Yesterday my dog and I went for a walk along the river. I was enjoying myself, but my thoughts were wandering, and I wasn’t completely focused on my surroundings. The leash dragged a bit behind me so I stopped and looked back at Madigan to see what caught her attention.
She had her sweet white face pressed into a plant right at the edge of a bridge and she voraciously inhaled. I gave her a few moments to enjoy it, and as we stepped away, she smiled so completely that I instantly felt my mood elevate.
The look of pure, unadulterated joy on her face from the scent lit me up from the inside. The simple act of smelling a plant, one that she has probably sniffed many times before, made her happier than some of my favorite life moments have made me.
As we continued walking, I paid more attention to the blissful day around me. The fact that at the end of May, the temperature is still flirting around 85 instead of the normal 100 degrees we have at this time of year. The light breeze ruffling through my shirt and hair. The sight of Madigan’s little tail waddling in front of me.
It was a pretty perfect moment.
When I first started to write this post, I was post walk and feeling good and positive. I woke up today, however, feeling grumpy. I tried to shake it off at the gym to no avail. Cleaning my house did not give me the instant gratification I thought it would. Even chatting with friends hasn’t improved my mood as quickly as it normally does.
But reading back through this post and thinking about that look on Maddie’s face is doing the trick. It’s inspiring me to take more time to notice and appreciate the little things. So even though I sat down at this table with a coffee, a to-do list, and a small scowl on my face, now I’m taking the time to enjoy the amazing view of the mountains to my right and the palm trees blowing in the wind in front of me. I’m appreciative of the fact that I’m having a good hair day, and I’m ready to finish the rest of my day more like Madigan.
I’ve been thinking a lot about setbacks. We all experience them, obviously, but I’m beginning to realize that they can be monumental for some and mere blips on the course for others.
When I really sit and reflect on myself, I think I’m a little bit of both of those people. I can stumble briefly over a setback and keep going on my path with a laugh. Sometimes, though, setbacks paralyze me from moving forward. It feels like there’s a concrete wall in front of me and the only way to move is to retreat backwards.
I saw a meme one time that said something to the effect of “you wouldn’t slash your other three tires just because one was flat, would you?” In terms like that, it seems silly to let a little bump derail you. It’s not always that easy to have that much self-awareness in the moment, however.
And All the King’s Horses
After years and years of paying really careful attention to my PCOS and making some important strides, I recently suffered a major hormonal setback. I left the comfort of a remote job and took a different position that requires me to go to the office every day. I know this is reality for most people, but it was a big change for me, and it was very jarring to my body.
Because I have a lot less control over my time, I have not been able to make myself work out consistently since I started the job in November. I started drinking coffee every morning as a little ritual to ease the new feeling of being around people at 8AM. I also used my larger paycheck to get gel manicures for three months.
None of these things might seem like big deals to other people, but for someone who is already hormonally compromised, these seemingly insignificant details created some large cracks in the progress I made. Since November, I’ve basically had the shortest cycle imaginable. As in its so short, there’s basically no end to it.
I know what I need to do to steady myself and return to the hormonal homeostasis I had before, but this setback has affected me more than most. I already watch every drop of food that goes into my body. I actively avoid wheat, dairy, and sugar, which, in case you didn’t know, are ingredients that are in practically everything. I don’t drink very much. I don’t smoke. I try to minimize stress and get enough rest. I take a bajillion supplements.
And yet, a few small things like going into an office every day, drinking coffee in the morning, and treating myself to biweekly manicures resulted in me getting my period for over a month. It does not give me a lot of inspiration to keep working so hard.
There have been moments where I’ve honestly considered slashing the other three tires and just eating whatever I want each day.
What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger
As tempting as it is, I’m not actually going to drown myself in a sea of bread and cheese. I’ve done a loooooooot of research, and I’m making some strides back toward balancing my hormones. And this time I want to do it in a way that they’re strong enough to resist a few attacks from the stressors of daily life.
My friend is really good at reminding me about how far I’ve come. She suffers from food allergies, too, and we’ve helped each other make a lot of progress when it comes to avoiding foods that disagree with our bodies. She pointed out the other day that it’s easy for her to be forgiving of me when I have setbacks, but that she realizes that she’s just as hard on herself about hers.
So here’s my attempt at turning setbacks into insignificant moments to which I hardly give a second thought: I’m going to try to talk to myself like I would talk to one of my friends. As I sit here and type this blog, I’m at Starbucks drinking a cup of coffee. And I had another coffee in the middle of the week. But I also took the time to make a liver detoxing smoothie every morning before work (to help my body get rid of some of its excess estrogen), and I ate a crap ton of leafy greens and sunflower seeds to actually help my hormones do what they want to do.
So I’m not going to be mad at myself about the coffee. I’m just going to try to keep moving forward and making the best choices I can make in the moment.
I also plan to keep a metaphorical spare tire on hand that I can use the next time I have a flat.
Have you ever woken up one day and realized you’ve changed? That all of a sudden you no longer appreciate things that once made you whole?
That happened to me over the past few weeks, and now I’m not sure I recognize myself.
I just took an epic trip to the East Coast full of amazing friends and experiences. In just a little over a week, I officiated a wedding, met a host of lovely new people, and saw a Broadway play. I walked along the beach, had deep, important conversations, and actually started to like Connecticut (which is a really big deal because it was one of my least favorite states before this trip).
Most importantly, though, I realized some very important things about myself. Firstly, I have incredible people in my life. No, seriously. They are truly marvelous.
Friends I hadn’t seen in years asked me to perform their wedding ceremony. And instead of allowing me to be endlessly appreciative of extending me this vast honor, they kept thanking me for doing it! One of my closest friends and I finally got to travel together after twelve years of friendship. Another friend flew all the way across the country just because I was going to be out there so we could spend the week together.
Friends at home kept texting me because they missed me and wanted me to come back. The entire week made me feel loved, valued, and appreciated in a way that I would feel every day if I spent more time being grateful and less time worrying about silly things.
The second thing I learned on this trip is that I do not want the same things I used to want. Since I was 19, traveling was a huge part of me. In fact, “traveler” was a term I used to describe myself on many occasions. Even though this recent trip was amazing, I didn’t love the act of traveling as much as I once did.
Every flight I took landed early. There were no particularly annoying passengers on any of the planes. I watched movies or television shows to make the time go by faster. All in all, these were some of the best flights I’d ever had, but I still wished I was doing anything else.
I stayed in some crappy hotels and some really nice places, and I just wanted to be sleeping in my own bed. I had a continental breakfast that someone else prepared, but I just wanted to be in my own kitchen whipping up some eggs and fruit.
I took a commuter train and the subway. I used to love sitting on trains and listen to music while watching the scenery and other passengers. It never bothered me to have to take the subway and walk a bit instead of getting in my car and driving to my destination. Maybe it was the fact that I had a cold for a large part of the trip, but I found myself missing my vehicle any time I rode a train.
I’ve always considered myself very adaptable and could picture myself living in most places I visited, but this time I realized that I don’t want city life to be my daily experience. I’m much more interested in a simpler existence.
And lastly, I realized that I have built a life I love. All the pieces might not be exactly in place yet, but it was a life to which I was very eager to return. Maybe that’s why traveling wasn’t as invigorating as it once was; before traveling was a break from the humdrum of my lackluster daily experiences. They gave me a chance to do something exciting and be around people instead of spending too much time alone.
This time, though, traveling just made me even more grateful for what I have and excited to get back to start my next chapter of it. And that’s something very special and important will live in my mind next to all of the other amazing experiences from this trip.
I also very distinctly remember the moment I realized I have green eyes. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s 1999 Toyota Camry (which means this was either in 1999 or later) and I opened the visor mirror. For the first time in my life, I looked past my glasses and realized I really liked my eye color.
I was at least 15 at the time.
Why is any of this relevant? Because I spent much of my life not really *seeing* myself. It took me a long time to even look close enough at my own reflection to realize basic physical traits
.
I suspect it might be different for younger generations who have grown up with cell phones that make it easy to take 80 pouting pictures of yourself a day, but this was my reality. Although I am very aware of how I look now, I think there are still other ways that I don’t see myself.
For example, it surprised me to find out that not one, but two of my friends dreamt of me in the same night this week. In one dream, my friend and I got pedicures in Connecticut and called them “Connectitures.” In the other, that friend and I worked at a grocery store for a man we know and dislike in real life. Both dreams are hilarious for different reasons.
Another friend told me last week that regardless of how much time passes between our conversations, I’ll always be her “soulmate” friend.
No matter how isolated we make ourselves feel or how little we think we pop up in other people’s thoughts, our connections are stronger than we think. Any time you meet someone, you make a ripple in the timeline of their life. I don’t think any of us give ourselves enough credit for being memorable beings who can actually change the course of someone else’s life.
Seemingly simple conversations, suggestions about new restaurants, and even inside jokes weave together to form a piece of who we each are as individuals. These pieces creative connective threads between us and the people who have touched our lives. They might not realize we hold a piece of them inside just as we do not realize they do as well.
Basically, the point I am trying to get at is try not to be afraid of being yourself. Because who you are matters more than you know to the people around you.
Fire is powerful—it is strong and energetic and ever changing. It is also completely terrifying and unpredictable. Basically, it is the perfect metaphor for life.
I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with a small group of friends enjoying life and each other’s company. We ate, we sat in an inflatable pool in the front yard, and we talked around a fire after the sun went down. Our conversation ranged from becoming ex-pats on an olive farm in Spain to giving up toxic friendships that held us back in the past. It wasn’t a huge, crazy party, but it was the perfect way to spend a Sunday.
And it set my soul on fire.
As I sat watching the flames crackle across the broken pieces of wood and old mail used to create the fire, I though about how much I want to do that in my daily life. Too often we are taught to put out our own fires. We aren’t supposed to want certain things or be unhappy when life is going at least moderately well.
When you have an experience that ignites you, though, it fills your veins with passion. It makes you feel like that’s exactly how life should be.
And why can’t it be that way? Why do we have to be so scared to try the things we really want to do? Why do people stay at jobs they hate and dread waking up each day of the week? Why do we hide our talents and dreams from others?
A lot of the conversation yesterday afternoon centered around a wedding. Two of my closest friends recently got engaged and their excitement quickly overtook the rest of us. For an entire week, the betrothed couple had no idea what they wanted for their wedding. Then within a day, we were able to plan a good portion of it. I think once they finally let themselves admit that they wanted nothing to do with a “traditional” wedding, they had the freedom to express their deepest desires.
Fire cannot be caged. It does not bow and bend to meet the wishes of others. It lives and breathes exactly as it wants to. It swallows up anything in its path and even when it’s put out, it simply changes form and evaporates into the atmosphere.
Fire is beauty. It is raw and dangerous and an absolute life force. It is also a role model for those who want to escape the confines of an average life.
I actually got my butt out of bed at 5:30 this morning and took my dog to the river for a walk/run. We traveled four miles total, but most of it was walking. The few bouts of jogging (definitely not running) had me coughing and trying to catch my breath.
Just a few days ago, we went along the same pathway and jogged most of a 5K. Why was it almost impossible for me to repeat that performance today? Well, much like Oprah, I love bread. But bread does not love me.
I discovered recently that wheat goes straight to my sinuses and causes unnecessary congestion. If I don’t eat it, I hardly ever even have a runny nose. If I eat it a few times in a week, I get a few sniffles, but I can usually bounce back just fine. If I pass the point of no return, however, I get headaches, major post-nasal drip, and lots of phlegm.
Long story long, I ate too much bread this week and basically couldn’t breathe when I tried to run today.
I’ve been thinking a lot about self-sabotaging lately and the reason behind it. I’m aware I’m not alone in doing things I know aren’t good for me. Sure, sometimes the motivation is simply that it is much easier to eat a piece of bread than to try to find some gluten-free alternative. But sometimes I think I practice destructive behavior because I feel like that’s what I deserve.
If I’m having a day where I feel sorry for myself, I crave unhealthy food. Since my self-esteem is already on the low side, it’s almost like I’m proving myself right by eating things I shouldn’t.
Eating something filled with delicious wheat or dairy (which I can’t really have either) is not the only way I self-sabotage. Sometimes I won’t work out even though I have time to or I decide to watch three more episodes of a show instead of take my dog for a walk.
The thing is, when I actually do these things, I feel so amazing. And I’m way less likely to have those feel-sorry-for-myself thoughts. I don’t even really know where the self-sabotage cycle starts, I just know that it is vicious when it does.
I don’t think simple awareness is enough to stop the sabotage steam engine, but I do think it’s a start.
It is probably a good idea to avoid beating myself up any time I eat wheat, or skip a workout, or watch more Netflix, though, or I might jump into a sabotaging cycle that is even harder to escape.
My freshman roommate had this Sex and the City quote hanging up in our dorm room and I’ve thought about it many times over the years. Whenever I feel really rudderless, it pops into my mind and I wonder if I made a wrong turn somewhere and totally missed the big, flashing sign that says FATE in 72-point font.
The older I get, though, the more I see how much these mistakes make our fate.
After I went to Italy, I wrote about the trip in my travel journal and one of the lines that still stands out to me is, “The best parts of our trip happened by accident.”
That particular line has always resonated because it was so true—the most memorable experiences of that trip were the parts that weren’t planned. The days when we got lost and stumbled onto an adventure or met a fellow traveler and allowed them to alter our itinerary. Did we know that we were going to meet a guy from Argentina and take a day trip with him to Pisa and Cortona? No, but that was a great experience.
When I take a larger step back and think about the course of my life in the same fashion, I see that a lot of the “mistakes” were what led me to big revelations. A conversation with a grumpy customer at my high school job eventually led me to take a trip to Israel. A night full of interesting dreams inspired me to pitch a dissertation about dreams in romantic literature for my MA.
During my MFA program, a teacher asked us to create a short piece on our path to writing. I crafted something about how I fell onto all of these different paths that led me to that particular creative writing program and framed it in the sense that I left the entire decision up to fate.
“It sounds like you did know what you were doing,” my teacher said when I finished reading the piece to the class. I remember getting quiet for a second as I thought about what he said.
“You’re right,” I finally admitted. And you know what? He was .
I’m not saying I don’t believe that certain things are meant to be. On the contrary, I definitely think things happen for a reason. But I also think we have more of an active role in the choice than most of us give ourselves credit for.
With that in mind, I’m sure I will still have days where I succumb to wondering if I made a mistake and totally bypassed my fate, but on the whole, I’m going to try to realize that the entire journey is important for the destination—even if there are a few bumps, detours, and mixed exits along the way.
I suspect that’s normal for most thirty-somethings who spent much of the prior decade seeing the world, but it is so unusual for me that I’m honestly having difficulty recognizing myself.
In June I flew to Atlanta and it was my first time on a plane since the end of 2014. 2014! Who am I?
I used to be the girl who decided on a whim to go to Italy with a friend after seeing “Under the Tuscan Sun” in college. The girl who had never traveled outside the U.S. and didn’t even had a passport. The one who decided to take a leap so big for her first international trip that she chose a place where she didn’t even speak the language. I was the girl who decided to look into the Birthright trip and actually made the choice to fly off to the Middle East on a two-week-trip with no one she knew.
A wedding in the Scottish Highlands
There was a time when I was a girl who decided to apply to graduate school in a foreign country. Instead of sending applications to a few different universities, that girl only applied to the University of Glasgow. And when she got in, she picked up her entire life and moved halfway across the world to a country she’d never visited even though she did not know another soul who lived there.
Exploring Boston’s Public Garden
This girl has traveled to Iceland and Ireland, Malta and Tennessee, England and Washington. She moved to Boston after a year in Scotland, which was another new city without any familiar faces.
Somewhere along the way, that girl turned into this girl. The girl who hasn’t been out of Arizona since June. Who hasn’t even been out of Tucson since November. The girl who no longer feels the passion of exploring a new place or meeting someone from a completely different culture and background.
And this girl can’t help but wonder what happened.
If you’ve ever met me before, you know that I can be really hard on myself. The fact that I don’t really travel anymore makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong…but I also realize the fear of what others think is part of the reason that I don’t do it much.
Of course practical things like money, work, and pet ownership make it more difficult to travel, but none of those things are impossible to overcome. What I’m having difficulty getting past, however, is my mind.
Even if you do not cower in a corner before your thirtieth birthday, something about that calendar milestone does change you. You start to get really in your head about what you should be doing and how you should act.
My thirty-year-old brain started telling me that I should try to settle down and stay in one place. I should get serious about finding a life partner and think about things like home ownership and retirement funds. These thoughts echoed louder than the desires that the real inner me whispered about wanting to travel more.
Before long, it seemed like those were the things I wanted in my life. That it was okay to sit at home by myself all the time because my real life would start soon—the life you’re supposed to have.
The problem with that, though, is that I was already living my real life. I was allowing myself to be adventurous and try new things. To spend time with the people who really understand me on a soul level—even if they live on the other side of the country or the world.
I don’t think I’m going to spontaneously buy a plane ticket to France or Brazil tomorrow, but I do think it is important to realize that I don’t have to give myself permission to want the things I want. It’s okay if I don’t have a conventional life.
The only thing that really matters is that I live a life that makes me really, really, ridiculously happy.
It’s funny the things that stick with you in your mind. I was just walking past a guy who shuffled his flip-flops loudly along the ground as he moved and I thought, “Pick up your feet!”
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I was transported back to the hallway of my elementary school where, while walking in a line with my class, an older teacher yelled the same thing at me. I have no idea how old I was, or who the teacher was, but it’s a moment that has caused déjà vu a few times in my life.
And I’ve definitely picked up my feet as I walk since then.
There are other things, other moments, that I want desperately to remember in such detail. What did it smell like when I walked into my flat in Glasgow each day? What did it feel like to walk in the sunshine along Newbury Street in Boston before class? What did I think about when I walked to and from class in both of these places? When was the first moment I realized there was a spark between my ex and I?
It’s not that I can’t remember what these things feel like, but it’s not the same sensory memory that I have associated with this weird “pick up your feet” moment. Why did my sub-conscious hold onto that one so tightly?
Memory has always fascinated me and lately I’ve been thinking about it in relation to how the past affects my current life.
One day my friend Amy and I were at the mall and we ran into someone we used to consider a dear friend. Both Amy and I had fallings out with this person, neither of which were amicable. All three of us pretended to be cordial during the surprise meeting, but it was obvious how uncomfortable this girl was. I have never experienced someone who wanted to see me so little—to the point that it was almost comical. In a weird way, this awkward reunion almost erased the rest of the history I had with this girl and we became strangers who didn’t like each other.
Later that same night I went out with another friend from my past. She and I don’t get to see each other very often, but any time we do it is like we always hang out. I had more fun that evening than I’d had in a long time. Even with all the gaps in our hangout history, we still had inside jokes and made a lot of new ones that night. I fit in with her friends, many of whom I just met. It just felt natural and right.
The juxtaposition of those two reunions interests me so much and I keep thinking about how the past constantly presents itself in different ways. The present does not always make room for it, though, just like it hadn’t that afternoon in the mall. Is this because that while we’re always changing and growing, there are parts of ourselves that stay the same? And we can still recognize others who have stayed the same in similar ways?
Do we have any control over these moments that we remember in such vivid detail? If I live more in the present, can I recall the tiniest details of this moment? The sound of music in my headphones, the feel of my feet swinging from the bar stool on which I’m perched, the looks on the faces of the other people in this coffee shop? Or am I dependent on my sub-conscious to fill in the details of moments it wants to remember?
I don’t have answers to these questions, but I do know (and have said before) that I want to try to live more in the present. Moments from the past will always pop up, but I do believe there is a way to marry them with the present—I just haven’t figured out exactly how to do that.
You know that phrase “whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right?” I’ve been thinking a lot about that reasoning lately and I’m starting to see just how true it is.
Obviously it’s a little more complicated than the simplicity of the statement, but actually not by a lot. For years I struggled with confidence. I knew I was smart and I knew I was funny. I even knew I was pretty capable, but for some reason I didn’t allow that to translate into confidence in my skills and my abilities—especially in the workforce.
When I’m actually doing a job, I feel like I can handle it. When I’m trying to apply for jobs or go through the interview process, however, it’s a totally different story.
I don’t know why, but I was stuck telling myself this story that I’m not good enough to get high-paying jobs that require a hefty combination of education and experience. I have two masters’ degrees and I’ve been working in the same field for the better part of the last decade. Most people in my position would be earning a completely acceptable salary that affords them the opportunity to pay off loans, buy a house, and live a generally comfortable life.
The problem is, when you tell yourself negative stories like that, that’s the reality you create. I allowed myself to feel like I wasn’t good enough for better jobs, which kept me stuck in positions that paid me less than some friends who didn’t have any degrees. What was the point of paying for two graduate degrees if I’m only striving for positions that require a bachelors degree?
Friends and family have been trying for years to get me to increase my career confidence. They constantly tell me that I am good enough for those amazing jobs that I never feel like I deserve.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
“You have so much experience.”
“You’re the only one I’d trust to do this project.” These are high-caliber compliments that multiple people have said to me over and over. If you don’t believe things like this about yourself, though, it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you. They literally go in one ear and right out the other.
Feeling bad about yourself is like continuously living a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re already seeking out people and experiences that prove your point. Until you make that change in your mind, you will always find a reason to believe that you aren’t good enough or smart enough or experienced enough.
I don’t know what inspired me to make that mental switch, but I have. Slowly my thoughts are turning more toward the things I want instead of the things I feel like I don’t deserve. When someone compliments me, I’m more likely to believe them.
More importantly, though, I don’t need those affirmations to believe it myself.
And just like all of those overly positive motivational sayings promised, I’m already starting to see more opportunities come my way. Because I believe I deserve them.
I just looked up and saw a card that says, “Your future looks bright.” You know what? I’m finally starting to agree with that.
Many cultures believe elephants represent strength and power.
