There's No Place Like Home

You Are the Eye of the Storm

2012-01-24T13:42:00.003-07:00

Pray for peace. Let's give each other the sign of peace. Chuck the deuce. Peace be with you. Wave the white flag. A peaceful protest.

That seemingly unobtainable goal, world peace - it's almost a joke. The standard answer in a brainlessly worded Miss America pageant interview. But seriously, what about peace? What is it? How can we achieve it? Can we spread it?

The Dalai Lama said, "We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves." This means, very simply, that peace is a conscious decision, a well thought out process, something that takes work. Think about the last horrible experience you had - maybe it was a negative event at work, a breakup, someone cutting you off in traffic, something nasty yelled at you from a passerby. At that moment, you and you alone have the power to make the buck stop there. The ball has been thrown at you - do you catch it, hold onto it, throw it at someone else? Or do you catch it, stifle it, deflate it, deflect?

Human energy follows the same laws of thermodynamics - that matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Ninety percent of our attitudes during the day are reactions to things that are happening - I don't want to go to work, I'm in a fight with my significant other, I failed that test, she doesn't like me, I have to shovel the driveway. The choice to focus on the negative is somewhat instinctual, something of a fight or flight response, in the hopes of staving off potentially harmful situations. But we can be above neanderthals - most of us don't live in caves, and have access to calming remedies such as hot tea, a good book, gentle people, a yoga class, moving music.

Solving negative things that happen during the day with additional negativity is just feeding the disgusting green monster that will do nothing but grow as long as it is fed. You make the choice to discontinue feeding the monster. You alone hold the power and can make the decision to shift your focus, fight for your own inner peace. If we can make peace with ourselves, conduct ourselves in a manner that's respectful to others, not walking away from difficult situations but welcoming them as hurdles to jump over, obstacles that will ultimately act as tools that enhance our growth as human beings - we have already begun achieving world peace.

You cannot control another's actions, reactions, or choices with regard to peace. But you can control your own. You can choose peace - and not in an apathetic way - don't use "achieving peace" as an excuse to sit on the couch, to disregard the plight of others or to not become an agent of change in your own right. Choosing peace is an active thought process, and oftentimes it doesn't come easy. It's easier (and temporarily more fulfilling) to slash somebody's tires, write a hateful message, disregard someone's feelings - but you're really just giving the green monster a ride on your back.

Dr. Martin Luther King Junior said it eloquently:

Are we seeking power for power’s sake? Or are we seeking to make the world and our nation better places to live? If we seek the latter, violence can never provide the answer. The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

So become an agent of peace. Begin the process inside, make the decision every day to live peacefully. Watch your tongue, watch your actions, watch your tone, watch your body language. Be the eye in the storm that people are drawn to - creating a safe haven for yourself and others. Breathe peace in and breathe peace out. Your power of choice can be the power of peace - white light burning bright.

El Fin Del Mundo

2011-12-29T11:03:00.005-07:00

The world is going to end on December 21, 2012. That means you've got less than a year left to catch up on all of episodes ever produced of The Office, win Nathanial's Hot Dog eating contest on Coney Island, chug a gallon of milk without puking, and accomplish any other lifetime goals that you've been putting off.

Jest aside, let's get super dreary and pretend the world really is going to end as 2012 wanes. What would you do with every day of the countdown? Would you genuflect on bended knee, trembling in fear that black horses will sweep you away Book-of-Revelations style? Would you throw caution to the wind - rules and civility be damned - indulging in every sin imaginable enough to earn your seat in every circle of Dante's Inferno?

Or - would you live your life like you've always wanted to live it? No excuses, no holding back - because you've only got a year.

If you ever look around in admiration at things people have done - changed their career completely, taken up an instrument at an old age, read Ulysses, traveled to a foreign land, written a book, moved someplace new and strange, eaten a guinea pig, danced in front of a crowd, made their bed every day - and thought to yourself, "I could never do those things" - you must understand that the only person who told you that you cannot is yourself.

You are your best friend and your biggest doubter - ultimately the fault or praise goes to you when you decide to do something (or not to do it). Yes, it's helpful to have encouragement from others and to find approval and solace outwardly. But within you and only you lies the power to decide when and where you go. Or stay.

If you say that you can't hike that mountain because you're too out of shape, you told yourself you can't do it. If you say that you don't have the gumption to move to San Francisco because you don't know a soul, you made the excuse. If you change your eating habits and lose 10 pounds, you made the lifestyle changes to do so. If you obtain two degrees in four years, you set the tone of discipline and sacrifice to make it happen.

Pretending the world is ending in 2012 isn't such a bad way to live your life. It's time to take responsibility for your accomplishments, your downfalls, your goals, and to stop making excuses or pointing fingers as to why you've never done the mind-blowing shit on your bucket list. Want to throw yourself out of a plane high above the Rocky Mountains in a free fall sky dive? DO IT. Want to read one book every month? DO IT. Want hike the Appalachian Trail in 2 years? Start getting in shape, buying maps, making plans, saving the dough and MAKE IT HAPPEN. Find a way or find an excuse.

But - I need a year to think about it, but I need to make sure that I've got the money, but I've got a car payment, but I'm fat, but I'm scared, but I don't know anything about that, but I've never done it. Friends, that's the thrill of it. That edge of the comfort zone, that unknown abyss below the false safety of the cold cliff - it's a honeycomb of the sweetest adventure you've ever tasted. It's the womb, the fountain of youth, the crazy colorful place you end up when the "carpe diem" whisper in your head becomes a scream. If you save a little, plan a little, dream a lot, think it through, learn the language, buy the ticket, take the ride, you can and you will succeed just by the very fact that you have attempted. The alternative is an accumulation of "buts;" there are a million excuses but only one today. Only one 2012, only one lifetime where we have this glorious body that can take us to the incredible heights that we want to reach. And if you fail, if you fall, if the bakery you've dreamed of starting ends up burning down or it turns out you can't make pie crust worth a damn and preservative-ridden Little Debbie puts you to shame - at least you tried. You can look back, head held high, arms folded, flour on your cheeks, knowing what was instead of what could have been.

What is it for you? It doesn't have to be big - those so called little things are just as important as the big - learning to knit, making a good cup of coffee, this year I just want to put the dishes in the dishwasher after breakfast every morning. Yes, there is a time for peace, a time for meditation, and accomplishing every goal thoroughly and beautifully - with the pace of a lacemaker - is part of the art of lovely living - not to rush through your goals only in order to cross them off. But there are many catalysts for this lifestyle - it's what your couch and cable TV are for - so I'd like to be the voice to kick start your 2012 by saying, take the training wheels off somewhere. Board the train to the middle of nowhere Nebraska in hot pursuit of finding the world's biggest ball of twine. Understand the gravity that ultimately you are the one who is responsible for your choices, your life, your timeline, your story. You've got the pen - what will you write this year?

El Fin Del Mundo - what a beautiful way to say it's the end of the world. How will you set it on fire before it all comes crashing down? You've got 337 days. The clock is ticking.

Christmas is a Time for Childlike Joy

2011-12-05T12:50:00.006-07:00

I love Christmas. Digging out dusty ornaments; my favorite are the ones with worn paint and fading letters - "Baby's First Christmas" - but I like the new ones, too. I love putting together the little town of houses my Dad has collected over the years - should we put the dentistry next to the school house this year? Where does the train go through the town?

I love the scratchy sound the old Elvis Christmas record makes when we decorate the tree as a family. I only like real Christmas trees. I crave spiked cider. I know every word to It's A Wonderful Life and can recite with perfection what each day of Christmas goes with what - who wouldn't want seven maids a milking?

Christmas is a time for the child in us. The child that couldn't sleep on Christmas Eve, wiggling in footed pajamas in anxious anticipation. The child that knew, just knew that Santa was real (still knows!) and refuted every bully's taunts and supposed proof of the opposite. The child that heard the bells, heard the hooves on the rooftop, set traps to catch jolly Old St. Nick - that childlike innocence that becomes fuzzier with each passing year.

Yes, it gets harder to decorate and celebrate as we gain experience, bills, wrinkles. Getting a real Christmas tree just takes so much time, it's so expensive, who's going to clean the needles, we have to water it, I'm not even going to be here at Christmas. That music is driving me nuts. I'm not even religious and I just hate the holidays.

You don't have to be religious. You don't have to want an ipad or want anything at all, really. You just need a little spark of that childlike wonder in your heart, the big brown eyes of your former five year old self that once believed, once loved getting the decorations out of the box, the one who wrote letters to the North Pole and argued over who had the best Christmas tree in town. The one who was the Angel in the school Christmas play, the one who baked the softest sugar cookies in the shape of reindeer with Grandma. The one who came home from school with a belly ache and candy cane breath after the class Christmas party.

If you think decorating is too much work, if you're not into "that stuff" - I say Bah Humbug to you, you Grinch, you Scrooge, you Frank Cross! Even if you don't get a tree, light a menora, watch "Charlie Brown's Christmas" and argue with your friends over which character you are, it's never too late to start. Remember the childlike joy that Christmas once brought you. That joy and innocence is still there, you just have to find it and work a little harder at it. So deck the halls, stand under the mistletoe, make snow angels and string popcorn. 'Tis the season.

“What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough”, says Ebenezer Scrooge to his nephew. “What reason have you to be morose, uncle? You’re rich enough." "Merry Christmas!" said Scrooge, "Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books... if I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should! Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

It's the Little Things

2011-11-17T15:31:00.003-07:00

There's something about my daily requirement of coffee that's enjoyable on a level not shared with many other pleasures. It could be watching the dabble of cream fighting it's way against the black currents of liquid, or just the warmth between my hands, or - ahhhhh - that unmistakable smell, or the thought of the journey the beans made from the Colombian jungle to my mug.

Regardless, it's a simple thing, a simple thought.

There are other joys of the simple life - like the way the leaves crunch under your boots, the first time you put them on in October, or the way that particular song commands your hips to sway, or the drawings you find on your windshield when everything fogs over suddenly in your car. Then there's the smell in between the bindings of an old book, the sharp/soft combination of blades of grass - so sharp alone and so soft together, the unmistakable thigh burn after a run, the red-rosed cheeks that no blush could ever parallel, that color that only comes from walking briskly in the chilly air. The sensory appeal of slash-and-burn fields aflame - bright lights, delicious smoky scent.

A tender touch on a tender spot, maybe it's your neck, or your shoulder, or an intimate squeeze of a hip bone in the middle of a concert, or a hand rub complete with a good finger pull, a knowing look, an empathetic focus, the intently-listening-lean-forward action during the most boring story you've ever recited.

Spiral bound notebooks with limitless potential. Used book carts on sidewalks advertising someone else's former treasures for just a buck. Licking cake batter - raw egg warnings be damned. Lazy winter sunlight (of the 4:00 pm variety) filtering through a soft, cream colored curtain. The funny way tree bark sometimes smells like butterscotch. The eerily comforting echo of trains in the middle of the cold, dark night. The sight of a girl in a flowing skirt on the first day spring breaks free from winter - bare toes, all legs, on a bicycle with a basket.

Enjoy the simple things these coming months - you won't find this simple joy shivering in your vehicle at 4am on Black Friday waiting in anticipation for the doors of Wal-Mart to burst open. You won't find it tucked in the seats of a brand new BMW. You won't find it on a sparkly white yacht. Those little things, the ones you can hold in your pocket and carry around with you like a lucky penny - present themselves in unlikely places and require patience and careful observation. They won't be wrapped in bows or cost much.

El amor de la vida sencilla - love the simple life - today, tomorrow, always.

The Art of Letting Go

2011-11-03T19:06:00.003-06:00

A few months ago, a guy asked me out. I don't really date - but decided to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, I'd get some sweet potato fries and a 90 Shilling Lager out of the deal. The date came, and the date went, and it was surprisingly good. He seemed to do everything right, we had laughs, ice cream, all the cringe-worthy gooey-eyed junk of Rom Coms, and then - poof - he became the dreaded Denver douche - the 20 something that is "too busy" for a relationship. The conflicted, confused child that all of the actual bonafide women (not girls) in the dating pool hate - the one that leads us on and acts like they want to be our boyfriend, and even though we haven't even decided if that's what we want, backs off before it flourishes into a real relationship.

Ugh.

Yep - I was pissed. I created a cloud of obscenities over the Highland Tap House over brews with my girlfriends that is probably still hanging in space (yes I stole that from A Christmas Story.) How had I been duped? That son-of-a....where is my tire slashing IKEA knife?!? That good. FOR. NOTHING. ASSHOLE!

AND THEN! THEN! I hauled my ass to the nearest yoga studio - rolled out my crusty mat, got into downward facing dog, breathed in through my nose, and exhaled a deep, goose bump inducing breath - and let it all go. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh lion's breath. Gone.

Well, maybe not quite, but I was on the way. I also did super shitty on a stats test that week. And I got a massive bill from the Urgent Care team regarding my finger that, in the end, is going to fall off anyway. But I have to let it go, because like the black tissue on my finger, holding onto something ugly that has passed just leaves you with a rancid looking scab.

There is a beauty in letting go. It's hard - because for those of us who are passionate, it can feel like the ugly stepsister to Giving Up. But letting go is not giving up. Letting go is the opposite of resistance. Where resistance exists, pain exists. Sometimes resistance is good, it's beneficial. But if it's ship that's already sailed - a romantic relationship that has seen it's time, a bad test score, a horrible day, an astronomically high parking ticket, a terrible comment a co worker made - holding onto that is just going to create a Grinchy tension in your body, and that just doesn't feel good. And I'm not talking about the type of "letting go" that involves a secret stash of whatever the problem is in your pocket just in case. I mean releasing that shit.

Let it go. All of it, whatever it is. People aren't going to walk all over you; you've taken control. Control of your thoughts, of the mind, of the heart, of (in my case) that passion that can easily turn into a forest fire if ignited. Let it go and make room for something more wholesome and nurturing. A white knuckled roller coaster ride is no way to glide through life.

Breathe in, breathe out, let it go.

My Halloween Costume is Skankier Than Yours

2011-10-26T15:58:00.003-06:00

It's that time of year ladies - time to pull out the fishnets, the fake lashes, the bodices so tight that your aerolas are playing hide and go seek - all with the glorious knowledge that Nobody. Can. Judge. Me. Why? Because it's Halloween, that's why! Duh.

I'm excited to, once again, compare and contrast what the men will be wearing. It'll be scary, or funny, or clever, or most likely, a sign of some haphazard shit they threw together last minute. Because they don't care, and because they don't feel like they have to.

You see, a man would never spend $65 on a sexy bumblebee costume, just like a man would never wax every pubic hair from waist to tail bone, or spray tan before a wedding. He's not going to stress out about waxing his eyebrows before that first date, or hope to God that you don't see him without mascara and foundation for at least the first few months of dating. So why do women care?

Because the TV shows and ads and massive make up aisles and blah di dah tell us to. We all know this. And yes, it's great being a liberated woman in 2011 in the good ole' USofA - no mandatory burkas around these parts - but use this freedom wisely. As a woman, you can get yourself educated, start a business, own property, do stand up comedy, become a professor, and yes, still are the only one that can give birth. That's a lot of power. Don't waste it catering to visual primal needs - you're so much better than that. And Halloween is a pathetic excuse to bring us back to the cave man days, drunken chest beating and all.

I challenge you to squeeze your powerful womanhood into something sexy, yes, of course! But also something classy, something creative, something not sewn together by some poor shoeless child in Bangladesh. If you're thinking of going as a sexy cliche - Dorothy, Cop, Robber, Cavewoman, Maid - you could at least take it a step further and be something sexy that's funny, think sexy garbage woman, or sexy Cookie Monster. This time of year is also about childlike joy, celebrating spooky creepy dead things, and getting creative. Let your sexiness show by your witty costume idea - and keep this rolling throughout the rest of the year. Remember that the dudes you attract by your slut-o-rific Halloween outfit are the dudes you think you deserve. And the bar is low for puke-on-yourself fratter.

Remember: men don't need fuller, longer lashes. They don't (usually) Nair their bodies, burn themselves with irons attempting to get perfect hair, wear shoes that cause their feet to swell up and result in you carrying all their shit (can you imagine a dude asking you to carry you or hold you shoes because his feet hurt?) Rock your fine self, but do so sans the date-me-I-am-desperate look. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work on my large intestine costume...

I Know You Are, But WHAT Am I?

2011-09-19T08:33:00.008-06:00

It might seem like an innocent thing - asking others what they think about your outfit for the evening, if you should chop your hair and finally go for that pixie cut, or maybe, even, where you should move post college. Those conversations are natural and healthy, and ultimately just your way of working out what you really want to do.

But how about not asking anyone what they thought for a change? How about rocking that brightly colored tights and rainboots combo because you think it looks hot? Who are you dressing for, anyway? Pictured: Socrates says, "Know thyself, bitch!"

Because, you see, no matter how cute you think (and your friends tell you) your outfit is, someone at the bar is going to think it's heinous. And no matter how cutting edge your haircut looks, someone is going to think you look like a dog. And not matter how many Louis Voutton bags you own, somebody else is going to have more. Because validation through others knows no end. It doesn't exist.

If you calculate your life based on the approval of others - weighing your self worth with how many compliments you receive or pats on the back you earn, you're really on a puppy level of appreciating yourself, knowing what truly makes your heart sing, and building your self esteem.

If you backpack South America for bragging rights, move to New York City to be able to tell people back home that you did something badass, hike huge mountains with the prospect of boasting behind it - you're not doing it for you. You're doing it for others, you're doing it so that you can lord it over everyone else that you've done something better, faster, stronger, more intense, more outrageous, than they have. The flipside to this is that someone out there has climbed more mountains, visited more countries, moved more, has a nicer, better, bigger car and a multi million dollar condo in six different countries.

Competition is natural. The human race is obsessed with it - the NFL, the NBA, the Olympics, Gladiators in Ancient Rome. We watch shows like American's Next Top Model and The Amazing Race. We want to be the best. We want to be first. We competed with Russia to see who could get on the moon first. But what's the intention behind it? And what about "The journey is the reward?" You'll always want more, to see more, to do more - and some of this greed is just sheer passion. It's hard to know when to say, "Look, I've got nothing to prove" and take the back seat.

Personally, I think that it's the small things, including conversation, where this has the most opportunity to unfold. If I had believed what others have told me I was about myself - I've been called "irresponsible," "unstable," "unrealistic," "a hardass," "a totally aggressive bitch" - I would be crying in a puddle of my own vomit. At some point, and everyone has a different threshold, you have to say, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" and mean it. Own it. Make it your mantra.

I almost exploded recently when I asked one of my girlfriends where she was applying to grad school. She said, "Not the East Coast. People told me that everyone is mean there and that I wouldn't like it." I said, "Have you ever been there?" She said she hadn't. I cursed up a storm, damning the person who told her her own limits, told her that whoever said that was a complete dipshit, and that she should damn well apply wherever she wanted.

Bottom line: if you play to the crowd that wants you to dance upon command, that validates you based on your ah-mazing accomplishments, you'll be performing the dance of death. The people who are already in your life, already your friends who've seen you fall on your face, your family - those are the ones you should sit up and pay attention to. Chances are, they love you for who you are, not where you live, what you do, or how few wrinkles you have.

I don't give a shit about feathering my hair. I think all of the trendy designer bags are a heinous display of conspicuous consumption. I detest Chelsea Lately and Kim Kardashian and yes, a small part of me will die if you tell me you enjoy them. But what do you care what I think? You shouldn't. If you like something, do it. If you don't like reading books but it seems like you should do it because your girlfriend does, that's a stupid reason to do it. Own who you are. Wear it proudly. Rock it. Don't apologize for it. Go to India, but not for the sole purpose of being able to post 1,000 pictures of yourself on Facebook in front of the Taj Mahal. Go because you've always been enchanted by the pictures of Holi and you want to face uncertain death by certain food poisoning. I'll gladly say, "Guilty as charged!" on the pushing-people-and-pushing-myself-o-meter, and I'm learning to cool it and say, "Well, some of this just isn't everyone's thing."

If you are a homebody and have no desire to leave the country, fine. If you secretly think that all of the high waisted retro-looking pants that are back in style suck big time, reinvent the fifties poodle skirt. If you turn people's heads with your fashion, your actions, your flair - just keep your head held high and keep walking. You don't have to do that Lady Gaga style, because that's reverting back to the constant approval antics, but the bottom line is that if you think something is awesome and want to do it, by God, don't let the opinions of others influence you one way or another.

I'd like to close with one of the opening scences of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, in which the protagonist, Howard Roark, is having a conversation with the antagonist, Peter Keating, about a post-college graduation job. Roark - who stands for original thought, ingenuinity and the free thinking man, and Keating, the "second hander" - one living through other's approval, have a telling conversation:

Keating: "Well, I don't know why I've come to see you, Howard, but...I'd rather have your opinion (on the matter) than the Dean's."
Roark: "Come on, you're not being afraid of me are you? What do you want to ask me?"
Keating: "It's about my scholarship. The Paris Prize I got."
Roark: "Yes?"
Keating: "It's for four years. But, on the other hand, Guy Francon offered me a job with him some time ago. Today he said it's still open. And I don't know which to take."
Roark: "If you want my advice, Peter, you've made a mistake already. By asking me. By asking anyone. Never ask people. Not about your work. Don't you know what you want? How can you stand it, not to know?"
Keating: "That's what I admire about you, Howard. How do you always know how to decide?"
Roark: "How can you let others decide for you?"

So take the reins. Don't hand them over to anyone - on matters large or small. It's your life, your decisions, your approval. It's freeing and it's humbling to know that you don't have the right to dish that out to anyone else, either. Don't give away your freedom of choice by letting others have it. Conduct your own symphony, choose your own instruments, set your own stage. Challenge the status quo and decide for yourself. Then you can really show Socrates who's boss.

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

2011-09-01T23:14:00.005-06:00

I decided to go back to school this past summer - and not just school, but basic, "Oh my God I'm taking classes with 18 year olds" school. I'm pursuing a career as a Physician Assistant, but to get to that point, I must first take the required pre-requisites in the hard sciences. And by hard, I don't mean just difficult, I mean not "soft" science that I took in college ("Insects in Your World") - but Microbiology, Genetics, Immunology, Endocrinology. So through this process I've learned some valuable lessons; being age 26 and taking tough courses is quite a different perspective than 20 and ready to frat after that, like, totally lame psych class.

It's Harder When You're Older
It's harder because my brain is a little slower. I am used to working with words, and have been for 8 years. I haven't taken a biology class dealing with the human body since I was 14. All of this works against me and the fact that I get tired a little easier, have to work even harder since I'm not under parental dependency, and decided to save the hardest crap for this time in my life. I hustled through college and it was more or less fun - waiting tables and going to school full time and being in a sorority and writing for the paper and dancing in the university dance company - but going full throttle at this point just makes me want to slap the girls bitching about how their mothers don't launder their bikinis properly in the face. Pictured: It ain't ever gonna get any easier than the first day of school ever. Big bows help the process.

It's Easier When You're Older
There's a very specific, higher purpose for the education I'm currently receiving. I'm not just taking classes to get a degree in a field that I'm really not sure I should be majoring in. Don't get me wrong - my time at KU was incredible and yes, hold some of my fondest memories. But I was too young to really think. I can count, off the top of my head, over twenty friends of mine that are doing the exact same thing; spent a few years at a lame office job, wanted something more out of life, and have totally switched gears and professions - requiring more and different schooling. Age, experience, the fact that I'm paying 100% for my own tuition, and maturity contribute to my ability to take class more seriously, focus a little harder, and strive for the best grades I can get. I'm not distracted by the hot JoCo frat boy in my Anthropology class, I don't want to just blow through that stupid Self Defense class to earn credits. Everything has a very specific purpose now, and I'm better equipped to handle that kind of responsibility because, well, I don't have 19 year old hormones raging through my body.

I Get Annoyed Much, Much Easier
Sometimes I feel, well, too much like an adult. But the fact is, I don't run into friends on my campus. I'm in, I'm out, I'm working between classes and it's basically all the shitty parts about school without any of the fun bits that keep you motivated to keep coming back every year. I'm glad I've passed that point, but at the same time, I get super annoyed when, during the first Microbiology lab, the 20 year old girls at my table start talking about their 29 year old sisters and how their biological clocks have just got to be ticking...they think I'm their age, but if they only knew, they would shower me with their pity because I'm 26 and single. I welcome pity, because I pity myself for listening to their unintelligent banter.

I've Had to Want This - And Prove It
My friend Jen summed it up best when she said, "I would be way too lazy to do all the backtracking you're doing." Amen, sister. PA School is ridiculously competitive. I've had to take the GRE, re-train my brain to think all science-y, forage again on a life of student loans and tuna, shadow multiple PA's, and get a job in the medical field. It hasn't been an easy transition. It's been much more multi-faceted than just "going back to school" or a grad program, it's been a complete 180 degree transformation. It's been a challenge, and I've been enjoying the hell out of it.

Sometimes I Feel Really, Really Stupid
It hurts your pride when you walk into a classroom, degree in hand, $50k salary per year in your past, and don't know the basic differences between an animal and a plant cell. There are kids that are almost a decade my junior that know way more than I do about a microscope and a bunsen burner. But I'm not afraid to ask questions or state that I don't know what the hell is going on. I'm smart too - and about things that maybe they aren't. A girl in one of my classes had never heard of Andy Warhol. Science isn't my specialty, strong suit, or a subject matter that comes easily. But I've learned to swallow my pride, open my eyes and ears, and dig on in - in fact, I really, really like it - more than I thought I ever would.

I'm Still Happy I Haven't Always Been a Science Nerd
All that being said - the trials and tribulations, the fact that I'll be in my mid-thirties when I'm done with this process, the intensity of the courses - I would never change the path I've walked down to get to this point. I fully believe that all the hats I've worn will, in the end, make me the best damn PA that ever came from a humble English degree. All the same, these days I really enjoy geeking out over a bacteria colony I grew, or seeing my cheek cells under a microscope, or determining blood types in the lab.

If you've ever thought about going back to school, making a change, pursuing a lurking passion - do it. It's hard, yeah, but it's worth it. I look back at what I was doing this time last year, and the contrasts are so stark it's like day and night. But I'm happier now. I'm proud that I took the chance, the leap, and hope that it might inspire you to do the same. It's never too late - and maybe it doesn't even take school - to push yourself a little further and connect a few new synapses. And trust me, don't let the fear of the dunce cap put you off. It's not that bad - in fact it looks great with my lab coat.

A Shithole Called Salida

2011-08-25T14:12:00.006-06:00

A few weeks ago, I was camping in the Sawatch Range of the Rockies - a bit south of Buena Vista and the favored Collegiate Peaks. After a 14er summit of Mt. Shavano, I was beat. My friends and I headed to the nearest source of mega-protein in the closest place we could find - the "shithole" town of Salida. "We better find a burger joint in this dump of a town." We all thought aloud. Yuck, Salida. Middle of nowhere, probably a ghetto, with a gas station Wendy's at best.

How wrong we were.

My friends continued on to watch a bat migration, but I was too tired to hike anymore after dinner. I stated I'd just hole up at a coffee shop and read a book because my legs felt broken. I started walking around Salida aimlessly, meandering up and down the main street. And I found out that Salida, Colorado, is an incredible, artsy, unique, hidden gem.

I chastised myself for ever letting myself do what I criticize others for doing to my homestate - making baseless presumptions based on the fact that it's not a major metropolis or that "nobody's ever heard of it." You see, the cliche phrases, "Assuming makes an ass out of you and me" and "Perception is reality" hold valuable truths. Assuming also makes you skip over places because you've heard lame things about it, assuming blinds you, assuming creates bias.

Salida is such a great place that I almost didn't want to share it. It has a gazillion art galleries, funky coffee shops, beer gardens where patrons wear viking hats complete with fur and horns. There are incredible thrift stores (where I snagged a $2 vintage bowling shirt and a skirt with a watercolor picture of Venice on it), cheap, hearty eats, flowers on every street corner, and old, painted works on brick buildings. Someone even made art out of old kayaks. Pictured: Salida's old town charm.

This happened to me when I went to South America. People that had never been there flipped absolute shit, because they were basing their judgment on other people's full blown, retarded assumptions. And this has happened my whole life with regard to my homestate of Kansas. "So boring, so flat, so ugly, full of fat people." Even about Colorado, "But it's so cold there."

When you repeat a statement that is based on someone else's repeated opinion, you look like a moron. A great alternative is exploring the option, experience, city, job, whatever it might be on your own, and deciding for yourself. When I visited my girlfriend in Baltimore a year and some change ago, I was expecting the best, because she had prepped me for it. Still, I heard lots of, "Going to Baltimore? Why?" I'll tell you why - because it's a fantastic city with delicious soul food, incredible, white-washed stone history, and cherry blossoms galore in the springtime.

Finding beauty and wonder in places that are not-so-obvious is like opening a surprise present someone gave you just for being awesome. Kansas is a fantastic place, with endless plains, gorgeous, heaven high cumulonimbus clouds, painted-pink sunsets, limitless lightning bugs in June, the best BBQ on planet Earth, and pieces of cottonwood tree fuzz that dance lazily in the breeze. And Salida is a funky mountain town in the heart of the Rockies, with easy access to Monarch skiing resort, world class kayaking, and 14ers-a-plenty. And Baltimore has a unique character - including larger than life pink flamingos in Hampden and the best crab cakes you've ever feasted on.

Don't take my word for it. Check it out for yourself. Create your own perception. Don't assume a place is horribly scary, lacks character, or is boring until you've seen for yourself. You just might find yourself with an opportunity to check out a place like Salida, or Wichita, or Baltimore, or some nameless place that holds wonders that you'll only discover with an open mind. Perception is reality. How tainted is yours?

Sponsoring Abroad - Could it Be For You?

2011-08-21T22:20:00.008-06:00

Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?
It's A Wonderful Life

If you've been reading any of my writing in the last six months, you might remember that I traveled around South America for 5 weeks. Yes, traveling solo is part of what gave me a different perspective on the whole experience. But I don't think I would have been able to call it "life changing" had I not experienced what I did at the very beginning of my trip, in Colombia.

I have sponsored a little girl, Yuranis, age 9, in Cartagena, Colombia for the past 3 years. I decided to do this because it's something my parents had done almost my entire life - they have always, and continue to, support a little boy in Africa through the Christian Foundation for the Youth and Aging. I trusted this organization because it's Kansas based, they were always transparent with my parents about the funds, and I wanted to incorporate my love of international travel and curiosity with some sort of goodwill.

I'm not a saint. I'm not writing this blog post to brag about the fact that I have sponsored a little girl. In fact, some of my good friends didn't even know I had been doing this until I made the trip to visit her. That trip was honestly something I never had a goal of working towards - it just fell in my lap. I haven't been the best madrina (godmother). I've missed every birthday, rarely sent Christmas cards - I wasn't as interactive as I should have been, which was stupid and missing the point of why I was doing this in the first place. So when I placed the call to CFCA to see if I could visit her during my travels, I was shocked to find that the dates I would be in South America correlated perfectly with the one time a year a group visits her area. After some questions and hesitations, I signed up. And it's one of the best choices I've ever made in my entire life.

What I contribute is not a big deal. It's $30 a month. Anyone can afford this. That's giving up 5 beers a month, or 2 meals out. I had no idea what this money went to - when you aren't feeling the daily grind of needing that $30 a month, it seems easy to forget. But when I visited Yuranis, I learned that that money pays for her lunch every day, which could possibly be the most nutritious meal she receives each day. I also found that I'd bought her shoes, and a school uniform. And amongst other things, I was a figure and a statement that someone in the world cared enough for her to help her out, just because.

Yuranis doesn't have it easy. She sleeps in a bed with 3 other people - her grandmother and 2 cousins - doesn't have a mom, and lives in a very poor neighborhood. But she's one of the happiest children I've ever had the pleasure of spending time with. Her sunny, contagious smile is something that, in the end, broke my heart, because spending three days with her was just enough time for me to get attached. She was very affectionate - constantly sitting on my lap, or wrapping her arms around me for a big hug. I had no idea it would be that way. I had no idea about anything I would see in Colombia. Pictured: Colombian women carry Yuranis, dressed as a mummy, during a scavenger hunt.

I learned more and more about what CFCA does, and felt incredibly fortunate to have had the opportunity to gain insight into the daily lives of people half a world away, behind the tourist curtain and into reality. It's easy to forget, at the end of a long day at the office, with "so much stress" in our lives, just how great we have it. We won't go hungry at the end of the day. We'll always have a roof over our heads. We have enough skills to advance ourselves in life. And because we're literally so full from all of these gifts, it's all the more reason to give back.

Maybe sponsoring a child or aging individual through CFCA isn't for you, maybe it is. But either way, I think that it's an awesome thing for young, hip, people to do, because of the impact that has on a child. To know that an older sister or older brother figure in the US wants them to do well in school, holds them to a high standard, cares about their well being, and, above all else, is leading by example through obtaining an education and giving back through that very relationship, is invaluable.

If you don't always have time to volunteer, like tying the strings of our unique planet together to make the world a little smaller, and are looking for something interesting to give back to - check out CFCA. Yup - you might be a student and broke. You might have a shitload of student loans to pay back or a car payment or a dog. But having a constant reminder, through the experience of sponsoring a child, is invaluable to you as well. I've learned so much about Colombia, about myself, about other cultures, about hope and faith and love and dignity through my experiences with CFCA and through what Yuranis has unknowingly taught me. I wouldn't have those experiences otherwise. And I value that much more than any of the sight seeing I ever did in South America.

I touched someone's life and allowed mine to be touched as well. It requires vulnerability and commitment. It's scary and it's exciting and it's heartbreaking and it's inspiring - so inspiring to see people with so little have so much hope and happiness. I hope that the experiences I've documented on my travel blog might inspire some of you to consider sponsoring a youth or aging individual somewhere in the world. The possibilities are endless - CFCA works in Asia, Central America, South America, Africa, and more. This isn't a preaching, a beatdown, or pressure. It's just something cool that, selfishly, I loved being apart of, and think that others might genuinely enjoy and benefit from as well.

It's hard to know which organization to pick, especially when it comes to sponsoring children, because you can never be certain where your money is going. But I can attest to both CFCA's legitimate actions and the impact a relationship with a 9 year old girl in Colombia has had on me. There's nothing quite like it in my life that I can even compare it to. I think about her often, and I know she cares for me, too. So if you think sponsoring a child somewhere on this planet is for you, give it a try - check out CFCA. You never know - maybe someday you'll jump on a plane yourself and head for a faraway land and a new friend. And that's not heroic or charitable or sweet - it's just plain badass.

The Sweater Lady

2011-08-14T07:25:00.005-06:00

Last 4^th of July, I was walking the busier-than-normal streets of Crested Butte, Colorado, an otherwise sleepy, hard to reach mountain town. I was perusing the store fronts, each painted a decadent color, when I came across an elderly woman, alone at a table full of sweatshirts. The sweatshirts were as brightly colored as the store fronts – and just as unique. Each garment said CRESTED BUTTE across the front of the chest, and above the letters was a cut out of The Butte, with a full moon rising behind it. Some of the sweaters were bright blue with light blue lettering. Some were yellow with pink lettering. No two were alike. All of the letters were comprised of funky patterns.

I struck up a conversation with the woman selling the sweaters. She proudly told me that they were all, indeed handmade. Not only this, but she was from my hometown of Wichita, had lived in Crested Butte since the 1970s, and was generally just a free spirited individual. I gingerly touched a few sweatshirts, lifting them up to my body to feel the soft fabric. They were a little out of my budget at $35 a pop, and she only took cash. I looked longingly as my girlfriend made a purchase, and was envious of her sweatshirt for the entirety of the following winter.

I returned to Crested Butte a year later, only last week, and I was on a mission to find The Sweater Lady, as I'd come to call her. There are many reasons Crested Butte is my favorite mountain town, and aside from the stunning views, the reason the actual town is at the top of my list is because it hasn't lost the small town, old-Colorado feel. It isn't riddled with chain stores – in fact it has none. Not even a Starbucks, not even a Safeway. It's Camp 4 Coffee, Clark's Market, Secret Stash Pizza, a ton of Croatian history, and of course, The Sweater Lady, that make Crested Butte the gem it is. It's hard to reach, it's tucked away. I've picked up Frommer's Colorado guides and there is nary a mention of Crested Butte (let's keep it that way). All of these factors make it my favorite place on the planet. No joke. I've traveled a lot, and there are too many reasons to not give Crested Butte that honor. Just another reason I needed a sweatshirt that had the name of my decidedly favorite place on Earth.

My dad was a little confused by my obsession. “Now why do you want to find this lady so bad?” I said because she's just an awesome old lady who sells friggin' sweaters on the side of the road. She doesn't Tweet. She doesn't email blast. She doesn't Facebook and she damn sure doesn't give Visa a cut of her profits. She just makes sweatshirts, and they sell because they are of good quality. They are special because, besides being hand made, you can't just get one at a shitty tourist store. You kinda have to work for it. And I was prepared to do just that. Pictured: At the sweater lady's table, my dad chats with Karen and I make the hardest decision of my young life.

On our first day in Crested Butte, I peaked around a few corners, including the one I had seen her on a year ago. I couldn't find her. I decided to start asking around. “Excuse me,” I asked a hat shop owner, “Do you know where that Sweater Lady is?” “Oh, you mean Karen,” the woman answered. “Of course. Actually, I need to call her back about something anyway.” She picked up the phone and chatted with Karen for a few minutes about something, and then proceeded to tell her that a girl was trying to track her down for a sweatshirt. I said, “Tell her I'm a Kansas Jayhawk.” The woman told Karen, and then said, “She wants to talk to you.”

Before I knew it, I was feeling like a celebrity, because I was talking to The Sweater Lady, Karen. She told me she was working near The Avalanche (a bar) on the mountain, and gave me her hours, and then her phone number. I was ecstatic. I was going to meet The Sweater Lady.

The next morning, I went with my parents to the place where The Sweater Lady said she'd be – and she was there, with her table and a gazillion sweatshirts to choose from. I was in heaven. Blue, green, pink, salmon, yellow, purple – how was I ever going to choose? I introduced myself and we all started chatting. Turns out her sister lives only 3 blocks from my parents in Wichita. She told me that she'd been making sweatshirts “Since 1976. There are many times someone comes to my table, gasps and says, 'I had one of those as a kid!' and then buys it for their child, or their grandchild. People remember. I've been doing this for more than 30 years.”

I paid more attention to selecting my sweatshirt than selecting the college I attended. I narrowed it down to a sunny, yellow number, or a salmon colored beauty. I went with the salmon. I decided I'd save the yellow one for next time, because every time I come to Crested Butte from now on, I'm getting a sweatshirt from The Sweater Lady.

The Sweater Lady – Karen – is someone I'm intrigued by for very random reasons. I don't know her at all, really, but I admire her simplicity. All she wants to do is sell some lovely, handcrafted sweatshirts on the side of a mountain. She didn't want to build a huge ass franchise and turn her retro looking sweatshirts into the American Apparel of mountain inspired gifts. She gets up every morning and does something she's successful at with meticulous attention to detail. She had a cool idea and went with it, using an old school, unconventional method - and that takes courage.

I sort of wanted to keep The Sweater Lady a secret, because by writing about it, maybe other people will find her, and I wanted to selfishly keep her to myself. But it's just too cool not to share. So if you go to Crested Butte, you've gotta meet Karen. You can't look her up in the phone book or pinpoint her on your smart phone. But, with a little asking around and some luck, you just might find yourself donning a soft, hand made sweatshirt with a pasley patterned mountain and moon to match.

Flake Off, Mother Flaker

2011-08-03T14:08:00.000-06:00

It's 8:00 pm. You're craving that special, watermelon vodka infused drink that only Thursday nights at the local bar with your girlfriends can bring. And then...the text messages start pouring in. "I'm just feeling really lame." "It looks like it might rain, not sure if we're still on?" "I'm tired."

You sit down in your pretty dress on your comfy couch, flip on reruns of The Office, and sigh.

I get it. People are getting older. Life happens. Your dog rolls around in crap and needs a bath in a bad way. Folks start pairing off and settling down and don't have as much "time" for friends. But flakiness, in all forms, sucks. You know those friends that, even when you've made plans, give you that horrible, nagging feeling in the back of your brain of She may or may not even show up? Yeah, those people suck. It would be much better if someone said, "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

It's fine to say no. In fact, it's an admirable quality to be able to just step up to the plate and say, "I don't want to." "I can't." or "Don't count on me." But ignoring text messages and phone calls because you feel bad about flaking out or saying no is passive aggressive, non-adult behavior. I say non-adult because, as an adult with a lot of shit going on at once, I appreciate it when my time is respected.

I had to think long and hard about what it was, exactly, that makes my ass twitch about flakiness. I think it comes down to the fact that flakiness is absolutely coated all over with insincerity. And Insincerity has ugly, yucky twins like Shadiness and Insecurity. It is insincere to tell someone you can't wait to meet up and then never show or make plans. It is insincere to tell someone you'll make it to their wine and cheese party with appetizer in hand, and then text-bail with a stomach ache excuse because you are tired after a long day of work.

Sincerity, quite simply, means that you will do what you said you would. That you can walk the talk. That you can follow through. If you don't mean it, don't say it, if you don't want to come, say you'd rather not, and for the love of God - bailing out via text is impersonal and cold hearted as it gets. Flakiness has become acceptable ("She said she'd come, but she didn't, she's just like that sometimes") because we have accepted it. I have no problem being a hardass and dropping the flakes.

This ugly, twin-sister-of-Insincerity attribute is one I can live without. I love Urban Dictionary's definition of flakiness: To be blown off inexcusably, unreliable, negligent, unresponsive, inconsistent. Sounds like a great synonym would be "fair weathered." Oftentimes, flakiness is also just a cop out for yet another lame attribute running parallel with insincerity - white lies. I distinctly remember being asked out on a date a few years ago, and spending all week thinking about what I'd wear, how I'd do my hair, what poop comments should be avoided upon the first dinner. The dude texted me the whole "so sorry to do this" line, and I played like the cool girl and acted like it was ok (this was hours before said date). I later found out he was getting serious with his Match.com match. Why didn't he just tell me - "Look, I'm actually dating someone else, and I just forgot because I am a dumbass. Sorry." Iwould have appreciated the sincere, direct admission.

I have limited time to do enjoyable, relaxing things, and I'm really over "So sorry to do this, but can we take a rain check?" after I've taken the time to get my lazy ass in front of a mirror and put on mascara, or after I've taken off work so we can "finally get together." It sucks. So flake off, you Mother Flakers out there, and go flake yourself with your fellow flakes. Corn Flake, Snow Flake, Dandruff Flake, Frosted Flake - I don't give a flying flake. I'm stick to your ribs, fill you up, all sincerely-filling-oatmeal, and I don't flake around.

Forever Dumb

2011-07-24T21:31:00.006-06:00

New York City based used bookseller Michael Seidenberg doesn't have a web page for his bookstore, Brazenhead Books. He doesn't Tweet, doesn't have a Facebook fan page, and you can't Google map him. That's because his book store is hidden - only obtainable to the fortunate few by word of mouth. All of us addicts of the world wide web will, indeed, have a difficult time finding Michael Seidenberg's bookstore. God forbid, we might actually have to ask another human being for it's whereabouts rather than the almighty Google.

I don't own a smart phone, and I never will. If I have to dig through the ghetto trash of Verizon Wireless when my POS Samsung finally eats it, I will. I don't want an ipad, or an iphone, ijustwantbasic. I know, I'm weird. I even worked in tech - where the incentive for a job well done actually was winning an ipad - and I thought, oh shit, I'm in the wrong industry.

I'm just going to be (surprise) blunt about it. I hate the Wii. If I want to play tennis, I will go to a tennis court. If I want to do yoga, I'm going to a yoga studio. With people. In real life. In real time. BRB. I don't want to get onto an online dating site to find someone. I'd rather join a club or a group or even go out to the bars where I could meet someone in the flesh in a less super intense, creepy-best-face-forward format. I don't want to play games online with people across the world, I'd like to defeat friends over beers with an all night game of Risk.

I don't know what Google + does, and I don't care. If someone checks Twitter on their smart phone again while we are having a meal together, I'm going to get up and walk out. I want body language. I want eye contact. I want the type of flirting that only the eyes can show - not some dumb smiley face in a text. I want the intensity of human connection, human conversation, with all of the little things you can only notice about a person, well, in person - the way they hold a coffee mug, the way they chop a tomato while cooking, the type of music they put on when they are cleaning the house, if they hold warm, fresh laundry, close to their body before they fold it. Those things that cannot happen via text, via chat, via IM, via Facebook, via Twitter. Those things that are intrinsically human.

I don't want to hold a piece of cold plastic Kindle while delving into The Help. I want to hold that book, carry it around proudly, make it a conversation starter, feel the satisfaction of turning a page, smell that sweet book smell every so often, mark it's progression with salad dressing on the pages from my lunch break. I don't want to Tweet my whereabouts or broadcast them on Facebook, I want someone to pick up the phone, call me, and make solid, not-flaking-out-last-minute-via-text plans to go to an art museum where we can look at thick oils dripping off canvas.

Turn off the noise. Turn off the computer. Pick up a pen and write a letter to your grandmother. Start walking down a street you've never explored and ask people where a great restaurant is, a great coffee shop, a great bookstore, sans Kindle. You never know, you could very well find the elusive Brazenhead Books, or better yet, another undiscovered gem in your own neighborhood. And keep it secret - only telling people through word of mouth. Or even better, just take someone to the places you found without Google, without Yelp reviews, just by walking and looking. Take your fingers off your computer keys and run them through blades of grass. Take your earbuds out of your ears during your commute and listen and look around at the commuters all around you - wondering what they ate for breakfast, who they made love to last, what movie is their favorite, if they celebrate Christmas or Hannukah or neither.

This is life. You can't TeVo it, watch re-runs, or rewind it. It's happening right here, right now, in real time. Tear yourself away from the screen and dig it.

Why We Need Men

2011-07-17T21:14:00.006-06:00

I've been thinking about men lately - in all sorts of ways, and not just with regard to relationships. Very simply put, I think that we (collectively, but yes, in particularily as women) need men. Scientifically speaking, sperm banks, surrogate mothers, and successful parthenogenesis in mice (where an unfertilized egg retains two sets of chromosomes and acts as if it has been fertilized) would imply that we are moving further away from the idea that men are needed to create a family.

All of this crap, combined with a higher female to male ratio in master's programs than ever before, a decrease in payscale disparity, birth control, and a change in gender roles over the past 3o years, a dude might look around and think, "Hey, where's the need for me?" There is even scientific debate that the Y chromosome is becoming slowly, steadily, more and more defective - is the end of men in sight? Screw guys! I just wanna dance!

For what it's worth, I think the world would really, really suck without men. So all you male haters listen up. Before we prod on in "forgetting men" with genetic experiments, bitching about how they are awful listeners and smell horrendous, I'd like to list quite a few reasons I think that we need men. For starters, they are generally speaking, much more laid back creatures. They let things roll off their backs easier than women - no catty backstabbing, no crying during happy hour a few drinks in because of female-female work drama - just some beers, belches, and football to patch over any rough spots. Yes, they are the ones that usually are starting wars, but in one on one personal interactions, there is quite a bit to glean for personal interaction's sake.

They are physically stronger than us. They can open cans of pickles and jelly easier than most women. They can reach things that are really high on shelves. They can grill a steak or hamburger better than most girls I know - and that makes up for leaving the toilet seat up most of the time. They have much better circulation, so they can warm our dainty little girl hands. They know how to fix weird things with weird names on cars, bikes, garages, TVs. They can walk through the house and look for the boogie man when a scary noise happens. They can shovel the sidewalk and the walkways when it snows pretty fast, too.

I've always valued the opinions of the men in my life - my Dad's being number one, but my PaPa's is up there too, followed by my brother, of course, and other male family members. I like having a brother. When KU won the National Championship, I got knocked down flat onto the sidewalk in a literal stampede. Guess who appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me right off the concrete? My bigger than me (younger) brother. Guess who moved my stuff into my new place? My big, strong, Dad.

Guy friends are awesome, too. I've always had lots of guy friends to turn to when I want to try a great new stout, climb a flatiron on belay, and of course, bounce back and forth guy-girl drama with. Having guy friends who have always just been friends is especially comforting. There are times you just want some male companionship without the baggage. I've spent the night at my guy friend's houses, and had them spend the night on my couch as well, when I've been scared about sleeping in a house alone, or have been going through a breakup, or whatever. Sometimes you just need a laugh with a guy to help you remember how much you actually love men when you're also hating them.

Nobody can take the place of my mom, my sister, my girlfriends. But we do need men. We need them in all of their big footed, hairy, smelly, eating insane amounts of food, farting glory. So tell the men in your life how much you appreciate them, love them, and need them. Because grilling and cuddling with a girlfriend certainly ain't like the real thing.

The Lonely Planet: Thoughts on Solo Travel

2011-07-11T20:39:00.007-06:00

I backpacked South America by myself from April 29 through June 2 of this year. Consisting of 5 weeks of travel in the countries of Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru, the idea for this trip first entered my mind in mid March, and I was on a plane a month later. In a way, though, this trip had always been on my mind; I'd been looking for a reason to go abroad ever since I came back from a 3 month European backpacking trip in 2007. I was laid off and waitressing, waiting to start school all over again in the summer, I had the miles, I had the time, I (barely, not really) had the money, I had no responsibility to any living thing, so I had no excuses not to go.

So I went. And I came back. And I needed some time to think about those travels, and reflect on them, and process questions people had when I was down there and when I came back. Solo travel is oftentimes misunderstood (unless you've done it, of course, but honestly I only have two friends who are nuts enough to have done it, too) so I wanted to reflect on the South America part, the backpacking part, and the misconceptions part, all through the lens of a solo traveler.

It's Not That Big of a Deal
Seriously. I had a friend facetiously say, "How cool are you going to be when you come back from South America?" And the answer is, I'm definitely not cooler. It's a lot like any big experience you've had in your life (maybe college graduation?) that you didn't share with the people that are currently around you. Your life moves on, and it was something cool that you did, but it's not curing cancer. You can go to South America by yourself (yes, you, reader) - anyone can.

People Don't Know What The Hell They Are Talking About
Nine out of ten people shit their pants on some level when I told them I was going abroad, alone, to South America. Unless they had actually been to South America, then they gave me some good tips and said, "You'll have an incredible time." It got really annoying after awhile. No, the FARC was not waiting for me when I got off my plane in Colombia. Yes, I did see some sketchy shit - like loads of policemen in uniforms with huge guns - but walking around on East Colfax in Denver is just as sketchy, just not as in your face obvious. People that have never been abroad were especially resistant to my trip and didn't even take the time to look up the countries I was traveling to - they just wanted to close their eyes like a scary movie. It is NOT that scary. And places that people don't think of as scary in their minds (Lima, I'm looking at you) were actually the worst.

Women Traveling Alone Won't Get Murdered
It's a ridiculously old fashioned idea that young, single, white women are going to be kidnapped and murdered in a foreign country. I was hardly alone - meeting other interesting travelers as I went - including many other solo female travelers. All of these women, like me, were just aching for adventure, and didn't want to sacrifice an opportunity because there wasn't anyone available to travel with us. Lonely Planet guidebooks have plenty of information and tips for solo female travelers, and, if you keep your wits about you as you would anywhere you are living, you'll be fine.

That Being Said....Sometimes It Was Scary
The first night, as I lay in bed in my hostal in Bogota, I conjured up an anxiety-induced stomach ache. All of a sudden it hit me - I was on a continent where I knew no one. I was really far away from my mom. I didn't speak the language. I was doing something really awesome, really brave and potentially really stupid. When I stepped onto the plane to Bogota, I was very nervous. Some of that thrill is part of the excitement, but some of it was draining. Being disoriented all of the time, trusting in strangers, learning by doing - not for the faint of heart.

Not Everyone is Cool
You would think that everyone you meet - especially those traveling solo - have got to be some of the coolest, most open minded, most interesting, most giving people on the planet, right? Not always. I did meet some incredible people, but I met equally as many idiots. Some people were just out to have a good time in a foreign country, with the guise of anonymous backpacking as an excuse to act like a complete jackass. I met two American guys my age that kept bragging about the incredible time they had a party in the Sacred Valley where, "A Peruvian girl totally shoved coke up my nose!" So you have a great story to tell your friends. You're still a dumbass. There are plenty of people that have never even left the country and lived someplace "boring" their entire lives in the USA that are more interesting than you. Just because you travel doesn't make you interesting, and just because you don't travel doesn't mean you aren't.

Surface Level Interactions Get Old
Sometimes you get lonely. Sometimes you want to share a meal, a laugh, an experience with someone else. And sometimes you don't. Because before you can do those things, you have to go through all of the same tedious conversation starters....my name is Erica and I am from Kansas originally and I'm 26 and when I go back I'm going to start school and my blood type is O positive....and then after all that banter you learn they are leaving tomorrow anyway so what's the point? After awhile, I quit getting last names, emails and Facebook friending folks I had met. I just decided instead to savor that time as unique, fleeting moments - adding to my collective experience of meeting people during my travels - and not seek any real substance out of it. That's when you really understand that...

Overall, You Truly Are Traveling Alone. And That's OK.
This is one of the coolest things I've ever done - and I did it by myself. I'm not ashamed to look back and say that I'm proud of myself for having the courage to seek out information, ask questions, learn some Spanish, and see some of the most incredible things there are to see in the world - alone. I truly winged it. I didn't know anyone that had been to Bolivia, and just planned my route through a combination of improvisation and other traveler's recommendations. It's exhilarating knowing that you could wake up anywhere you want tomorrow, and the only person deciding that is you. I've traveled with a significant other, now solo, and next I'd like to try a friend. But having the knowledge that I can do something on the scale of extended solo travel in a foreign country makes me giddy and is sheer liberation. I'm ok with the fact that I'm the only one that will remember what I saw down there in entirety.

People Act Like They Care, But They Don't
I'm not being morbid - it's just reality. I went down there knowing it was an experience I would have on my own, and that it would be extremely difficult to relate these things to people who hadn't seen what I'd seen or been where I'd been. For those that have, we have a new bonding point. Everyone else just sort of makes conversation by saying "South America, eh?" and looking at my pictures with glazed eyes. But most of my friends didn't even ask to see pictures, or really ask about this trip at all, or how it truly impacted me, beyond a few basic questions. It's hard to know what to ask - so I'm not faulting anyone - but it's truly something that you just experienced for yourself, because nobody else is going to know how to relate to something (literally) that foreign, and for many of my friends, what I did is just not even that interesting to them.

Yes, It Was Life Changing
I saw things that most people will only see in a National Geographic in their lifetime - The Amazon, Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, the list goes on. But I also had incredible experiences with the people I met along the way. Meeting my sponsored little girl, Yuranis, in Colombia, was quite possibly the highlight of my entire trip. Feeling the pulse of South America beyond the tourist hot spots were moments that were precious and few. I came back with even more appreciation for my own country and the opportunities I have here - as well as a deeper understanding that, at the end of the day, we are all very much the same, no matter where we are in the world, or what we look like, or what our religion is. We all want the same things: food, a warm bed, and a pair of smiling eyes and open hands to greet us each day. We all crave understanding and love. And that's what I adore about travel - the ability to communicate without email, without iphones and gadgets - understanding through body language, pantomime, and an effort to understand in a mixed English and Spanish conversation. That moment, that intense focus of concentration on understanding another person from such a different part of the world who looks so different from you, is the life changing moment. And it happens in unlikely places - with your cab driver in Medellin, Colombia; with a small Quechua child in the high Andes of Peru, with a guy selling shells on the beach or the Afro-Caribbean woman braiding your hair in tight little rows.

I will never forget that one time that I went to South America by myself. It's a story I will tell my kids with big exaggerations and loads of nostalgia - after that nice cloud that settles over times that were actually troublesome covers everything with a lovely, fuzzy shade of pink, and makes it the most incredible thing you did in your mid twenties. Truth is, it was not the most incredible thing; as I get older, I feel that I see more similarities than differences in the world, and because of this, the newness and shock factor didn't feel as profound as it did 4 years ago when I first went abroad, even though those countries and people looked and felt much more similar to my own than did any South American country.

It was badass. It was the adventure of a lifetime. It was life changing, and all that and yadda yadda and whatnot. But so is the life I am living now; so is every moment of every person's journey that we take every day. Your life and your journey is someone else's backpacking extravaganza. Each day is an adventure - even if it's not as in your face as living out of a backpack in a foreign country for months at a time. If I had to do it all over again, I would, and I will - with my next adventure tentatively planned as a Morocco - Egypt - Turkey - Greece - back to Croatia extravaganza before PA school. But who knows? Maybe by then there'll be public rocket launches to Mars, and I'll check that out.

My only advice? If you want to go someplace, go. If the only thing stopping you is that you can't go to the proverbial bathroom by yourself, snap out of it. You only have this one life to be lived, so get to living. The journey (yeah, it's cliche, and it's oh so true) is the reward.

I'll Have What They're Having

2011-06-28T15:44:00.010-06:00

Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.
-John F Kennedy

A few weeks ago, I was at work (waiting tables) when I approached a woman who had joined a table of two dudes I had been serving for over an hour. The guys had been drinking some shitty beer (either Bud Light or Coors Light, it really doesn't make any difference). I asked, "Can I get you anything to drink?" and she replied, "Well, what are they having?" as she looked into each of their urine-colored pint glasses.

I thought about this for a second. "What do you want to drink?" The dressed-in-all-pink-blonde looked almost anxious. "No, really, what are they having?" I gave up at that point. This girl was actually working against thinking for herself. The energy she put into figuring out what the guys were drinking was already so much greater than the energy it took to pick up a menu of what was on tap (and there is a lot - how fun is that - you're at a damn sports bar, you can live a little beyond Coors or Bud Light). So, I ordered what she "wanted" - the beer they were having.

As a human being, you don't just have the option of dry cat food, super dry cat food, 2 day old cat food, or dry cat food every day of your life like my tabby cat Mr. Pickles does. Cause that shit is always just cat food.

You are a human and you have the power - the privelege! - of using your brain. Of making choices. And yes, I know it's hard, thinking for yourself. And this extends so far beyond just beers. Remember that time in the seventh grade that poor Scott Penick was being made fun of for having hearing aides and you actually used your own brain instead of the collective and said out loud that you thought he was actually kinda cute? Yeah, that time, you rose above the "us" and became "you."

It starts happening at an early age. Society wants to take it's giant, ugly, generic, Paris Hilton shaped hammer and make all the little pegs that stick a little bit back get into creepy, neat rows. And there are weird rules about shit like this that you have to follow. Don't wear brown with black. Don't wear white after Labor Day. Don't date a guy shorter than you. Don't date a guy younger than you. Don't date someone of a different race. Don't raise your hand and say you don't know. Don't go to Baltimore because it's a scary, dangerous place. Because, if you do those things, you are gonna go against the grain, and that's bad. It makes people uncomfortable.

You can't say that you actually think that the shirt Donna is wearing at work today is cute when all the other women in the office are talking about how heinous it is behind her back, because then you would be making a show and thinking for yourself. Better to just stay out of it. Or you'll get labeled as one of those people, one of those people who "marches to the beat of their own drum." One of those people who probably sticks their head in a cake during their going away party. I mean, that shit is just plain weird.

It's better to just stay neutral. "I'm staying out of it." "What do you think?" "What do my friends think?" "What do my parents think?" and "What does Kim Kardashian wear?" are all good rules to play it safe by. Then you'll never go astray, and life will be easier, and you can fly under the radar, and whew, won't that be a relief. It's also better to just stay super super neutral and never have an opinion or an idea in your brain about a person. I mean, it's so important (gritting teeth) to be nice (cue image of that one weird Desperate Housewives actress with the unmoving forehead and bright red clown hair that bakes a lot of crap) and politically correct (breaking China dish with freshly baked pineapple upside down cake on it) ALL. THE. TIME. Or nobody is gonna like you!

It absolutely kills me that shows exist like "I Want a Famous Face" and that people walk into plastic surgeons offices with pictures of Jennifer Aniston's nose. You are the only person with your nose, and your face, and your everything; therefore in your natural state, you are just as you-nique as you are gonna get. And that should be celebrated, big time. Celebrated as "big" as Barbra Streisand's nose or as "big" as the gap between Lauren Hutton's two front teeth.

Meh, I'm over it. I don't want to be Kim Kardashian and I don't want to be on Desperate Housewives and I don't want a $50,000 wedding because they are things I don't want even though I've been told these are things I do want, and I know this because at one point in time I connected some synapses in my pea sized brain and did some thinking about it. And - sidebar - it's perfectly ok to like things that everyone likes too, for sure - getting flowers, The Kings of Leon, - but liking it just because everyone else does is SO uniformed sorority girl. I mean, I knew I would hate my sorority because everyone told me sorority girls were fake and awful and oh, wait...I met some of my best friends in my sorority and had a great time and learned an incredible amount about incredible people....how the hell did that happen?

Rant over. You get the point. So get out there and do some thinking today. Sometimes it hurts, but it doesn't hurt as much as seeing your Visa bill after buying that dumbass Louis Voutton bag because K Kardashian likes it, so you liked it too, and you just had to have it....The world needs more people that are bold enough to think that maybe the world isn't flat, or maybe we could actually get into space, or maybe having slaves is a super unethical and shitty idea, or that maybe we could break away from that one huge country and do this shit better on our own.

Trust me on this one. I just read in US Weekly that Your Brain is the New Black.

Celebrate America: Visit A National Park

2011-06-24T16:28:00.012-06:00

"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity..."
-John Muir, American naturalist, conservationist, and wilderness activist

"Who wouldn't be a mountaineer! Up here all the world's prizes seem nothing" -John Muir

Recently I traveled to South America. I was hiking through the Lares Valley, trekking in vast amounts of llama shit, tons of fog, and all I could think was, "I can't even see the epic mountain scenery. This sucks." When the clouds did finally clear, yes - the view was spectacular. The Andes are indeed a sight to behold. But I couldn't help comparing my beloved Rocky Mountains with these spectacular peaks and I gotta say, The Andes have some major competition. Pictured Above: Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

I have been to 10 of the 58 National Parks, and each one presents breathtaking beauty of incredible variety. The epic Great Sand Dunes of southern Colorado look like another planet, the blast of color of the bacteria in Morning Glory Pool in Yellowstone (Wyoming) is completely psychadelic, and the Redwoods of California will dwarf you.

We live in a country that is yes, just as beautiful as Europe, just as wild and untamed as South America, and just as exotic as Asia. I was really surprised when many of the Americans I met during my South American travels had never even camped in the Rocky Mountains. While exploring other countries is pure gluttonous consumption for the culture vulture, exploring your own country has it's benefits, too. When I saw the Salinas salt mines of the Incan ruins, I was impressed by it's beauty, but it honestly reminded me quite a bit of natural geothermal occurrences I had seen in Yellowstone. The point isn't that one trumps the other - it's that you don't have to go to another part of the planet to see some awesome shit. Pictured Below: Morning Glory Pool, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming.

The U.S. National Park Service's slogan is "Experience Your America." And yes, I think that's important. Growing up, I never knew that west of Rocky Mountain National Park lay vast canyons, red earth for miles and miles, and jutting formations balanced in perfect alignment in the shape of arches, hoo doos, and other Dr. Suess sounding objects in Utah's vast amounts of National Parks. Or that beyond that, Frazzle Ice forms every spring in Yosemite (California) with the snowmelt - the only place in the world this takes place. Or that north of that, in Washington, lies the only rainforest in North America, the Hoh.

We all know that Teddy Roosevelt helped lay aside federally protected land, but it was Woodrow Wilson who, in 1916, enacted the National Park Service Organic Act, which had the purpose of "to promote and regulate the use of the...National Parks...which purpose is to conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wildlife therein, and to provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as we will leave them unimpaired for future generations."

America the Beautiful indeed. Yes - the big cities are cool. But the Big Sky Country is down-on-your-knees inspiring. There is a wildness, an untamed beauty that, if you don't experience in your lifetime as an American, really does leave something to be desired. These natural United States have inspired and sustained Native Americans, tested the resilience of European explorers, and continue to offer a place of refuge for our melting-pot culture. So many foreigners I met on my travels said they had been to "L.A., New York, and Florida" when I asked if they had been to the U.S. I told them they hadn't actually been to the states - they visited international hot spots - and that to get a true pulse of our country they should go to a donut shop in Hays, Kansas, or a National Park. To see the underrated, insane beauty that resides in America that even some Americans don't know about. Pictured Below: Arches National Park, Utah.

Oh Beautiful for Spacious Skies, for Amber Waves of Grain, for Purple Mountain Majesties above the Fruited Plane! No mention of skyscrapers there....it's a special kind of inspiration. So, visit a National Park this 4th of July weekend, or any weekend. Visit in the winter, when tourists are super scarce and nature speaks in a different way. American's National Park system is a reminder that humanity can never build, buy, or imagine anything as powerful as nature. Mother Earth, Pachamama is waiting for you in California, Colorado, upstate New York, Texas, South Dakota, Arkansas, Oregon....in every one of the stars next to those hallowed stripes.

Who Is Che?

2011-06-19T10:20:00.009-06:00

You've seen the (in)famous photograph everywhere - during the 2008 presidential campaign, an artist even likened President Obama's image to that of Ernesto "Che" Guevara. Some exalt him as a hero, a champion of the rights of the poor, a revolutionary. Others condemn him for his political views; he was a strong Marxist, after all. But, love him or hate him, not everyone knows who Che truly was.

I was inspired to read Che's Motorcycle Diaries during my recent backpacking trip through South America. I wanted to get inside the mind of someone who had traveled through the very parts of the world that I was experiencing. I found his writing to be incredible relateable, and that, 50 years later, much of what he wrote still held true.

Ernesto was a young medical student in 1950 when he set across his first journey across South America, solo, on a motorcycle, for 2,800 miles across South America. Along his journey, he bore witness to the internal conflict that still exists to this very day among South American indigenous cultures (many of whom do not speak Spanish), and the collection of European-indigenous hybrid peoples. Today, and in the 1950s when he first traveled, there is immense poverty, especially in the countryside. Seeing these things made "Che" (a friendly term Argentenians call one another) develop an anti-capitalist worldview.

Concluding his travels across South America, he came to view the continent as one race, sharing a common Latino heritage, with the goal of uniting South America through a continent-wide liberation strategy. He blamed capitalism for the lack of access to medicine and basic needs, and began contemplating the fact that serving just the medical needs of this community might not be enough - and so he began to enter the realm of armed struggle and military strategy.

He joined the Cuban revolutionary movement, and solidified his anti-US backed government stance after meeting Fidel Castro. After meeting both Fidel and his brother, Raul, he became convinced that Fidel's 26th of July movement to liberate Cuba was the cause he had been searching for.

It's hard to summarize the rest of the political work that Guevara took part in, but he traveled voraciously, to mostly impoverished countries, having a soft spot for the Congo in Africa, as well as Bolivia, where he was finally captured and executed. I feel that I'm doing him a huge disservice by skimming over his life's work, but I wanted to lay out some background before I stated that, after reading Guevara's own words through The Motorcycle Diaries, having trodden in many of the places he traveled to, and having witnessed many of the same horrific living and working conditions he witnessed, I respect the man immensely.

He was one hell of a traveler. He wanted to make the world a better place. Even though our political views vary greatly, his heart was enormous, and he truly believed that he could make a mark on the world for the better. His motivations, unlike those of many other political figures of his time, were truly and wholeheartedly good. Perhaps Marxism wasn't the answer, or perhaps it was? We will never really know. But he did bring the plight of much of South America into the world's scope of view. I admire him for his passion. For his ability to get off his ass and make a difference, and do something instead of nothing.

Many people wear shirts with Guevara's iconic face (a candid shot taken by Alberto Korda, during a memorial service in 1960), and I wonder if they know about the man behind the picture. About his struggles for human rights, about his political views, about his journeys and the travels that moved him to have the ideals that he had. He's much more incredible of a person than an incredibly hipster looking tshirt. Pictured: The original shot taken in 1960.

Although I'm not a Marxist or a Communist (probably the farthest thing from it, I'm a Libertarian), I still have more respect for this man than many of our modern day "political activitists" who have to speak in a politically correct manner, deal with political donations, and swear they didn't have sexual relations with that woman. Che was not perfect, but he wore his heart on his sleeve. He believed in something and acted on it. And for that passion, I respect and admire him.

From The Desk of An Old Maid

2011-06-11T21:34:00.005-06:00

I'm 26, single, and doomed for catladydom. I've started trading in my lacy panties for giant, parachute shaped monstrocities...and am considering being a house mom for the local sorority to fill that childless shaped hole.

Marriage is a huge deal. For those of us who take it seriously, we understand and value the commitments involved. We don't want to muddle things up and get divorced, and many of us are delaying marriage. Now - to clarify what "delaying" means, since there must be some average to hold that standard up against. The UK Guardian recently published an article called "Traditional Marriage is Dead. Let's Celebrate." This article basically summed up my own personal reasons for "delaying" marriage, and even pointed out some things I hadn't thought of.

Americans are "delaying" marriage by pushing the average age of first marriage back and back and back. Currently, the average age for college educated women to wed is 30. College educated men, 31. People are living longer, are exploring during their "Odyssey Years" as explained by the NY Times, and are marrying for reasons entirely not economically driven.

The bottom line for delaying marriage is quite simple. I don't need to get married. I'm in a different position than my great-grandmother was in, or my great-great grandmother. I'm financially independent. Birth control was invented and the sexual revolution happened (because, let's not kid ourselves here, some people actually DID get married with the motivation of sex behind it), my life expectancy is somewhere in my late seventies and climbing, and dudes my age are generally pretty douchey. My personal reasons aside, I also feel less pressure to get married, because about half of my friends are single - then again, I don't live in the Midwest.

Which brings me to the real point. I don't think that there is a perfect age to tie the knot, statistics aside. But I'm from a conservative part of the country, and I've seen many marriages that formed in the Midwest during my early twenties that have already fallen apart, and that makes me sad. I was in a serious relationship that fell apart a few years out of college, because it hit that "shit or get off the pot" point that all serious relationships formed in college will hit. And when I didn't marry my college sweetheart, I didn't wilt, or sign up for an internet dating site (nothing is wrong with those, just saying it's not that hard to meet single people my age because I didn't miss the boat by not getting married at 23 or 24.)

In the sick and twisted world of reality TV shows like The Bachelor lies a dangerous message - you have to get married to feel complete, and you better do it soon. That's why there's speed dating, Eharmony, and blind dates with someone you otherwise wouldn't have given a second glance to. Magazines, books, and websites are dedicated to helping you "call in The One" and, in the process, make you feel like some sort of freak with a supposed expiration date if it doesn't happen by such-and-such time. So I'd like to be the voice that says, it's ok to hold off on marriage. If you don't get 'er done by the time you are 25, that's fine. In fact, you have a much lower divorce rate. The 2008 American Community Survey found that the states with the youngest age at first marriage - yes, Kansas, I'm looking at you, (age 26) Utah, Arkansas, Idaho, and Oklahoma, and the states with the oldest age of first marriage - Rhode Island, New Jersey, New York, District of Columbia, and Massachusetts, have something very different about them: the divorce rate. Arkansas and Oklahoma have above average divorce rates, whereas Massachusetts and New York have lower than average divorce rates.

The aforementioned Guardian article stated why this might be the case, "Those numbers are no indication that marriage and child-rearing are passé or under-valued – quite the opposite. Marriage, more than ever, is something that more people feel the right to opt out of, which means that those of us who do marry (except those who are shamefully barred from marriage because of their sexual orientation) are opting in, and doing so increasingly because we want to, not because of social obligations. If you believe that marriage can be a good thing for people who choose it, this should be welcome news. Children, too, should be welcome additions and not obligations. The fact that more women and families are delaying childbirth indicates that there's more planning involved, and that women and men are making commitments to familial stability and personal ability before deciding to have kids."

For me, personally, the difference between age 22 (when I graduated college and was contemplating the whole marriage thing for the first time, ever) and only four years later, at 26, is pretty massive. That's because the years directly after college are much more defining than I could have ever expected, and are full of self exploration. Deciding your path without the aid of a class schedule for the first time, ever, is epically eye opening. I don't see how anyone could enter into a permanent union without knowing how to direct their lives outside of homework in the year 2011.

So, my Midwestern friends, and my friends who are feeling that "incomplete itch" (which is something in your head, you complete yourself) I just had to throw it out there. Get married when you feel the time is right - be it 21 or 31 or 51 - but don't do it because you're the only one left (sigh, always a bridesmaid never a bride!), or because it just "seems" like the next step, or because you aren't sure what else to do. I'm not condoning co-habitation, either or condemning early-20s marriage. But I will say that being an old maid, cat lady (free to travel, make massive career moves, and break as many hearts as I like) really ain't that bad of a second place option. Me-ow.

Why South America?

2011-04-29T03:35:00.002-06:00

Follow my new Tumblr account to see photo and video that accompany this blog. It's an easy way to post and share. I'll be continuing to post thoughts here as well as on my Tumblr account.

What Are You A Slave To?

2011-04-25T07:00:00.000-06:00

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way; no day but today.
-RENT

Within a two month time span, I'll have turned 26, backpacked South America, and started school again. Yes, Bob Dylan, the times they are a changin'. With these changes comes great risk, great adventure, and great reward. And I feel like the glow coming from inside me as a result could probably power the Griswold family's Christmas light collection for 10 years straight.

The trigger for instigating all of this change was my severance from servitude to an office job I didn't care for, in an industry that, for me, was unfulfilling.

Well, after this blow out - I walked. And I kept walking. And now I'm walking around South America for 5 weeks and then I'm walking back into the classroom to start the trek to PA school. So why should this matter to you? Maybe South America sounds awfully scary and dangerous, and school again sounds absolutely painful. But the point is - I was being a slave to something other than what I actually gave a shit about, and if my idiot boss hadn't rudely let me go via email, I wouldn't be doing the shit that I really want to do. Right here. Right now.

So here is the question - WHAT ARE YOU A SLAVE TO?

I had created my own shackles (we all do) to a lame job - comforting myself with words of, "I'm going to save money doing this so that I can do what I really want and travel like I really want to later on..." And how many times do we allow ourselves to go there? To take that excuse? Because guess what...there is never a perfect time. I decided I wanted to be a slave to something else - a slave to my passions, a slave to seeing my dreams through, a slave to never selling out. Because I did, I sold out - even if for a brief period of time.

People might say it's fucking crazy to leap, that taking that jump could land you in a bad spot if you're not financially secure, if you're not totally prepared. I call bullshit. Financial security is something that ENRON executives relied on, people with massive retirement accounts recently demolished by the recession of 2008+ sought solace in - and it's simply a state of mind. There will always be a plenty of excuses, but only one today. When I'm older...when I'm more stable...when I have more money...when I get there....

Someone pushed me off a cliff and, unknowingly, did me a massive favor. It forced me to hit rock bottom and shake off the dirt, wake up, look around and say, Seriously, what the fuck was I doing? These are ideas I've had for years. I've flirted with the idea of PA school since 2007. I've wanted to go abroad again ever since I got back from backpacking Europe. It's time to take the risk, time to buy the ticket and take the ride. No decision I have ever made has been 100% - not one. Not the college I attended, not the places I've moved, not the relationships I've begun or ended, not the color I've dyed my hair. But that's the fun of it.

I don't want to look back and say "I always meant to..." or "I wanted to ___, but I was too scared to." Life is full of risks. You could stay inside your house all day to avoid any risks and end up getting carbon monoxide poisoning. School is a risk - I could not get in. South America is a risk - I could get jumped for some petty cash. And I could also die in a car wreck on the way to work, or get held up at gunpoint in Cherry Creek Mall in broad daylight...not that these things have happened before or anything.

So you've gotta ask yourself. What's stopping you from doing it? What's holding you back from going there? What's the biggest, most awful thing that could happen if you go through with it - whatever it is? To live is to take risks. We feel the most alive when we risk - skiing down a slope, hang gliding, eating something new and bizarre, going on a first date, moving to a new place, starting a new job. Every risk comes with a cost/benefit factor that's up to your personal discretion to discern. Doing research and asking around is the best way to find the truth - not consulting people that have never done what you want to do. The people who gave me the biggest pushes (aside from the idiot who threw me under the bus and then over the cliff) were my English-major-turned-dermatologist PA who said, "You can do this." And countless friends (yes, women too) who have traveled to South America solo who said, "You can do this."

I can do this. And I will. I'll be successful and I'll have one hell of a ride. I haven't felt this right about things in quite some time - shadowing my dermatologist PA I just kept thinking, This could be me...I can see it... And the way things came together for South America for me were fortuitously placed as well. It's good to live, to take risks, to have the luxury to celebrate my life by doing what I want and to live as loudly as possible with as many colors as I can handle to paint with. As Joe Cocker says...

Seems I got to have a change of scene
Cause every night I have the strangest dream
Imprisoned by the way, yeah, it could’ve been
Left here on my own or so it seems
I got to leave before I start to scream
But someone's locked the door and took the key

I'm feelin' alright....

How about you? What will it take to see your dreams through?

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2011-04-18T23:26:00.005-06:00

Name: Logan
Nicknames: Log Dog, Log-meister, Bro Dog
Known Since: Winter 2009
How Known: I met Logan through his better half - Danny. Logan is the kind of guy friend that reminds you of your brother. The kind that will fart on you, the kind that will listen to your complaints, the kind that will be annoying as hell, and the kind that will, in the end, actually be pretty damn thoughtful. I remember meeting Logan for one of the first times at one of my Christmas movie marathon nights in Boulder. He wore something dorky with Danny, and I knew that these two had no shame and would probably become good friends of mine. Pictured: Logan at far right, front row, during family Thanksgiving dinner last year at his place.

Logan's sense of humor is just the tip of the iceburg as to why he's one hell of a human being. He's incredibly modest - works for non-profit and has his hands in lots of volunteer projects - but he'd never brag about it or even talk about it. Aside from his day job do-gooder qualities, he sincerely cares about other people's well beings to an astounding extent. Whenever I've been in a bind and job searching, Logan has sent me more job recommendations than anyone else. When I'm going through an existential crises, Logan reassures me with a resounding, "It'll be ok kiddo, we'll get you through this time." Whenever I need to have a bitch fest, Logan reads/listens/patiently absorbs. Logan is also a film buff - I enjoy his movie pics and hearing about why he enjoys a good flick. Yeah, he's artsy and sensitive like that.

I think that the quality I most admire is his integrity. It's a strong word to use, and a strong attribute I look for in close friends. Logan carries himself with integrity and respect for other people at all times - through thoughtful actions, through conducting himself like a gentleman, through taking an active stance in life. Logan and I got to know each other at the beginning of our friendship when I would hop over during my lunch hours (in Boulder) to his office and volunteer at the non-profit he was working at the time. We would swap crude jokes and make bets on KU/MU games (he always lost and had to cough up lunch at Mustard's Last Stand). I mean, no wonder we get along so well - he was raised by Jayhawks.

Logan is a truly great person - enough to potentially start overlooking the whole Mizzou grossness that accompanies him. I know that if I ever need someone to make me feel loved and tormented simultaneously, the Log-Dog will give me that brotherly affection. My Denver experience truly wouldn't be the same without him.

Just The Tip

2011-04-09T23:00:00.004-06:00

I'm back at it - waiting tables to get through school. This horrible abomination of a profession can actually be quite rewarding and entertaining, and is a great way to make money while going to classes, because when work ends, it ends. I've come back to waiting tables (been doing it off and on since the age of 18) after a lay off, and with a renewed perspective with the juxtaposition of sitting in a desk all day. Every job has horrible people to work with, and every job is also a great way to meet fantastic people. Every job has ups and downs - doesn't matter if you are a waitress or a CEO. Serving tables is just the same. I've waited at sports bars, delis, seafood joints, chain restaurants, and grilled cheese-only establishments. The lessons I've learned over the years are as follows:

People Waste A Lot of Food
It's sickening to see how much is wasted - perfectly good, half eaten sandwiches, loads of nachos, brownie sundaes, all haphazardly tossed in the trash. Ask for a doggie bag. Give it to a homeless person on your way home if you didn't like it or don't like leftovers.

You Like Totally Could be My Dad. Gross.
I am 25 years old. I have zero desire to go out with a dude 10+ years older than me - we probably don't have much in common. I don't care if you are rich, or if your loneliness and/or drunkenness during happy hour causes you to forget that I'm a) a human being and b) one that is young enough to be your daughter. You might feel 28, but you aren't, soooooooo cut it out.

When You Sit At a Table For Hours, You Need To Order Something Besides Water
If it's not busy, I don't care if you sit at your table and drink water all day. But if it's busy, the longer you sit at the table, the more shifts I'm going to have to pick up, and the harder I'm going to have to bust ass later. Time is money and real estate is valuable - so please recognize that sitting at a table for hours on end on a busy night is one less table I'm able to turn over and make money on. And if you want to stay, just tip higher.

I Am a Server, Not a Stupid Slut
Yes, I happen to be a server, but just because I appear to be lower on the social status scale than you, it doesn't mean you can be condescending to me. I have a bachelor's degree and a working brain. Many servers are like me - starting up a business on the side, finishing school, making extra money in addition to their day job. We are not slaves that desire to be treated like caca.

I Am Not a Dog
Snapping, whistling, or "Hey, you!" will not receive an answer of any sort. I am not an animal. I have a name, ask for it. Additionally, if you are busy making out on your date or talking on your cell phone, I'll wait until you've finished before interrupting. I'm at work, not here to cater to your every whim.

Seriously, Relax
The world will not end if you didn't get mustard on your burger. I want things done right when I go out to eat, but sometimes your server might be slammed with multiple tables because someone didn't show up for a shift, or everyone decided to cash out or sit down at the same time, or something in the kitchen exploded. You will poop out whatever you ate in approximately 48 hours - so I promise that it will all be ok. It's just food. Most people in the world don't have the luxury to go to bed with a full belly, let alone dine out.

I Really, Really Don't Care What You Think About Me, or My Outfit
"I really like that skirt you're wearing" "You look artsy, are you an artist?" I am not here to win your approval or for additional validation with regard to my outfit. I don't mind a friendly chat or conversation, it's nice sometimes. But I don't comment on your clothes, or say that you look this way or that way, or ask if you have a sister named Jessica, because I am at work and I'm busy...so please respect that and me and keep your opinions to yourself.

I Have Not Called One Person That Has Left Their Number
I used to collect all of the scraps of hilarious notes guys would leave - "Mike the guy in the cowboy hat." Or some weird shit about how I look like a by-product of Blondie and Scarlett Johansson on a comment card followed by a number. I have never called these numbers. I am at work, I'm busy, I'm probably hot and tired with swollen feet. Trust me, you're the butt of a joke in the back of the house.

If You Don't Want to Tip, Get Take Out
Sometimes I don't want to go out to eat, because I don't feel like paying for the tip. That's perfectly ok - it would be worse if I ate out and then skimped on the tip because I was on a budget or just not feeling it. This is how people like me pay their bills, so please respect that and either pay accordingly or drive through McDonald's.

Anyone that has waited tables will agree that this job gives you incredible perspective on human interaction, blesses you with empathy for customer service representatives, and can be a fun, interactive experience. In some ways I much prefer it over having a salaried position where I'm not completely engaged. I get to move around, talk with people, and usually get a hearty discount on good food. I've made friends, boyfriends, and even best friends with people I've waited tables with - people from all walks of life have to be a bit more raw at this job than other jobs I've worked, and I appreciate that fact. A fellow waitress at my recent job said that everyone should wait tables for a year prior to college - sort of like the draft. I agree. But, at the end of the day, all the "nice" comments, phone numbers, and flirtations aren't why I come to work. Just give me the tip.

Emergency Helicopter Landing

2011-04-04T23:17:00.005-06:00

A few months ago, I attended the University of Colorado's physician assistant information session. I came in late (surprise), looked around at the competition, and thought, "That's so cool there are so many non traditional students interested in this field." Then I observed a little more closely - these were people's parents. People's parents were attending an information session about a graduate program with their children - I was super confused.

Was it wrong or weird that my parents weren't with me? I didn't even think to ask them. I'll be paying for PA school, knew what questions I wanted to ask, had a timeline in my mind. It's not that I don't value my parents' opinions, I do. I just felt fully capable and confident going into an informational session on my own.

It's no secret that I am an independent woman, or that I greatly value independence, perhaps more than the average bear. Maybe that's why the continued dependence on parental support - whether it's financial, emotional or otherwise - of individuals well into their mid to late twenties is perplexing to me. When shit hit the fan a month ago and I was laid off from a contract position (this means I was unable to collect unemployment), I put on my worker gloves and got a job waiting tables. I didn't think about asking my parents for money. I didn't stop and have a panic attack that I wasn't going to be able to survive (well, maybe I did for just a second). I knew that, because my parents instilled responsibility and showed me the value of financial independence, that I would be able to handle whatever curve ball was currently being thrown my way.

That, my friends, is my strongest argument against helicopter parenting, for the importance of true umbilical cord severance. It's liberating to feel like an actual adult - paying for things I want with my hard earned cash, not feeling an overbearing sense of a stockpile of IOU's, truly being able to guide the ship the direction I choose because I'm the captain and there is no co-captain or first mate that's paid for the ride. And I very well should feel this way - I'm just shy of 26 years old.

Yes, I have a problem when people's parents pay for things at my age. And I'm not talking about a little assistance just out of college to get on your feet, or a nice set of cutlery for Christmas that you otherwise wouldn't be able to afford. I'm just happy that my parents don't think that any mountain is too tall, any test to hard, that they will climb it for me or take it for me. Early on, they equipped me with the skills necessary to survive when shit does hit the fan (because it's life, and it ain't always roses) - truly doing their job as parents by making me call Blockbuster at age 8 to see if they had whatever Disney movie I wanted to watch. Then later on by making me balance a check book. Then later on by making me get a job and pay for half of college. Then later on by opening the cage and, without stipulation, telling me to fly. We'd practiced everything enough for 22 years. It was just time.

MSNBC recently published a study about Helicopter Parenting and it's downsides. Psychologists at Keene State College assessed 300 incoming freshman, and discovered varying amounts of parental intervention (ranging from calling the admissions office to writing papers for students). The students with the most parental intervention were found to be neurotic, dependent, more self conscious, and have more anxiety. The study doesn't mention, however, that these students are also being severely deprived. Deprived of learning valuable life lessons, survival skills, social skills, and a slew of other people, ideas, and adventures that only experience can bring.

It might not be as important to you as it is to me to be totally self sufficient - but I know no other way. I know that I can move wherever I want, be whatever I want, on my schedule and without showing my parents my report card, because it's my life, and I pay for it and make it happen. I couldn't have done it without their support, without their willingness to show love by letting go of the training wheels and watching me ride off. I can't imagine how scary it must be, but it cant be any scarier than wondering if your child knows how to negotiate a salary on their own, ask for a promotion or raise on their own, write a cover letter on their own, know what a FICA tax is, or how to do their taxes on their own.

Yeah, sometimes it sucks to hustle. But it puts things in a harsher lighting, and dissecting what you really want becomes much easier. When you figure it out on your own without someone else at the info session of life, and pay for the ticket on your own, the ride is that much more rewarding because you've worked your ass off for it. And I'd rather have my eyes wide open and know what's coming up next than have someone shielding my sight from the scary parts.

I am fully aware that the world does not revolve around me and my perception of things, and I'm willing to hear the argument for continued parental support well beyond age 30. Whatever argument that can be made for the case of parental support beyond age 22 in the form of aiding independence, sparking innovative thinking, igniting passion, or stretching a human being to conquer difficult tasks would be incredibly interesting to hear. Tell me why it's better to ride with your eyes half closed - I'll listen with experience under my belt and my eyes wide open.

Lessons From a Nursing Home

2011-03-27T21:14:00.003-06:00

Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak. Sometime in your life, you will have been all of these.
-Dr. Robert H. Goddard

Recently, I completed my Certified Nurse's Aide course, including 4 evenings and 2 full Saturdays of rotations in an Assisted Living facility. My nights would run from 5-9, after a full day's work, and my Saturdays would run from 7am - 3pm.

While this isn't most people's ideal Saturday, it is the Saturday that 60 or so residents of the facility have again, and again, and again. Many of them will not leave the facility - they are either too feeble, require full time assistance that a family member cannot provide, or have Alzheimer's or Dementia. They can't pile in their car in sweats to have a greasy hangover breakfast. They can't lay in bed lazily with their significant other. They can't get up at 3am and hike Long's Peak. This is their Saturday now, this is their life, and this shit is real. It ain't something for Kim Kardashian fans - the things I saw in the nursing home were more sad, heart wrenching and joyful - yes, joyful - than any reality TV show could seek to imitate.

Clinicals in the nursing home did involve lots of poo - and I mean LOTS and lots of poo - but it also presented incredible opportunities for personal growth, extension of myself in ways I never thought I could. The first day of clinicals, we were assigned to a unit. There were 3 "regularly" functioning units on one wing, and on the dementia wing, there was the lower functioning dementia unit and the higher functioning dementia unit. I was assigned to the lowest functioning dementia unit. Since my grandmother passed away from dementia, I was somewhat prepared, but soon learned that actually being in the trenches of patient care was an entirely different story.

Some patients were violent. Some were hilarious. Some were cooperative. Some were very particular. I couldn't help but laugh when an elderly woman doused one of my fellow students with water while she was receiving a shower. And who can blame her? I would want to have a little fun and get a little rowdy if I didn't even get to decide when I took a shower. No matter the temperament of each patient, the underlying fact remained that this is a person. At one point, this person was as young as me, as nimble as me, as determined as me. This is someone's grandmother, sister, mother, wife, friend. This isn't just a body to bathe or feed or clean or wash. This is a person with spirit who, above all else, wants to be loved and respected just as any human being at any stage of life desires.

By the end of clinics - after I'd come to know many of the patients, remembered many names, had laughs with several, come to know about some of their incredibly interesting life stories, and seen the difficulties of their daily lives - I was really, really sick of the reaction of, "God, having a rotation in a nursing home must suck." Was it glamorous? Did I have a steamy affair with Dr. McDreamy or whatever-his-ass from Grey's Anatomy? No. I saw lots of floppy skin, smelled lots of urine, used lots of Vick's Vapor Rub in my nostrils. But I came to see the world of the elderly through their eyes, to understand and accommodate their pain points, to gain empathy in a new direction.

I learned not to be scared of patients with dementia, or of old people, or of touching someone's hand to comfort them. People can read your body language, even if they have a mental disease, or are old - they've lived long enough on this planet to know if you really care. By just looking someone in the eye, by nodding and smiling, by touching (something we are all so scared to do) a happy moment can be created. By validating someone's existence and worth, even when they are incontinent, even when they don't know their name or the year, by recognizing that they have given to society in their time and deserve respect, a difference is being made to someone.

When I started this class, my teacher (a fantastically smart RN, the best teacher I've had in 18 years of education) stated that she taught this class because she "wanted to instill the importance of caring about the forgotten people of the world." There really weren't many visitors on Saturdays in the nursing home. And it really doesn't take much - just color a picture, sing a song, sit and hold their hand. If you are reading this and you do have a relative in such a situation or state, go visit. I know that it smells, I know that it's scary, I know that it's unpleasant - but it's where they live. Someday that could be you, or me, or your mom, and we all learn how to treat each other by watching how other family members or friends are treated.

The elderly and those who need assistance towards the end of their lives aren't going to be on the cover of Playboy. They aren't going to have fun Facebook status updates or win a Edward 40 Hands Contest. But they are still people, they still have emotional and physical needs, and still desire the acknowledgment of society that they have value.

Perception is reality. I was fortunate enough to get a glimpse of some of the patient's lives before they came to the nursing home - photographs of young versions of themselves, on fishing trips, at graduations, at weddings. The eyes are still the same. They are still the same. Let's treat them as such.

Put Some Wind in Your Sails

2011-03-22T12:05:00.004-06:00

A ship is safe in a harbor, but one does not build a ship to sit in a harbor.

One common past time people tend to list is inevitably "travel." People like to travel for all sorts of reasons, to all sorts of places, in all sorts of circumstances. Some people prefer to travel behind glass - taking cruises, staying in fancy hotels, eating a different version of foods they are comfortable with. Others like to get dirty, eating bizarre local foods, staying in hostels or couchsurfing, going to a local dive bar and shooting pool with natives to get a true feel for the area. Whatever way you prefer (maybe it's a little of both?) travel is important for several reasons:

It renews your sense of wonder
As adults, we begin to strive for complacency on some level. We know what we like, have "our way" of doing things, and don't like when our comfortable, repetitive schedules are interrupted. People go home from parties earlier, gain more reasons not to show up, and become consumed by responsibilities. All of this takes away from your sense of wonder, sense of complete awe of the world that you had as a child. Children are transfixed by things as simple as snow. Maybe it takes something like feeling small next to the Roman Coliseum to renew this awe for you, but it's wonderful once you've got it back. It makes you ask questions, become curious once more, breaks up the monotony of sleep, work, bills.

It gives you perspective
Mark Twain said "Travel is fatal to bigotry, prejudice, and narrow-mindedness." The man would know, he crossed the Atlantic over 20 times in his life (by boat of course), and well before McDonald's and Coke dominated every corner of the planet. When you travel, you see that humans are incredibly similar, no matter the walk of life. They all enjoy being entertained in a variety of ways, eat communally, express themselves through dress and style, have extensive slang, are curious about your culture and are striving for happiness in ways both great and small. If you traveled to the Middle East, you certainly wouldn't find 100% of the people to be anti-American, anti-Christian war mongering humans as portrayed on the nightly news. Travel promotes understanding. Travel promotes open mindedness. Travel promotes peace.

It's a giant history lesson
The United States is one of the youngest countries in the world, so international travel is an opportunity to see ancient ruins, markings of events such as World War I and II, the Holocaust, and dynasties past. When I backpacked Europe after college, I laughed at one lone, assinine comment of, "You just finished college and learned so much, and now you are going to waste time traveling instead of getting a job?" Travel is where I've learned the most - about history, myself, other travelers, other cultures, and didn't just repeat lessons for an A. I walked through a concentration camp instead of just reading about one. I touched the worn statues of the Charles Bridge instead of just looking at pictures of them. There's no better way to understand the present than to understand the past.

It's an incredible challenge
Getting out of your comfort zone is at the absolute core of what it means to be a human being. Humans summit mountains, swim across oceans, write fantasy novels, invent electricity, start businesses and get into relationships because we all enjoy challenge on some level. Travel is a raw challenge on a basic level - you've got to find a new place to sleep, eat, new ways to communicate (even if it's locally!), get around, dress....when you arrive by train in a new city, say, in Switzerland, and don't speak German or Italian, don't know which way is North, or have even a vague idea about what a Schnitzel is, or where to exchange your dollars for Francs, and do the math in your head to find a good deal on a hostel - things are challenging all of the time. You are using your brain in a different way, and at first it hurts, but then it feels great.

Maybe you thought about the points above as reasons you enjoy traveling, maybe not. But either way, travel allows you time to explore, to learn kinesthetically, to gain understanding. Remember what St. Augustine said, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel only read one page."

No More Office Space: The Time Is Now

2011-03-08T09:25:00.007-07:00

Make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.
-Into The Wild

Several years ago, I was diagnosed with an 8cm ovarian cyst. I had no idea how big my ovaries normally should be (the answer is typically the size of an almond, and mine had grown to a grapefruit sized monstrosity). I had to undergo surgery, a month of recovery, and the overall shock that I didn't even understand the basic inner workings of my body at age 21.

This incident sparked my interest in the human body. Coupled with my years of ballet dancing, my blossoming yoga practice, and my growing awareness of the mind-body connection, I have become increasingly curious over the years about the health care profession. I even shadowed an Ob-Gyn in early 2008 - not in the least bit discouraged by the vaginas or body fluids, but rather by the cost of going back to school and the time it would take to complete additional pre-requisites I had intentionally avoided in college like the plague.

At that point, I was 22 and 7 months out of college. Now, I'm 25, several office jobs and 4 years out of college, and I have a different perspective on things. Some jobs have been outstanding, some have been awful. All have taught me more and more about what I don't want to do and have pushed me closer to uncovering what the hell it is I do want to do. And I can tell you right now - it's not sitting in a desk. It's not staring at the computer screen as my fanny gradually gets wider from the office snacks.

Now before you think I'm shooting down all office jobs, I'm not. Every organization needs many moving parts to make it run. The ballet company not only needs the starry eyed Artistic Director and the devoted dancers, it needs the non-pretty parts as well. It needs a financial adviser. It needs a marketing team. It needs a janitor. With that recognition in mind, I think it's also important to know which role you want to play and succeed at playing, because it's inefficient and painful to put Barbra Streisand in the back washing dishes when that woman needs to be front and center, belting out Funny Girl show tunes.

So, with all of the aforementioned in mind, I signed up for a CNA (Certified Nurse's Aide) course back in December. It started January 3 and concludes this coming Saturday. It has been a challenge; for those of you unaware of what the majority of CNA's do, it's wiping asses in nursing homes. That's what I've been doing for a week and a half in my clinical rotations. You see, my thought process was this: If I can handle gobs and gobs of poo, a cadaver lab will be nothing. If I get through this course and am still interested, still excited by the thought of going into the medical field, I will pass the ADD test (there are so many things I want to do). Well, I've cleaned up LOTS of poo. I've given showers to feisty elderly ladies and I've worked with low functioning dementia patients. And it has been incredibly rewarding, challenging, and eye opening. And I'm not running away.

Is it selfish in some way, to seek out an instant feeling of satisfaction in a profession? Perhaps. But I don't do well in the "let's make lots of money and get lots of toys before we die" world. I am not competitive, I like talking to people and having quite a bit of interaction, I like working on a team. So why should I continue making myself seem interested when my eyes glaze over in meetings? It's not about being a snot who is afraid of hard work - it's the exact opposite - because what I want to do will require loads of coursework and an educational entirely funded by moi (yes, new undergrad Bio 101 courses all the way through 3 years of subsequent graduate coursework). Money will be tight, time will become even more precious, and there will be many more loans.

But that's ok. Last night I was virtually "released" from a tech job (yes, that means via email), and in 4 days, I will complete my CNA course, headed towards taking my State Board exams. Coincidence? I think not. Karma is sometimes a vicious bitch that pushes you over the cliff in the right direction. I've been to info sessions, I've taken the class, I've asked the questions, I've done ridiculous amounts of research, so yes, it's time to announce that I am going to go to do the prep work to apply for PA School.

It's so scary to say it, to type it, to publish it. But it is exciting because I hope that it gives you, whoever may be reading this, the knowledge and the confidence to know that if I can make a change towards what I want to do, or at least take on the financial/emotional/time risks to uncover it, then by God, you can too. I took a CNA course because I wanted to know and find out for real, instead of always just wondering if this was something I wanted to do.

To drag this sermon out even longer, I was incredibly inspired by Huffington Post columnist and Psychologist Douglas LaBier's "Career 4.0" theory. Yes, it's lengthy, but absolutely worth the read:

What I call 4.0 is a shorthand way of describing a new evolution I see in people’s attitudes, behavior and desires about their work and career. Think of 1.0 as more of a survival orientation to work. It’s how people think about and engage in their work when they’re in situations of extreme hardship, political upheaval, or within socio-economic conditions that limit their opportunity and choices. That probably describes the situation for the masses of people throughout most of history, and of course it exists today. In such situations, just earning enough of a living to survive and support yourself and your family is your target, your criteria of “success.” Today, the conflicts that people experience within version 1.0 often concern working conditions, discrimination and limited opportunities for getting onto a career path that can lead to something better.

Version 2.0 emerged with the political and economic environments that gave rise to the modern “career”; that is, mostly within increasingly large, bureaucratic organizations from about the late 1800s into the early 20^th Century. Those organizations required layers of management and administration – white-collar jobs. Advancement became possible along a defined path, and was available to people who could gain a foothold within it, usually because of educational opportunities and/or social class advantages they were born into. Seeking recognition, power, status, and material perks from steady advancement define success with Version 2.0. It still predominates within today’s career culture. It’s where you find the conditions that generate, for example, work-life conflict, boredom, workplace bullying, hostile management practices, and subtle racial and gender barriers to moving up.

Version 3.0 arose just in the last few decades. It reflects the desire for more personal meaning and fulfillment through work. People within this career version are less satisfied with just the money, power and position characteristic of version 2.0. The 3.0 careerist wants more compatibility and balance between work and life, and is less willing than the 2.0 careerist to stick with an unfulfilling job, or to settle for one when job-hunting.

Surveys illustrate the 3.0 orientation in various ways. For example, in the pushback against the longer hours companies increasingly pressure you into. Or against being available via BlackBerry or cell phone 24/7, even while on a vacation. Also, increasing numbers of people say that moving up is a downer for them; that they dislike their new jobs when they do move up the traditional career ladder. For example, a recent Families and Work Institute report finds that promotions are being turned down by workers in the thick of their careers. Workers used to be eager to take on more responsibility, and now they aren’t, as much.

The 3.0 careerists want professional life to nourish the capacity for developing talents or interests outside of work, instead of pushing them aside. In short, they want less fragmentation and more integration among the different parts of their lives. More than just having a successful career, they want their careers to serve and support a successful life.

What, then, is Version 4.0? It’s what I think is a new but increasingly visible evolution beyond 3.0. In the 4.0 orientation, the person wants not only work that enables more personal self-development, but looks for opportunities to connect with, serve and have impact on something beyond or larger than oneself. That is, the 4.0 careerist not only wants a career that enables you to integrate personal life goals and values with what you do at work; not only have sufficiently meaningful work, personally, but also be able to have a positive impact on human lives through work.

Consequently, the 4.0 careerist is highly proactive, looking for and seizing opportunities for new learning, and creative growth, within the organization; and having positive impact on something larger than oneself through his or her career. That is, the 4.0 careerist is oriented toward a sense of service to and connection with the larger human community through the product or service he or she is contributing to.

Just more money, advancement and increasing recognition aren’t sufficient. In short, the 4.0 careerist wants work that is personally rewarding, but that also contributes to the greater good, beyond his or her own personal gain. They are attracted to organizations whose philosophy and management practices are supportive of those goals; that value innovation, are transparent, psychologically healthy – and philosophically committed to the “triple bottom line:” financial success, social impact and environmental responsibility. Career version 4.0 looks to be part of an emerging new business model – one that’s sorely needed in our current business, social and political environment.

So I write this for all of the Jamie's out there figuring it out. For the Mike's sojourning across the world wondering what to do next. For the Kristin's going back to school. For each and every one of you that is prepared to take a leap of faith, to dive in, and really get dirty figuring it out. People like JK Rowling had a vision and didn't lose sight of it. It wasn't a lie in school - you really can do anything or be any profession you want, you just forget that as you get older.

The journey is the reward. Buckle up.

Lord I was Born a Ramblin' Woman : The Fine Art of Homelessness

2011-02-24T11:12:00.008-07:00

Home is where the heart is. There's no place like home. Home is whenever I'm with you. Wherever you go, there you are.

All of these euphemisms have taken on a different meaning for me after 4 months of living out of my car. Yes - I'm nearing the end of my homeless term, and I couldn't be happier about it. It's been a weird, wild, oftentimes annoying ride, but I think it's overall one of the most hysterical situations to have occurred in recent personal memory.

When people asked, "Where do you live in Denver?" I'd answer simply, "Nowhere." The puzzled look and raised eyebrows were fine with me - my semi-permanent couch crashing state was an elective I had chosen. The reasons were simple: I'm getting too old to live with a ton of people (done the sorority thing), sick of living with randoms (wasn't interested in pursuing a Craigslist chance, although each Craigslist chance I've taken has resulted in a strong friendship), didn't want to live in an apartment anymore (growing up? no way!) and was done living with party animals (SO SO over coming home to drunk/drugged up roommates).

I also had a friend - a fun, spunky, put-together-yet-not-anal, low key girl - that wanted and needed a roommate; only problem was that her lease was up in March. I moved to Denver from Aspen Halloween weekend.

So there were two options.
Option 1: Spend the month of November searching for a 2 month sublease, preferably alone, and moving all of my shit into the sublease. Then moving it out. Putting deposits down and paying a high price for a short lease.
Option 2: Spend 4 months couch crashing. The holidays were coming up, I'd be home for a good two weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I had plenty of friends I could overstay my welcome and ruin friendships with. I could save a bit of money, not hassle with finding a very temporary sublease, and not move my junk 2 more times.

Either way was going to suck. I chose Option 2.

Now, before I launch into how I pulled this off, I must state first and foremost that I couldn't have done this without annoying a shitload of people. The assistance of a certain set of girls' basement and large shed is the only reason I was able to do this. All of the friends that assisted me in my homeless state were the official sponsors of my move to Denver. I really need to make them "Team Dirt-E" t-shirts.

Sometimes I stayed with Jen in Parker. Sometimes I stayed with Grace and Jacque in Boulder. Sometimes I felt like Harry Potter when I stayed in the basement under the stairs with the spiders at Abbey and Laura's. I stored junk at Dylan's, crashed at my Dad's condo in Colorado Springs, dog sat and house sat for Denise, blew up the air mattress at Raquel's. And I left. Shit. Everywhere.

My path of destruction on the Front Range (and Colorado, really) has been fierce. I left a writing desk and a small bed in Aspen that I still need to get, I have junk at about 5 different locations in Denver, junk in CO Springs - and yes, oh yes, plenty of junk in my trunk. I can hardly see out of the damn thing. The gas mileage has been doubly bad in my 2000 Expedition. The best thing I have going for me is that, since I destroyed the door in 2009 and replaced it with a mismatched one, the Apartment on Wheels is so incredibly ghetto looking that even bums wouldn't break a window to steal my extensive collection of Forever 21 Shit. My sister gasped when she saw the car, saying, "This looks like a giant suitcase."

Every day, I leave something somewhere. Where is that one pair of dangly, gold, peacock shaped earrings? Where is my deoderant? Where are my snow boots? Where...is...my...sanity...I am almost 26 years old and living like a "ragamuffin" as my mother would say. Sometimes I would open up the back of the Expedition after forgetting it had gone through a good jumble of traffic, and things would just explode out into the street. I often wondered what bystanders would think - is that a modern day Mary Poppins with an Expedition instead of a Carpet Bag? Hell yes it is.

For all the shit I talk on that POS car, it has served me well. I was able to keep an entire wardrobe, a wide variety of shoe options, scarves, pots and pans, books, toiletries - you name it - stored in the safety of this car. After moving to 4 different cities and having moved 9, yes 9 times since 2008 (including one savored eviction) - my parents weren't surprised by my decision to live out of my car. They have given up on me. My grandmother, however, was (it's safe to assume) horrified, letting me know that she prayed for me every day to find my own little house.

I think, though, that the combination of my multiple moves and a backpacking trip I once took across Central Europe enabled me to live this way. It's not for everyone - I would say it's not even for me - but it did teach me to live thankfully, live communally once more, and live frugally. I couldn't buy more junky antiques, clothes, or other things I really didn't need because I didn't have the space to store it.

Perhaps the worst part was not having a room - my only privacy really came from showering, riding the bus, or in my car-partment, but it was actually a nice excuse to visit and stay with people I might otherwise not see as often. I thanked these people verbally, with gifts of groceries, meals, wine, money - you name it - I wanted to show my appreciation somehow and not be a total bum.

But the time has come. Starting March 1, I will have my own place with my own roommate. I will have an address. I will have a garden. I will have a wonderful time decorating my mint-green, built-in-1922 charmer. I will no longer tell someone to send my mail to "Erica Prather, the Room Under the Stairs, Denver, CO."

But I will never forget the interesting shift in perspective not having your own place has given me, that nomadic freedom, that uncomfortable yet exhilarating unattachment to a place. I will never forget my grotesquely large keychain, rattling with keys to multiple homes all around Colorado. But most of all, I will never forget the friends who put up with my dirt, my crap, my messes, my random appearances on their doorstep. You are all officially invited to do laundry as much as you need at my place until my lease is up next year. Your karma points are so off the charts you couldn't have a higher number if you were Super Mario jumping on a red mushroom all day.

I'm looking forward to finally making my own little nest, my own little home; among other projects I have lined up is creating a guest space in the basement for all of the nomads, the couch surfers, the Mary Poppins and the Harry Potters that will wander through Denver and need a place to rest their heads. Once a nomad, always a nomad - mi casa es su casa.

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2011-02-22T10:00:00.002-07:00

Name: Natalie

Known Since: 2006

How Known: English classes at KU

Why She's Great: Natalie and I were both English majors at KU, so we ended up having multiple classes together. We've always been kinda-on-the-same-wavelength; and it really probably started with winding up in many of the same classes: Queer Languages, Comics class, Major American writers with a professor whose pants (seriously, poor guy) were always unzipped, and Punk Lit, among other obscure classes. Yup, we picked the weird ones.

We were both subjected to the complete and total weirdness of A Clockwork Orange, and tried to sit through the movie to sift through the meaning - but agreed to turn the flick off halfway through due to major disturbia.

I was lucky enough to have a business trip to Seattle last summer, and Natalie came up from Portland to explore with me. We took her car on (what we perceived as) a treacherous ferry ride, drove around the Olympic Peninsula, saw the Hoh Rainforest, camped on the Pacific, and found ourselves in Forks, Washington, home of Twilight mania. We completely freaked ourselves out by the sound of the incoming ocean tide in the early morning hours, but thoroughly enjoyed the experience nonetheless!

We also explored the Fremont neighborhood of Seattle, feasting on delicious Thai food and soaking in the hipster glow that is Fremont.

I love Natalie's attitude of gratitude - she is always grateful for something, even the littlest of things. She has a sense of total positivity, coupled with an open minded, accepting attitude. She also has literal arm fulls of colorful vegetable tattoos - it's fun to get recipe ideas from her to eat healthier. Natalie has an excellent, fun, fresh sense of style - you can see it in her clothes, her hats, her hair cuts, and in her smile. She one of those people you want around because she's sorta like a good luck charm.

I'm happy that Natalie is one of those people I can see after quite a bit of time and feel like we never left off, a college buddy that's transformed into an adulthood friend as well. I look forward to my eventual visit to Portland and her grateful attitude rubbing off on me as much as possible!

The Looooooveee SLAP!

2011-02-14T08:52:00.002-07:00

...Love Slap Baaaabayyyy

So I guess it's Valentine's Day. That one gross day where people feel compelled to bust out the red, the pink, the roses, the lingerie, the candles. While we're all thinking or reading or whatever-ing about this topic of L-O-V-E, I wanted to talk about the best thing you can give someone on Valentine's Day, or any day - the back of your hand. That's right, friends, I'm talking about the love slap.

It's not going to leave you feeling Twitter Paited. It's not going to give you stomach butterflies so bad you might expel something at either end of your primary orifices. But it's the best thing about love there possibly is.

I often consult M. Scott Peck's The Road Less Traveled - it's chock full of insights and explanations into the unexplainable. I subscribe to Dr. Peck's definition of love: that romantic love is nature's way of tricking you into reproducing, and that actual, true love is a choice. Dr. Peck states: "When we extend ourselves, when we take the extra step or walk and extra mile, we do so in opposition to the inertia of laziness or the resistance to fear. Extension of ourselves or moving out against the inertia of laziness we call work. Moving out in the face of fear we call courage. Specifically, it is work or courage directed toward the nurture of our own or another's spiritual growth. We may work or exert courage in directions other than spiritual growth, and for this reason all work and all courage is not love. But since it requires the extension of ourselves, love is always either work or courage. It an act is not one of work or courage, then it is not an act of love. There are no exceptions. "

That's why, a love slap is the best thing you can do for someone you truly care about. And you know what? It's hard. It's taking the time to listen, to understand, to be empathetic, and then to dissect and work out problems with your loved one. This is certainly not exclusive to romantic relationships. I know I probably just dropped a giant brick on Cupid's dimple-cheeked, diaper clad ass, but this is reality folks, and reality doesn't exist in the prose of a Hallmark card.

I'm talking about constructive criticism. This is entirely the opposite of de-constructive criticism, perhaps my all time No 1. on the Pet Peeve list. This doesn't mean attacking someone's character by listing off qualities you dislike about them and that they should fix. If we all did this to one another, we would all be friendless. This means assessing a situation objectively, calmly, picking up someone's well being in your hand and holding it to the light, seeing this in all of it's complexities and shades of color.

This blog is a love slap. I enjoy writing about non-fluffy issues to get people thinking, to push them out of their comfortable chairs and form opinions, question their actions, grow. Growth hurts - remember growing pains? You have to keep getting new shoe sizes, your body feels funny and aches sometimes. Same thing. Personal growth - and assisting someone else in their personal growth, is love. It is love of the self and love of others. And personal growth comes from challenge, from change; not from stagnant behaviors and a complacent lifestyle.

Some people who read this blog don't understand that. They think it's about me getting on a soap box - but, op-ed is written in first person and it is not objective. Those of you who read Maureen Dowd will recognize this very similar style. She navigates you through her thoughts and emotions, formulating an opinion and challenging yours. And some people hate her. I count myself among one of her devoted fans, because even though I don't always agree with her, I appreciate her willingness and desire to think and to challenge thoughts. That is what a great op-ed piece (and author) does.

To write about the topic of love is so challenging, so impossible, that I'm not entirely sure this posts makes any sense whatsoever. I guess what I'm saying is that nobody that has ever loved me or that I have ever loved has not challenged me in some way. They have pushed or sometimes shoved me to stop, look around, and assess. It's like when my mom would say, "If we didn't care or didn't love you, we wouldn't set a curfew for you." Same thing. The love slap is initiated by those who take the time to care, have the courage to wind up, and the force to slap.

So get slap happy. Help each other grow, for that is love. Don't be afraid to say, "Stop whining about your job, do something about it. Here are some links." or "Find a way or find an excuse. How can I help?" or "Maybe you should try traveling a little bit before you settle down - you are only young once." or "I don't think you are happy in this relationship and I think it's toxic for you. I would want someone to tell me." These aren't rude comments, they are well thought out, difficult conversations that only love has the right to say.

It's like the Beatles say - All You Need is (slap) Love.

More Than Just a School Rivalry

2011-02-07T10:17:00.018-07:00

I was a wet-behind-the-ears college freshman, a wide-eyed 18 year old living in the all girl's dormitory in the hills of Lawrence, Kansas. One of my first football games and earliest memories of intense Jayhawk pride was winning a game against the Missouri Tigers - goal posts were brought down and thrown into Potter's Lake, celebrations were had by all, the crimson and the blue was pumping hard in my veins and I was hooked.

It was explained to me that the Tigers were our rivals, and that we detested them. Not a friendly rib-jabbing we had with the Kansas State Wildcats, but a full on, vomit-inducing rivalry. My anti-Missouri shirts began accumulating..."Friends Don't Let Friends Go to MU" followed by "Muck Fizzou" and then "Screw Mizzou" and finally, "Kansas, Keeping America Safe From Missouri Since 1854." But it was never explained to me why this hatred existed, where it stemmed from. And really, while it's a strong college rivalry, the roots behind this rivalry make it a fascinating story about our forming country. At right: Sketch from a Kansas City Journal Article in 1908.

Some historians say that the Kansas-Missouri war kick started the Civil War. In 1854, seven years before the Civil War began, the territory of Kansas was opened for settlement. May 30, 1854 marked the Kansas-Nebraska Act, allowing white settlers to stake their claim. This same act simultaneously repealed the Missouri compromise, which brought the issue of extending slavery northward to light once more. The new state of Kansas was left to figure it out for itself, resulting in a series of attacks from both the pro-slavery movement as well as abolitionists, later known as Jayhawkers.

The disparity was so great, that some cities, such as Lawrence and Topeka, were established as free, whereas cities such as Abilene and Leavenworth were established as pro-slavery factions. The political back and forth continued for well over a year, with both sides of the slavery argument voting for their respective cause. And then John Brown stepped in. In October of 1855, John Brown arrived to assist his sons in the abolitionist movement. He wrote to his son, "I'm going to Kansas to make it a Free-State." He gathered weapons along the way, and upon his arrival, Kansas was never the same.

Tensions were rising, and the first violent attempt took place on December 1, 1855, when a small band of Missourians attacked Lawrence, it what would later be known as the "Wakarusa War." Although the Governor at the time was able to keep the pro-slavery forces at bay, an innocent man, who had come to the aid of the Free-Staters, was shot in cold blood on his way home by the Missourians. From this point forward, it was war. Thus, the term "Bleeding Kansas" was coined - the struggle to determine the state's views on slavery led to endless turmoil. Above, left: Painting of Abolitionist John Brown hangs in the Capitol building in Topeka, Kan.

The term "Jayhawkers" comes from the notion of a mythical bird that can never be caught. Missourians became referred to as "Bushwackers" - because many of them lived in the bush, and would whack the shrubbery as they rode on horseback. Again, in 1856, the pro-slavery movement came to Lawrence, the abolitionist stronghold, killing one man, burning down what is now the Eldridge Hotel, and ransacking homes and shops.

John Brown got sick of this behavior, and raided a pro-slavery settlement in Franklin County, Kansas, slaughtering five pro-slavery men. In retaliation, the Bushwackers returned to the same sight, killing many, many people - including John Brown's son. Website Legends of America (where much of this information was found) states that what happened next was,

On May 19, 1858 an armed action took place that would shock the nation and become known as the Marais des Cygne Massaacre. After a raid through Kansas, where several unarmed Free Staters were killed, Georgia native Charles Hamelton, along with about 30 followers, was returning to Missouri when they captured eleven Free State men near the Marais des Cygnes on the Kansas-Missouri border. Many of these captives, some of which were former neighbors of Hamelton’s, expected no harm to come from him. However, the Bushwhackers herded the captives into a ravine and shot them, left them for dead and returned to Missouri. Of the eleven Free Staters, five of the men died, five were wounded, and one, who had feigned death to escape injury.

After much more of this back and forth, Kansas was finally admitted as a Free State into the Union on January 29, 1861. Missouri was having plenty of internal troubles; the majority of the state was pro-slavery, but because some Free staters did exist in the state, there was enough turmoil that the state actually never officially declared whether it was Union or Confederate. So troubled was Missouri, that Kansas Senator James Lane savagly attacked the Missouri city of Osceola, killing many innocent people on both Free-state and pro-slavery sides, in an attempt to solve the slavery issue once and for all.

Lane's senseless killing was just the excuse the positively insane William Quantrill needed to attack Kansas towns once more. After pillaging Missouri towns, Quantrill moved through Shawnee and Olathe, among other cities, using such ruthless tactics that both sides of the war actually condemned him. On the morning of August 21, 1863, he burned the town of Lawrence to the ground, killing close to 200 Lawrence residents. They performed this act in retribution for all of the "wrongs done to them by the abolitionist Jayhawkers." After this raid, Quantrill later concocted a plan to assassinate President Lincoln, among other ridiculous visions.

Smaller battles between the states continued for some years, resulting in a bitter border resentment - this hangover has continued into the present day. The town of Lawrence bears the symbol of a Phoenix, representing the ability of the town to rise from the ashes from whence it was burned. The names of the streets in Lawrence are in order of entrance into the Union, and the two biggest music festivals are Wakarusa and Bleeding Kansas. A visitor to the main drag of Massachusetts Street can have an Ad Aspera Ale at Free State Brewery before a concert at Liberty Hall. And of course, the University of Kansas' mascot is derived from the mythical bird coined for the abolitionists during the state's formation.

Now that we have that bit of history cleared up - yes, both sides can be quite nasty to each other during a sporting event or upon hearing that a friend or acquaintance earned a degree at either opposing school. The name calling and the crass behavior can extend into a grotesque, caveman-like chest beating competition, and yes I am guilty as charged.

The war between our states was bloody, terrible, and after much investigation, although I believe most of us can agree on the principles of the Jayhawkers in the year 2011, both states committed heinous acts of torture and murder. I am elated that I can wear my Game Day Blue and jab a few jokes at my friends, rather than partake in an actual war.

It's a fun rivalry because, really, our universities are quite similar. We are roughly the same size, comprised of down to earth, Midwestern kids, and have large Greek systems. The fact of the matter is that many of my friends in Denver went to MU, and I bear this burden with a smile on my face, and the hope that the superior qualities of my Jayhawk-ness will rub off on them for their own good. And if friendships dissolve or breakups occur, I can always Rock Chalk it up to the rivalry - it's oh-so-understandable. At left: Our Boys at Phog Allen Fieldhouse

Do I hate all Mizzou folk? No. Would I ever be caught dead wearing their despicable dark colors or cheering for their success at a sporting event? Not a chance in hell. However, there are a few nice folks that went to that dreaded abyss of a school, and they are my personal charity cases.

So tonight, as I channel the omnipresent spirit of Phog Allen across Jayhawk Nation, I'll stand next to my MU mates and make the most of it. I'll stay Kansas classy and know that, since blood runs blue inside the vein and red out, we all bleed crimson and blue.

Rock Chalk.

Portrait of a Lady: Margot Fonteyn

2011-01-24T10:15:00.004-07:00

I recall the first time I had ever heard of Margot Fonteyn. I must have been 11 or 12, and in my voracious appetite to learn all things ballet, I was attracted to Margot's soft, doe-like brown eyes, and her dark hair. She reminded me of my grandmother. I also recall looking at pictures of her feet; the rather straight arches, the legs that weren't hyper-extended like Gelsey Kirkland's, the legs that were more ice-cream cone shaped rather than pencil thin. I thought Maybe I can dance, she looks like me.

I've heard references to Fonteyn, originally born Margaret Fontes, in movies such as "Center Stage" - when Jodi gets reprimanded for not having perfect turnout, she states, "Fonteyn didn't have great feet." And even in the ridiculously retarded "Black Swan" Natalie Portman's character states that she's sad an older dancer is retiring, because "Fonteyn danced until she was 58." So who is this Margot Fonteyn and why was she so special?

Margot Fonteyn was a British ballerina, who started classes late - becoming serious with the artform of ballet at age 14, and retired late as well - took her last curtain call at age 58. When you compare her with a ballerina in 2011, Wendy Whalen, perhaps, there are marked differences. Fonteyn didn't do a gazillion foutees and didn't impress the audience with her acrobatic, sky high extensions. She commanded the audience's attention because she shined. She smiled through her collarbones, made breath visible, really danced.

She wasn't rail thin and didn't have arches that seemed absolutely inhuman. You wanted to watch Fonteyn because she loved what she was doing. She passed away in 1991, so I was 9 years old and never had the chance to see her dancing in person - she had retired before I was born. And although film cannot convey stage presence, there is enough of Fonteyn's legacy to know and understand her charm and it's ripple effects.

Oftentimes in modern day dance, the big, sparkly effects are the head turners, the crowd pleasures - like a shitty Britney Spears song vs. Ella Fitzgerald. Those of you who caught the criticism over New York City Ballet principle dancer Jennifer Ringer's weight during this past season's Nutcracker are witnessing a disgusting display of emphasis on something completely irrelevant to dance. Sometimes, a plain white shirt is sexier than a low cut top, sometimes smaller, real breasts are more feminine than large, fake balloons, and sometimes a sumptuous, slow port de bras counts for more than an impressively deep penchee en pointe. Above: Fonteyn and Nureyev

Fonteyn's greatest partnership, with the legendary Rudolph Nureyev, didn't start until she was 42 and he was 24. The vast age gap didn't make a bit of difference - these two people thoroughly enjoyed doing what they loved, and it showed onstage. Their passion for dance fused, and Nureyev said of Fonteyn, "At the end of 'Lac des Cygnes' when she left the stage in her great white tutu I would have followed her to the end of the world."

If Fonteyn would have said, "I'm too old for this, too old to dance with someone 19 years my junior" - we would never have witnessed some of the best pas de deux in the history of ballet. I paid tribute to Margot Fonteyn and her rendition of The Firebird this past Halloween. My friends and I dressed as birds, and I used the excuse of going as a "phoenix" to construct a red and gold get up that resembled her tutu. I wanted to channel the energy of Margot Fonteyn and pay homage to her legacy.

Maybe some of this is over your head if you don't quite understand dance jargon - but you get the point. It's inspiring to see someone doing what they love, and outside of the confines of the accepted norms. No matter the age, experience, or excuse, living from the heart is truly recognizable when one has the bravado to.

Political Apathy Makes My Ass Twitch

2011-01-14T12:30:00.001-07:00

I'm a socially liberal, politically conservative registered Democrat who voted for McCain in the 2008 election and who now identifies as a Libertarian. I'm pro-gay rights and anti-abortion. Much of this confuses people who find that I don't tow a hard left line or a hard right line. I've had acquaintances from back home call me a Left Winged, granola eating liberal, and friends in Denver or the coasts cringe when I say I'm not all for universal health care and label me as conservative.

Whatever the case - I know where I stand because I read up on issues instead of blindly grasping for straws and catch phrases such as "Yes we can," or "I'm a maverick." Quite frankly, I am sick and tired of people in Gen Y who have their heads so far up Kim Kardashian's plump princess ass that they can't tell me who the Speaker of the House is.

I've heard some really stupid shit with regard to politics, such as, When would I have time to vote? Who has time for that? If Elizabeth Cady Staton were alive, she'd bitch slap you. And if you don't know who that is, I'll bitch slap you for her. The founders of the this country, and, if you are female, the suffragists that came before you, fought, picketed, and even died for your right to vote, and your forebears have constantly taken advantage of the systems of checks and balances so that I might keep my First Amendment rights and write this blog post. This guy thinks you should care - who is this guy anyway?

I hate politics, I don't want to learn. Sack up. Have you seen the amount of federal tax dollars that come out of your paycheck every month? That is Obama's salary. That funds the adventures your friend who gallivants around the country on unemployment goes on. That funds "pet projects" such as pig odor control. That funded the census workers who never worked, but oops - somehow still got paid. Regardless of whether you like politics or not, you foot the bill. So maybe paying attention on if unemployment gets extended or not does affect you. And maybe it will determine the way you vote, if you paid a little more attention.

Maureen Dowd recently wrote an excellent Op-Ed slamming Sarah Palin for "making ignorance chic." But now another famous beauty with glowing skin and a powerful current, Sarah Palin, has made ignorance fashionable. You struggle to name Supreme Court cases, newspapers you read and even founding fathers you admire? No problem. You endorse a candidate for the Pennsylvania Senate seat who is the nominee in West Virginia? Oh, well.

The ignoramous virus isn't limited to Palin - but Dowd made great points about the nonchalant attitudes we hold towards politics. Which leads me to point number three - I cannot stand it when, during the course of a political debate, someone throws their hands up and cries, "Enough with the political debate! Can't we all just get along?" To the squealing pigs of this nature, put on your diaper and take a front row seat. Political discourse is healthy. It is necessary. It is a right and above all else, a privilege of living in a republic. Obviously, extreme cases such as the recent Arizona tragedy are the exact opposite of a political discourse and should never be taken to that extent. But having a healthy debate is what ignites true change, what kick starts real reform, and what makes someone get off their Juicy Couture ass and do something.

During the 2008 election, I had discussion after discussion with people who, in my age bracket, couldn't tell me why they voted for who they voted for. They hadn't watched a presidential debate or read an article or done any research. Now, we all don't need to jump into law school here; that's one version of my personal hell. But familiarizing yourself with what the hell is going on makes you the sort of person who stands for something, instead of, yes, as the cliche goes, falls for anything.

So put down the People and swap it out for Time once in a while. Turn off The Bachelor, Season Five Thousand, A Bunch of Attention Whores Vie for Yet Another Douchebag and switch it to your local and national news. I'm sick of excuses, tired of lame ass reasons people don't care, and want some action. I have no respect for people who don't know because they don't take the time to. I have a friend whose boyfriend is a socialist, and while it's totally against every ideal I stand for, I respect him for it, because he's informed himself, stays abreast of current issues, and takes a stand for his beliefs. If you can tell me why I should Gobama or why Sarah Palin's political stances are your bread and butter, that's all I care about.

Previous youthful generations have demonstrated against the Vietnam War, left us with images of Rosie the Riveter, and burned bras to in political demonstrations. Will we all be known as Generation "Whatever?"

Your tax dollars, your decisions. It's 2011, do you know what your employees are doing?

You Know You're a Coloradan When...

2011-01-10T10:30:00.001-07:00

I've lived in Colorado for over 2 years now, first in Boulder, then Aspen, now Denver. I've gotten a taste of the Bubble, the Snooty life, and the gritty city. I love them all. Living in a state this long has proven to be informative and has put me in the CO niche - some stereotypes ringing true for myself, with others being the reason I moved away from the aforementioned cities. So, for Coloradans all over this great state, you know you're a Coloradan when...

What mountain roller coaster ride? Oh, shooting out of Eisenhower tunnel at a 7% grade in overdrive or second gear? Meh, I could do it with my eyes closed.

Ahhhh....nothing like the smell of burning Wal-Mart truck's brake pads to start your 6am Saturday morning commute to Breck.

You have a prescription to the green doctor to "medicate." Oh the aches and pains of a 25 year old body.

Snowball fight in July? Par for the course.

Anyone who names Coors Brewery as the ultimate Colorado brewery is a complete tool. Don't they know anything about IPA's?

If shreddin' the gnar or buttering the pow mean nothing to you, move back to California.

"Pueblo" is not a term for a Native American community, it's a necessary Wendy's stop on the way to the dunes.

I bet my 14er trump card is more intense than your 14er trump card.

I compost my cat's shit in a homemade solar oven. While it bakes, I align my chi.

No powder days listed in the benefits package? No deal.

Your idea of a "hike" is a 14 mile expedition between Aspen and Crested Butte.

REI owns your soul and controls your willpower.

You subconsciously go for the guys with goggle tans.

Warren Miller is a god amongst filmmakers.

You eat only high fiber, protein loaded, gluten free, vegan, tofu burgers when you visit your friends in Boulder, washing it all down with a Hemp-milkshake.

Your day pack includes bear mace, SPF 10,000, 80 gallons of water, and about 3 different layers of clothing.

One of the best buzzes you've ever received was a contact high at a Red Rocks event.

You think one day of rainy weather is the end of the world.

3 feet of snow in September and 70 degree days in January are not weird to you at all.

You horde onesies and 80s gear year round for one event: Gaper Days.

If you're from Aspen, you think Vail Mountain is the equivalent of a Kansas hill compared to your Fantastic Four.

You have a "jammy job" or wear jeans to work every day. And when you do make it to the office, you bring your dog.

You are tri-lingual and hold a Master's in Rocket Science, and you manage a McDonald's.

Western slope ski pass or eating? Ski pass.

The gear on top of your car is valued more than the car itself.

...And with that, I've got to sign off from my jammy job to walk my dog in the fresh pow pow.

Let Your Freak Flag Fly

2011-01-03T10:02:00.004-07:00

Almost cut my hair
It happened just the other day
It was getting kind of long
I could have said it was in my way
But I didn't and I wonder why
I feel like letting my freak flag fly

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Almost Cut My Hair

About a month ago, my cousin asked me to model in a fashion show – and, even though I've never walked a catwalk and wondered if my participating would serve as the comedic value for the evening, I decided what the hell? The even more enticing piece was that it was a gothic themed fashion show at a gay bar in some remote place in Denver.

The day came for my fitting and it was decided I would be wearing a modest cut, knee length dress, handmade by my cousin's roommate. It was decked out in skulls and roses, with a tight, black corset with metal chains to layer on top of this dress. My cousin made the jewelry – which was a choker featuring a skull. Not usually my style, but I could appreciate the fabric and the quality of the handiwork. My cousin and her best friend had put quite a bit of love into these pieces, and it showed.

The day of the fashion show arrived, and I walked into the dressing room (the last one to arrive, big surprise I know) and, after looking around, whispered to my cousin, “Shit! I'm so late I'm the only one not in costume...what should I do?” She laughed and said, “They aren't in costume.” Womp womp. At right: The cat

The dressing room was buzzing excitedly with kids from the “goth” scene – all wearing dark, torn, punk rocker looking clothing and 9 inch plus platforms. Yes, they had gobs of black makeup on, crazy tattoos and piercings, and enough gel in their hairdos to justify a sponsorship by Paul Mitchell. I felt out of place in my brightly colored “fairy outfit” as my cousin dubbed it – sans makeup with my hair in a careless ponytail. But nobody judged me. Nobody made me feel like an idiot for not owning powdered foundation for my stage makeup – they just offered to help me.

I didn't come to the fashion show expecting anything, really, but I was greeted more warmly by the goth kids than by any group in recent memory. A few gals sat down next to me in an extremely extroverted tactic I wouldn't even probably use and just started chatting me up while I did my makeup. They complimented my hair and acted proud of me when I said I did it (it didn't look nearly as cool as theirs did). They let me borrow hairspray and talked to me about their stupid ex-boyfriend in the corner. They asked questions about the construction of the outfits we were wearing and expressed interest in catching up with each other on work, life, the usual. Nothing seemed unusual about this gathering after I got over the initial shock of not being around a bunch of people that looked like me.

The group of goths I met at the fashion show taught me a lot – about what industrial music is, the difference between rockabilly and punkabilly, and were super supportive of the other designers and models present. It was a wonderful, warm, energetic atmosphere where people with a common interest in this particular sect of fashion and music were gathered. And no, nobody was shooting heroin or talking about how terrible their lives were. It reminded me quite a bit of the backstage excitement I've experienced during a ballet performance, minus the catty chatter and backstabbing.

The goths were a great group of people to meet, and I'm so thankful I was able to have this experience to remind me that people are just people everywhere you go. Everyone has their “thing,” and even though it might make no sense to you, fear born out of misunderstanding just breeds ugly hatred and intolerance. The truth is, some of the seemingly “nicest” and “cleanest” people I've met in organizations such as my sorority have had uglier, blacker parts of their hearts than the blackest of makeup any goth could wear.

How boring would it be if we all enjoyed the same things, looked the same way, expressed ourselves in the same manner? Although someone like a goth may seem scary to you, I guarantee they would point you in the right direction if you were lost and just took the time to ask them.

In a country that celebrates individualism, anytime someone looks out of our realm of accepted (and expected) perception, we squirm a little in our seats. We assume that they aren't "good" because they don't look/dress/talk like us. We get a little uncomfortable when a peg is out of place and want to hammer it back in. Well - maybe someone's eclectic style is not your own, but you truly can never judge a book by it's cover, a goth by their makeup, a sorority girl by her highlights - putting people into boxes in neat little rows. I happen to be a sorority girl with a few highlights who participated in a gothic fashion show at a gay bar. You just never know.

Celebrate differences this year. Show your true colors, whatever they may be. Let your hair down, dye it pink, never stop wearing your favorite 5th grade sweater, try out the heels everyone else thinks are ugly. Celebrate you. Let your freak flag fly.

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2010-12-30T12:42:00.004-07:00

Name: Danny

Nicknames: DC, Pecs, D Col, Stanley

Known Since: 2009

How Known: Through Laura

Why He's Great: The importance of a good guy friend is huge - they typically don't start bitch fights, are a good sounding board, offer a male perspective, and can get you to laugh when times are tough. Having a guy friend like Danny - who is thoughtful, a "yes" person, and always up for an adventure - is even better. And the ch

erry on top, as all of Denver knows, are Danny's enormous pectoral muscles.

I met Danny at my friend Laura's housewarming party, and after I pegged him as a "Catholic frat boy who works in finance from the midwest," I knew we'd get along great. Danny is a genuinely warm person, who listens intently, gives objective advice, and offers a smartass side to pretty much everything. Danny teaches me the ways of Missouri at Frozen Dead Guy Days last March.

Danny and I share a love of the mountains, and

many retarded friends, so our adventures are never ending. We've hiked a 14er together, thrown soirees, cross country skiied Independence Pass, and shared one of the healthiest college rivalries in the country - that of the Commie Missouri Tigers and the All-American Kansas Jayhawks.

Even though this discrepancy exists, I'm willing to overlook Danny's flawed choices in a university

and supremest Aryan looks and see the guy who's always up to get down, the guy who's heart is big enough to throw a party (a creepy moustache bache at that) to raise over $500 for prostate cancer, and a guy who takes initiative (he hiked a 14er, in the snow, by himself on his birthday). At left: Mt. Lindsay (a 14er) summit push. We failed. Miserably.

I'm happy this purely Irish Daniel Edward Collins is my friend, and I'm certain we'll continue to conquer mountains, Denver, and our fear of each other's schools for years to come.

The Best and the Worst of Christmas

2010-12-20T15:11:00.016-07:00

I am Christmas obsessed. I'm open minded about new films, music, and even remakes (think of how many versions of A Christmas Carol exist in some form or the other: Muppet's Christmas Carol, Scrooged, etc.), but some Christmas music, movies and traditions just bomb. I've been hitting a lot of "thumbs down" on my "Rockin' Holidays" Christmas station on Pandora, and plenty of thumbs up, too, but started thinking about the best and the worst. How some songs and movies make Christmas-loving-me want to puke red and green, and how others make my skin tingle with childlike excitement. I present to you my very objective list of best and worst of Christmas.

Top 5 Worst of the Worst in Christmas Music

Christmas All Over Again by Tom Petty
Tom Petty should not sing Christmas music. He just shouldn't. It makes me think of music a stoner would play while rockin' around the green tree.

Any Christmas Song by The C alling
Why is the The Calling singing Christmas carols? This band, made famous for their song "Wherever you Will Go," is too rough and sandpapery to produce a sufficient Carol of the Bells. Stick with the crappy '90s songs.

Any Christmas Song by Jessica Simpson
If I even have to explain this one, stop reading this blog post.

We Need a Little Christmas by Percy Faith
This song is so overly cherry, and sung in such a creepy, high pitched tone, that I want to drop kick elves when I hear it.

Christmas Shoes by Newsong
Good God almighty. This song, about a little boy who wants to buy some shoes for his dying, homeless mother, is depressing, period. It doesn't make me want to buy shoes for the homeless and doesn't put me in the Christmas spirit, AT. ALL.

Top 5 Best of the Best in Music

Santa Claus is Back in Town by Elvis Presley
This upbeat, rockin' version of this song is the way my family and I kick off Christmas every year. Your hips will start shakin' - the entire album is awesome.

All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey
This is the sort of song that makes all the sorority girls squeal with glee - and for good reason. Mariah hits the high notes, and everyone wants to make out under the mistletoe.

Jingle Bells by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters
This scat version of Jingle Bells is catchy, just as much back then as it is now.

The Nutcracker Suite by Tchaikovsky
Yes I'm biased as a ballet dancer, but nothing beats the familiar score of "The Nutcracker." Everything from Waltz of the Flowers to the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy sets the stage for a gorgeous, Christmas-y score.

Carol of the Bells by Vienna Boys Choir
This haunting Christmas song gives me the goosebumps just about every time. Nothing beats the swelling overture before the boys set in - pure Christmas magic.

Burl Ives, Vince Guaraldi & Frank Sinatra were all strong choices....so many good Christmas songs out there!

And now...for the films! Every year I host a Christmas Movie Marathon, and there are just some that never make it...and with good reason. Others are staples and can't be passed over.

Top 5 Worst of the Worst in Christmas Movies

The Polar Express
With pretty much zero parallel to the book, we are taken on a magical journey into the center of animation and Christmas hell. I almost vomit at the end of a viewing of this film, due to the roller coaster special effects and seriously scary shit the kids have to go through just to get to the North Pole.

A Christmas Carol - 2009 Version
Charles Dickens is rolling in his grave at this drawn out, awful rendition of his classic tale. This horrendously long production, featuring Jim Carrey, was scary, dark, and you still didn't like Scrooge one bit when all was said and done. Can you tell I'm not a big animation fan?

Four Christmases
Awesome tribute to modern day Americana - let's call a movie Four Christmases for commemorating the divorce phenomenon and how much we all hate getting together for the holidays! I can't believe someone talked me into actually watching this at one point - what I would give for those 2 hours of my life back.

The Christmas Shoes
Yes. In 2002 someone actually made the worst Christmas song of all time into a movie.

Elf
I know everyone is going to poop their pants since I put Elf on the list. But I did so because yes, I do enjoy watching it every year, but no, it is nowhere near deserving of the cult following it has obtained. The humor is shallow as is the plotline - it doesn't hold a candle to the list below, and somehow ends up in that category. Sorry Will Ferrel, you ain't Jimmy Stewart.

Top 5 Best of the Best in Christmas Movies

It's a Wonderful Life
Hands down, my favorite movie of all time. It ebbs and flows with highlights of the human experience - I laugh, cry, cheer, and grieve with each character every time. It's one of the most poignant and hilarious films I've ever seen - with the best bottom line of all of them - "Remember George, no man is a failure who has friends."

Christmas Vacation
Speaks true to a modern day holiday gathering, with a happy overtone in an overzealous Chevy Chase. The wit, comic timing and pure hilarity require actual brain cells and a healthy appreciation for the comedic likings of Groucho Marx & the Belushi brothers.

A Christmas Story
Hilarious, touching, perfect film about what it's like to be a kid at Christmas. Rounded out with the stereotypical overworking, cussing dad, the gentle, overworked mother and the pain-in-the-butt kid brother, it's not really Christmas until you've watched this flick.

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
This is one of those rare films that holds multiple meanings as you watch it every year. The tragedy of not fitting in, the literal exodus to a place of misfits, and the eventual celebration of differences is heartwarming - and the Burl Ives soundtrack can't be beat. And claymation is just way cooler than modern day animation crap.

The Muppet Christmas Carol
You gotta love the Muppet's quick witted humor in their rendition of this Christmas classic. Michael Cain is the best Scrooge around - and highlights the fantastic, strangely believable balance between humans and Muppets. Plus, it's narrated by Gonzo and Rizzo the Rat, complete with singing vegetables and sheep.

Top 5 Worst of the Worst Christmas Trends

Being a Grinch
This one tops them all. I get sick of people wallowing in misery - I know that there are many reasons why you hate Christmas and the music and the blah blah but I don't want to hear it. If you are going to act out the role of Ebenezer Scrooge, keep it to yourself. Loosen your wallet when you hear that "annoying" bell ringer and cough up a few bucks for your friend's Christmas party instead of being a tight wad. It'll do your soul some good.

Excessive Stupid Spending on Electronics
You're going to forget about it next year, I promise. Or it's going to break. What happened to a good old fashioned sweater or homemade gift?

Black Friday
Adding to the above, Black Friday is absolutely out of control. The world is a bizarre place when Wal-Mart workers literally get trampled to death because someone's kid has to have a Tickle Me Elmo. See bad trend No. 1.

Spending the Holidays in Hawaii
I get it. You are a grown up and don't live in the same state as your parents anymore. But get your ass on a plane or in a car and get home and have some homemade cookies and hug your grandmother. This taking vacations during holidays crap is stupid. Holidays are for family, period.

Slutty Santa's Helpers
God save me from every dumb chick that uses any holiday to show cleavage. Santa is a big, fat, old man who brings nice toys made by elves. Stop taking his suit to the tailors so you can show us your skin in zero degree weather. We get it, you are hot. Now please return to the strip club from whence you came.

Top 5 Best of the Best Christmas Trends

Tacky Sweater Christmas Parties
This is a hilarious celebration of all things cheesy, fun, and ridiculous Christmas related. It's a great excuse to shop at Goodwill, have a few drinks and laughs with friends, and ring in the Holiday season. As I've mentioned, I own a Santa toilet seat cover. I'm into it.

Homemade Baked Goods
You start forgetting all the wonderful things you can make during the holidays, but it's really the best way to get in the mood. Sugar cookies, hot cocoa, gingerbread houses, wassil. Yum!

Adopting a Family in Need/Volunteering
Every city has a family in need or an angel tree to donate to - and it's a wonderful way to "remember the reason for the season." Those of you struggling to get into the mood or who are playing "Blue Christmas" on repeat will get some good perspective and a jump start into the Holiday spirit.

The Nutcracker Ballet
Even if you don't like ballet, this score will make your heart soar, and the sets and costumes are absolutely delightful. If the ballet doesn't suit your fancy, try seeing a school's Christmas pagent or perhaps Handel's Messiah.

White Elephant Gift Exchange
This always, always, always has hilarious results. It's a fun way to give gifts and laugh with a bowl full of jelly instead of the awkwardness of office/friends Secret Santa (what the hell do you get the quiet guy who awkwardly tried to make out with you at last year's office Christmas party?)

Christmas is a fun time if year, if you let it be. I hope the above list offers some suggestions and good humor, so that you might have the "hap hap Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny ****ing Kaye!"

God Bless Us, Every One

2010-12-14T16:48:00.007-07:00

It's the season of giving...and of taking, of course. Of making holiday wish lists and jotting down things that maybe you need, or don't need, or think you need, but will eventually forget about. I absolutely adore Christmas. I adore it because it's a time of year for happy music, sparkly things (there is a glittery part of my heart that is forever-12) and cherishing the people that are important to me.

So - what about this season of giving? Giving presents - I don't do that. I don't have the money or the desire or really care about it. But giving doesn't have to mean presents, and giving is really, really fun. I've been thinking alot about giving, what it means, and how it relates to receiving and taking.

Really, every time you make any sort of action, you are either giving, receiving, or taking. Initially I was pondering the verbs of giving and taking, but I thought that receiving was a strong one too. To receive a gift is a wonderful thing - to receive energy, to receive advice, to receive a good love slap, to receive love itself. This takes skill. Oftentimes, receiving gifts others bless upon you takes quite a bit of humility, understanding, and vulnerability.

Now falls the interesting dichotomy of giving and taking. In life, there are, very broadly speaking, givers and takers. People who just want for themselves, such as fame, lots of money, and generally just taking the easy way out. Then there are givers, those that want to donate their time and money to a good cause, those who want to contribute, those who enjoy seeing others succeed in selflessness.

We can all be givers, receivers and takers at different points - nobody is perfect. But I think that Christmas is a time to reflect on which category you predominately fill. Are you good at receiving? Can you receive love from yourself? Receive a compliment? Receive love and help from others?

How are you taking? Taking goodness from yourself? Taking from others to make yourself feel better? Taking people's time and attention to make yourself feel better when it should otherwise be an inside job?

And how are you giving? Are you giving your time to your loved ones during the holidays? Giving your grandmother a call? Giving a great big bear hug? You don't have to fly to Uganda and help in the trenches. Sometimes just giving a homeless person on a street corner an apple, giving someone a smile, or giving your support to someone in matters big or small are just as grand of gestures. When you give, you extend yourself, you grow your heart, you reach a little higher.

For me, this is what Christmas is all about. It's not about giving, receiving or taking presents. It's about looking back on the last year, seeing what you've done right and what you could have done better. This time of year is for celebration, reflection, and above all else - joy. Yes, joy. I know some of you are broke, emotionally or financially or even physically, but you can still find joy. It's a choice.

I get really sick and tired of people bitching about Christmas being nothing but corporate bullshit. It's only that way if you let it be. I put up a ceiling-scraping real Christmas tree every year, blast Burl Ives until people start projectile vomiting, and string hand cut paper snowflakes from every orifice. I have a Santa toilet seat cover and am seeing The Nutcracker ballet two times this year. And I'm not religious and I don't give gifts. I just like celebrating happiness and having extra excuses to watch happy-ending movies with my friends and family. Saying you don't like this time of year, regardless of religious affiliation or financial situation, is saying you don't like being happy.

I purchased Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, written in 1843, and started reading it in a British accent, out loud, and am enjoying the hell out of it. Last night I came across this line, which embodies completely why I adore Christmas, why it's important to me, and encompasses the give/receive/take attitudes. I hope you and yours enjoy...

"What else can I be," returned the uncle (Scrooge), "when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"

"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew.

"Nephew!" returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."

"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."

"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

Visions of Sugarplums

2010-12-07T16:30:00.021-07:00

The first time I saw The Nutcracker Ballet, I was five years old. My Uncle Brad took me, and after the curtain fell on the final scene, I softly said, "That was the best movie I've ever seen." And so began my love of ballet, the beginning of my ballet classes, and the start of the annual tradition of either performing in, or seeing (or both!) The Nutcracker every holiday season.

For the non-bunheads out there, this is probably the most well known ballet on Earth. It's easily accessible because the music is recognizable, the sets and costumes are pretty and flashy, and the plot doesn't require Shak

espeare classes. At right: My Nutcracker debut as a mouse at age 10.

For dancers, the casting of this ballet was an annual report card. There was an unspoken hierarchy to roles, and if you were the same role year after year, or never managed to advance beyond Arabian corps de ballet, you felt slighted. Every year, auditions were a huge deal. We'd line up with numbers attached to our leotards and point our feet into perfect tendus, try for a triple piroutte and this year, by God, we would master foutees en pointe by audition time.

The day you received your role in the mail was a flurry of excitement. There were tears, joyous yelling, stomping, and lots of busy telephone lines, "She got what part? She's such a teacher's pet!" and lots of, "I got this part, what did you get?" Some people were ecstatic, some people were depressed, but no matter what, the most important question was always, "Who got Clara?" It is every little ballet girl's dream and every woman's unfulfilled dream to be Clara in The Nutcracker. Every year you hope, hope, hope, and every year, only one is chosen. And who could blame us for desiring this role more than anything in the whole wide world? You were center stage, you wore tight, beautiful, perfect curls, a pink dress, and all the other girls were jealous enough they wanted to hurt you. I remember one year, Clara's understudy exclaiming, "I just wish she'd get hit by a bus so I could dance it." Ohhhhhh the endless drama of the ballet. At left: No shame. Me as a party boy in the party scene, age 13.

Each year we'd spend endless hours in the studio rehearsing, first learning the choreography, then doing the entire piece with only arms, then the entire piece with only legwork, then imagining ourselves as various colors or scents or something to give our dancing flair and keep the artistry alive. We'd form even harder callouses than we already had and shared hairspray, bobby pins, tights, and of course, stories. The times spent rehearsing was also a time to get to know one another, to make friends from other schools or walks of life -all with the common thread and love of ballet.

I made some of the strongest and long lasting friendships during this time. I'm still in touch with many of the people who shared my detest for Capezio pointe shoes, temporary infatuation with Fuzi's, arguments over lambswool vs. toe pads, and preference for seamed, footless tights over leotards in class. The nucleus of the entire ballet calendar year, however, was always Nutcracker season. We were allowed to take time off from school to perform in matinées, learned insane stage makeup tricks that are the fodder of many a now-incrementing photo, and were finally able to put our training to use for all of Wichita to see. It was an honor and something you bragged a bit about, "I can't do that, I have re

hearsal," or "I'm busy performing that weekend" or the best one, "I can't, I'm going on tour."

And of course, every year of Nutcracker has become the Year of Something. There was the Year of the Pandemic Barf - where literally 90% of the cast became infected with a stomach virus. Dancers would perform a scene, run off the stage and vomit. I personally sat in vomit on accident when a mouse character spewed on stage. We made quarantines in the dressing rooms to keep the sick folks out, disinfected to the best of our abilities, and washed our hands until they were raw; but most people fell prey to the bug, and Clara ended up yakking behind the couch during the fight scene on stage. Pictured: Me as an angel, one of my favorite roles.

There was the year of the triple casting, where lightning quick costume changes from mouse to party child to cookie required quite a bit of courage in flashing your developing body to the bearded stage hands of Century II Concert Hall. But no matter what the year or the fiasco, when the rehearsals were over, when your Caboodle kit with makeup no sensible 14 year old would wear was tucked neatly away, when your disposable cameras were all used up, and when you hung your costume up for the last time, there was a sense of emptiness. A little part of Christmas was already over, and that was a very sad thing.

I stopped performing in The Nutcracker my sophomore year of high school, due to a dispute in casting. But this didn't mean that I stopped caring or stopped going. I saw two Nutcrackers last year by two different Colorado ballet companies, and this year I will attend one of the strongest Nutcrackers I've ever seen, with the Colorado Ballet. I could hum Tchaikovsky's entire score from start to finish and in reverse it if I wanted. I have performed the roles of mouse, soldier, party child (see above transvestite photo), mirliton corps de ballet, angel, arabian corps de ballet, ginger cookie (my personal favorite) and maybe even some I'm failing to mention at the moment. Every year, the Overture of the ballet never fails to give me goose bumps. I go back to butterflies in the stomach, the glow of stage lights, the calamining of pointe shoes, the adrenaline rush, the smell of rosin; and return to the little girl sitting in the red velvety seats of the concert hall, watching my first performance.

The Real Social Network

2010-12-02T12:53:00.009-07:00

Hey YOU! You sitting in your big office chair, with a big cushony fat butt to sit on, drinking your Starbucks latte. Yeah, you. Remember that time that you were unemployed and needed some contacts? Remember how life wasn't always this easy when you were just starting out? Well put down the donut and pay it forward.

We all need gentle reminders of how, at one point or another, we had a time of need. Maybe we needed $100 to get us through till the next paycheck. Maybe we needed a couch (or in my case, MANY couches) to sleep on while we found a place to live in a new city.

Doing things for people - helping others with your contacts, resources, knowledge (of the area, market, both, whatever) is not only good karma, it's the way business works. Period. End of story. Yes, your profession, too.

Good Example #1

I wanted to write. I had good op-ed experience in college, but I needed to sink my teeth into a publication. I started going to networking events with my mom - the supreme networker and communicator - and she introduced me to someone who is now my friend and sits on my cabinet of mentors, Teresa. After a few chats, Teresa made a phone call to the editor of the newspaper for me, and it got my foot in the door. I would never have been able to write and build my portfolio if it weren't for Teresa making that connection for me and riding on a little bit of faith. She jump started my writing career. I'll never forget it.

Bad Example #1

I had just moved to Boulder, and I knew no one - well almost no one. There was one person I knew, an acquaintance more like it, from college. I asked to stay on his couch until I could find a place of my own. He obliged, and it was wonderful of him. I had absolutely no money, so I did small things as I could, like baking cookies, buying toilet paper and paper towels, and cooking an occasional meal. I stayed there a total of 19 days - and it was not in luxury. I did, however, show my gratitude in every way I could afford. But it wasn't enough for his roommates - who actually asked me to pay several hundred dollars for the space on the futon in an unused room. I explained I didn't have the money, and was pretty appalled when I found out that all of their parents gave them an allowance, paid for their education, and that they had no jobs. What did they need my money for? I'll never forget the feeling of total shit - that unless I had some cash to contribute, helping me out was meaningless.

Good Example #2

I had moved to New York City, and was wanting a writing job desperately. My cousin, who is a graphic designer and not a writer by trade, scrounged up as many contacts as she could think of. We were going to happy hours, bars, meet ups, everything with people who she thought would be of help to me. She was relentless. Knowing that someone cared enough to make an effort for me when I was new in town, new to the business, motivated me and kept me going.

Bad Example #2

I had just moved to Boulder, and needed another (or different) job from the publishing company I was working at. Although it was a great company, $10/hr was not going to cut it. I reached out to a friend from college who knew someone at the Boulder Daily Camera. She said she would help, but she never did. I asked three or four times before finally giving up - and when she asked me about housing options in Boulder a year later, I simply replied, "check craigslist." I don't hold grudges, but I do remember who helped me when I needed it and who didn't. My time is valuable, and I won't waste it on someone who couldn't spare some of their commodity on me.

Good Example #3

I started networking in Boulder - going to just about every event I could possibly think of - when I met Matt Emmi. Although we don't stay in frequent contact now, I will never forget the generosity he showed me upon meeting me. We had a simple conversation about travel, and he gave me his card. He invited me to tech meetups and I went, not knowing a damn thing. After proving myself through my ignorant interest, he handed me off to my now-friend Tara, who helped me get my first job in tech, which has led to countless contacts in addition to new skill sets and friends. And Matt didn't even know me. He wasn't a sorority sister, a relative, or a former colleague. He was a guy who just got it. Got how networking works. And I'll never forget that, either.

Bad Example #3

When I was making the move to Denver, some people went out of their way to suggest contacts, meet ups, or brainstorm. Others simply responded with, "I'm not a writer, so I don't know." You don't have to work in the same field. I know people that are graphic designers, nurses, architects, marketers and auditors. I'm not even close friends with any writers. It's not some sort of punishment, but I do remember, each time, who took the time to respond to my email and who did not. Who passed me along to someone they knew and who did not. Who had to be begged to make an introduction and who offered one.

Connecting, networking and reaching out are all part of asking for help. I do believe that people genuinely want to help others, they just have their heads up their asses at times. If you have no motivation to connect others than your own benefit, there is still plenty of reason to reach out on someone else's behalf. This increases your own network and alerts people to your "connector status" - you are someone people see as informed, aware, and able.

Once you stop connecting, or refuse to, you are thrown in the other category - that of the takers and the stingy breed. And that's no bueno for your career either. I'm strongly of the policy that a personality will go far. Nobody wants to work with or recommend an asshole. That's why burning bridges unnecessarily when you leave a place or not assisting someone when they reach out to you is just plain old bad juju. I don't care that you are busy or that you don't know that person or whatever your lame excuse is. If they are smart enough to wedge their way into your circle somehow, they very well could work with you or even above you at some point.

Being the goo that brings two people together to chat - about career or life ambitions, whatever it might be - the merging of like minds, is a wonderful thing. It's really what life is about - establishing meaningful, beneficial human relationships, both inside and outside of your career. So reach out, and respond when reached out to. The benefits truly extend beyond the temporary confines of a job.

Wells Fargo Can Kiss My Ass

2010-11-26T16:56:00.007-07:00

It's been a tough month - starting a job as contract labor (I get paid monthly), trying to live off no income for 30 days and use only my debit card. It's been even tougher with the parking tickets I've been slowly amassing from downtown Denver - including one for a pretty $75 penny for having expired tags.

This was a fair enough warning - they did expire end of September - and I knew that I had to get the tags switched before my dad zoomed across two states in a vehicle that is, I'm sure in some way, illegal. So I went and got the tags changed - and it was a hefty $100+ - for which I had to borrow a bit of money from one of my friends. I went to the DMV at 4pm on a Tuesday, and deposited the cheque on Wednesday morning - the same day the DMV withdrew the $100+ for the tag fee. And I acquired an overdraft fee - enough to make me negative in my account.

First and foremost - I am entirely the one responsible for managing my finances. As a huge believer in personal responsibility, I am not damning the banks to hell for not letting things slide for me - I just am completely astounded that, as a middle class person attempting to do the right thing, the interest charge on my credit card would have been better than the $35 overdraft fee I was slammed with. This bank has never been helpful to me in my attempt to budget, boost my credit score, and manage my money.

This is not the first, or only time, consumers have felt royally screwed over by Wells Fargo. In August of 2010, a class action lawsuit was filed against Wells Fargo for unfair overdraft fees, and the bank was ordered to pay over $203 million in restitution. The feds put a stop to overdraft fees effective July 1, 2010 - stating that debit cards would merely be declined if there was no money in the account, thereby preventing the $50-coffee-syndrome. This was done to protect consumers, as Wells Fargo and other banks make quite the profit off overdraft fees - who are usually hitting people who are either poor at managing their money, poor period, or both.

I cannot stress enough that financial responsibility is truly the responsibility of the individual consumer. I kept a ledger - but I also have no control over when someone cashes a cheque. They told me I should look into their "bill pay" feature - which was helpful. But there were so many more things that were wrong. There was a day, on the 14th of a month, that 3 cheques coincidentally went through on the same day in addition to my student loan payment. My direct deposit always came through on the 15th - so as the direct deposit money was going in, the overdraft fees were going out. They amounted in excess of over $100 in overdraft fees, even though the day the fees were being taken out, I had plenty of money coming in. It seemed suspicious to me that all cheques would clear on the same day, and when I called to inqure, I was met with, "Well m'am, you made other purchases on the 14th." This had NOTHING to do with my question.

My other major issue, aside from the absolute ridiculous overdraft fees, was the fact that, when my former roommate wrote me a bad cheque, I was the one that paid the fee. I was charged $11 for someone else's financial ineptitude. I'm already getting charged for my own financial instability...and now I'm paying for someone else's? When I asked about this, I was simply offered, "That's just the charge we give for a returned cheque fee." Awesome.

So, last Saturday morning, I decided to take it upon myself and march right into Wells Fargo, exact amount for my overdrawn amount in hand, and close the damn account down. The man who was working the desk simply sighed when I told him the problems - I'm never mean to the poor people who are working customer service since I've worked in this industry too many times myself - and said he understood. They have no power from the giant Wizard of Oz Wells Fargo head to change the numbers in the computer to make my account not in the negative. And let me remind you that if the overdraft fee had not been incurred, I would NOT have been in the negative.

I'm already living frugally and I was sick and tired of being punished for it and for not having a million dolla dollar bills - so I left the downtown Wells Fargo branch with a light skip in my step, elated that I was no longer under the chains of this Wal-Mart-esque giant.

As I search for an awesome local bank with warm people, a home-town feel, and armed with a little more knowledge about how to manage my finances, I just wanted to throw one more stone from my tiny blog at the massive Goliath that is Wells Fargo. It's a beautiful thing that I live in such an incredible country where I can walk into the bank, close my account down, and then write about my disgust. I'm thrilled to be a part of a capitalist republic where my social media access and freedom of speech allow tiny me to perhaps catch the eye of the huge tyrant and let my voice be heard.

I will never bank at Wells Fargo, nor recommend it to anyone - I would never have even switched from Bank of America (who were always more than accommodating to me, valued and appreciated the years I had been a customer at their institution, and treated me like a human being) if there were BOA's in Colorado. Even so, now I know better for next time. I'll bank smarter and better, which will be easy to do now that I'm not with Wells Fargo.

You've Got a Luxury Problem

2010-11-23T11:18:00.010-07:00

Gratitude is the art of painting an adversity into a lovely picture. - Kak Sri

It's Thanksgiving - and right around the corner is Christmas. The cleaning, cooking, gift buying, compromising, bickering - it can all lead to a detrimental dose of stress. So as the Most Wonderful Time of the Year rolls around, let's focus in on the Art of Realizing You Have a Luxury Problem - or Learn to Suck it Up 101.

Whenever I am having a hard time of things I try to remind myself that really, with a little perspective, I'm actually not having a hard time of things. Not to belittle the emotional issues such as breakups, death, and job loss, but these things are not the stuff of everyday struggles that most of the world encounters. I remember reading about a fast that a group of Catholic nuns were holding last Thanksgiving in recognition of the following fact: "The World Health Organization estimates that one-third of the world is well fed, while one-third is underfed, and the other third is starving. In the time it takes to read this message, approximately 200 people will die of starvation. Every year, an estimated 15 million children die from hunger."

And there it is. When you are sitting down for a feast with your family, perhaps even with your grandmother who has lived long and healthy years, and as you sink into your post-turkey food coma, take some time to acknowledge this. Bless these people in whatever way you can. They aren't going to die late in life, from cancer or another disease of the developed world, with hospice and their loved ones watching over their comfort, they will die an incredibly primitive death - and chances are, if you are reading this, that end will not be your fate.

The madness of the holiday season in this country is appalling - two years ago in Long Island, a Wal-Mart worker was literally trampled to death on Black Friday by idiots who were only thinking about grabbing the Holiday Barbie for that year, or whatever gift has been carelessly tossed aside by this point (but was all the rage that year). It doesn't matter your religious affilitation. It doesn't matter if you want that "thing" so bad you could puke. Bill Murray says, in the Christmas comedy Scrooged, "It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be."

So be the person you want to be, that you strive to be, through your gratitude. Through the humilty of working at a soup kitchen or volunteering your time to put yourself in someone else's shoes, to shift the focus not on the electronics and the buzz of seasonal bullshit but the heart of the matter - the celebration of your beautiful life and the recognition that it's not always that easy for everyone else.

This doesn't mean you need to stay in your room, fast and whip yourself with wet noodles. Enjoy a feast with your family, and recognize that most people will not have the gourmet spread you have, or the amount of loved ones in good health that you do. Adore your car, but remember that a flat tire or a trip to the mechanic isn't the end of the world - most of the world will never own a vehicle - you are in the 9% that do. When you are late to a movie, theatre or performance, bear in mind that you're doing something you love and can afford to. When your heels hurt your feet after that long holiday party and you're too tipsy to walk - think about those who can't even afford shoes for their feet or sufficient clothes on their back.

By reading this blog - you are one of the elite. You are able to read, have access to the internet, and are warm. You are doing better than most. It's not that you don't deserve it, but the second you start to complain about something, just shift your gears into Perspective mode and take a second to see all that you have, instead of what you do not have. Remember that in this holiday season, you don't have to be religious to see the meaning - it's keeping childlike wonder alive, and showing deep appreciation for everything. Every. Little. Thing.

I'll never forget this posting I saw on a girl's dormroom door my freshman year in college:

If we could shrink the earth's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look something like the following. There would be:

57 Asians, 21 Europeans, 14 from the Western Hemisphere, 8 Africans
52 would be female, 48 would be male
70 would be nonwhite, 30 would be white
70 would be non-Christian, 30 would be Christian
89 would be heterosexual, 11 would be homosexual
6 people would posses 59% of the entire world's wealth; all 6 would be from the United States
80 would be living in substandard housing
70 would be unable to read
50 would suffer from malnutrition
1 would be near death, 1 would be near birth
1 would have a college education
1 would own a computer

When one considers our world from such a compressed perspective, the need for acceptance, understanding and tolerance becomines glaringly apparent.

I challenge those of you who read this to not shop on Black Friday, to volunteer, in person twice before the end of the year, and to replace one gift with a microfinance loan. By changing someone else's life, yours is changed in turn. Be happy. Be thankful. Be joyous. Show gratitude for all that you have - on the Day of Thanks, thoughout the holiday season, always.

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2010-11-22T14:11:00.013-07:00

Name: David

Nicknames: Papa, The Big Kahuna

Known Since: Birth!

How Known: He's my grandpa

Why He's Great: I'm not sure where the name "PaPa" came from - but it was something I christened my "Grandpa Babich" with when I was just a toddler. And so it stuck. PaPa has always been a big influence on my life - one of my biggest fans, strongest supporters and cabinet members, he is not your average grandfather.

He reads my blog - extremely technically savvy, yet enjoys classics (just ask my grandma, "Nee Nee" about how he lugged his copy of War and Peace all around Europe on one of their vacations). He's certainly a reniassance man with one of the widest variety of interests I've ever known. He loves listening to talk radio, is a voracious reader, and enjoys watching football AND going to the ballet or theatre. He is a Mr. Fix It and a man of a great sense of humor.

I'd like to think (and hope!) that I got my sense of adventure and love of travel from PaPa. He always has a trip planned - and it can be anywhere from a drive to South Dakota to an expedition around Brugge, Belgium to touring historical places in Boston. He's always eager and willing to try new things, learn more, and is always hungry for life. He's a the least "retired" retired person I know! Wrestling as a toddler.

Pops volunteers much of his time and is humble about it - but you can find him serving at a soup kitchen, finding ways to improve his community and neighborhood, and championing causes such as women's rights. He has truly shown me what it means to care, to be involved in your community, and to always give more than you take.

PaPa was always very involved in all of his grandchildren's lives - one of the best parts of Thanksgiving was always the "adventure" he took the grandkids on. We would get to take a hike around the woods and see all the "honkers" - the Canadian gease that were migrating south for the winter. Later in life, I was able to go on bigger adventures with PaPa - around Switzerland, Italy, Belgium! At right: All grown up!

I look up to PaPa, respect him, and am so grateful that I've been able to get to know him both as a grandchild and as an adult. He's taught me so much, and I'm truly one lucky "Mini Ma."

One Year Later: Reflections of the Heart

2010-11-16T11:36:00.016-07:00

It was an epic event in my life - the day I walked out on my 3.5 year relationship. The one that I thought would result in marriage, children, a life together - scrapbooks of fading photographs that we'd show our grandkids. It was a life changing event, something I've hinted at or alluded to in my writing, and it's something that is finally able to be discussed in the open, frankly and in a healthy manner.

It's something I've debated writing about for quite some time due to the personal nature of a break up, the fact that people are sometimes afraid of reading about pain, and because those that read this blog know who I'm talking about or don't want me to bring up uncomfortable feelings unnecessarily. But as a person who started down the writing track, has ended up in the throes of tech and, aside from a freelance assignment here and there, has the main platform of blogging, I've come to learn quite a bit about this online medium.

I've learned that a blog post I write gets anywhere from 50-100 views, which is a small number - sometimes they are family and friends, sometimes they are people who find my blog searching for things such as "someplace I can find it's ok to be gay." It is my hope, based on previously inspiring messages from blog readers, that my own words will lift someone up, that my voice, usually strong and about a variety of subjects, is merely a spark in the mind's eye - something that instigates critical thinking, debate, and above all else, inspiration.

So writing about something this emotionally epic - the loss of a relationship, a death, essentially, in my life, is about me, but at this point, just a hair over a year out of the ordeal, it can also be about others. Enough time has passed and enough clarity has been gained. You see, before I walked, I would Google things such as, "How do I know it's time to end my relationship?" or "Signs of a commitment phobic boyfriend." I was searching for answers to embarrassing questions - and I'm certain many people in relationships have done things like this; searching cyberspace for some sort of answer to the pickle they are in. There are of course, downsides to the open forums of discussion one finds online, but there are also benefits, especially for those who struggle to express their own emotions or write them into solid thought. Sometimes I searched for phrases such as the aforementioned online just to know that millions of other people went through something like this, made a hard decision, and lived to tell of it.

So, with that preface - deep breath - here is my story and what I learned from it.

The lessons I learned, above all else, are as follows: your intuition will always serve you, love thyself, you have more strength of heart than you will ever realize, and once it's broken, don't fix it. Of course I learned many other things - some of which would only sound like unnecessary beat downs (won't launch into a mama's boys will always be mama's boys crusade) - but I wanted to have something to make sense of the mess. Something I could look back on and said, "Ok that sucked, but at least I learned ___." I didn't want to think the only thing I learned was bitterness. I'm happy I can finally look back, with those four points engrained in me, and understand what I learned. The story of bleeding hearts is not new, and the story of trimph over sadness or despair never gets old.

Lesson 1 - Trust Your Intuition

When I was in the throes of heartbreak, suffering immense pain, not understanding why this had happened, how in the hell "I love you" could have a 24 hour turn around into, "You did the right thing by leaving," - my mentor and boss at the time said something of great substance to me. "Your gut told you something was off. Even with your heart throbbing with love, you left for a reason. You might not know what that reason is, but something told you to go." He was right.

For me, the fact that a best friend and lover of nearly 4 years didn't call me once after leaving, ignored my cries of anguish and confusion immediately post-breakup, and held an attitude of indifference and coldness to my emotional state should have been anything but the shock that it was. I always had a terrible voice in the back of my head that whispered, "If I left right this second, he wouldn't even care." I ignored the little voice. I stuffed away the gut feeling until my guts litereally exploded and I felt physically ill. I pushed away the feeling and refused to acknowledge emotional neglect and abuse until - when I finally had enough, snapped and left - it raised it's ugly head and manifested itself regardless of what I wanted to believe.

Your intuition is the strongest thing you have. Don't question it. I used to think, "Am I just making bad things happen as a self-fulfilling prophecy born out of fear?" The answer is no, absolutely not. I knew in my heart of hearts that there was something this person could not give - an inflexibility, a limit to the way they could sacrifice, stretch themselves, and so on. I should have seen the light when I was broken up with over the phone, alone in New York City, just before I waited tables one summer night. But oxytocin is a powerful drug, and in my stubborn state, my heart refused to acknowledge my gut. And I paid a dear price. I paid the price of years of my life pulling the heavy portion of the load and overcompenstating for someone who couldn't step up to be a man - because I didn't want to give up. Because I used to believe that people's core can change.

I believe that the stars and moon of one's personalitiy and worldview can certainly change, but I don't believe a person's axis can. And no amount of wishing and wanting and hoping will ever make that possible. My mom has always said, "Everyone is born with a certain set of tools in their toolbox. We should not punish each other for the tools we do or do not have, we should simply acknowledge that set of tools and learn to either work with it or move on." Hard to do when you've invested time, years, and patience into the ongoing maintenance of any relationship. But I recall, 6 months into my relationship, an argument about how if I didn't live where he lived I felt it would never work. Things didn't shift 3 years later. That set of attitudes (my way or the highway, selfishness disguised as "my goals,") never changed. It didn't matter how much he "loved" me - he was only willing to love me so much, on his terms, and as long as he was able to get what he wanted first - which in my opinion, is not even love at all.

That was something my gut told me 6 months in. That was my intuition knocking. Intuition is an incredible thing - and even though you might hate it, ignore it or want it to go away, it wont. Intuition is one of the most incredible things you have as a human being. I've heard this story, in different versions, many times from many people. The girl who just "had a feeling" something was off and found an email proving so. The guy who just "had a feeling" she wasn't the right one. You know it when you have it. Don't fight it. If you left and have second thoughts, you left for a reason, even though you might not know what that reason is at the present moment. Your intuition, your gut feeling, whatever you want to call it, is your compass.

Lesson Number 2 - If It's Broken, Don't Superglue It

I used to take a flexible, case by case approach to this theory, and while I still believe in exceptions to every rule, in my fail-fast old age I believe that if you break up once, you did so for a reason. Something was missing, someone was not appreciated fully, and someone decided that the thought of losing you forever was comfortable enough for them to bail as opposed to staying and fighting the good fight.

As previously stated, I was not even given the decency of being told to my face that my presence was no longer requested in my ex's life. I was carelessly tossed away, and then punished for needing reassurance when we got back together. Huge mistake on my end. The red flag was waving high, the writing was on the wall - why would I ever ever ever, strong, proud, confident, arrogant me, get back together with someone who cast me aside? Who didn't care if I stayed or left? And more importantly, why was I shocked when this was rinsed and repeated 2 years later? See point number one - I ignored my gut and laughed in the face of my intuition.

I put on my hardworker pants and decided that this time, he'll realize what he lost and he'll never think about losing me again. I was wrong. If someone casts you aside, move on. They just proved to you that they do not understand your worth, and probably never will. The world is too full of too many wonderful people that will not cast you aside or waste your time, energy, and the worst part of all, run you through the ringer of the tedious (impossible?) journey of rebuilding trust. I am not a black-and-white person, but those that teeter back and forth and are off and on are not building the rock solid foundation of trust that is the only material to build a relationship on. I was building sandcastles and watching them get washed away by huge tsunamis over and over again.

Lesson Number 3 - Strength of Heart I never knew how strong my heart was until I went through this experience. I remember thinking, "If we ever break up, I will lose my mind and move to New Zealand." Well, I didn't. I didn't go crazy, I never called him - not once - or drunk texted him, I never sent him nasty hatemail or lit fire to his truck. I reached inside and I told my guts and intution that I was deeply sorry, made amends with them and did things to build up a garden inside my heart where so much blackness was residing. I picked up the pieces with the help of friends and family and started from scatch again with the trust and hope and faith that some people do tell the truth, someone will say we will get married and mean it, someone will not disregard me or treat me as though they wished I never existed.

I was shocked when I was denied a meeting I requested, 9 months post-breakup, merely asking for an explanation as to why I was left with the phrases, "We'll either stay broken up or get married," as well as, "Maybe in a year or two years I'll regret this." I was treated like an begger - dangerous to talk to, gross to look at. I realized at the moment he offered photographs, presents, sentimental tokens that I had given him back to me as if I had a "Customer Service - Returns and Exchanges" sign over my head, that I have something he does not. Strength of heart. I realized it again when he said, "....when I broke up with you" - stating a non-truth since I was the one who left, not him - that I was able to leave in person and not over the phone, and with a confident stride no less, that I had it - strength of heart. It might sound bitchy but I don't care. I had the strength of heart to leave when he did not. I had the strength of heart to meet him face to face for closure when he avoided looking at me or talking to me like the plague.

I have more strength of heart that I ever realized. You have it to. You have the ability to take back the power with regard to how you feel. You have the strength of heart to leave whatever situation you may be in - it could be abusive emotionally, physically, or mentally. It could be a person you are addicted to. Whatever it is, you will never know your strength of heart until it has been tested. And although I would never wish this fire-walk upon anyone, the knowledge that the reserve you have in your heart to persevere through such troubled times is more valuable than gold. It is the ultimate testament to being human. It is the power within all of us to overcome our obstacles, no matter the size or nature of them. It is the protagonist in the story of all the great battles (both internally and externally) of the human experience.

Strength of heart also lends itself into a sub-lesson, which is loving yourself. You truly cannot love another until you love yourself first and love yourself the most - and this doesn't mean being selfish, it means knowing your worth, standing for nothing less, and having the power to step outside of yourself and do what's right for yourself even if it's the hardest thing to do. In a way, this element of strength of heart is almost like developing an alternate watchdog personality. One whose duty is to make sure that your best interests truly do come first. Self love is a hard one, it's a full time job, but without it, we can neither give nor be given to in the way we all deserve. If I didn't have the self-love that I have, I wouldn't have been able to leave when I needed to. I left because my self love made me.

I am not unique in experiencing heartbreak. Perhaps my exact set of circumstances is unique to me in my time, place, race, location and so forth, but the story of heart gain and heart loss is age old. It's the stuff of books, self-help guides, songs and therapy.

To not acknowledge these stories and how they have shaped us is to live in denial. To talk openly is to admit that we are faulted, that we are ever-changing, always learning beings who don't usually get it right the first time. Relationships and love mold our worldviews, our perceptions of others, our philosophies on life - and we can either let the negative experiences winterize our rose colored glasses, or we can introspectively jot down what we learned and how to do it better the next round.

A major difference in this outlook existed in the discussed relationship. I do not wish to push experiences away, pretend they never happened, replace or band-aid the sore spots with another person. I want to understand why things happened and learn from the past. It's not reliving or holding on, it's calling forth strength of heart and intuition to become your cabinet members when you're reeling from an upset.

Whatever your circumstance, you have more strength of heart than you realize, and a fail safe intuition. The more you grow your heart, the more it will serve you. And the more faith you place in your intuition, the stronger it will grow. I hope that lessons I learned can serve someone, somewhere, who is confused or suffering, or in pain, to bat away the clouds that can sometimes surround the heart and bring a bit of light and clarity. Truly, if you love yourself, and place your intuition and heart on the pedestal they deserve, you will never wander astray.

"The only real valuable thing is intuition" - Albert Einstein

I'll Always Love You New York

2010-11-09T16:00:00.023-07:00

I recently returned from a trip to New York City - my 6th, and this includes the three times I lived there - both summers in between college semesters as well as my post-college-graduation stint. I was interested in how my reaction would be, coming back a little older and with a lot more experience in the fields of career, relationships, and US travel. I was sort of afraid that, like a bad on again off again ex-boyfriend, I would remember that draw to NYC and I would think twice about leaving, deciding I had made a mistake in ever doing so, and would have a strong longing to move back. I didn't have that reaction, and in fact, I felt I had achieved a passing of a threshold - one where I went to dinner with the notorious ex boyfriend New York, and found that there were clearly reasons I had left, that I was no longer scared of New York and that it held quite a bit less of intrigue for me. It is a good feeling.

New York City is one of those places that people say with a sort of proudness in their voice when they live there. It's one of those places that enchants, excites, intimidates, inspires; and if we're sticking with the relationship analogy, is like that crush or significant other that you can't quite figure out, so you try harder, want to prove yourself, want to make something happen no matter what, because it's just never quite in the reach of your fingertips. It's that guy you were enamored with in middle school that you daydream about, are scared shitless of, and wish with all your heart would love you back. It's the stuff of movies, of songs, of the settings of the great dramas of life. I even caught a tweet the other day that exclaimed that, "New York is the center of America, and the rest is the suburbs."

I can't deny that New York City has an aura of being, as in the set-in-NYC Broadway play RENT states, "The Center of the Universe." But I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why this rat infested shithole keeps people coming from all over the world to pay ridiculously high prices for a ridiculously low quality of life. I wanted to put my finger on New York's pulse and really get to the grit of why I, myself, kept coming back time and again to live here, addicted to a love-hate pull so many people feel towards the Big Apple. I also wanted to understand why many people ultimately leave this great city in the end.

I feel that, after having visited cities such as Seattle, San Francisco, and much of the American West since my departure from New York City in 2008, in addition to other East Coast cities such as Balitmore, what makes New York, well, NEW YORK is the immigrant culture. It's not the fashion. It's not the art. It's not the Broadway shows. All of those things are wonderful byproducts of a convergence of peoples from the entire world - seeking refuge and solace in the concrete jungle just beyond the burning torch that Lady Liberty holds. Walking around Greenpoint, Brooklyn, in my best friend's
neighborhood, everything is in Polish - the orange juice, the newspapers, the grocery store and law offices, all of it. There are more people speaking Polish in the street than English. About 15 minutes south of Greenpoint, Hacidic Jews are speaking Yiddish. In Brooklyn Heights, they are speaking Italian. In Chinatown, it's Chinese. In the Bronx, it's Spanish.

All of these people are the bones of New York City. They make it interesting, they give it a collective heartbeat that separate New York from large American cities such as Los Angeles or Chicago. They combine to form the sometimes in-your-face attitude, the nervous energy, the restless attitude everyone walking around seems to carry.

I've visited Ellis Island three times, and, this trip, visited the Tenement Museum in the Lower East Side. I lived in the Lower East Side in both 2004 and 2005, and never took the time to explore it. A combination of youth and ignorance are not a sufficient excuse for such a delayed visit. New York is the most overwhelming place I've ever been in my entire life, and so it seems that it's also a place where seemingly obvious things can sometimes go unnoticed. But here, at the Tenement Museum on Orchard Street, ghosts of the past tell the story of why New York City has always been such a vibrant place.
Just one block of Orchard Street held around 2,200 people at any given time, between the years of 1900-1935 - during one of the largest immigration influxes in the history of the United States.

A tenement was basically project housing for penniless immigrants. They consisted of one bedroom, a kitchen that doubled as a bedroom for the children, and a living room that also served as sleeping quarters, bathing area, and more often that not, a business of sorts, usually garment making. Families were, on average, consisting of 6 people in this three room structure. There were usually around 5 floors, with only two toilets per floor, and around 180 people sharing one floor. The living conditions were cramped, uncomfortable, and the tenement occupants toiled long hours, making as little as $.75 to construct a very intricate ladies dress. These people were not afraid of hard work. They kept traditions of the old country alive but were excited to be in America. Many of them suffered hardships that we, in our comforts of 2010, have not experienced a
fraction of. Women died in childbirth or lost children at a young age - usually from something such as tuberculosis or even a water-borne illness such as cholrea since the living conditions were so poor. Most families subsided, in the early 1900s, on a monthly salary of $40, with 6 mouths to feed and a rent of $12.

When you really unearth the hardships these people encountered, when you walk circles around the walls of names etched into the marble memorials on Ellis Island, you can appreciate New York City in a different light. You can understand why it is
the frenzied place that it is. It has a long standing energy of freshly immigrated peoples, who are seeking a better life in our beautiful country. And this continues today. Immigrants today might not live in such poor conditions, but they are met, at times, with hostility and resentment. They contribute to the fine, varied cuisine of New York. They make their mark in their neighborhoods, they bring bits of the old country to the quilted patchwork of America in a very real and raw way. This is what separates New York City from any other place on the planet, let alone the United States. It's the
convergence of races, religions, ideas, countries, thought. It's the tension of these things colliding, and it's the beauty of stepping back to see this mosaic from afar that make New York City the big, beautiful mess that it is. Much like the Tower of Bable, New York is made of sky high buildings and over 800 different languages.

New York City is not the best city in the world for the reasons most people think it is. As stated earlier, the quality of life, entertainment, interesting quirks, delicious and interesting foods, and collage of peoples is found elsewhere, even in smalltown USA. While living in Boulder, I had a fantastic African dance class taught by a woman from Mali. In Denver, I enjoy Thai food from a small cart off 16th street from a Thai woman who speaks little English and makes her pad thai right there in her little wok. With the ease of travel, the desire for cleaner air and better attitudes, I do not believe New
York is as desirable as perhaps it once was. You can truly have access to many of the things that make New York so wonderful with a lower cost of living, mountains or the ocean outside your door, and really only miss out on inhaling rat poison, old plumbing, and the realities of living in a 304.8 square mile island with 8 million people. Pictured below: Immigrants flocking to Ellis Island - and now, daughters of Immigrants come to pay homage.

I am in no way belittling New York. I exult this city for the exciting, wonderful place that it is. It's truly a second home to me, it's a place I will continue to visit until the day I die. New York was, in a way, my first city love. But I can state with absolute confidence, that New York City is not better than another metropolis such as Seattle, or
better than tiny Palisade, Colorado. The week before I flew to New York, I spent four days meandering around Denver solo - my new city of residence. Denver has so many nooks and crannies that I absolutely adore. It was wonderful to see the graffiti
work, read about the restaurant where everyone pays what they can afford "so everyone can eat," watch the sunset over the mountains, explore the depths of the locally owned, "East Village looking" Capital Hill bookstore, and take yoga classes
from incredible instructors. It was a wonderful juxtaposition. I left the week that was split between Denver and New York with the realization that a city like Denver is greatly underrated, and a city like New York is greatly overrated.

Denver isn't a place that you would think you could have authentic thai food, see King Tut's treasures, watch world class dance, attend a Sting concert and drink a freshly crafted beer all in one day, but it is. Cities and places outside of New York have their own characteristics that make them wonderful places to visit, to live, to explore - they just aren't as blaringly loud as Times Square, obvious as Central Park, or tall as the Empire State Building. There are adorable cupcakeries and bakeries and museums and underground artwork and music happening all the time. Denver is just one example,
and it's one I overlooked for a long time. Thought of it as boring. Thought of it as easy. It's anything but, and it's not going to scream and shout to be noticed - and that's refreshing.

Denver isn't a place you to go prove something in the way that New York is. It doesn't have a slogan of "If I can make it here I can make it anywhere," - I think it's too much of a breath of fresh air in the shade of the purple mountains. New York stands alone, no doubt. But it's not the ultimate. It doesn't make you more interesting, more accomplished, or better if you live there. I was confused about this very thing and, like many of my friends and family that have stayed, felt that perhaps leaving was somehow "giving up." New York has an eternal intrigue because of it's constant ebb and flow of people, it's indifferent coldness, and, in my opinion, it's biggest trump card of it's strong
immigrant past, present, and future. The things I love about New York are the things I despise about it, which also sets it apart from any other city I've lived in or traveled to. In some ways, living in New York City is actually the anti-original-ballsy thing you can do, because it's been done so many times. If you really wanted to challenge yourself and hipster out, you'd move to Dillon, Montana, and make it interesting yourself, instead of competing with all of the other interesting folks in such an interesting city.

On a personal level, it was quite nice returning, seeing that although much changes in New York, that buildings and people come and go all in tune to the city's steady beat of really-could-give-a-shit, New York doesn't change. She is a strong, steel laboratory for people seeking something - maybe riches, maybe fame, maybe the life they saw on TV - but she makes you work for it. For that I respect her. As everyone knows, New York holds that very complicated biggest virtue is your biggest vice feeling. There will always be more songs about New York and books about New York and movies about New York because of this. But, like that crush you always want to prove yourself to, at some point or another, it gets old. It's nice feeling a little safer, a lot cleaner, and around a much more laid back mentality in the rest of the US. I found myself unable to keep up at times with the company I was with in New York. I'm not used to moving at such a pace, and I'm glad for it. Pictured below: Hester Street in 1903 - immigrants.

New York has taught me many lessons about myself, and she has towered above and intimidated me for many years. But this time was different. This time we saw levelly, eye to eye, and even though it took me 6 times to finally break her icy stare and get her to show me what it is about her that makes her such an enigma, I feel that I've finally done it. I will always remain enchanted by New York, by her tireless attitude, by her confusing mixed gesture of open arms but hardened heart. But I am even more happy to know that not only does life thrive and flourish outside of this self-absorbed
concrete jungle, it's of a much greater caliber in terms of quality. It's wonderful, (inspiring!) to know that great art, interesting collective intellect, and original minds are oftentimes found in great magnitude outside of the City That Never Sleeps. The things I love and loved about her are easily found in my backyard of Denver, Colorado, but minus the high rent and stanky attitude. I love New York as any first love, but am glad that I've outgrown the desire to please her, prove myself to her, and am happy to have found a home where love/hate doesn't define my relationship with a city. I'll always love you New York. But you aren't the center of the universe.

You Are Not Your Job

2010-10-27T20:12:00.007-06:00

It was my tenth birthday. I was excited about being ten, double digits, a little more grown up, maybe this year (maybe, just maybe!) I would stop being so lanky looking and grow into my ears. Either way, I was excited that my dad would be picking me up from school and taking me to lunch, probably at my favorite restaurant, Taco Bell. I mentioned my excitement one night after dinner, to which he responded, "I'm sorry, honey, I actually have a meeting scheduled on that day. I don't think it's going to happen." I looked at him with my big brown eyes, my heart in my socks. "OK. I'll get the meeting moved."

I will never forget this day as long as I live. I will never forget how, both of my parents, who have worked full time their entire lives, with my father owning his own business, never struggled with the concept that family was the most important thing, where their priorities were. I'm sure they missed promotions or were given a strange glance when they came to their respective places of employment with a dab of spit up on a business suit, or ketchup mysteriously on a brief case.

They both worked more than full time, because they are both very respected in their own industries. But they never thought they were their jobs. They never neglected their families to gain a bigger title, more money, a new shiny title on their doors.

Think about your best friend. Do you know the name of their company, the interworkings of what they actually do at work every day? Most likely you know bits and pieces, but the point is that you don't like them for their profession. I've never been to a funeral where, during the eulogy someone got up, teary eyed, and stated, "Billy Bob Joe Fred was such a kind soul...but (choking up) the best part about him was...was...that he was on time for work every single day."

I also highly doubt that people lay on their death beds thinking about work. I doubt there are feverish thoughts of missed paperwork, promotions that could have been had - "If I only would have gotten one last raise!"

Don't get me wrong here. I was raised with two hardworking parents and I pay all my own bills and shuffled my way through school and am one hard working SOB. I'm not afraid of hard work and I have as much determination as the little train that could. But I'm a firm believer in the work-life balance. And by firm believer, I don't believe in over working, stress from work, or making work your life when it's not necessary. Let me give some examples.

I had a friend who worked for a giant financial firm in New York City. He made great money, but the pressure he felt there and the hours he worked reduced his social life to nil. This friend is one of the most hungry-for-life people I know, so it pained me to see him so torn between actually enjoying living in NYC and all the goodies she has to offer and working until 12 am most nights. It's no way to live, in fact it's not living at all. The point of working is so that you can enjoy life. It's the modern day hunt and gather situation. You hunt and gather resources in your respective profession so that you can have a roof over your house and food on the table. But it is not your life. Your job does not define you. Your job is not your life.

Long ago, my critical mind was hard at work when I received an email stating that someone at my place of employment would be receiving a fancy, shiny, Apple product for all of the overtime hours they had devoted to a project. Translation: you are being rewarded with an electronic piece of shit because you neglected something in your life. It might have been your girlfriend, it might have been your Tuesday night poker game, it might have been your diet, it might have been sleep, it might have been exercise. So thank you for your stress, here is something that will eventually break or cost you more money to fix.

Now I am not saying that everyone should just slack off, but as Americans, we overwork ourselves. We have one of the highest GDP's as a country and one of the most mediocre ratings of happiness. It's true that good things come through hard work, but just ask anyone who lost one of their multiple vacation homes during the stock market crash, or got caught up in a ponzi scheme with their investment dollars. The things you amass through your job can fall apart at any time. Money, fame and power are fleeting and fictitious. They carry a big fat ass "0" in the meaningful points list. This gets confusing for people, who, during the recent recession, or after being found out in an Enron scandal, actually committed suicide. Over a job. Over money.

You get the point by now. So do your job, and do it well. Work harder and smarter and better, so that when the 5:00 whistle blows, you can scoot your butt on home to the people you love and the things that matter most.

Defeating Your Dementors

2010-10-26T12:06:00.009-06:00

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I've been thinking about author J.K. Rowling quite a bit lately. She's one of the few famous people in 2010 that impresses me, inspires me, and motivates me. No doubt that she inspires me because of her way with words, but even more so, because of the story leading to her successes.

Rowling was, at one point, living off welfare in Britain, a single mother, attending school in order to become a teacher. She also suffered from clinical depression during this time, and lost her mother at a young age. All of these things she funneled into her writing. The loss of her mother allowed her to empathetically create a character who was orphaned (Harry Potter). Her depression turned into the characters known as the Dementors. (pictured at right)

These creatures are described as such: “They feed on the positive emotions, happiness and good memories of human beings, forcing them to relive their worst memories. The very presence of a Dementor makes the surrounding atmosphere grow cold and dark, and the effects are cumulative with the number of Dementors present. Besides feeding on positive emotions, Dementors can perform the Dementor's Kiss, where the Dementor latches its mouth onto a victim's lips and sucks out the person's soul. One such Dementor nearly succeeded in defeating Harry Potter using this method. The victim is left as an empty shell, incapable of thought and with no possibility of recovery. It is believed that existing after a Dementor's Kiss is worse than death.”

We all have Dementors, things that haunt us, things that can bring us down on a daily basis. Perhaps you just lost your job. Perhaps you are mourning the loss of a friend, family member, or are grieving in some way. Perhaps something in your past keeps eating at you or pecking away at you on a daily basis. Perhaps you are going through a devastating breakup or divorce. Perhaps your Dementor takes the shape of a fear of future - fear of doing what you really love, of speaking your truth, of taking a risk.

The beautiful thing is, you and you alone have the power to tame the Dementors. The power to defeat soul sucking ideas, people, and past thoughts and memories. I consider myself one of the fortunate few to have not encountered extreme hardships in my 25 years. But I have known pain and suffering. I have had my own struggles and battles and losses, and I have certainly laid in my bed in the dark feeling alone with a tear soaked pillow. But something inside me always makes me get up; it's that 'magic' that helps us defeat our Dementors.

This magic isn't always easy to find, and sometimes it takes another person reminding us that we have that magic, we have that power. It's something that no one can take away from us. It's the effervescent light of the human spirit that allows you to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and tap dance again. I remember a year ago, going through a great loss of my own, and the Dementor that resulted from this loss. It was not easy, but I went on what I called "World Friend Domination 2010." I said yes to everything, I tried to strike up a conversation with everyone, I cut up snowflakes and threw a Christmas party and hosted movie nights. These things were difficult to do when some days the conversations I was attempting to have featured my pathetic looking ass trying to pay attention with a glazed expression. But all of the people I gathered around me and the experiences I had were my defense against my Dementors.

There are some people who invite the Dementors in, that allow the Dementors to make a comfortable spot in their living room, that allow them to change the way they think and give them the "kiss of death" - always taunting in their ear "You're so broken," or "You'll never be good enough." These are the worst to fight off because they have festered in the brain and formed limiting beliefs, beliefs that you could never make a difference, that "nobody understands because they haven't been through what I've been through." Well, nobody is going to understand completely, but people on the whole are quite empathetic. People, I believe, want to help each other fight off personal Dementors, because some are too big to battle alone. The trick is opening up enough to allow someone else to fight the good fight with you.

Stories of people making lemonade from lemons are age old, and these triumphs are celebrated in great works of poetry, literature, art, songs, and film. Especially in America - the mentality that you really can create something from nothing, rise from ashes like a firey Phoenix, and recreate yourself time and again. The "an adventure is sometimes disguised as an inconvenience or set back" mentality. It's not always an easy one to have, especially when it's pouring, but it's the only one to have. To not have it is to give in.

JK Rowling, in her 2008 Harvard commencement speech, quoted Greek author Plutarch: "What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality." The human mind is truly incredible at accomplishing what it sets out to accomplish. You are your own thoughts. If you think you are valuable, you are. If you think that you are worthless and unlovable, you will become so. It is a great responsibility to bear, the knowledge that you have the greatest influence over yourself, but it is the most rewarding as well, and is the most beautiful part of being human. The power to overcome, to achieve, to set your mind to an idea or thought and see it to fruition.

I'd like to close with a quote by Rowling, also taken from her Harvard commencement speech.

"I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless...by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned."

It's So Nice to be Back Home Where I Belong

2010-10-20T20:19:00.014-06:00

I'm a sucker for musicals. So I'm imagining my entrance to Denver next weekend when I relocate as a big ass scene, with my body draped in a big, sparkly, gold and red dress, with feathers in my hair, and Logan, Danny, Uritis and Dylan carrying me on their shoulders, dancing around and singing:

Helloooooooo Erica well Hellooooooooooo Erica
It's so nice to have you back where you belong.

Then I'll bust out my lines:

I went away from the lights of 16th Street
And into my personal mountain haze
But that I'm back into the lights of 16th Street
Tomorrow will be brighter than the gooooood ole days!

OK, so maybe this musical rendition isn't gonna happen. But that's how I feel about moving to Denver. It's funny - even in the past 6 months I've had three addresses. In the past two years, it's been eight - yes, really - eight addresses and three different cities. And guess what? I'm sick of it. I'm ready to be in a place, one place, with the people I love and those that love me. I'm super sick of having my heart in one place and living in another. So - Vail Pass can kiss my ass. As of next weekend, I'm done.

Every time I've moved since I've graduated college, I've never been sure that it's the right decision - I don't think one can be. I'm not even 100% sure about this move either, but I feel in my bones that it's right in ways that previous moves didn't have. I need to be closer to Abbey. I need to have good, ethnic food (miss my Thai!) at my fingertips. I want to be closer to my parents. I want a trip to Kansas to not be a production. I need to be closer to Laura. I need to be away from ghosts of ex-boyfriends past. I need to have access to my Bollywood Dance, African dance, and other artsy farty shit I like. I need to be closer to Jen. I need to be in the same city as the person (and wonderful one at that) that I am dating - this hasn't happened for me since 2007. I need to be closer to Uritis. I need to host winter movie nights - whose gonna do that? I need to be around a few more people and a lot more diversity. I love Boulder, I love Aspen, but they are both bubbles in their own right, and I'm excited to explore the depths of Denver up and down.Pictured: Denver Crew on summit of Mt. Belford - 14,106

I have written off Denver for a long time. I initially moved to Boulder from NYC, and needed to be someplace where I wasn't choking on homeless people's pee and exhaust fumes - so I nestled myself in the mountains. I've become addicted to the mountains, and spent the last 5 glorious months resting in her heart - and I don't regret any of it at all. I hate it when someone says, "Well, I'm sorry you aren't happy." I've absolutely loved every place I have lived, and each place has been filled with people and experiences that have shaped me into a stronger, more resilient and open minded person. And I think Denver has a little bit of this and a little bit of that (that I've enjoyed) about every place I've lived. Just because I move doesn't mean I'm unhappy. It means I have the bravery to tweak and adjust and explore and recognize a good thing when I see it and have it.

I thought Denver to be boring, to be full of smog since I could see it on my Boulder hikes. I thought Denver was sort of the cop-out stopping place for those that couldn't make it all the way into the mountains. But Denver isn't that. Denver is a sunny, good-sized place with a large downtown to get lost in, as well as small, quiet neighborhoods to grow a garden in. Denver is home to The Colorado Ballet and Wednesday night Cruiser rides. Denver is, most importantly, a great place for a twenty something to learn, grow, and meet other twenty something Colorado expats that aren't totally into the "mountain lifestyle" - this extension of college partying years. Pictured: Denver crew does a rain dance at the Sand Dunes to keep the lightning away. It didn't work.

The mountains will no longer be at my doorstep. I will not breathe in the some of the cleanest air in the world every day, nor fall asleep hearing coyotes howl against the rustle of aspen leaves. But I believe that people move to a location for one of three reasons: people, the place, or a job. I've mostly been moving around for the place, but it's time for me to realize something: I am one of the fortunate few who have acquired a family of friends.

For quite some time, for whatever reason, I held onto the notion that my best friends would always be those that I made in college. That nobody could understand me as well as them, that I spent my developing years with them so we had a bond that could never be matched. I was wrong. My friends are like a Miss American pageant - Miss Vermont, Miss Pennsylvania, Miss Missouri, Miss California, Miss Illinois, Miss Michigan, Miss Iowa and more. We have grown together, bonded, and shared the bizarre midtwenties "what the hell am I doing" talks as we've navigated our lives, away from our families, some of us a good long expensive plane ride away from our families. My friends and I have seen each other through lay offs, through heartbreak, through deaths, through betrayal of other friends, through the stuff that really tests the bonds of forming friendship. Pictured: Part of the Miss America line up. There ARE men Miss America's, too.

Aside from this, we've come to have some amazing times together as well. My friends are absolutely worth moving for. They are my family. I've never lived in Denver but I have somehow managed to make more, and more and more friends there. People I just clicked with, people I can, above all else - have a serious, thought out conversation with one minute, and be choking on tears with laughter the next. It took me (and everyone in this family - or, sometimes called "the sorority") awhile to gel together, to find that "this is our group, our pack that looks out for each other" feel. People who help each other move until midnight into their new apartment. People who bake magnificent cakes for each other on their birthdays. People who stay over if you just need someone to chase the blues away. People who will make you homemade cards and letters just because you love them. People who, even though they haven't met your biological family, still know their names, about them and what they are like. People who will help you refine your pitch, your cover letter, your resume. People who will rub your back when you need it the most. That is a rarity. That is worth moving for. People who are letting me keep my copious amount of bird and antique shit in their basement until I find a place to live. People who said, "Just get here and stay on our couches - we really miss you here."

In this day and age, twenty-somethings don't start families or get married straight out of college - and we aren't around our original nucleus of our biological families anymore, either. But everyone needs a support group, everyone needs a family. I realized how important this was when I came to recognize that sometimes friends are truly like family. You build this family on your own when yours isn't close by. It's essential to a healthy mind, body and soul.

Some people have asked me - "What's the job?" Well, that just doesn't really matter. There is nothing official at this point, although there will be soon and a few things are in the works. What matters right now is that I am going to - and finally making - a home. Home is where the heart is. "Home is wherever I'm with you." And of course, as always, there's no place like home. So, Denver crew - this one's for you. You guys have my heart. Thanks for asking me to come home.

Continuing Education

2010-10-18T10:30:00.002-06:00

I never let my schooling interfere with my education.

-Mark Twain

I'm not going to grad school. I know it's an anomaly these days, but I don't have a need to. If I were going to switch careers into the medical field, I absolutely would. But I'm not, and instead of stalling out and cruising in neutral, I'm going to do things the hard way and figure it out myself. Education is a wonderful thing; I learned to read, write, basic arithmetic, and interact with others through the variety of teachers that made a huge difference in my life. But the most important lessons I've learned haven't been found in textbooks. Perhaps the biggest thing my education taught me is the value and the power of knowledge, the joy in acquiring it, and the sense of accomplishment that comes with the mastery of new knowledge. School teaches you to think for yourself and solve problems, so once I was finished with my bachelor's degree, that's what I started doing.

Grad school is becoming increasingly prevelant, but I'm not sure that it's necessary. Sure - I have friends in med school, friends that are obtaining PhD's in psychology so they can practice their respective forms of medicine and do what they really want to as a career. I applaud them and am not envious of the homework they have well into their mid twenties. But I know others who went back to grad school, "Because I couldn't figure out what to do." Translation: having someone else plot out your schedule is comfortable, something that has happened since you were 5 years old, so back to comfort they went. There are groups of individuals who "went back to school" not because they have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, but as a reaction to fear. Fear that "I can't do anything with my degree." or "I don't know what I'm doing with my degree."

Personally, I don't have the capital to go to grad school and take a victory lap. I had to pay for half of everything in school, and I believe it to be the biggest favor my parents have ever bestowed upon me. It made me take my education seriously since I invested in it as well. I took Math 101 three times and literally paid the price. I have student loans that prevent me from going to grad school and stalling out just to stall, so I have to do the hard grown up thing and figure it out on my own. And it's hard, frustrating, and incredibly rewarding.

I have a degree in English. One of those liberal arts degrees that everyone shakes their heads at and says, quite sadly, "What are you going to do with that? Go to grad school?" Well, no. I have used my degree to write freelance, to blog, and my profession is in the online sphere. Since my departure from the la-la-land of college I have acquired skills in social media, SEO, and am about to embark on learning the skills of link building. None of this probably makes sense to you, but when people ask me about how I ascertained this knowledge, they assume I have a tech degree. No, I don't. I learned it from the ground up, not from reading a text book on it. I asked questions, gained mentors, and gained paycheques instead of paying someone else to teach me.

I'm absolutely not knocking education. All I'm saying is that my mother, with over 25 years of marketing experience, would be the best marketing teacher in the world, certainly better than someone who went to school to teach marketing and has actually never executed. I hunger for knowledge - but am quite aware that the majority of the education I've received hasn't happened in a classroom. As with most people, I learn best by getting my hands dirty. By doing. By going out there and testing the theory out myself.

I am not an advocate for the theory that you should "apply your schooling" right out of college. I think it's a terrible idea. I think you are a better worker, more entrepreneurial minded (which is beneficial even if you aren't starting your own company), more flexible, more excited to learn, if you travel a bit beforehand. If you go out with the attitude of, "I've spent 22 years of my life learning about the world, now I'm going to see it for myself." Always reading, always learning, always traveling, always excited to absorb like a sponge. You don't need a degree to do this, just an excited mind, and maybe a plane ticket or some gas in a car.

Asking questions, asking for help, asking people about their life stories, always extending yourself - you'll grow, grow, grow. There are certain ways to grow that a degree can't give you, that more schooling won't provide you, that sitting in a desk can't bring to you. Not lording this over anyone, but the comforts of an educational setting are not reality. Nowhere in that world do you learn to negotiate salary, that you pay all of your FICA tax when you are a contract employee, how benefits and paid time off work, how to network and find a niche you belong - all these skills can only be acquired by diving straight into the scary abyss known as "the real world." I hate that term, because college is a great time for learning and expansion, but it's a time to take your training wheels off as well. To stop living with your parents, to ween your way off of the comfort zone boobie, and Get. Out. Get out and see what you're made of. Test yourself, work for a company that isn't your Dad's, see what your strengths really are, not what someone tells you they are.

It's an exhiliarting feeling. To stand on your own feet, with the world as your oyster, without a schedule pointing you to be in a classroom between these set hours, is like a roller coaster - looks scary from the top, but is a thrilling ride. Our teachers and our parents instill knowledge in us to help us live the fullest lives possible. But their greatest lesson is that of independence, equipping us with tools so that we might be able to carve our paths efficiently and happily. So don't be afraid - you have the tools, now use them. Explore, make mistakes, be opportunistic, taste and savor every spice of life. You don't need grad school to clarify this path for you or so that you can demand a bigger and better salary. Bill Gates was a college dropout, after all. You don't need to drop out of college, either - there is no set formula - but the safety net of running into your schoolbook's arms for solace is never a good tactic.

Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone. So go find it, push it, and live.

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2010-10-12T22:16:00.006-06:00

Name: Abbey
Nickname: Abigail Jane, Abibi
How Known: Through my old roommate and friend, Grace
Known Since: Last year
Why She's Great: It was really hard for me to pick out pictures for this post - Abbey and I have been on so many adventures together. I met her I'm sure in the first 6 months or so of my move to Boulder, but I didn't really get to know her until late last fall and early winter. And since that time a year ago, Abbey really has come to be one of my best friends. At right: Yellowstone Ntl Park.

Abbey is hands down, the most funny person I know. She has an incredible wit, amazing timing, and an inherent knowledge and insight into the quirky, funny little things about people and situations that sort of remind me of John Belushi. I laugh the hardest when I'm around her.

Abbey came into my life when I was going through a really hard time last year, and the timing could not have been more perfect. She was there for me in more ways than she knows; I spent most every weekend that I lived in Boulder at her place in Denver. I would leave my Cokes in her fridge, my towels on her rack and my dirty toothbrush someplace in her bathroom, and she tolerated it all. She tolerated me shooting a KU themed Lady Gaga video at her place. She tolerated me snuggling up to her in her bed when I'd stay the weekend. And most of all, she listened and accompanied me on any adventure I recommended. Georgetown antiquing. Taos. Great Sand Dunes National Park. Skiing at Vail. Vintage shopping in Boulder - "you need that!" Winter X Games in Aspen. Backpacking trip to Conundrum Hot Springs. Crosby Stills Nash concert at Red Rocks. Frozen Dead Guy Days in Nederland. Dew Tour in Breckenridge. X Country skiing Independence Pass. Going to see Colorado Ballet perform Beauty and the Beast. Wine tasting in Palisade. Whatever I suggested, Abbey always has, does and will say a resounding YES. She's the biggest yes person I know. At left: the crew outside of Grand Junction. _|||

She is incredibly thoughtful. She thinks about her sister, her dad, her mom, her friends. She does little things to show them she cares, she remembers things you do or don't like to eat, she texts you to see if you are having a better day when you've had a bad one.

She's a great cook and even better baker. She always has something tasty she's made, and her and I have made many wonderful mini pie concoctions. Someday I swear we'll open a bakery together..if she can tolerate my mess.

Abbey really has a special place in my heart, and always will. She is always wanting to learn, always willing to explore, always quick with a joke and always able to make me laugh. And I really value that in her - it's refreshing being around someone who can see the lighter side of things and whip me back into shape when I'm getting too serious or too stressed out. At right: Skiing in Vail.

I love her to death, and can't wait to live in her basement with my goats, zip lines, while inviting all of my new friends over for dinner parties in her kitchen.

It's OK To Be Gay

2010-10-11T14:05:00.007-06:00

Let's cut to the chase on this one. IT'S OK TO BE GAY.

Being gay doesn't mean you are damned. Being gay doesn't mean you are weak. Being gay doesn't mean that you have a disability. Being gay doesn't mean that you are a freak. Being gay doesn't mean that you are anything but a human being, plain and simple, with homosexual preferences. And that's it.

Yesterday was National Coming Out Gay, and it made me sad to think, "I don't need a day that perhaps I would finally be comfortable telling my parents, my friends, my community, that I'm heterosexual. I can't imagine how that might feel." To hide a very uncontrollable factor about your humanity must be a terrible feeling.

For some, this is a no-brainer fact of life. For others, this is an incredibly touchy subject, something that raises fear, misunderstanding, and judgment. But for anyone reading this who has ever had any doubt and just needed to hear it, I'll say it again: it's ok to be gay.

Recently, it's come to the media's attention that gay teenagers are committing suicide over the angst they feel from being gay. For anyone reading this who thinks being gay is a choice, I believe these suicides attest to the fact that no, it's certainly not a choice. I don't wake up in the morning deciding that I'll be white, that I'll be heterosexual, that I'll be five feet five inches tall. These things are genetically hardwired into me, and cannot be changed. They make up unchangeable factors about me.

For those of you who are shaking your heads in disgust about what I'm saying, my guess is that you were raised in a similiar environment I was - conservative, perhaps midwestern. It was not my parents that struck the "gay is wrong" notion into my head, it was more or less society as a whole. The military disallowing gays is a start. What are we teaching the American people when we are discriminating on the basis of someone's sexual orientation? And how in the hell does this correlate to someone's desire to defend their very country - their very freedom to "be?"

I've heard the argument that gayness is "not natural" - that a union should be between a man and a woman. I'm not a genetic scientist, but I do know that homosexual behaviors exists among other mammals, including dolphins, penguins, and more. Personally, this doesn't add to my justification of sexuality, but it might help some of those who don't understand this argument out.

I've also heard the argument that homosexuality "tarnishes the image or sacredness of marriage." Well, so does the 52% divorce rate. So does pedophilia. So does pornography addiction. So does adultery. So does a host of other terrible, awful, no good very bad things that affect other's lives in a profound, psychologically damaging way, that is much much more damaging than a gay couple in a healthy relationship.

For me, and for many others, all of these realities came to light when I acquired a gay friend. Of course, this only happened in college, because a gay student in a Catholic school (which I attended up to the point of college) would never come out - the ridicule, the judgment, and the embarrassment would be too much to bear in these formative years (need I remind you of the suicides again?) I have numerous gay friends, and I could care less. I want them to be happy, healthy, and content just as any other friend I have. And if that means that my girlfriend is happy with a girl or my guyfriend is happy with a guy, I don't care. I don't care if they stay single or get married or have a gazillion cats - as long as they are not harming other humans it's fine.

I am quite confident that if you are reading this, and you think that you don't have a gay friend, you are wrong. You most certainly do, perhaps even someone in your own family, who cannot fully be themselves because of societal pressures. And if your argument is that stigmas and prejudices against gays exist for a reason, I ask you to sit next to Rosa Parks and have a chat with her about that shit. I don't care if my siblings, best friends or whomever marry a Muslim, someone of a different race, or someone of the same or different sex. What I care about is their happiness, the acceptance of them as a human being as a whole, not just the bits I can tolerate.

I am writing about gay rights because it is a matter of respect. It is a matter of acceptance. It is not a matter of someone desecrating a sacrament - to that I say "separation of church and state!" I do not believe in this because I have a lackadaisical stance, this opinion comes from the heart, comes from a soft spot of empathy for anyone who has not been able to be themselves in total completeness for fear of rejection.

So let's stop discriminating in a barrage of ways - be it legal rights, bullying and taunting, or outright namecalling - something that is part of someone's humanity. It doesn't matter if it's gross to you. It doesn't matter if you don't understand it. What matters is the kindness, understanding, and acceptance you show towards other human beings. I don't need to know the genetic reasoning for homosexuality, all I need to know is that people with homosexual tendencies are people first and foremost. Until we find this peace and acceptance within our hearts and through our actions, terrible incidences such as hate crimes, suicides and murders will continue. We must change our thoughts, and the ideas we spread, to let people, especially developing minds, know that they are cherished for who they are, not who they are attracted to.

"Deep down even the most hardened criminal is starving for the same thing that motivates the innocent baby: Love and acceptance."
-Lily Fairchild

The Necessity of the Arts

2010-10-04T21:38:00.005-06:00

I was watching Regina Spektor's music video Us just the other day, and although I've seen it a thousand times, it still manages to touch something deep inside me - strikes a chord in the harp of my soul. Her imagination, her piano composition, her lyrics, her face, her music, all of it just speaks to me. It's gorgeous, because it's art.

Anytime someone expresses themselves in some manner, it's art. Perhaps Regina fascinates me so because everything from her crimsoned lips to the quality of her music is one massive, beautiful expression of herself, of her art.

Art sometimes gets a bad rap as being the "easy" subject in the classroom, one that is perhaps unnecessary. But arts in education is vital to a well rounded development of the human mind, because art is so real, so raw, and so free form. I'm not sure how many people's hearts sing when they complete a problem using the Pythagorean theorem (and if you are among the rare whose heart does sing when completing a math problem, stop reading right now, because we in no way think alike).

Art is therapeutic. My good friend Patrice runs a program called Writers in Baltimore Schools, and her students have varied and sometimes less than perfect lives. That's why she started this program, and it's had outstanding results. Her students wrote a play called "The Day Baltimore Ran out of Chicken" and went on to creatively express how a woman steals all of the chicken in the city. Patrice says, "Students crave opportunities to express themselves, and theater offers a constructive outlet for the classroom. Theater presents a perfect hybrid of possibilities for academic learning and student fun. It also allows students to guide the creative process, beginning with an idea and seeing their writing through an initial draft, revisions, rewrites, and a final product. Theater is a cooperative art form, and the social benefits of bringing students together to create and perform plays extend beyond the classroom into many areas of students’ lives."

Site edutopia.com describes precisely why we need the arts, why they are so vital, and how they relate to the rest of the world as a whole:
Although they do not always lend themselves to the kinds of metrics used to demonstrate proficiency in reading and math, the arts and humanities play a vital role in the educational development of students. They keep and convey our cultural heritage while opening us up to other societies and civilizations around the globe. They help us explore what it means to be human, including both the ethical and aesthetic dimensions. If science and technology help us to answer questions of "what" and "how," the arts and humanities give us ways to confront the intangible, to contemplate the "why," to imagine, to create. If ever there were a time to nurture those skills in our young people, it is now, when our nation's future may depend on our creativity and our ability to understand and appreciate the cultures around the world as much as on our proficiency in reading and math.

All told - inventors, scientists and mathematicians have all truly done their share to make our world a better, more understandable place. The arts, however, touch on the unknown, help to explain the unexplainable; express the human experience. Through painting, through dance, through writing, through singing, through composing, through drawing, through sculpting, through the arts, we come to touch upon something deeper within ourselves, and connect with that thing that makes us want to create, want to express, want to contribute to the beauty of the world.

When I go to a museum, or first Fridays, see costumes on stage, or just see an interesting patch of graffiti on the wall, I carry it with me. I carry it with me and showcase it usually in what I wear and how I carry myself. I photograph it so I can let it inspire me later. Sometimes I'll just walk into a store like Anthropologie to look at the things I can't afford, only to have them inspire me later. I love doing things like that. Part of why I enjoy Art Walks and First Fridays is to see how the people look, dress, and do their hair. They are art, too, and they inspire me to show my flair at all times.

Expressing oneself - it's truly a wonderful thing. Dip your hands into cold clay and throw a pot. Swirl oil paints together with your unique fingerprint. Write today's lecture or your thoughts on your pants. Dance and sway to music that moves you with reckless abandon. Pick up a new instrument you've always wanted to try. Frame something that inspires you on your wall so that you may continuously be inspired by beautiful things. Dye your hair. Put art on yourself with tattoos. Everyone expresses themselves in different ways, there is no right or wrong.

See art in everything - the way the moon casts shadows, the shapes of clouds, the varying colors of dirt, the funny noises your computer makes - it's a way of taking in beauty. Love art, make art, appreciate art, be art.

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.
-William Faulkner

Deconstructive Criticism

2010-09-28T10:26:00.009-06:00

I'm loud spoken. I have a big heart, but a big mouth. I have zero filter. I cuss like a sailor, burp like a nasty old man, and hate sharing my food. These traits, among many things, are my personal shortcomings. Some of them I work on, some of them I don't. Regardless - quite frankly I don't appreciate or need someone running through the script of my life and my personality with a highlighter and red pen, making markings and corrections of what could be changed or fixed. My life is 1/3 over, some things just need to be let go of.

I've been having this conversation lately with multiple parties - some family, some friends - about my rejection of the critical opinion of my personality. It's not that I can't take the truth, or am unaware of my aforementioned personality "downfalls" - it's just that it does me no good to hear them from someone else. It's also because I don't lay this "favor" upon other people, so it's quite the hot button when it's laid down upon me.

As a self proclaimed member of the "human rights" party, I feel it is every human's right to seek life, liberty and the pursuit of their happiness in whatever manner suits them best. I'm not anybody but me, so while I can't understand why people do the things they do, I haven't spent a lifetime in their skin and therefore don't understand it. So it's simply not my place to judge or to take a disapproving tone, and nobody has that right to do so to me, either.

This past winter, my friend Jen told me that I was not as fun as I used to be when going out and partying, that I "pouted" at the bars, and just generally wasn't enjoyable to be around in that setting. My response to her? "Then stop going out with me." It wasn't spiteful, it was merely the way I would have reacted. She said that she merely pointed it out because she thought I would "like to know." I said I didn't want to know, and that if she had a problem with a personality attribute of mine, that she should just leave it alone, find ways to work around it, or simply stop keeping company with me. True, I projected my policy on others onto her, which is this: unless someone's actions, habits, or words are directly interfering with my ability to carry on a peaceful and fulfilling life, I have no right or desire to correct or criticize those actions.

There are many things I don't understand about people - why they never leave the midwest, why they don't travel, why they don't enjoy the arts, why they this and why they that, yet I never ask why they do or don't do these things, because it's not my life, and it's not my regret to hold. I might pass judgement internally, as well all do, but I don't vocalize the behaviors I disapprove of in others because it does no constructive good. It will not make the other person feel better. It most likely will not result in them changing into the person I think they should be. It will, however, belittle them, and potentially cause a rift between us. So 99% of the time, I say nothing.

I have lived with mega sluts, alcoholics, people with severe disorders of a large variety, druggies, you name it. And every time, I simply moved. I didn't tell them how much I disapproved of their lifestyle, cast them down into the pit of tar filled sin, or hauled them off to rehab. I certainly am not an apathetic person, and don't even seem capable of taking a neutral stance on much of anything, but at the end of the day, if something is bothering me, I tend to just take control and fix the situation myself, through whatever means I can, rather than fixing the person. It's much easier, causes much less stress and conflict, and in the end, everybody finds a better fit.

I truly believe that each person is each their own worst critic, at least if they have an ounce of self-awareness. That being said, I think it's our jobs as humans to work around one another's habits, lifestyles, and personalities, not try to mold everyone to fit into our ideal. I'm guilty as charged, but I try to think the nasty things just in my head, or commiserate with a few close friends about what I should do when the going gets rough. For the most part however, I tend to go with - you can't change them, so just change your attitude, accept it, or move on. The same holds true for people that don't like me, don't understand me, or whatever the case may be. If anything, building each other up, supporting each other as people (supporting decisions is not the same thing) and having an attitude of "I don't understand or agree, but I'll accept it because I love you unconditionally" seems to do the trick. Of course, not everyone is going to be able to pull the shit my brother does, because they aren't my flesh and blood. It's case by case, but at our best, we can highlight, focus on, and build up the favorable attributes in a person and ignore the rest. At our worst, we can focus on the negative and drive them into the ground for it. And in the middle, we can just do nothing.

Overall, I don't want to dish it out, I don't want to take it - and that "it" is deconstructive criticism. Trust me, I ask for constructive criticism when I want and need it - "What do you think of this? Do you think it's crazy if I do that?" - consulting my cabinet, bouncing ideas around for clarification. But if you don't like that I burp, I really don't care. If you dislike my sense of fashion, keep it to yourself. Because I don't like how you are clingy to your boyfriend, and I am not a fan of your best friend, but unless it affects me directly, I keep it to myself.

This is why I've broken up with boyfriends or ended friendships, and why I've been dumped or de-friended, it just wasn't the right fit. And instead of trying to change and mold one another, in all of the instances listed, one or both parties just decided to find a companion that was a better suited. No harm done - it's life! And it would be extremely time consuming and difficult if we all got along with every person we met.

So let us learn to accept one another, know when to move on, when to open our mouths or keep them closed, and to understand that if we find a quirk particularly annoying, someone else will find it incredibly endearing.

Give Me a Hug!

2010-09-22T09:12:00.012-06:00

My friend Sarah gives incredible hugs. She's petite, and my height, so she doesn't envelop me in a grandpa-style hug, but I'd still put her in the bear hug category. That's because she hugs with all her might, and with true sincerity, almost like she wants to send all the little things she's happy about from her body into mine. When she recently returned from a trip to India, I knew I'd get a greathug out of her since I hadn't seen her in so long. And it was a really great hug. No side hug, no barely touching gentle pat on the back, a full on, mushy, squeezing hug.

There's no wonder a hug like that can make my heart soar. Research is proving more and more that the power of touch has incredible, long lasting, and healthy effects. In fact, the University of Miami School of Medicine has a Touch Research Institute, which has incredible findings about the necessity of a g

entle touch. They, "found evidence of significant effects, including faster growth in premature babies, reduced pain, decreased autoimmune disease symptoms, lowered glucose levels in children with diabetes, and improved immune systems for people with cancer." This incredible amount of benefits just stands as further proof of the very real, very potent mind-body connection.

Perhaps this is part of the big picture when we, as Americans, look at our always-on-the-go, stressed out lives. We don't really take the time to stop and hug each other,

let alone take the time to find a physical comfort in one another. We are

also adverse to touch; when someone's leg touches you on the bus or subway, your automatic reaction is probably to move away. As my yoga teacher sometimes states in a crowded class, "If someone touches you, don't wince away, it's actually a gift." Might sound cheesy, but it really is true.

Touch, when warranted and when given and received in an affectionate, non-threatening manner, is some of the best therapy you can receive. I hold an incredible amount of tension in my shoulders, in fact much of it very well could be because I live in an overwhelming touching solitude lifestyle (no family, extremely close friends or significant other around). There have been times when, during a massage, I've actually cried. It's an incredible, carthetic release for me to have someone touch my body, heal it, and breathe tenderness into it.

The website www.massagetherapy.com states, "Massage as a healing tool has been around for thousands of years in many cultures. Touching is a natural human reaction to pain and stress, and for conveying compassion and support. Think of the last time you bumped your head or had a sore calf. What did you do? Rubbed it, right? The same was true of our earliest ancestors. Healers throughout time and throughout the world have instinctually and independently developed a wide range of therapeutic techniques using

touch. Many are still in use today, and with good reason. We now have scientific proof of the benefits of massage - benefits ranging from treating chronic diseases and injuries to alleviating the growing tensions of our modern lifestyles. Having a massage does more than just relax your body and mind - there are specific physiological and psychological changes which occur, even more so when massage is utilized as a preventative, frequent therapy and not simply mere luxury. Massage not only feels good, but it can cure what ails you."

No wonder I'm a massage junkie, and no wonder I have so many knots in my back from too few hugs. There really is a reason that when someone is crying, or in pain, we hold their hand, rub their back, squeeze their knee, or hug them out of instinct. It's a physical sign that we show to share their pain, alleviate it, and connect with them.

What is a tragedy is really how little we touch each other, how odd we find it when friends or loved ones hold hands in public, and our general resistance to public displays of affection. It doesn't have to be making out passionately, but linking arms around one another, sitting close to one another at dinner, braiding your girlfriends hair, or not recoiling as if a snake bit you (or the involuntary "sorry") when you accidentally touch someone are small things that can make a huge impact. Funny how when people rejoice - think about the world cup - they hug each other en masse. They want to share their joy with each other in a passionate, real way. Many sports teams are shown jumping on one another and hugging after a victory; it's a natural reaction.

As for me, I miss being touched, and the more I'm away from close friends and loved ones, the more I crave hugs. Hugs release oxytocin, the same serotonin inducing, bonding chemical released when women breastfeed, couples orgasm, or people give to a charity. I truly think that the longer you go without physical affection, the more you need it. And in today's hustle and bustle, don't even know our neighbors society, seems like we could all use a few more hugs. So if science isn't proof enough for you already, the way you feel after a big bear hug should. Don't believe me? Try it. Right now. Pick someone - and yes guys this means you too, that you'll hug today. And tomorrow. And the day after. Make yourself known as "the person that gives good hugs" like my friend Sarah. So for good health, exercise, eat well, drink well, laugh well, and don't forget to hug well.

Millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you. ~Jacques Prévert

I'm Richer Than Steve Jobs, Yo

2010-09-16T09:01:00.003-06:00

To laugh much, to win respect of intelligent persons and the affections of children; to earn the approbation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give one's self; to leave the world a little better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to have laughed and played with enthusiasm; and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived - - this is to have succeeded.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

The New York Times recently published an article called "But Will it Make You Happy?" - a study about how conspicuous consumption is teetering off, and how many people are moving away from going big, acquiring new toys, and finding happiness in material possessions. I'm all for this.

Yes, I do like to get a cute, shitty dress at Forever 25 every now and then, and yes, I do like to treat myself to a freshly brewed coffee most days of the week. And yes these things cost money. But let's get to the root of the problem and what the aforementioned article was highlighting - a movement away from defining success with money and material goods.

Whenever someone says, "Yes, she's very successful," my first question is, "In what way?" I personally don't define success through dollar bills. If someone is rich, they aren't successful, they are good at making money. I'm with Emerson on this one - success is defined by the halo (either dirty or shiny) you are casting on the world. And some people never figure this out. Left: Emerson, one smart dude.

Life doesn't follow the 'success formula' of the so-called 'American Dream' - go to college, get married, have kids, die rich. Life, to me at least, is comprised of a series of curve balls, large and small, and your character is defined by how you react to these curve balls. Not only this, but how you go to bat as well. Do you do anything (no matter how small, maybe just smiling at a homeless person) to ease someone else's pain?

And now back to the riches thing - I think I'm the wealthiest person in the world. No joke. Yes I have student loans and some debt, but I'm still the richest, most lavish, decadent person you know. That's because I have incredibly supportive friends, an unconditional love from my family, and have educated myself in a variety of mediums - art, dance, travel, literature, just growing my brain in general. I'm not bragging or being pompous here, I'm just saying that I live an incredibly rich life, and it has nothing to do with money. Zero. Zip. Nada.

I can't buy friends and I can't purchase life experiences and yes, money can help in assisting me to achieve goals such as travel and good books, but money is what I make to enable myself to do things, money doesn't make me.

To me, the definition of success is exactly how Emerson defined it. It's cultivating meaningful relationships, pushing yourself beyond your known means, treating the Earth, yourself and others with respect, and acquiring an inner peace that no Ferrari can take you to, no maid can dust away to find for you, no expensive jet can whisk you away to. Anyone can work away and become 'financially successful.' Anyone can neglect their personal life, people close to them, and the growth of their intellect and spirit for financial pursuits. It takes no talent, no ingenuity, no bravery, no strength of character.

The reason I take such a stance is because I don't feel that accomplishing material and financial wealth and being (in my definition of) a successful person can both be accomplished. Because: money is evil, and humans fall prey to it's seductive and addictive ways, and because there is simply not enough time in the human lifespan to concentrate on both amassing wealth and furthering the self.

I recently read in Time Magazine about individuals who, either terminally ill, terminally insane, or both, are contemplating committing suicide before the end of 2010, because the federal government has lifted the estate tax this year. That means that if they pass away before Jan 1, 2011, that their families will get their inheritance tax free. People are killing themselves for money for their loved ones, mistakenly thinking this is the most valuable thing they can bequeath to them. What about lessons that only grandma can provide, like how to make the best sugar cookies in the world? Maybe money can buy that too.

Of course I take a hard stance on rejecting the definition of success as financial accumulation, but there are so many messages of the opposite caliber, that I'll take this stance (it's in the Bible for crying out loud - And again I say unto you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven). I'm not particularly religious, but I think we can all agree the J-Man was a good dude, and he got the concept that it's pretty difficult to be an upstanding person and accumulate a lot of crap.

So make money, make it ethically, spend it wisely, and overall, don't forget that, as I stated before, money doesn't make you, you make money.

Up in The Air

2010-09-07T23:58:00.005-06:00

I hate going to the airport. Most people I know don't have a particular fondness for airports, either - they represent teary goodbyes, lost luggage, barf bags, uncirculated air in the aircraft, and the waiting, waiting, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaiting.

The babies screaming. The terrible, greasy, day old fast-food-only options. The cheesy music. The person with the full blown head cold sneezing next to you on the plane. The lack of food service. The insane security that didn't exist pre-9/11.

But before this jaded perception of airports set in, they used to be exciting places. Places people dressed up to go to, for flying was a luxury. I try and infuse a bit of that 1950's-pretty-stewardess-with-a-yellow-necktie feel when I fly. I try to take my ipod out and see airports not as the glass half empty nuisance that they are, but as sort of the jump start to any travel you are partaking in when you arrive at the airport.

When you walk through the airport, it's exciting to see the different destinations. This is perhaps my favorite part: fantasizing that I can walk up to any of the gates I'm passing by and go wherever I want. It's crazy reading the portals of travel, neatly lined up so closely to one another: Phoenix, La Jolla, Kansas City, Brussels, Vancouver, Mexico City, San Francisco, London. Been there, want to go there, that place is home, used to live there, going there in 2 months. Planes taking people to visit their grandmother, to travel luxuriously, to connect to another flight that takes you on another flight and then another to a faraway land, planes going to places that are hot and sandy and beachy, planes going to freezing cold lands. It's a beehive of endless opportunities.

The conversations in airports are always entertaining, informative and eye-opening, if you take the time to have them. Sometimes I don't feel like chatting up the person next to me on the plane, but oftentimes some sort of friendly exchange is to be had, and it's always nice. I probably won't ever see that person again, but you just never know. You can always learn something from everyone, especially people on planes. They just came from someplace specific and have a destination in mind - all the details in between are fascinating.

Personally, I fly alone 90% of the time. It's more of a default setting than anything, and although flying alone is a huge pain at times (carrying all your luggage all the time, getting lost and delayed solo) it's a good time to really hone your observation skills. Watch people and how they behave, especially in a public setting. It's an odd feeling being lumped in with total strangers in a huge box in the middle of nowhere to get into a small, 500 mph missile hurtling through the air; take in that odd feeling.

Flying is something that, 200 years ago, was the stuff of dreams and fiction. Now it's something that's affordable, accessible, and has contributed to good things (easier access to exploration, a transient lifestyle) as well as bad things (westernization of everything because of the aforementioned, limitless opportunities for a nomadic lifestyle.)

Airports truly are odd places, and it takes a simultaneously tough yet open minded state before you enter the ticketing area, security, boarding area, plane and then baggage claim. But it's the travel leading into travel. It's uncomfortable and strangely communal all at once. It sends your stomach into fits and numbs your eardrums.

Take the time to enjoy the flight, to soak in your airport experience and to have that weird conversation with the person next to you. It's something much of the world will never do in their lifetime, and what a treat it really is.

MY DEARIES: A SERIES

2010-09-07T22:01:00.003-06:00

Name: Mike
Nicknames: Uncle Mike, Michael
Known Since: Birth
How Known: He's my mom's brother
Why He's Great: My uncle Mike has always been that sort of idealistic quintessential uncle - the stuff of Full House, perhaps? Except without the motorcycle and the cool hair - that would be his brother, Brad. With an uncanny sense of humor, Uncle Mike was the one that would do impressions of just about any Disney character you could come name, the one who is quick witted and makes funny faces to go along with the many impressions he had in his funny bone arsenal.

When I was little, I'll never forget the day Uncle Mike "took me to Hawaii." Hawaii was actually just what I thought our local water park, Fantasea, was, but it didn't really matter. I was so excited to put on my little purple swimsuit with dainty hearts for my big adventure to Hawaii - Uncle Mike even picked me up in his cool car! Just me and my uncle, off to the beaches and palm trees of Hawaii, cruising down Rock Road lookin' cool with our sunglasses.

Time and age have shown me Mike's incredible wit with words, his dedication to his family, his leadership in his community, his active political involvement. He's a self man made who likes to massage his brain through a variety of mediums (and I'm flattered that my blog is among them). I always enjoy the tidbits of information, be it a humorous or informative email, a hearty laugh or a good talk over holiday dinner, with Uncle Mike. Mike (far left) with the family at G's college graduation.

He's one rad dude, and I'm happy to have him on my "cabinet" of advisers. All of the little things and times he spent with me growing up - like teaching me about the "fly hitting the barn" on the guitar - are memories I'll forever hold and cherish. Cheers to Uncle Mike!