personal reflections on two years of marriage

In nine days, my hubby and I will celebrate our second wedding anniversary.  Our wedding day is still vividly preserved in my memory, as I know it will be for years to come.  I can see the chocolate brown of the tablecloths, the bright blue and white of the fresh hydrangeas popping up over the tables in beautiful arrangements.  I can smell the slight hint of salt that the ocean breeze blew inland, and the feeling I had when I slipped on my white wedding gown and zipped it up the side is still richly imprinted on my mind.  Although two years seems to have passed by quickly, I also feel that the amount of time has allowed me to grow and mature, to experience many new things and make new memories.

I remember the night that I first met Eric in December 2006 at my company's Christmas party.  Despite the fact he is insistent I was wearing a red dress, when in fact I was wearing black pants and a black top, we often reminisce about the first meeting that he remembers clearly too.  There are a few slight discrepancies between our memories of that night.  Aside from the red dress debate, he also contests that he was standing at a bar, ready to offer me a drink when I allegedly walked by quickly with only a brief smile.  I continue to argue that if he wanted to talk so bad, he could have gone after me.  The second meeting, in January 2007 can perhaps be considered the real start of it all.  During a Saints vs. Bears playoff game, he asked me out on a first date and two and a half years later we were married.

Aside from the first six weeks of our marriage which were spent living in NYC, the rest of our time has been spent in Columbia, South Carolina.  A place neither of us had spent any time previously.  The move was difficult for me; I always thought I was adventurous, up to live anywhere and ready for big changes.  In reality, it was hard to move from my friends and to still live so far away from my family.  I find myself now very thankful for the challenge.  It gave our new marriage the opportunity to be removed from everything safe and familiar.  We have taken the opportunity to discover the many great things about the place we live, which has even led us to discoveries about each other and our interests.  It has also challenged us to go out and make new friends, to be independent and outgoing. 

The move was not the only huge change we took on post-wedding; relocating coincided with our purchasing a franchise.  We would own our own business.  I think we were both slightly apprehensive of how it would be working together.  It all happened so fast that we really didn't have too much time to worry about it.  I could say luckily I love working together, but I don't really believe it has anything to do with luck.  I think it has been an exercise in understanding each other better, maintaining respect for one another and putting forth good old fashioned effort.  I've witnessed a very commanding, determined, pragmatic and discerning side to the person I married that I'm very proud of.  Working together has exposed our strengths (which oftentimes are different) and our weaknesses.  It has led to a different understanding of one another and a deeper appreciation.  Admittedly it isn't always rosy; sometimes we disagree on how to solve a problem, how to approach a situation, it's all part of working together.

Personally, I believe that love has many different levels, different meanings and different applications.  I love my friends for their companionship, loyalty and fun-loving nature.  I love my family for supporting and loving me back unconditionally.  I have even learned over the years (an ongoing process) to love myself, to appreciate my own abilities and to love other people in return.  In my marriage, I love my partner in each of those different ways.  

Undoubtedly, the next few years will feel like they flew by.  In my twenty-seventh year, I feel self-aware while still a bit unsure of what the future will hold; but as I continue to grow as a person, I know we will continue to grow together in our relationship.  

As we count the passing years and celebrate anniversaries to come, I'll keep close the memory of the first Christmas party, and of saying "yes" to being asked out on a first date.  I'll still recall the intense fluttering in my stomach and rush to my head as I looked at the man before me down on one knee with a ring in his outstretched hand.  An imprint of the sounds, smells and people that were there on our wedding day will remain on my mind and now I also have these first two years of change, challenge, triumph and growing to look back on and cherish.   

Chains do not hold a marriage together.  It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years.  ~Simone Signoret  

are you a writer?

Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions.  All life is an experiment.  The more experiments you make the better.  What if they are a little course, and you may get your coat soiled or torn?  What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice.  Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Hi, I'm Rachel," I said while extending my hand forward for a greeting shake.

"I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you.  So... are you a writer?"

I turned the question over in my mind.  How should I answer that? I like to write, but I don't necessarily make a living doing it... I blog - does that mean I'm a writer? Do you have to have a finished product in hand to call yourself a writer? Like a book or magazine article?

The question wasn't just out of the blue, or out of context for that matter.   The introduction took place at a writer's conference in Atlanta this past weekend.  The conference consisted of about 100 other women, mostly from the Southern or Northeastern region of the U.S., all of us either hoping to become published authors, improve our writing or market our current writings more effectively.  To be frank, I surprised myself by signing up for the event.  It was a risk.  I had no idea how good the conference would be, who would be in attendance, and if I would get anything out of it.

I decided that if I didn't push myself to learn, grow and develop as a writer, than I was doing a disservice to myself and stunting myself in what I truly love to do.  So Saturday morning, I checked my ego at the door and confidently hung the conference badge lanyard around my neck, committing to myself that I would attend every session, take notes and try to get the most out of the day.  It turns out, the conference far and beyond exceeded my expectations.

As I listened in each session to various speakers talk about writing, marketing and how to move yourself forward as an author, I felt energized, invigorated and motivated.  By the same token, I also had the realization that it is a self-motivating job.  No one will check behind me to see how much I've written this week, the next or for the month for that matter.  If I want to be a writer, it's up to me to push, take risks and produce.

My favorite speaker of the event was the author Emily Giffin, who has five published novels, her first of which has been made into a movie that is currently in theaters called Something Borrowed.

Emily Giffin's Website

Ms. Giffin was honest, and forthcoming in her advice about becoming an author.  "You just have to start.  Start putting words down on the page."  It was perhaps the most fundamental and simple piece of advice, but it was what I needed to hear.  

I'm grateful to Skirt! magazine, who put together the wonderful conference.  Skirt! Website  

This weekend I learned that I am a writer, I love to do it and there are endless possibilities ahead of me if I continue to take risks, put myself out there and just write.

13.1

I rounded the bend and looked up at the white sign with the large black number 8 displayed across it.  Below the sign there were people cheering words of encouragement and praise to the perfect strangers running by.  There were several thoughts going through my head as I listened amongst the noise to my slightly labored breathing.  I was a bit surprised it wasn't a harsher and deeper heaving at this point, but the fact that it wasn't produced some confidence that I could do this, that I was going to finish and complete my goal.  My arms swung by my side in tandem with my feet as they hit the pavement in calculated and even movements.  I looked up from beneath the shade of the visor I was wearing, to my horror, there was another hill ahead.  With a deep breath, I murmured some words of encouragement to myself, pursed my lips together, narrowed my eyes, and resolved to just keep running. I had 5.1 miles to go.

Running a half marathon has always been a goal of mine.  It was one of the things on my "list".  You know, the list you have full of things you want to accomplish in life.  Things that are out of the ordinary and that provide sheer joy when you know you can put a check next to the item - the feeling of wow, I actually did that.  The half marathon was one of those things for me.  I've never really been a strong runner, I would consider myself more of a recreational runner.  I took up jogging in college mostly because our gym at school was usually too crowded and I figured if I lived on the beach I would be doing a disservice not to figure out how to exercise and enjoy the beautiful outdoors.  Three to five mile runs became my sweet spot, it was a perfect stress reliever and way to clear my mind, no equipment needed.  I could lace up my shoes and head out the front door and run for as long or short as I wanted.  A half marathon is 13.1 miles, about three to four times as far as I typically run.  Completing one would no doubt be a challenge for me, which is why I wanted to do it so bad.

When my best friend informed me there was a half marathon in Nashville, Tennessee, and that it was a Country Music half marathon, we both knew that it was our calling to sign up for the race.  My mom and husband signed up as well and in the months before the race we offered each other encouragement to keep training and kept a buzz of excitement that we would be traveling to Nashville to run with 30,000 people in a marathon/half marathon race.  I started training on longer distance runs about three months before the race, but to be honest, was quite terrified for the impending event.

On race day we all woke up excited and a bit nervous.  At least I know that had nerves welling up inside of me... my biggest enemy in training was myself.  I tend to talk myself out of the ability to run long distances, complaining that the weather is too hot, I'm overheated; some days it was my shoes which were cramping my toes, producing blisters that made the run that much more difficult.  Other days it was just flat out me convincing myself that nine miles (or whatever distance we were running) was way too far for me to humanly run (I can be quite dramatic...).  When race day came, the most miles I had run at one time in training was 10.  I had to add 3.1 to that to finish the race.  As we entered the coral together, waiting for the announcer to signal our official start, I gave myself a silent pep talk.  You can do this, I thought in my head.  No excuses, this is your chance to just do it.  The Nike slogan took on a new, more important meaning.

The four of us stretched together and jumped up and down to warm our blood as we waited to begin.  Finally it was our turn to, crossing the start line was invigorating, exciting and a bit daunting.  Only 13.1 miles to go! The four of us quickly split up from each other as we each ran different paces.  So it was me left with my thoughts to run the long and hilly course.  The only races I have run in the past are a few 5k races and one 10k race.  This one was entirely different.  Being a music half marathon, there were bands positioned throughout the course playing pump up music to motivate us to just keep running.  I absolutely loved the camaraderie of running a race like the one we did.  Amongst 30,000 people there is a sort of team spirit, that we were all running together towards the same finish line (well I was running towards the 1/2 marathon finish, those poor marathon runners had a much longer road).  I was delighted at how many people were on the sidelines throughout the course.  Granted many were there to cheer on a loved one as they trotted by, but those people would also cheer for perfect strangers.  It was motivating and wonderful to have people encouraging and supporting one another.

As I ran I had fleeting moments of serenity (in between the sheer pain of running up hill after hill), there is something quite therapeutic at taking in the moments when you are experiencing something new, something challenging and something that has pushed you further as a person.  When a guy dressed up in a full spider man costume ran by me, I couldn't help but laugh.  Here I was, fretting nervously about whether I was going to be able to finish the race or not, when some people chose to take the situation more lightly.  As the group of racers I was running alongside rounded mile twelve, an eerie quiet ensued.  All I could hear was the sound of rubber soles on the pavement and the breathing in and out of runners.  The last mile was perhaps the toughest, not only because at least half of it was uphill, but because at that point it took whatever energy I had left to push through to the end.  When I saw the finish line, I picked up my feet and ran as fast as my body would let me to the finish.

I felt exuberant, energized, and proud.  I had finished running 13.1 miles, I had forced myself not to stop and had completed my goal.  The experience made me really think about setting goals, and working towards something you want.  Ironically, when I got home from the trip, the official rejection letter from grad school was waiting for me in the mail.  I didn't feel frustrated or sad this time, instead, I just felt a weight lifted off.   I had just set a goal that was entirely up to me and completed it; to me the letter coming right after completing my challenge was "you win some, you lose some" played out in real life.  I initially thought the half marathon would be my first and last; but after such a gratifying experience, I might re-think that notion after all.

a disappointing moment turned beautiful

Disappointment can have many different faces.  It has been evoked in me because of another person's actions; like when a promise was broken or a pact was not kept.  I have felt it internally when a personal goal was not met, when something I was striving to reach faded into the distance.  And I have felt it towards other people; when someone I was counting on was not truthful, let me down or mislead me.  Through these experiences I have learned that disappointment is an emotion that prompts reflection, questioning and a search for reason.

I most recently felt the pangs of disappointment when I found out that I would not be accepted into the MFA in Creative Writing masters degree program I applied to.  The rejection didn't come as a formal letter in the mail, (at least it hasn't yet) instead, I received a premature email correspondence from the head of the program.  I'm not sure which outlet to break the news would have stung more.  In the email, words were used such as "you are unlikely to wind up with an offer of admission", "I am very sorry to deliver the bad news" and "I'm telling you unofficially so you can plan accordingly".  It was explained that there was simply a very large number of applicants to fill only a few spots and due to the program being fully funded and the school not having a whole lot of the funding to give out they could not offer up more spaces.  

My first emotion when reading the email was disappointment. What happened next I can only describe as a sinking feeling that washed over me followed by a small pit forming in middle of my stomach as if my body were demanding a physical manifestation of the blow.  I honestly didn't expect to receive an email like the one I got back; but then again, I'm not sure what kind of email I was expecting to receive.  The natural thoughts that arise in the wake of rejection came flooding to me: could I have submitted a stronger application? did they hate my writing? how many other people really applied? Perhaps what is most frustrating about rejection is not having the answers to any of those questions.

To help myself reason and find solace with this rejection, I thought of other instances it could compare to like the ending of a relationship.  How often times one person is left confused and unable to make sense of the break up. Unable to figure out why the problems became too great and what could have been done to achieve a different outcome. I also thought about the process of applying for a job that you don't get hired for.  When the news is delivered that the company will be hiring someone else over you the same types of doubts and disappointing feelings come up.  This is most like applying to school - it's a matter of who you are up against and how badly they want you in one of those coveted spots.

I realize this isn't the first time I've been disappointed or faced rejection and I know that it will certainly not be the last time.  I feel disillusioned and I still wonder what if the outcome would have been different and I would have gotten the acceptance letter in the mail and been thrilled with fulfillment at my accomplishment.  But that was not my path, and instead of wallowing in the faces of disappointment, it is my decision to look forward.  

There is an artist named Brian Andreas (http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/Home.do) that I really enjoy.  Browsing through his pieces I came across one that seemed fitting to share.  I realize that this might have seemed like a more somber blog and I just want to state for the record that yes, I was disappointed (if you couldn't tell by now), but like Andreas' piece points out in a more artistic way - there are so many beautiful moments and memories in life to concentrate on and take notice to.  I know there are such moments that I have experienced already and moments that have yet to come for me.  I think that it is necessary to experience the sad, disappointing and rejecting moments in life to fully realize and appreciate the beautiful ones.

California Dreaming (Part 2)

Looking out my window, the scenery had dramatically changed.  The last part of our trip seemed almost a dichotomy to the first.  We left the more rugged and unadulterated terrain where all that separated us from the ocean was the narrow two lane road we traveled on, and we entered the more populated and inhabited bay area via the 101 - a five lane highway packed with cars and trucks in a hurry to get wherever it was they were going.  We met my grandparents at Oakland Airport where we returned our fabulous white Kia Rio rental car.  I'm disappointed now that I didn't think to take a picture of the go-cart that carried us up the coastline.  There wasn't anything automatic about the car, not even automatic locks - I still catch slack that I never did pass the test to reach over and open the drivers side door (oops!).

They took us to the small waterside town of Benicia, a quaint and charming place that was actually the State Capitol for 13 months from 1853-1854.  Many of the old buildings are preserved and walking down the street it's hard not to imagine what this little town was like when it was the capitol of such a great big state.  After lunching at a little cafe, we were lucky enough to visit my grandmother's art studio.  Her space is in a warehouse building that previously housed artillery.  I always love going there and am amazed at her talent in putting paint on canvas producing a beautiful symphony that only she could create.

We left the charm of Benecia and journeyed on to Walnut Creek, where my grandparents live.  It had been several years since I had been to visit and I was amazed at how much the town continues to explode with new shops, restaurants, arts and recreation.  With only a fifty minute BART ride into the city it's no wonder the town wasn't kept a secret longer.

After a great visit in Walnut Creek, I was excited and had a lot of anticipation about our last stop in our road trip adventure: San Francisco. I hadn't really spent much time getting to know the city in the past, even though I grew up in California.  We drove in over the Bay Bridge which, much like Manhattan's bridges, drops you right into the pulse of the city.  We wound through the city streets while my grandfather pointed out the many highlights to each area we drove through.  For me, the peak of the tour was a stop at an overlook with sweeping views of the city below.  I felt a sense of awe looking out across the city; it was a unique view and perspective that not many places can offer.  The city stretches 46.7 miles and is the second most densely populated city in the United States - and there I was staring down over all of it.

When traveling to any city, what I love best is exploring it on foot.  And that's exactly what we did.  From Union Square we walked through China Town, a very unique area of the city with market after market dotting the sidewalks and crowds of people milling about their daily tasks, unbothered by us tourists walking through the streets.  On one block we heard school children singing from an open window above and I thought about how much I was enjoying seeing the city and new things while all these people around me were just going about their daily routines.  We walked on through Fisherman's Warf, and then up through the marina area.  I was taken aback at how steep the city is, literally.  No need for stair-master or a gym, all you need to do in SF is walk.  There were many times I found myself at a 90 degree angle, bent over in attempt to make the steep climb a bit easier.  As we continued on meandering through the streets, one thing that stands out in San Francisco are the houses.  The architecture is beautiful and often times breathtaking with Victorian houses lining the streets, tall and reminiscent of an earlier time period that is preserved in the buildings.

Now one thing I was on the hunt for during our visit to SF was a great bowl of Cioppino.  For those that don't know Cioppino is a fish stew, it was made famous in San Francisco and as I am a HUGE sea food lover, I knew I had to go on the quest for a great big bowl of it.  We found a place at Fisherman's wharf, ordered a beer and glass of wine respectively and waited for the bowl of deliciousness.  The waitress brought it out and let me tell you, it was all I thought it would be and more.  I probably sound a bit silly with how passionate I was about this bowl of food.  But really, I love food and this was something I was really looking forward to.  It arrived and it was massive complete with an entire crab that had been stewed in a savory tomato based broth.  We sat for a good hour cracking the crab and relishing in the wonderful flavors. It was a great San Francisco moment, delicious and perfect.

A last highlight of our time in San Francisco was our bike ride over the golden gate bridge and into Sausalito.  From our starting point at Fisherman's Wharf, we biked up the very steep hill to the start of the bridge.  It was a crowded ride but beautiful no less.  The bridge is grand and impressive, definitely assuming prominence in the bay over any other structure.  On the other side we descended another very steep and winding hill into the small waterside town of Sausalito.  From there we decided (actually I decided) that I wasn't up for pedaling back up the huge hill we rode down so took the ferry back over to the city.  As we passed by the Golden Gate bridge for a different view of the structure, I had to inhale a deep breath and smile at the beauty and charm of this great bayside city.  Lucky for us the boat took a small detour and passed us right by Alcatraz Island which I have to say looked quite ominous even in the setting of a bright and sunny day.

When it was time to depart from San Francisco, it was a bittersweet goodbye.  As I said in the last post, I did have a sort of love affair with the city; with it's delicious culinary offerings, the quaint areas with steep and narrow streets lined with Victorian homes, with the sweeping scenic portraits that points of the city offers to the many views of the bay that can be seen from all over the city.  I felt that we were leaving on a high point which is always a great way to leave - to feel like we saw so much, did so much and loved every bit of the vacation.  I know that we'll be back to California many times again but this trip will forever be a very special one which is why from time to time I'll be dreaming of California.

A Non-Parent's Opinion on Parenting

I'm not a parent yet.  Not even close.  I don't even have a dog.  But I don't think you have to be a parent  to have a reaction to the recent articles in the Wall Street Journal that commented on parenting styles.  The first was written by a Chinese mother who very boldly, profoundly and confidently stated the reasons why Chinese mother's most often produce highly successful children. And she bluntly meant more successful children than Western mothers.  She started out the article with a list of things that her children were never allowed to do: "attend a sleep-over, have a play-date, be in a school play, choose their own extracurricular activities."

Me as Alice

I had an instant reaction to the writer's words.  I was allowed to do every single one of those activities.  In fact, I was proud I had assumed the role of Alice in the fourth grade for my elementary school's production of The Trial of Alice in Wonderland.
I attended many sleep-overs where we stayed up too late, watched far too many movies in one sitting and ate more candy than was ever allowed in my household growing up.  So in reading the WSJ article I can say that my blood seemed to boil a little and I felt enrage at the suggestion that because of those things, this mother would have assumed I would turn out less than perfect.  Okay, I'll admit I'm not perfect, but I doubt attending sleep-overs and participating in school plays lowered my grade point average in the fourth, fifth, sixth grade or made me a less successful kid.

During my
ballet days (hard work!)

I can flat out say that I couldn't really agree with anything the author stated in her article, in fact, most of it just made me cringe.  But there was one line that especially stood out to me as being true and rather thought-provoking: "What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it."  The lady has a point.  I think as humans we are all inclined to like an activity, a subject in school, a musical instrument if we are good at them.  However, becoming good at something takes hard work, determination, dedication and I believe that initially to have the desire to work that hard at something, you have to like it, at least a little bit, far before you are any good at it.


You have to read the article to gain the full depth of this discussion.  If interested, I've made it easy, just click on the link below:
Why Chinese Mother's are Superior  


Clearly, I was not the only Western American that was riled up by the Chinese mother's article.  The rebuttal came only a few days after the first article, again in the pages of the Wall Street Journal.  This time, it was by a Jewish mother and outlined her antithesis to parenting which included letting her children decide what activities they wanted to partake in and when they wanted to quit said activities, the copious amounts of TV and computer games they were allowed to partake in and the fact that even though her kids were allowed to do these things, they too received good grades in school.  I had a problem with this article too.  The mother seemed to be almost too far on the other end; not pushing her children to excel when the opportunity was there and allowing them to quit when it seemed things got a bit hard.  I finished this second article with the feeling that both extreme points had been made but that I agreed with neither of them.  I suppose that's what these types of commentaries are meant to do...


Rebuttal article:
In Defense of the Guilty, Ambivalent, Preoccupied Western Mom


I hardly ever read the Wall Street Journal so I appreciate both these articles for making me pick up the paper and become interested in what each author had to say.  Since reading both pieces, I've thought about each message and the points that were made in the black and white letters typed out on the newspaper pages. Here I am, not even a parent, and I became a bit enthralled with the ongoing discussion of what was the "correct" or more "successful" way to parent is.  What I realized is that this discussion reaches beyond the boundaries of parenting.  I know I'll face all these decisions one day when I am a parent and frankly, I haven't really thought about how much TV my kids should watch or how many sleep-overs I will or won't let them attend.  But right now, as an adult, I need to just focus on the kind of person I want to be.  What new boundaries and new challenges will I set for myself.  I for one, think my western parents did a very successful job raising me so now it's time for this western grown up to live successfully.

"The purpose of life, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experiences."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Snow and Resolutions

I woke up yesterday morning to a world covered in white.  This is not at all normal for where I live so it evoked a sense of excitement and a little bit of apprehension at what this would mean for my Monday.  I turned on the TV to channel after channel of local newspeople and weathermen and women standing out on the side of the road and on overpasses, trying to stay warm while they reported that it was in fact, snowing.  After living in New York for a few years it seemed at first odd for a place to be up in arms that the ground was covered with cold, wet snow.  But as I listened I realized that shutting down the town due to the inclement weather was indeed a good course of action.  As the morning hours passed by with more and more flakes of white falling from the sky, the newspeople reported the increasing number of accidents - 230 by 9AM.  People were urged to stay at home which was the obvious choice especially seeing that all schools, restaurants and businesses had closed their doors for the day.

I watched from inside my apartment as the snow accumulated on the cars and streets below.  There's something a little bit magical about snow - it blankets the ground and inevitably makes moving about town to do daily activities more challenging.  But it also brings a calm quiet with it's presence, a type of serenity characteristic of winter months and the feeling of solitude and peacefulness.  So yesterday I took the opportunity of no work and a snow day to relax and enjoy the quiet solitude.

Yesterday's winter weather paired with the imminent BCS championship football game reminded me that we're in a new year and football is almost over.  I know we're only 11 days in, but it seems that every year after the buzz of the holidays and new years fades into the past - I'm guilty of returning to the daily routines in life and I sometimes forget about all those new years resolutions, ideas and promises that the new year was supposed to bring.  I've had a tough time thinking of resolutions this year.  I'm not sure if that makes me a bad person, someone less committed, or maybe I've just reached an honesty with myself.  To be frank, when thinking about resolutions this year I felt tired of telling myself I'd get in better shape, I would eat better or I would try to save my money better.  Those are all things I want to be better at, but I thought that maybe this year I could "think outside the box" for a change. Maybe I'm getting a bit too altruistic - maybe I'm on to something... I have no clue.  Here's my vain attempt to list my top resolutions for the year.  And with that, bring on 2011!

Be Thankful for the People in My Life Every Day
      I know... this sounds kind of cheesy but I'm serious.  I'm lucky to have a close family, one where we all care about each other and what's going on in each others lives.  And I'm lucky to have very loyal and considerate friends.  I'm thankful to have such wonderful people in my life.

Write more, think less

     So I don't mean this to be taken literally - don't worry, I wont stop thinking all together.  But I love to write and a lot of times, I don't know what to write about.  Writers block feels just how it sounds, like some wall was physically put up in my head, preventing any creative juices from working to write. I want to resolve to think less about what to write and maybe it will help me write more... let's see how that goes.

Learn to sail

     This is me and my hubby's resolution together - I guess it's more like a year's goal than a resolution.  When trying to think of something new that we both wanted to learn, this is the idea that came up and we were both excited about it.  So we'll embark on that adventure, when it's warmer of course - I'm sure the learning experience will warrant some good writing.

Train for and complete a half marathon

   So I know this sort of fits into the no-no land of resolutions that I was haphazardly trying to avoid.  It must be included in my resolutions because I'm signed up to run one of these races thanks to one of my best friends.  I'm grateful for her drive and motivation and "lets do it!" attitude because as I told her the other day: "if I wasn't already signed up for this, I'm not so sure I'd have the gusto to train and do this"  But I"m locked in, paid in full and there are no refunds, so very soon I will start the training... 13.1 miles, I WILL conquer it!

Be an even better business partner

   A lot of people ask me how it is to work with my husband.  I can say with complete an utter honesty that it's wonderful.  I think we are fortunate that we rely on each others strengths which are different and great in their own ways. This allows us to work seamlessly and with minimal head-butting.  That said, I want to be an even better business owner and partner.  Greater ideas, more sales, less grumbling when doing the less glamorous tasks.  

When I Grow Up

I was not one of those kids that knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.  In fact, I was pretty jealous of my friends that wanted to be "a doctor, a physical therapist, a lawyer".  It always baffled me that I just didn't know.  The fear of not knowing what you want to do with your life is only exacerbated over time.  I remember in grade school you can say whatever you want to be and it's fine if it changes the next day.  You could want to be a mermaid one day and a firefighter the next and both are socially accepted.  In high school the tension rises a bit as you find yourself separated from fellow classmates in a "less accelerated" math course.  Or maybe you find yourself thriving in Chemistry while your best friend can easily explain the physics of how their cardboard boat won the paddle race across the school swimming pool.

On to college and the dreaded "major" choice.  I remember feeling the weight of the world that I didn't know what I wanted to do.  If I didn't know, how could I pick a major?! Oh, the agony.  I watched as some of my friends diligently worked their way through Business Economics classes, on their way to be recruited by the "Big Four" accounting firms before they even had diploma in hand.  Other of my friends laboriously studied through O-Chem and Biology, trudging through the extra lab practicum classes they were forced to take as part of being a science major.

I had a bit of a different course taken.  I entered college with the profound "Undecided" major slapped to my admittance.  I toyed with the idea of becoming a lawyer (the idea provoked by my willingness and veracity to argue a point against my parents until I won).  So I dutifully completed a summer internship at a family law office.  Three weeks in I decided divorce cases and custody battles were not my cup of tea.  I would need to take a different path.  Perhaps I could be on TV and become one of those reporters.  Better yet, a news anchor.  My dream job morphed into the desire to take Katie Couric's place on the Today Show.  So I applied and was accepted to an internship at the local ABC affiliate in Santa Babara.  My duties were to write teases prompting the upcoming news stories.  I was tasked with searching through archives of footage to find everything from pictures of the President when the story called for such images, to scouring through archived footage of a baby elephant when they were doing a story on the local zoo.  After shadowing some of the reporters out on the field, I decided I didn't quite like thrusting a microphone in people's faces and waiting for a juicy candid sound bite.  It seemed all too invasive to me.

I thought I would never figure out a major so opted for a broad approach.  I would be a Communication Major.  To make a long and frustrating saga short, I didn't get into the major.  What does that mean? Well, it means my grades weren't good enough.  Perhaps it was fate guiding me along the way, or maybe it was that midterm I fell asleep in.  Literally, I dozed off while filling in Bubble A on the scantron.  So it was back to square one in my Sophomore year of college.

Maybe I should pick something really broad.  So I would become an English major.  Turns out this was a good choice for me.  It led to my finding a Writing Minor that I felt fit perfectly with my major choice.  So four years later and a journey through majors, I graduated with a degree in English and minor in Professional Writing.  Here I am, four and a half years from the day I stood proud in cap and gown, and I've learned that for me, not exactly knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up has proved to be a fantastic and exciting journey.

Through constant self-discovery and questioning, I've realized that perhaps what I am and what I have become is and will continue to be a constant learning process.  The undertaking of owning a business with my significant other has been a whirlwind of excitement and challenges that have been both challenging and rewarding to work on.  

In a new turn of events I have recently decided to apply to grad school.  It is an MFA Masters Program in Creative Writing.  The program is local at the University near where I live, and seems like a great opportunity to hone and further develop my writing skills.  With this undertaking has come a whole set of emotions I didn't quite expect.  It's nerve racking and a bit scary to apply for something and have the uncertainty about whether or not I will be accepted.  Yes, I'm scared of rejection.  The fear of failing is a very real and present one.  As part of the application, I must submit a short story.  No problem, I'll just write one.  The project is so much harder than I thought it would be.  So I've been working on twenty-one pages of prose; pouring over each sentence, trying vainly to choose the right words that will harmoniously come together to make a fascinating tale. Something about writing a story makes me feel vulnerable to the world.  Is it interesting enough? Is it believable? The words on the page seem to stare back at me in defiance and it seems like I'll never achieve a final draft.

 Maybe I'm too focused on the fact that I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I'm not sure any one's life story is perfectly conventional.  Maybe I should think about what I have become along the way:  A high school and college graduate, a business owner, a blog writer, a wife, a traveler, and now an applicant.

A Very Special House

If a house had arms. If a structure could be more than just a shelter, if it could provide comfort and warmth and if it could have a relationship with a person.  What makes a house a home?

It all started several months ago, about six months after moving to a new town.  I had just gotten married, quit my job, and moved to a place I had visited three times.  It was an adjustment to say the least but that aside, I was searching for a great project in the community to get involved with.  I suddenly found myself in a position where I had more time... something I couldn't find much of in my past living environment.

It was a Thursday in late winter, early spring when I first set foot in the Ronald McDonald House. What greeted me upon walking through the doors of the house was a rather chaotic situation.  I was thrown in with a group of people who were vigorously sorting stuffed animals.  Yes, stuffed animals - hundreds had been donated and were being sorted so they could be appropriately distributed to the children's hospital.  It was a rather unorganized process.  I asked several times for the manager of the house but she happened to be in a meeting.  Although I felt just a bit overwhelmed, and I'll admit, I contemplated just leaving, I stayed.  Sorting of the animals transitiioned into a few other chores around the house and I found myself still there an hour or two later and enjoying myself. This house was something special, of that I was sure.

The manager of the house finally appeared and took me aside, apologizing for the unconventional start to my volunteer day there and then promptly gave me a tour of the place.  I noticed immediately, this was an exceptional person.  She radiated energy, and her smile lit up the room.   Her 5 foot maybe 3 inch frame gave off an infectious aura that exuded endless enthusiasm.  She struck me as the kind of person you meet and can't help but smile back at.  I'll explain what happened next with brevity... I found myself agreeing to a one day a week shift every Friday as the manager of the place.

I'll admit, I was a slight bit apprehensive about agreeing to the commitment, but found my apprehension was overwhelmed with excitement over the opportunity to consistently work at a place with such a strong and important mission.  For those that don't know, the house is a place where families can stay at no cost when their child is receiving treatment at one of the local hospitals.  Mostly, the house is filled with families that live too far away to make the daily drive back and forth, or in this particular case, there are families that have a newborn in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit).  Families are provided with a place to stay and meals throughout the day.  Essentially, a home away from home.

My job is to make sure the families are provided with anything they need and to "watch over" the house accepting the many donations we get and making sure it's clean from top to bottom.  In the time I have been working there over the past few months I have seen probably about 40 families or so come and go from the house.  It would be difficult to explain into words how I feel about being surrounded by these families who, each and every one, are going through heart wrenching and difficult times.

I have watched families leave the house with elation and smiles that their child's stay in the hospital turned out for the best.  And I have unfortunately watched families leave their stay because their baby did not make it through it's recovery.  Those are instances that I hold my breath and have a difficult time grasping how anyone copes with that kind of loss.  In those times, I remember the importance of the work, that the house is a haven.  The hope is that whatever hardships those families are facing, they do not have to think about where they will stay or what they will eat for dinner.  The simple and everyday routine motions in life are offered in that house.

It's a place that has affected and changed me in ways I'll be forever grateful.  I have met some of the other staff that work at the house who have open hearts and giving ways which is always an inspiration.  I am appreciative to the families that have stayed and will stay in that house in the future for showing me that important things in life are your family and commitment to one another during hard times.  I am appreciative for the house manager, director and a good friend and fellow staff member I've made in my time working there for showing me how to be a little more selfless and how to be committed and giving to strangers. 

So if a house had arms that it could wrap around someone.  Just to be there for a person, to provide comfort and warmth and a sense of security.  I've decided it would be that house.

Ronald McDonald House Charities of Columbia: www.rmhcofcolumbia.org

First Anniversary

My hair was swept up into an intricate winding collection of curls pinned to my head.  Nestled within the curls was a broach that belonged to my Great Grandmother, three generations before me.  When I close my eyes I can see the folds of the white dress that fell just right tapering out towards the ground. The blues, greens and whites of the flowers blend together in my mind like a brilliant watercolor.  I can hear voices of family and friends, a calm excitement that filled the air.  The sky was a brilliant blue and I remember a bright sun high in the sky...

With such vivid images and memories, it's hard to believe that almost one year has swept by.  One year seems like a significant amount of time and it is.  But by the same token, one year can pass by so quickly sometimes it's hard to take in all that happened. 

So on Sunday it will officially mark our First Anniversary.  We made it.  For us the first year included leaving our jobs, moving to a new state, and working alongside one another... triple whammie.  With such immense change applied to our lives, I admit, at first I was a bit apprehensive of what the year would bring.  No doubt, I knew it would be an adventure, but how would it all unfold? With 360 of the 365 days now in the past, I can say in complete and utter honesty - It has been nothing short of wonderful. 

Thinking about a year gone by always makes me think about a year ahead.  What will it bring? What new things will be discovered?  What experiences will be lived? In looking back and reflecting on the past, I always find I have new sense of awe and wonderment for what is to come.  One year ago I remember feeling the anticipation of such a momentous occasion which was only five days away - my wedding day.  In all honesty, I had a picture of what the day might look like, but really wasn't sure what to expect.  What unfolded was a dream transformed to reality.  Beautiful colors and sounds, so many familiar faces and all around an unforgettable experience.  I'm not sure I could have ever truly anticipated the emotion that was felt and all that the day encompassed.

I suppose it is virtually impossible to know a feeling or emotion or what something will actually be like until it is experienced.  I'll always look back on that day, almost a year ago, and relish in the beautiful and intoxicating memories - thinking of those, I can't wait for what is to come.

If These Walls Could Talk

Bubble wrap.  There was lots and lots of bubble wrap.  I was watching the news a few weeks ago when the anchor mentioned the inventor, Alfred Fielding, had passed away. The anchor explained that Mr. Fielding's ingenious idea had come to him while on an airplane. As he looked out the window at the bubble-looking clouds below, the idea came - why not create wrap that could be used as a protective layer?

That's one of those, now why didn't I think of that momments.

In this particular instance, I was glad they used so much of that plastic pop-wrap.  It was layered and taped to protect a table and six chairs that had just arrived at my apartment after making a cross country journey.  I was fortunate enough to inherit this beautiful set of furniture from my Great Aunt who recently passed.  It's the first time I have owned a passed down piece from my family and consequently, the nicest piece of furniture I have.

As I worked my way through the stubborn and tightly bound wrap, I couldn't help but think about the journey this table and six chairs has been on.  How many people sat in those seats, how many meals were served, cups of coffee poured and pieces of cake sliced? This table undoubtedly has a story, and I'm sure a fascinating one.  But of course, the whole of it, no one will ever know.  Those experiences and happenings will only be recorded through the wear in the wood, maybe an occassional stain on one chair or maybe even just the silent presence of such a beautiful piece of furniture.

Imagine what stories we would have if that table, other family heirlooms, even rugs, clocks, a piece of jewelry, or the very walls in an old home could talk.  I know this is not a new concept but nonetheless it's an interesting one to think about.  As the table sits in our living room, people will pass by each day, conversations will be held in its seats and meals will be set on its surface.  As me and my family partake in the continuation of this table's history, I'll simply continue to wonder about its past.

Maybe it's crazy I wonder so much about an inanimate object's experiences.  My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes... nevertheless, until that table and chair gets bubble wrapped up again to make it's next journey, there will be lots of coffee poured and cake sliced and holidays had on it's surface right here in my home.

Here Goes Nothin

I'm 25 and just trying to figure out life. But then, isn't everyone tackling that task, no matter what age?

This is my first shot at blogging. Why do it? Well, I've always loved writing and thought this would be a great way to "talk" about the many trial, tribulations, laughs and downright nonsense that life holds. Am I any good at it? Well, that's for you to decide.

Now first, to set the scene. I think it's only fair I give some background on myself. I grew up in Southern California and attended college at UC Santa Barbara. Now most people would think, why leave that sunny weather and sandy beaches? Like a lot of recent graduates, I felt I needed a "change". Naturally, I chose New York City. Okay, maybe not such an obvious choice. But I was a hungry young lady and lusted after a fast paced life in the glamorous city. I think I can partly blame shows like Sex and the City and Felicity, which I'm pretty sure every young woman admired and wanted to practically jump through the television and walk along the city streets with the characters. Needless to say, New York is an extraordinary city and a challenging one. Luckily I have great friends and had a great job at an Investor Relations firm and at times I am somewhat relentless which provided for some great adventures.

During my time in the illustrious city, I met and fell head over heels for an absolutely fantastic man. Three years later... we recently got married and moved to South Carolina. The move was prompted by us buying a franchise - I suppose you could consider me a nomad of sorts combined with a risk taker - at least in my recent adult life.

So that is the 50,000 foot overview of my life up until now. I plan to peel back the layers of these journeys which inevitably hold some fabulous memories, good laughs and a lot of learning on my part. Like I said before, I'm 25 and just trying to figure out life.