyone felt comfortable telling them. It was liberating (and the steady supply of beer didn’t exactly hurt my social game). I was able to talk without too much fear of what people thought, I told stories and people actually laughed. I felt like I was a part of something; a rare moment that I crave with all my soul.

Perhaps I am not as far gone as I thought I was. Perhaps its just a matter of finding people that you don’t have to force a conversation with. Perhaps its simply a matter of learning to relax and let go of those internal filters. Maybe the stars aligned just right or I was abducted by aliens and they implanted these really nice memories instead. Whatever the reason, I’m glad that I went. And perhaps next adventure, the terrifyingovernight trip, wont be as scary as I have feared. There’s only one way to find out: take a deep breath and jump.

The Character Challenge (live the story)

I always wanted to be a badass. But, as it turns out, being tall and wiry with virtually no muscle tone, chipmunk cheeks and glasses does not scream ‘fear me.’ No, I know what you are thinking, with my verbal jujitsu, how could I possibly be anything but hardcore? And yet it’s true. Even when I put on my sassy pants people tend to refer to me as ‘cute’ rather than ‘ferociously pee-your-pants terrifying.’ If the zombie apocalypse suddenly broke out, I strongly suspect I would not be the gun slinging hero that pulls together the remaining humans- I wouldn’t even be the zombie charging forward to eat said gun slinging badass. No, let’s face reality- I would be the zombie who tripped over a garden hose and happened to impale her poor little noggin on a gnome, effectively ending her anti-climactic undead existence.

Perhaps it is my own lackluster abilities that draws me towards the strong characters I write. For just a brief little period in time I get to pretend to be these brave beings that I’ve always wanted to emulate. I get to live a thousand and one adventures through the gifts of a few pages and some ink. I get to be tough, to do the things I could only imagine in my regular day-to-day life.

I’ve had an idea percolating in my brain for quite some time now, but it didn’t really resonate with me until Memorial Day. I live in the Pacific Northwest- first rule of living here: Don’t be afraid of the rain. Second rule of living here: When the sun decides to grace you with its presence, you go outside and enjoy it. So I did just that. A couple of co-workers and I decided to go on a hike we had never done before. It was supposed to be seven miles round trip- more than I’m used to, but not that bad. It wound up being eleven. Along the way we had to cross about a dozen creeks by hopping from one dry rock to the next until we made it to the path on the other side. When we made it to the lake we decided to follow the trail around it. When it split into two sections, we took the one closest to the water. This, incidentally, turned out to be a mistake, but we took it in stride- the motto of the day being ‘let’s have an adventure.’ So when the lake came up and over a portion of our path, we decided not to turn back, instead we took our shoes off and waded in. And when our path culminated in a rock wall about twice my height- we climbed it. Then, when the sketchy wooden planks were the only things keeping us from falling into a mud bath below- we ran across. It was safe to say that we managed to have our adventure.

Over our celebratory drinks and BBQ afterwards, I couldn’t help but come to two realizations. First: no beer will ever taste as good as the first beer after a long hike (Thank you Stella Artois for your lovely concoction, it was truly perfection). Second: I just might be capable of some of my own badassery after all. Perhaps I do have it in me to be like those tough women I write about. Maybe, just maybe, I am not like those fictional characters because I have never given myself the chance to be. After all- I just walked 11 miles on a whim, I climbed a rock wall, I forded creeks, I waded into a lake that had snow merely feet away- me, I did that. I have to admit, in spite of the fact that my muscles are currently screaming at me every time I try to stand and my back is the color of the Kool-Aid guy (note to self: never forget the sun screen at post-hike happy hour)- I feel a bit like a badass.

And that was when the ideas really started taking root- what if I decided to challenge myself to be more like my characters? What if I try to live a life worthy of the stories that I tell? The Character Challenge (okay, so I haven’t put as much thought into the name- I’ve been more preoccupied with the content). The goal will be two-fold: to gain better insight to enrich my writing, and also to help me become a more well-rounded person in general. It’s for my own character, as well as the character of my characters (apologies- I had to do that just once, don’t worry, it’s now out of my system).

I’ve always believed that it is the truth that is hidden in a piece of fiction that is what makes it come to life. Personal experience is a large part of that truth. So why not try to improve myself along with my work? At the very least, I’ll have some good stories for my next happy hour. It will be a great way to get into my characters’ heads while simultaneously cleaning out my own. It will also be a bit of an experiment: perhaps I will find something that really makes a difference in my work.

So here is the first challenge: Physical badassery

Generally speaking, physical ability is the bedrock of any literary badass. This is actually something I have been meaning to work on anyways- I have let myself get out of shape and I hate it. Keeping your body fit and healthy is one of the best things you can do for your brain. So this little challenge will double as an experiment: will I notice any difference in my writing abilities as I proceed?

I think its about time to fish those boxing gloves out from the closet and see what I am capable of. Game on.

This World Will Not Change Me

I am not a hero. I have never run into a burning building or set a broken bone. I have never knowingly charged into danger knowing that I might not make it home when all was said and done. No, I am not a hero. But I was raised by one, though he would never call himself that. My dad is my hero, he is my example on how to live. My dad has run into burning buildings, he has whisked people to safety, he has helped them die as peacefully as possible when there was nothing left to do, he has searched through rubble for the telltale hint of a human soul. My dad has run into danger knowing he might not make it home. He has been hurt, he has been broken, but he has never stopped getting back up and doing it all over again. Because it was the right thing to do, because it was something that he could do. When I was little, I didn’t think much of it; it was just a fact of our lives- other people’s dads went to office buildings wearing suits, my dad charged into burning houses wearing a rather different dress code. I remember special goodnight kisses before shifts, going to visit at the station houses, camping trips with his ‘work family.’ Looking back now, I see the truth hidden behind the smiles, I see the pain and the reward that being the hero can bring. There is not only glory to be found, there is so much more buried below the surface if you only take the time to look.

On April 19, 1995 evil struck in an unimaginable way with the Oklahoma City Bombing. I had just turned six, but I still remember the footage of the building, only a portion still eerily standing. When the call rang out for help, my dad answered it. He flew out with his search and rescue team to assist in whatever way he could. He was never one to stand back and watch, he always had to help.

This is my dad during the search and rescue after the Oklahoma City Bombing:

The second picture where he is sitting on a bucket was a shot taken and used in Garth Brook’s 1995 music video ‘The Change,’ which doubled as a tribute to the victims and rescuers of Oklahoma City. If you ever feel the desire to watch, you can view the original video here: Garth Brooks ‘The Change’ original music video.

When I was a little girl I was so proud of this video- that was my dad! I would pop in the VHS tape and watch it over and over, just to see him right here. Today I found the video again- having a deep yearning to hear this song once more. And when I reached the scene I knew so well, this image hit me like a truck, making it hard to breath. For the first time I saw what it really portrayed. Pain. He never talked much about what happened there, we would get some stories as we got older, but it was nothing like seeing him in that moment of raw heartache and disbelief as the world was falling apart around him. I know they were there primarily as recovery- they flew in after many of the survivors were already rescued. Their mission was to help give peace to the families who lost so much that day, by allowing them to bury those they loved. And it took its toll on all of them. Seeing the devastation of so much hate will do that- it is a side of humanity that no one is ever ready to face. For the first time I saw how much my dad sacrificed to help others.

And then I came across this- a picture he took and kept from that time.

It’s just a simple sign. But it was powerful. It was a reminder, it was a promise- it was an embodiment of all that we are. When we have no other choice, we find out what we are made of inside, and it is usually so much more than we would have ever anticipated. Through our pain we find strength in one another, we find hope in a lost world.

“The Change”
By: Garth Brooks

One hand
Reaches out
And pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for
They say what good have you done
By saving just this one
It’s like whispering a prayer
In the fury of a stormAnd I hear them saying you’ll never change things
And no matter what you do it’s still the same thing
But it’s not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me

This heart
Still believes
The love and mercy still exist
While all the hatred rage and so many say
That love is all but pointless in madness such as this
It’s like trying to stop a fire
With the moisture from a kiss

And I hear them saying you’ll never change things
And no matter what you do it’s still the same thing
But it’s not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me

As long as one heart still holds on
Then hope is never really gone

I hear them saying you’ll never change things
And no matter what you do it’s still the same thing
But it’s not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world we know
Never changes me

What I do is so
This world will know
That it will not change me

Today I haven’t been able to get this song out of my head, I keep coming back to the same thing, the words are burning through my veins. I wish I could do more. I wish I had more to give. I am not a firefighter, a nurse, a doctor, a police officer, a soldier- there are so many things that I am not. I am just a girl, just one solitary girl who finds her power with the written word. Some days it seems that is all that I have to give. And in a world that seems to be shattering right before my eyes- I have to ask myself if that is really enough?

Words feel so small in the face of so much pain and anger. But it is all that I have. I would like to think that I would step forward if the opportunity were thrust upon me, that in the heat of a moment I would make the selfless choice, I would do what my dad has always taught me. As the song says, “I do this so the world will know that it cannot change me.” Perhaps the most powerful thing that we can do is prove to the world that it will not make us jaded, it will not stop us from caring, it will not smother the flame of humanity we all started this life with. This world will never be able to create so much fear in my heart that I stop trying to help. If I find myself forever mired in these struggles, facing the choice of giving more of myself than I think I can bear to lose- I would still fight. The darkness of this world will never change me. I will always try live by my dad’s example. I will always try to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I will always try to be a welcoming smile in a world full of bitter anger. I will always try to be a voice of reason in the screaming crowd. I will always fight- even if it means using the only power I possess- my words. I have spent enough of my life idly standing by. I will not be afraid. I will not be bitter or jaded or angry. I will not be changed.

We let fear rule us all too often, we allow the anger to twist our thoughts into venom that we thrust upon others. We turn our backs because there is so much that we can’t process yet, we think that this world will never change. Fear breeds helplessness, which in turn feeds anger. We create our own vicious cycles by giving into the temptation that is giving up. We turn our backs and wonder where all the heroes have gone, we never stop to look down and recognize ourselves for what we could be. You don’t have to change the world, you simply have to hold your ground and not let it change you.

The news is full of stories and speeches touting hate and segregation. We are afraid of one another because we refuse to open our eyes and search for the truth beyond what the reporters and politicians are telling us. We refuse to discuss the true issues. Our own ignorance will destroy us. People speak of building walls and closing borders, all the while forgetting that the majority of our disasters are home-grown. We forget that these people we are turning our backs on- they are really no different than us. It seems we forgot that age-old rule to treat others as we wish to be treated. My four year old nephew understands this concept, but many of the adults that I know have let it slip away. We have the power to change this, but we would rather blame everyone else. We listen to the fear mongering that has inundated our media- forgetting that they simply want a story they can sell. We listen to the voices that are screaming the loudest without focusing on what they actually have to say.

I refuse to give into the darkness that we have cast ourselves in. I refuse to turn away from someone who needs my help because I am afraid. If enough of us decide to be brave, we can banish any monster. I refuse to let this world change me. I will be soft, I will be kind, I will not scream, but I will not stop speaking. Because my voice is all that I have. Perhaps it is all that I need. I know that we are capable of so much more, I have seen it. Every hero must pay a price. I have seen the cost in my dad’s eyes. But I have also seen the reward. I have heard the stories, I know the price of the choices that I wish to make. That will not stop me from making them. Because I was raised to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is, no matter how many people try to scream that I am wrong. I will not back down, I will not break. I will keep getting up. I will not let this world change me.

What I do is so
This world will know
That it will not change me

Introverted (I’d love to hang out, but…)

It’s a frustrating paradox that the most fulfilling moments in my life happened when my stomach was twisted with nerves, my anxiety was at a fevered pitch, and every synapse in my body was firing off warning signs, begging to understand how I could have possibly been so stupid as to agree to the activity at hand. So many fond memories that I am so proud of now, moments that have been able to enrich my body and soul- what would have happened if I had been too afraid? The white water rafting trip, jumping off that bridge into the river, telling that one special man that I loved him, getting on that plane to Vegas, pushing off on that zip line, going in for that job interview, going out to that one happy hour with the friends that feel more like family now- everything that makes me who I really am happened in these moments. So why do I fight them inside on such a fundamental level?

I am an introvert to a textbook degree, I practically embody that definition. I prefer my solitude- books are my constant companions, I would choose staying at home and watching my newest Netflix obsession in my pajamas with my fiancé over going out with a group of people, without the slightest hint of hesitation. I crave my down time, my moments spent lost in my own thoughts, not having to constantly analyze the social cues of others. I get invited to social occasions- and in the moment that I agree I am so excited, but five minutes after the person leaves, I am plotting the most inconspicuous way of getting out of it. And it’s nothing against them, though I’m sure they wouldn’t understand that if I tried to honestly explain it. That cliché line of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ doesn’t seem to go over very well. A million possible excuses start dancing through my mind- can’t say I’m sick, it’s too transparent, and besides, I used that last Wednesday. How about broken leg? I’ve never broken my leg before- yes, that one could work. But would it be painful or expensive? (For those of you without social anxiety, you are probably wondering why on earth I could ever be considering actual threat of bodily harm to get out of something that you wouldn’t even think twice about doing. Then again, those of you with it will probably be nodded your head in understanding and pointing me to the nearest staircase to throw myself down).

I get anxious in social situations, deeply uncomfortable with small talk. Perhaps its deep-seeded insecurities rising to the surface, perhaps I’m just wired differently. Don’t get me wrong- I can still go out and have fun, I have a group of friends who I adore, I look forward to my happy hours just like everyone else. I’m not like Sheldon, I can read social cues as well as the next person, and 95% of the time you wont even be able to tell that I’m uncomfortable. It’s an internal battle I’ve learned to mask over the years. I have a Batman exterior over my Bruce Wayne inner thoughts. No one will see what I’m really feeling unless I decide to show them. So when I go out, I am fine, I smile, I joke, I laugh, it may seem that I just take a bit longer to test the waters. But inside I am weighing every word I just said, watching your reaction and calculating what every twitch of your nose might mean. And when the night of fraternization is over, I will be exhausted right down to my core. Again- it’s not you, it’s me.

So here is the ultimate dilemma of the introvert, the socially awkward, the one who’s tummy ties itself in knots at the thought of small talk with someone I’m not already intimately familiar with: do you step out of that box and join the rest of the world, in spite of your flat lining comfort levels; or do you stay at home and plan for the ‘next time’ when you will be brave enough? Or perhaps simply plan to tackle that adventure solo. I know which one I would like to be, but I am also painfully aware of which one I really am. For those of you who live for the social scene, I am sure that this will sound strange to you- the way that someone like me can fear and simultaneously crave these moments that you live for.

It gets exhausting, letting those ill-conceived phobias rule you. I am a firm believer that the more you push yourself outside of your own comfortable little box, the easier it will be. So this year I’ve decided to challenge myself to say yes more- and actually follow through, no matter how much the insecure little girl inside wants to throw herself on the ground kicking and screaming until she is allowed to just stay at home. The best parts of life are when you are dangling out on that limb. But today I need a reminder of that, of why I am trying to make myself painfully uncomfortable all of the time.

And so I look back at the past few months, at all of the good things that happened because I chose to be brave instead of comfortable. I applied for a new job within my organization- and I got it. I love it, there is not an ounce of regret when I look back at that decision. I went to a dealership and bought a car that wouldn’t threaten to break down on me every other Thursday (to someone with social anxiety- stepping into the car dealership is like Harry Potter entering a Death Eater nest- you know going in that it will be ugly, and will not be over quickly). I went on a trip to Vegas, something completely new for me. I went zip lining down Freemont street. I put myself out there and started this blog- and people are actually looking at it on occasion (still blows my mind). All of these things have happened in the past few months alone. I have been trying so hard.

I have come to a conclusion in the past year, one that was painful to accept; these feelings that I get- they wont ever go away. No matter how hard I try to overcome them, pushing myself out of my comfort zone over and over again in the hopes that I will learn to stop being afraid of social situations- that will never happen. This is a war that has to be fought one battle at a time. I have to deal with my phobias head on one moment at a time, blow by blow. I have to struggle, I have to fight the inner child constantly reminding me that one trip down the stairs could solve all of my problems. I have to fight to say ‘yes’ and then build myself up until I actually follow through. I will always be awkward, I will always feel stupid at the end of the conversation, I will always feel my heart start pounding in a panic when I agree to do something new. But I have to keep doing it. Not to make it easier in the long run, because the individual decisions will never be easier. I have to do it so that next time I want to say no, I will have one more reason backing up my decision to say yes. I will have one more memory of a time I decided to be brave and had an adventure. After all, what is life worth if you are too afraid to experience it? I cannot let my fear dictate my actions anymore. I will be brave- awkward, yes- but brave.

Things I Learned from my Dog

In honor of best friends day, I have a confession to make. You were bound to find out sooner or later, I would much rather be up front about it. I am one of ‘those’ pet people. There, it’s out! Wow, does it feel like a weight has been lifted or what? I will admit, I like putting Easter bunny ears or Santa hats on the dog when the correct season arrives. And there is a slight possibility that I have a picture of him sporting a human jersey for my favorite football team (I’ll leave the specific team anonymous for now- I think it’s best that I only throw one bombshell on you at a time). And really, he doesn’t seem to mind; after all, I do occasionally make him his very own cake (Okay- I’ve only done it once, and it was when he turned a year old- that doesn’t seem all that unreasonable to me, I think I’m quite tame for a pet person). Now the cat- he’s the smart one, he’s managed to escape all of my photo sessions simply because, well, he has discovered how to use his claws. That’s a battle I only fought once- I learned my lesson. The cat rules our roost. But really, I’m not that bad. I just love my critters. In my mind, pets are a part of the family. A large part of the family.

When we brought home the little ball of fur that has since morphed into a 75 lbs mass of muscle and sloppy kisses, I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. I had expected that I would be teaching him; how to come, stay, roll over, don’t bark, eat the burglar, do not eat the mailman (no matter how tasty he looks). I never expected that I would be learning so many lessons from him. Here are just a few of them:

Always be excited to see your people. ALWAYS. It doesn’t matter if you’ve had a rough day, or they didn’t change the toilet paper roll (or they moved the bone that you finally managed to hide in the perfect spot under the covers)- be excited to see them and you will brighten their day.
A walk will fix everything. It’s so easy to get caught up in the daily grind. Link is always quick to give me a little yip when the sun is shining and I have spent too long working on my laptop. Sometimes all you need to push that reset button is a breath of fresh air and some sunshine.

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, because looks are often deceiving. Link is a German Shepherd- he is supposed to be tough and scary. But, as I’ve learned- sometimes it is the ‘toughest’ ones that actually have the biggest hearts. And sometimes those who give the appearace of being unusually serious are the biggest goofballs of all.
Respect the ‘little guy’: treat everyone equally, whether they are a Grate Dane or a little Chiuaua, treat them well. You’ll be much happier making friends than enemies.

Just because someone barks at you, does not mean you have to bark back.
Down time is important. When you feel overwhelmed, sometimes the best thing you can do is find a quiet corner and chew on a bone
Be slow to anger and quick to forgive: It’s okay if the cat thinks its funny to bop your nose and run away when you want to nap. And if he gets you with his claws on accident, why not answer him with a big sloppy kiss instead of a nip. After all, he does let you chase him sometimes. He can’t be all bad.
Work time is for work, and play time is for play. You need both to feel happy and fulfilled.
When you are in a bad mood, sometimes all you need is a snack. And if a snack doesn’t work- a nap is usually the perfect trick.
When someone is sick or sad- cuddles are always the best medicine.
Never be embarrassed: who cares if you ran into the wall? You were busy staring at that suspicious squirrel on the fence.
It isn’t whether you win the game that counts, as long as you play. Missing the ball just means you get the added adventure of sniffing it out.
If it seems like the cat is doing something naughty- he is. Whine and alert the humans immediately.
Always be willing to make new friends, but be wary who you allow close to you (anything with shooting quills is usually a bad idea)
Always trust your intuition, it is usually right.
Be ambitious- why settle for a stick when you can take the whole log?

Be curious about the world- there are so many new things to learn, taste, see, smell. You will never learn unless you try.
Be passionate- always. The world is an exciting place, if you are willing to embrace it.