Two Years and Counting

I constantly wonder about the value and emphasis placed on time in relation to memories. What is the difference between emotions felt this year compared to last year or two years ago. How did we all decide what kind of pain or grief is appropriate  given the passage of time? I have moments now that are more raw and soul-wrenching than 72 hours after you died. 

 

Yes, you’ve been gone for two years. Even typing that sentence feels unfathomable to me. Maybe it’s because I still talk to you in the little moments. Okay, maybe in the bigger moments too. Maybe it’s because when I’m driving around in my car, I can hear you singing along to Zeppelin or the Doobie Brothers, and I imagine how much you would have loved driving around Montana with me. Maybe I’m still mad that I had so many years stolen away by your disease. Maybe it’s because I still don’t think I would have traded those moments for anything because they are cherished, and you raised me to believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe because I grew up knowing that time was valuable and finite I tried to etch every moment into my brain, terrified that whenever you would leave it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe I’m mad that even though I knew these things, it is still so bitterly raw realizing that I didn’t carve quite hard enough. That time is done. It doesn’t seem fair, and my skin crawls at even thinking that. I had you for 25 wonderful years. I am blessed beyond belief that I was your daughter, and I’m still upset that I don’t get more. I will never come to terms with that. 

I’ve been gointo therapy and trying to work through the fact that I won’t get to talk football, books, or music with you anymore. I’ve been trying to understand that I won’t get a voicemail whenever we have an upcoming meteor shower. I’ve been trying to look through a lense that always reminds me that life can be short, and being authentically happy is the most important thing. I have been attempting to live my life for the last 704+ days that would have made you beaming proud. I’m still working on it, and you have my promise that I’ll keep at it. Everyday. 

I miss the shit out of you, but I’m doing pretty dang good. Just like you would want. 

Deathiversary and Life Lessons

Every day has been a different struggle. It's been a year since you died and somehow it still feels like a lifetime and a single breath all at once. 

Some days it's forgetting that you're gone, and having a mini-experience of that grief all over again.  Other days it's wanting to get some of your great life advice and realizing that I will only be able to recall things you've told me. Having to realize that there's a moratorium on the life advice you provided, and that I'll never gleam anything new.  That's weird to think about. I will have to depend on the 25 years I had with you to get through the rest of my life. 

Other days it's simply talking about you in the present when people ask what my parents think about me moving away,etc.  It's easier than having to explain that you're dead.  Can you have a elevator speech about the death of a parent? I feel like I've crafted one, and it's very bizarre that I can give a synopsis of your life in the time it would take to ride an elevator with a stranger. But don't worry, I haven't hit that level of crazy yet, I'm not striking up conversations with strangers to discuss your death.

I feel like that's something I still don't know how to handle.  How do you remain authentic without over-sharing? How do I express that your death can feel crippling, without freaking people out or getting the sympathy-dead-dad eyes.  It's a look.  I never quite understood the look, until I started to receive it all the time.  It's hard to catalog how I feel when I get that look. Thankful? Frustrated? Embarrassed? Sad? Guilty? Loved? It makes for this blend where I want to say thank you and express my gratitude while simultaneously making sure they know that I don't need those eyes. I have been able to grow in the last year in ways that I would never have understood until I was on the other side. Your death was an inevitability that I spent two decades preparing for.  I thought I was ready.  I felt prepared.  I still didn't get it, not until a year ago.  

Shit, most days I'm still having to dig deep and mine the gems out of the rubble and utter destruction I felt when it happened.  

I'm standing here, in the foundation of my story, and trying to remind myself that we all have different stories.  I'm lucky because I had you for 25 years. Some people aren't able to have that. Some people have parents who remain aloof or aren't in the picture. I had 25 years of intentional time.  I had magical bed time stories that I'm sure I'll tell again someday, and I had support and love while I made mistakes. I had someone to teach me what it means to love with your whole heart. I guess I'm just unlucky because you'll miss getting to be involved with the rest of my life. You'll miss being present in the milestones, but I don't doubt that I'll feel you in those moments.  I feel you now while "the sun beats down upon my face"

I wasn't quite sure how to spend today. Do you celebrate a deathiversary? Is that a real word? I'm sure I could google it and check, but it's what feels most right.  I took the day off of work, and I'm sitting out on my porch writing this while the weather tries to make up it's mind.  It's raining and the sun is shining. Honestly it's just such a perfect damn metaphor for how I feel today that its almost comical. I'm listening to Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti album because it's your favorite, and I'm trying to feel you in all of the ways I've felt you in the last year.  I feel pieces of your soul in the strangest of places, and every time it washes over me I just feel so damn thankful that I had the time with you that I had. 

I was on the phone with mom this morning, and she was talking about how much you loved Emily and I. She was talking about how blessed we were to have a father who cared about us so deeply. She said that the light and pride in your eyes when you talked about us was overwhelming. She thinks that you were finally able to let go because you could see how happy we were.  Emily and I were starting our lives, and you could see that we were going to be okay. I want you to know that I've spent every day of the last year trying to make sure that you'd still be proud.  I'm living my most authentic life.  I'm trying to be more vulnerable with people, and I'm trying to learn to ask for help when I need it.  I'm making sure to tell the people in my life that I love them because at the end of the day, that sense of love is what will remain far after I've gone.  I can still feel your love like a tidal wave, and it's been a year. So dad, you can "die easy" because we are still okay. 

Happy (belated) Birthday

I wrote this on the plane to Texas for your birthday, but I just realized I never posted it.  I came back to write about the impending anniversary of your death, but I wanted to put this out in the universe first....

1/26/2018
I guess I'm not quite sure what the protocol is.  Do I wish you a happy birthday, or is that wrong because you're gone? I guess I always hear people say "Well he/she would have been...." so, Dad, you would have been 61 this year.  Is it weird to find it satisfying that you died in a multiple of 5? That's the way I like to adjust the volume in my car or on the TV...so having that 0 at the end of your birthday feels more...final, somehow? Maybe it's that it helps me feel a sense of control over something that was so radically out of my control? Maybe it's because I'm still listening to my "Dad Jamz" playlist, and sometimes the music is just a little too loud in my car but it always feels right. It might be a little obsessive, but we've all got our problems.  Loud music will always be one of mine.  After all, I am your daughter.

Whoa, sorry about all of that.  I feel like when I get really overwhelmed I look for the things that comfort me.  I guess that little Woolf-rant about a life-long habit is just one example of the moments I've needed in the 10 months that you've been gone. It even feels weird to say.  How can 10 months simultaneously feel like a lifetime and a single breath?  I don't know if I'll ever understand it, but I know I'll learn to cope with it better (or at least I pray I will).  

I think I just still can't process that I don't get to tell you things anymore.  I guess I still tell them to you by writing these out, and I believe that you can see what's going on in my life, but I want your feedback. I want you to tell me what you think of the Cowboys 9-7 season.  I want to talk politics with you. I want to hear about who has visited you lately and what they're up to. I want to show you all of the places I've taken your passport in the last 10 months. I want to tell you about the hikes I've done and the trips I've taken. I want to swap more stories. I would give anything  to hear one of your stories. I regret the times that I helped finish one that I'd heard a thousand times because I want to hear it so bad.  I feel even more ridiculous because I always knew that I needed to be cherishing these moments, and I still finished your stories or reminded you that you already told me.  I want to sit and drink a nice single-malt scotch with you.  I want to go to El Matador, so Emily and I can tell them it's your birthday. I want to watch you fume that you can't get away from the table, so you have to sit there and let us sing to you while you wear a sombrero.  I can see it so clearly in my mind that I don't know if it's actually happened before or if I'm fabricating memories. I want to watch an episode of Breaking Bad with you because we never finished the series. I want to FaceTime so I can show you my dog and my cabin. I want to complain about the stupid amount of snow piled up outside. I want to hear you say "peachy-keen" (which I always thought was "peachy-king") or end a phone call with "peace, love, grand-funk". 

If nothing else, I want to simply exist with you.

Well, I guess that's actually a pretty large request.

I've caught myself doing or saying things that feel like you. I didn't realize how many of my idiosyncrasies were things I picked up from you over the years.  I never thought twice about calling myself a "nekojita" when describing my aversion to super hot drinks. I will never think it's weird to add an ice cube or two to a piping hot cup of coffee. I didn't realize that it's impossible for me to say "Ohio" without immediately singing "Round on the end and 'hi' in the middle" in my head. When I talk about microwaves and tell people to "nuke it"- I should tell you that I'm trying to break this habit because of all the utter insanity in the US. I didn't realize that my need to make other people feel comfortable in awkward situations comes from you cracking jokes about wheelchairs in a room when people don't know what to say. 

Hear me out, I know you hate(d) Fleetwood Mac- this is where I'm like mom-but I actually broke down crying while getting ready for work last week because "Landslide" came on. It was this live version, and you hear Stevie Nicks say "This is for you, Daddy". I just lost it.  Right in the middle of putting on my mascara.  It is inconvenient, this grief of mine.  I was just trying to start my day, and suddenly I had to be aggressively reminded that you're gone.  I went to Thailand in November, and on my first flight to Beijing I was aggressively reminded that I wouldn't get to tell you every last detail of the trip. Honestly, you owe the poor man next to me an apology.  He just sat there in confusion while I quietly had a breakdown somewhere over the Bering Sea. I much prefer the passive reminders.  It happens when I'm driving home from work, and I want to call you and tell you any of the  aforementioned things, and I simply think "Oh wait, I can't." It happens when I'm digging through my purse and touch your passport- I told you it's with me everywhere I go. It happens on Sundays when I expect you to call me after a Cowboys win or a Texans loss to gloat. By the way, they didn't play each other in preseason this year because of a hurricane. I was glad the game was cancelled because I wasn't ready to face that day just yet.

I don't quite want to call it a gift, but I think that this is a lesson you're forcing me to learn, and it will continue to make me stronger.  You taught me a lot about love, compassion, and empathy while you were alive. I think I'm still trying to figure out my buzz words from this lesson, but so far it feels like grace, appreciation, and trying to carpe the hell out of this diem. 

This is for you, Daddy.

For my dad

I don't know how to exist in a world where you aren't.  That sounds really obvious and sorta cheesy, and honestly I've almost definitely heard it somewhere else before, but it's true.  You have been my inspiration, reason, and excuse for as long as I can remember.

 Because of you I grew up fast.  I learned how to put others before myself, and I learned a lot of valuable life skills and lessons that I think gave me a jump start on life.  When I meet new people I tend to get a lot of "wow, you're mature for your age" and I just laugh and say that I'm an old soul, rather than explaining that my dad has chronic progressive multiple sclerosis and is in a wheelchair. That I learned to co-parent, for lack of a better word, with a parent.  How to be the shoulder you cried on while I cried on your shoulder.  I learned what a mutual support system was.  How beautiful (and messy-literally) it could be to lean on someone whenever you needed to.

Because of you I learned to love fiercely and to tell the people in my life that they matter. I grew up knowing that time could be precious so you have to make the most of whatever moment you're in. I learned that, contrary to what I was always told, words can be just as memorable as actions. I may not remember the last time you were able to hug me, but I know that I never went a single phone-call without hearing you say you love me and how proud you were of me.  I was able to hang my hat on that whenever I questioned if I was making the right choice.



Because of you I learned that humor doesn't always solve the problem, but it makes you laugh in the moment, and sometimes that's the only medicine that works.  I learned that sometimes you can't find the right words, and that sometimes simply agreeing that something sucks and sitting in silence is okay.  I learned that you will never have all of the answers or reasoning, but to simply sit back and have faith and let things happen as they may.



Because of you I learned a little bit about being selfless.  It was always in the little things, like taking your young daughters to paint pottery for hours on end, after you lost the use of your hands, and simply sitting there and being enamored of our mediocre artwork and jokingly calling it "Killin' Dad" instead of "Kiln Time". I learned that doing things to help others can provide just as much comfort to you as to them.  I learned that this comfort is the best kind because it is done without assumption or expectation.  It is motivated by love, and when things are motivated by love it will always go the way it should, even if it's not the way you want.



Because of you I learned to be selfish. I learned that sometimes you have to do what you feel is right in your heart, even if it goes against everything you've thought or believed.  I know that you were frustrated when I moved across the country, but I have always been your daughter, so I don't know why you were surprised.  At least I stayed in the country.  I also know that you are proud of me for living my life the way I need to.  Thank you for supporting me, even when we all didn't quite understand why.  You just (mostly) got it when I said I needed to move, and I will always be thankful.



Because of you I learned that it was possible (and okay) to be angry and still have faith.  You also taught me to believe that faith could come in a variety of forms, and that I should never close myself off to the possibility of more. I don't mean more in a cosmic sense, although I sort of do.  I mean more in the fact that you constantly challenged me to grow my knowledge.  I remember playing with the globe and spinning it, around and around, and then stopping it suddenly with my finger. You would either regale me with a story of when you'd been there, or you and I would sit and wait for the CD-ROM with the Encyclopedia to load so we could learn about it, together. I remember seeing a trailer for a movie called "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" and you said you wouldn't take me to see it until I read the book. Little did you know that I would have read all of the released books by the time the first movie came out.  Thank you for introducing me to that magic. It has changed me. You taught me to believe in the things that matter to me, and that I could damn anyone else's opinion who told me to think otherwise.



Because of you I grew up knowing the power of music.  Take right now for example, the house is full of family and friends sharing stories, crying and laughing, and I find the most comfort sitting back in your room, staring at your empty bed and listening to my "Dad Jams" playlist. I swear I can feel you singing along to "Black Dog" and "Radar Love".  You showed me how to shut off my mind and lose myself in the music.

 

Because of you I learned the power of a story.  I can say with confidence that every person you've met has walked away with one of your stories, whether it was your "World's Worst DWI" trophy or talking about your time living in Japan with the girl who broke your heart..or hearing some of those awful jokes, over and over.  "What does a cow order at Starbucks? De-CALF...get it, get it?" I think of all the stories I've heard you share, our bedtime stories were my favorite. You were so convincing that I never wondered how a boy and his best friend, who just happened to be a robot, could get out of so many sticky situations while they traveled the world with his parents. I learned that the words you wove could build a sense of community so strong that people have always returned to you, like moths drawn to a flame.

So, daddy, thank you for everything.  For making me into who I am.  It will suck.  It will suck a lot, but because of you I know that Emily and I will be okay.  We just miss you, but we know you are whole now.  Thank God.

"I don’t believe in a God who sits in conscious judgment of the actions of humanity."

-Jared Leto

Millennial Podcast

"Oh, I get it.  I get why people stay.  It never occurred to me that while you're in this not so sexy transition space in your life you could get stuck, because after awhile it becomes comfortable and you could stop pushing towards your goals and moving toward the place where you actually want be..because at this particular moment I didn't have a yearning to leave and that was becoming my biggest fear, not leaving." 

-Brunchies, episode 03

Lift Off

By: Donovan Livingston

“Education then, beyond all other devices of human origin,
Is a great equalizer of the conditions of men.” – Horace Mann, 1848.
At the time of his remarks I couldn’t read — couldn’t write.
Any attempt to do so, punishable by death.
For generations we have known of knowledge’s infinite power.
Yet somehow, we’ve never questioned the keeper of the keys —
The guardians of information.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen more dividing and conquering
In this order of operations — a heinous miscalculation of reality.
For some, the only difference between a classroom and a plantation is time.
How many times must we be made to feel like quotas —
Like tokens in coined phrases? —
“Diversity. Inclusion”
There are days I feel like one, like only —
A lonely blossom in a briar patch of broken promises.
But I’ve always been a thorn in the side of injustice.

Disruptive. Talkative. A distraction.
With a passion that transcends the confines of my consciousness —
Beyond your curriculum, beyond your standards.
I stand here, a manifestation of love and pain,
With veins pumping revolution.
I am the strange fruit that grew too ripe for the poplar tree.
I am a DREAM Act, Dream Deferred incarnate.
I am a movement – an amalgam of memories America would care to forget
My past, alone won’t allow me to sit still.
So my body, like the mind
Cannot be contained.

As educators, rather than raising your voices
Over the rustling of our chains,
Take them off. Un-cuff us.
Unencumbered by the lumbering weight
Of poverty and privilege,
Policy and ignorance.

I was in the 7th grade, when Ms. Parker told me,
“Donovan, we can put your excess energy to good use!”
And she introduced me to the sound of my own voice.
She gave me a stage. A platform.
She told me that our stories are ladders
That make it easier for us to touch the stars.
So climb and grab them.
Keep climbing. Grab them.
Spill your emotions in the big dipper and pour out your soul.
Light up the world with your luminous allure.

To educate requires Galileo-like patience.
Today, when I look my students in the eyes, all I see are constellations.
If you take the time to connect the dots,
You can plot the true shape of their genius —
Shining in their darkest hour.

I look each of my students in the eyes,
And see the same light that aligned Orion’s Belt
And the pyramids of Giza.
I see the same twinkle
That guided Harriet to freedom.
I see them. Beneath their masks and mischief,
Exists an authentic frustration;
An enslavement to your standardized assessments.

At the core, none of us were meant to be common.
We were born to be comets,
Darting across space and time —
Leaving our mark as we crash into everything.
A crater is a reminder that something amazing happened here —
An indelible impact that shook up the world.
Are we not astronomers — looking for the next shooting star?
I teach in hopes of turning content, into rocket ships —
Tribulations into telescopes,
So a child can see their potential from right where they stand.
An injustice is telling them they are stars
Without acknowledging night that surrounds them.
Injustice is telling them education is the key
While you continue to change the locks.

Education is no equalizer —
Rather, it is the sleep that precedes the American Dream.
So wake up — wake up! Lift your voices
Until you’ve patched every hole in a child’s broken sky.
Wake up every child so they know of their celestial potential.
I’ve been a Black hole in the classroom for far too long;
Absorbing everything, without allowing my light escape.
But those days are done. I belong among the stars.
And so do you. And so do they.
Together, we can inspire galaxies of greatness
For generations to come.
No, sky is not the limit. It is only the beginning.
Lift off."

Watch the video here

To The Girl In Her Mid-20's

By: Poornima Baskar

You’ve spent so many years looking forward to this phase of your life. And it always looked so cool. So glamorous. So filled with love and laughter.

Yet here you are. With knowledge that it’s anything but.

It’s messy buns and messier lives. It’s baggy shirts and overflowing laundry bags. It’s a lot of work and never enough money. It’s freedom with responsibilities. And life is no longer what it seemed.

Different people are doing different things.

Your best friend’s getting married. Your old classmate is killing it with success. Your ex is happy in love. Your old mate is drowning in drugs. Different people are doing different things. But not you. You’re just existing. You’re getting through everyday a little better than the last. But then you have days where you can’t get up at all.

You spend your Friday evenings holed up in a corner because you’re too responsible to drink your night away. Too control freakish to lose yourself to someone else’s tunes. But somehow, this isn’t enough. This life you’re living doesn’t feel complete. Loneliness wraps around you like a blanket you love and you wonder where you went wrong. Why you became different to everyone else.

“Did I do too much too soon? Did I not do enough? Was there a reason why it was never me? Is this going to be the rest of my life? Alone? Unsuccessful? Filled with dreams that never come true?”

And your hands reach out to your phone. One text. One call. To that someone who might make you feel pretty. Who might make you feel important. And your need takes over.

The need to feel accepted. To feel appreciated. To feel adored. To feel loved.

And it is so strong, you forget your sanity for a few minutes of flattery. You lessen your worth for dishonest words. The hurt in your heart, camouflaged. If only for a few seconds.

But it’s never enough. And when you wake up, it’s worse. The hammering of your heart so loud in your ears. A memory of last night frustratingly haunting. Yet another mistake. Yet again.

You scream hateful words to yourself. When will I ever learn? You go over those messages. Those conversations. How you fell right back into a ditch when you knew better. Just for a moment, you wish you weren’t yourself.

And in that moment, read these words:

Breathe. It’s not so bad. You think I don’t understand. But I do. Because I’m there, too. I’ve made that call. I’ve texted that wrong person. I’ve woken up with regrets. I still do. I’ve felt the need to be held. I’ve felt that silent green monster towards a friend in love.

Yes, we all make those mistakes. And we all think nobody else does. But they do.

So please, don’t hate yourself. And don’t stop. Don’t stop loving with all you have. Don’t stop wishing on every shooting star. Don’t stop dreaming of fairytales and being as amazing as Malala Yousafzai. You might not always get there, but don’t stop.

You have so much left to do. You have a world filled with life waiting to happen. You have books to be read. Steps to be taken. Places to see. People to meet. You haven’t lived half your life yet. There’s so much ahead. And in ten years, when you look back, you’ll wish you were here again.

So don’t waste it wallowing in your own sadness. Don’t lose yourself to your self-pity and non-existent boundaries. Use everyday. And I don’t mean spend thousands of dollars and visit the North Pole. I know how you’re struggling to make ends meet.

Do the simple things. Stop procrastinating. Take a walk with nature. Go to the gym. Read your favorite book for the millionth time. Watch a movie. Write your novel. Sketch until you’re better than the best. Eat like you’re dying tomorrow. And most importantly, make mistakes. Your heart will heal. But today will never be back again. Don’t live with “Could-have-been’s.” Take chances.

And ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS remember – It’s okay to be alone.

There is time to let your life revolve around someone else. But today, let it revolve around you.

Not because you can’t find someone. Not because you can’t be loved.

But because you deserve to wake up with a smile. You deserve to live life. To make memories so wild, you’ll be the coolest grandparent they’ve ever known.

Breathe. It’s only your mid-20’s.

You’re going to be alright.

I love the things that can't be bottled

I love the things that can't be bottled.  The things that you love because they are wild, free.  The things that, once bottled, cease to lose that freedom and wilderness that made me love them in the first place.  The smell of the air when it's just cold enough to see your breath, and there is a dew hanging in the air that threatens to crystallize.  When you take in those lungfuls of air and you can't imagine being in any other moment than this one. Your soul was meant to be there, sucking in the tiny crystals and attempting to take in the moment.  That is a smell, a sensation, and a way of life.  It's why I love living here, where the air is something to be in love with.  Does that sounds strange? I'm in love with air.  It looks weird when I type it or say it aloud.  Maybe it isn't the air I love, but that wilderness that comes with it.  Because when I truly take the time to notice the air, it's when I'm taking the time to notice all of the other little details that make this life so incredible to live.  It's the color of the larches and tamaracks as we shift to a new season.  It's the clear water that's so still it feels like a mirror, clearer than any you've seen before.  A mirror that reflects back just you and your wild backdrop.  Nothing artificial to fixate on.  It's just you, changing leaves, and puffs of air that make you feel like a train.  Traipsing through this space with a radical feeling that you're the first person to see these trees, this water, this reflection.  It's a notion I can't seem to get over.  Every day when I look around it's a crippling sense of missed adventure.  There will never be enough time to do all of the things my heart is beating for.  I find it offensive that this world has so many things to offer, and I can't live for centuries to experience it all.  Hell, we aren't even guaranteed decades, years, or hours.  It's why I choose to fiercely love those in my life.  It's why I make it a point to tell people I love them and how my life is changed because of their influence.  It's why I try to only take in the good and deflect the bad.  There's a lot of shit in this world that can get people down.  It's in those moments that I get outside.  The world has thrived for billions of years.

I can't remember where I've heard it, but someone said that you either love the mountains for two reasons; to either be reminded of your mortality or to feel the strength of the human soul.  When I stand on the tops of mountains I feel that sense of mortality.  This mountain will continue to stand the test of time, while I will move into nothingness.  However, I also feel the power of the world is at my fingertips. I am standing in a blessed position that only birds have the privilege of seeing regularly.  I can see everything for miles.  The sense that in this tiny wrinkle in time, this view is mine and mine alone.

So I love the things that can't be bottled because they cause a consciousness, reflection, and perception that will never be replicated.  It would clip the memories' wings, and then I wouldn't get to return there in my moments of fragility.  I might be weak and flawed, but the world will cocoon me with tales of the past, present, and future.

“There is a difference between passive goodness and active goodness, which is, in my opinion, the giving of one’s time and energy in the alleviation of pain and suffering. It entails going out, finding and helping those in suffering and danger and not merely in leading an exemplary life in a purely passive way of doing no wrong.”’
Sir Nicholas Winton, 1909-2015

"Losses aren’t cataclysmic if they teach the heart and
soul their natural cycle of breaking and healing. A
real tragedy? That’s the loss of the heart and soul
themselves. If you’ve abandoned yourself in the effort to keep anyone or anything else, unlearn that pattern. Live your truth, losses be damned. Just like that, your heart and soul will return home." 

–Martha Beck

"I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am. The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning." 

-Michel Foucault

It's the little things

I have this Lilly Pulitzer photo album, and it holds 100 photos, and so right after I graduated college I began the daunting task of searching for my top 100 photos from college, which was WAY harder than it sounds.  I document everything.  I basically have at least 400 photos for each year I was in school, minimum.

Some of the photos that made the cut and blurry and awful, but when I see them I am reminded of just how wonderful my friends are.

My 19th birthday

Take the above photo, this was my birthday a month into my freshman year.  Prior to 2010, my birthday had always been a big celebration with friends and the start of school, and we would hang out and celebrate for close to 24 hours, complete with water balloons, cake fights, and chalk graffiti.  So I was pretty bummed for my birthday because it was the first time I would be celebrating without most of my friends in 8 years.  Four of my friends took the time to show me that small gestures can mean just as much.  These two drove me all around town getting my favorite things from my favorite restaurants.  Mac and cheese and sweet tea from McAlisters, chicken nuggets from Chick-Fil-A, miso soup from Chopsticks, and a Cranberry Limeade from Sonic for good measure.  They did this without having to ask what I wanted.  They knew because I'm a creature of habit (still am- that will never change) and once I find something I like I stick with it.  After the perfect dinner, one of my other friends had planned this wonderful scavenger hunt around town.  Clues at each place, and what was really great is that he hadn't even experienced all of these places with me.  He had just heard me talk about them and knew the places in town that mattered to me.  That's what friends do.  They listen to your crazy stories, notice what you order, and know that not having all of your friends around for your birthday will make you sad, even if you don't say it out loud.  

So, here's to all of the friends who make life memorable and enjoyable. I really am blessed to have so many people who I care for, and who know me better than I know myself.

Moving Mountains With Teaspoons

I get that I've only been out of Texas for a month now, and basically a week of that was travel and training, and I've only been at my job for three weeks, blah blah blah....
But can it really be this easy to fall into such a great routine? A routine where I get the alone time that I crave, and still begin the process of making friends, while getting back into healthy eating habits and loving my job and the area?

I'm sorry.  That sounds really stupid, and I might hate everything that I'm doing in six months, but I really doubt it.  This feels perfect.

I look forward to my job every morning. I wake up earlier than I need to, so I can be ready and alert when I get to the office because I just love it there.  I haven't willingly woken up earlier than I needed to since 4th grade, if that puts it in perspective for you. My supervisor is possibly one of the coolest people I've met in the last three years.  I love what I get to do at my job.  I manage our seasonal troops.  They typically meet during lunch periods or in after-school programs.  I get to do lesson planning and watch what works, while simultaneously looking for volunteers to take over these troops so they can function when I leave.  Eventually I'll get to try my hand at grant writing, sending out newsletters and press releases, and form new partnerships with other community partners.  Seriously, this job is giving me all of the professional skills that I need to make sure that nonprofit work is what I want to do.

I attended a nonprofit panel that's focus was Intergenerational Leadership and how to prepare the upcoming generation (mine) for roles in nonprofits.  I wasn't even surprised to be the youngest person in the room by probably 10 years.  This kind of stuff matters.  They were discussing how to communicate with our generation, and I was learning a lot about the impression we give off, and some of the broader generalizations that we've been given.  What was interesting is that, despite the internet saying everyone hates us, most of the people in that room were welcoming us with open arms.  They understand that we think and communicate in new ways that they've never considered, and that we might have fresh perspectives on what they've been doing.

My favorite college professor gave me one of the best lessons I've ever had.  I was in her office and we were talking about a variety of things, and she handed me a teaspoon.  She explained that sometimes the work we do is like moving "mountains with teaspoons" and you can't always see the immediate long term effects or any effect at all, but that doesn't mean you're not doing something worthwhile.  We were talking about behavior analysis and autism therapy, but I think that lesson has carried over into pretty much any aspect of my life since I learned it three years ago.  So now that I'm living by the mountains, and doing work that can be very mountainous, I just have to remind myself that slowly but surely, I'm chipping away.  That makes every single email, lesson plan, and craft project more than worth it.  Also, the teaspoon she gave me sits proudly on my desk.

So here's to mountains, nonprofits, hot coffee and tea, majestic puddles with mountain reflections in them, and one month gone from Texas.  What a glorious and growth filled month its been.  I can't wait to see what the next eleven months hold in store.

My how time flies

Well, I'm back in Montana.  This time for the forseeable future.  Isn't that weird? I still think it's a little weird, but I'm happy.  Really happy.  I didn't realize the funk I'd let myself slip into over the last few months after I got back from my summer in Billings. I mean I obviously was happy to see all of my friends and family and eat at my favorite places again and see the things that are familiar and just feel like home, but I felt like something was missing.  I realized what was missing when I was driving up, and just beginning to see the mountains again felt like a a puzzle piece slipped back into place.  The view.  The sense of something so much larger than yourself that it towers over you and forces you to think of your mortality

So I've been back in Montana for two weeks, and now I'm living in Flathead Valley.  Every day when I drive to work I have to focus on making sure I don't get distracted by the amazing view to my left or right.  Every day I feel like I lose my breath when I walk out of my apartment and see this intense fog rolling down the side of the mountain.  Maybe this will become a normal view, and I won't appreciate the way the mountains get sandwiched between the low hanging clouds and the even lower fog.  Soon I might not enjoy all of the rain and snow, but for now it's here and I'm loving it.  I hope I don't ever grow used to the view.  I don't want to take it for granted.  I want to stare it down and remind myself that I am here, in this moment, and to take it for what it is, icy roads and all.

30 Things You Should Do (At Least) Once A Year

Taken from Thought Catalog, written by Ella Ceron

1. Clean your closet, and get rid of anything you haven’t worn, anything that doesn’t fit you, anything that is too worn or ripped to repair, or anything you haven’t worn in at least a year (save for your one “interview” suit or dress, etc). Other than that, start fresh.

2. Visit your hometown, even if everybody else has moved away. Visit the last town you lived in if it’s close enough or you’re going to be passing by anyway. Remember why you don’t live there anymore. Feel grateful for what you have in comparison to what you had.

3. Go somewhere you’ve never been before, whether that’s a foreign country or a part of your own country you’ve always wanted to see but never did. It can be an hour away or a three-day road trip away. Regardless, plan to just see something you’ve never seen before — just once.

4. Get a massage. It’s good for your body, helps you realign muscles and joints that might have shifted, and puts you back in tune with how your body is supposed to feel.

5. Drink cheap wine to keep you humble and hungry. Remind yourself why you ought to work hard for the good stuff but if you do this with friends on a roof somewhere, it’s a good memory on its own. (Just drink a lot of water so your hangover doesn’t hurt too badly tomorrow. But really, only do this one once. Life is too short for bad booze.)

6. Volunteer somewhere. Do this one especially more than once a year. It’s good for your soul, your mind, your heart, and your community.

7. Make a new friend — a real friend, not just an acquaintance you friended on Facebook after a party and never spoke to again — or five.

8. Challenge yourself physically in some slightly crazy, I-can’t-believe-I-did-that kind of way, whether that’s a marathon, a class at the gym you’ve always been too intimidated to try, finally lose those last 10 pounds, or even a baby if this is that year and that’s what you’re ready for. (That last one is the hardest and biggest challenge of them all.)

9. Actually make (and go to) all the doctor, dentist, and whatever other appointments that are so easy to blow off.

10. Rewatch your favorite movie, or reread your favorite book — and see if there’s now something else that jumps out at you with either age, experience, or simply new eyes.

11. Go somewhere really nice to eat. Like, more forks than you think you’ll use nice. Dress up for it. It doesn’t have to be a date. Go with your best friend and make a night of it.

12. Call in sick to work. Play hooky because you can, for your mental health. (Only do this once, though. Your boss might grow suspicious otherwise.)

13. Have champagne and cake for dinner for no other reason than this: Because. You. Can.

14. Try something you’ve sworn all your life that you absolutely hate — but maybe just never really gave a chance.

15. Ask for a raise, or ask what you can do to improve if you don’t yet deserve one. Work towards that.

16. Make a conscious effort to thank all the people you might be taking for granted in your day-to-day life (like your building’s super, the man who runs the laundromat, your barista, even the kid who checks you in at the gym every morning).

17. Go up to your roof if you can, and get a new perspective on the world, and on your place in it.

18. Spend a whole day walking everywhere to run your errands. No cars, no bikes, no public transportation, just walking. See what you notice when the world isn’t whizzing by you at dozens of miles an hour.

19. Go without (or with less of) a favorite vice — whether that’s smoking, drinking, sugar, or even something as seemingly innocuous as that morning coffee — for a week. See how you feel.

20. Get fitted by a professional tailor so you know what size you are (and if you’re a woman, get your bra fitted, too).

21. Learn how to cook a new meal. Invite people over to share it with you.

22. Leave your phone at home for an afternoon. See what happens when you unplug.

23. Spend time in nature, whether that’s on a day hike on a nearby trail, or a few days camping with your family and friends.

24. Go to a museum, see a band or a sports game live, or watch a play or a musical. Experience culture without the help of an illuminated screen.

25. Spend a Friday night in. Order takeout, dance around to guilty pleasure music in your underwear, take a really long bath, whatever speaks to you in that moment.

26. Stare your naked body in a mirror. Make peace — and offer love — to every little inch of you that stares back.

27. Buy flowers for someone you love and appreciate. (That someone can even be yourself.)

28. Reach out to someone whose career you admire. Build a connection. See what you might be able to learn from them — and even how you might be able to help them, too.

29. Try to make amends with someone with whom you might have drifted or had a falling out. If you can’t fix the relationship, at least let that wound heal as healthfully as possible.

30. Ask yourself if you’re happy. And if you’re not, ask yourself what might help you work towards getting there. And then make it happen. Because, yes, you deserve to be happy.

Be Intentional With Your Transition

6 Questions To Ask When Your Life's About To Change

Article found here

In Miami, fall and winter are foreign concepts.

It’s pretty much summer all year round, with the occasional day or two when the temperatures dip below 70 degrees. (Only in Miami will you see people sporting fur boots and coats when that day’s high temperature is a “frigid” 68 degrees. Seriously.)

A trip to Nashville several years ago gave me my first taste of fall. The oranges and yellows and reds that enveloped the countryside as my flight descended into the city made me feel like Kevin McAllister entering Duncan’s Toy Store for the first time in Home Alone 2.

The transition from summer to fall is clear: The days grow shorter, the temperatures begin to cool, and pumpkin spice lattes are available at every Starbucks (hallelujah!).

In life, we go through similar transitions. New opportunities. New locations. New friends. New everything.

Whether we’re entering the spring of a new job or relationship or the winter of loss or disappointment, we need to be prepared and ready take on whatever comes our way.

Here are some questions to ask as you transition into a new season:

1. Where Am I?

Before you can move forward, you have to know where you stand. Being able to humbly and honestly evaluate where you are is the first step toward a season of growth. Maybe ask a trusted friend or family member to help you process.

Being able to humbly and honestly evaluate where you are is the first step toward a season of growth.

Ask yourself: Where am I emotionally? Where am I physically? Financially? Relationally? Spiritually?

2. What Do I Need to Leave Behind?

Let’s face it: Things change. And as changes swirl around us, we need to be willing to make changes ourselves. We might need to let go of some old things to make room for the new.

New seasons rarely come without the need to make some sacrifices and difficult decisions. Maybe it’s cutting down on binge-watching The Walking Dead with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream cradled in your arm. Or it could be a toxic relationship that needs to be axed.

Whatever it is, do it. Now. Nothing will change if you’re not willing to make changes yourself.

3. Who Do I Want to Be and How am I Going to Get There?

Some seasons can last a few months and others can last years, but they all have one thing in common: They end. Who do you see yourself becoming at the end of your new season?

Sitting around doing nothing while things change around you won’t make things better—it’ll just leave you falling further behind.

Bridging the gap between where you are the beginning of a season and where you want to be at the end of it requires a plan of action. Make a game plan and then go out and execute.

4. Where is There Room For Growth?

There is always room for growth. God wants to shape us, mold us and prepare us for what He has lined up for us. You are where you are for a reason. Ask Him to show you what areas you need help in and commit to grow in those areas.

Don’t waste the season of change you’re in. Find ways to learn, serve and grow.

5. Who Do I Want By My Side?

Take an inventory of the people around you. Who are the friends and family members sticking with you as you enter your new season? Who is drifting away? Who is investing in you and who are you investing in?

Look for people who will build you up, encourage you and challenge you—people that aren’t just for you, but with you.

Look for people who will build you up, encourage you and challenge you—people that aren’t just for you, but with you. The difference? The “for-you’s” will cheer you on from the sidelines, but the “with-you’s” will put on a jersey and help you get the ball down the court.

6. What Are My Motivations?

Your deep-seated motivations are the fuel that will keep you running as you endure the hardships of the season you’re in—and make no mistake, you will face them.

Your “why” will keep you committed when you don’t feel like getting up half an hour earlier in the morning. It will help you to say “no” when you really, really want to text your ex, even though you know you shouldn’t.

Your “why” is what will keep your eyes forward when you’re tempted to look to the left or to the right. It will keep your legs moving when you feel like giving up completely.

Transitions are not easy, but they can be times of immense growth and learning to trust God. Be intentional with your transition.

Montana

Well my time in Montana is rapidly coming to a close.  I've really loved it here, even more than I thought I would.  Billings may not have been the most bumpin' city of all time, but I could dig it.  What I really fell in love with though was having the mountains visible from the balcony.  Seeing the Rockies on a daily basis, even from far away, was something that I won't soon forget.  It was crazy because I was here long enough to start to take it for granted, and then as soon as I realized that I would shake it off and try and really process what I was doing out here.  I love my job.  Did I learn a lot working full time in an office? Yeah, but I've worked in an office before.  What I appreciated was learning to work with different types of people.  At UNT I was surrounded by very similar people, but here in Montana I met lots of different personalities and various work ethics.  I'm thankful for this summer and the new friends I've made, but I've also learned that home is still a damn good place to be and if I don't immediately rush off to the ends of the world then I will still be okay. They say home is where the heart is, and I'm willing to leave bits and pieces of my heart where ever I go.  So here's to you Montana and your little piece of me.

10 Habits Of People Who Follow Their Dreams

1. They see challenges as opportunities

Most people interpret fears as obstacles and tend to run away from them. People who live their purpose successfully have developed the capacity to see fear as a sign of what they really need to go for and put all their courage and energy into it.

2. They see life as a game.

Having this vision of life opens up space for playfulness and creativity instead of limitation. This also cultivates qualities of resilience, problem solving and confidence that helps them take risks to get to the next big place.

3. Living the life they want is the only option.

They’re so committed to making their dreams a reality that they banish any possibility of a backup plan whatsoever from their mind. They don’t think things like, “If it doesn’t work, I’ll just go get a job.”

4. They always speak their truth.

They’re able to speak it because they make a conscious effort to connect to their truest desires, their inner voice, and their spirituality without fear of judgment. This connection is typically fostered through meditation, journaling, being mentored and being surrounded by like minded-people.

5. They aren’t just dreamers: they act on their desires.

Instead of getting stuck in their dreams, they snap right into action, no matter what it takes. Whether it’s quitting a job, getting out of a relationship that holds them back, investing in themselves or moving to a new location, they have the courage to do it. They do this by listening to, and then acting on, their intuition.

6. They expect and know that they deserve the best.

They expect that what they want is going to happen as if it were an inner-knowing. They expect and feel they deserve to earn well, do what they love, serve others using their gifts. The secret is that they still expect the best even when they don’t have all the answers as to how it’s going to happen.

7. They have no fear or guilt when asking for what they want.

Because they’re so connected to their passions, they aren’t afraid to ask for what they want. In fact, they understand that their success depends on others, so asking for what they want is part of the deal. They set their boundaries and express their needs without fear, guilt or shame. Best of all, this is a trait that earns them respect from others.

8. They create their own rules.

They create their own rules instead of fitting into society’s norms. They make decisions from a place of what they want to have instead of what they think they can have. This gives them the freedom to design their destiny.

9. They’ve learned to be comfortable being uncomfortable.

They don’t get stuck in having all the answers, making things perfect or trying to gain comfort by controlling everything. Instead, they’re aware that they’re not going to see the next step until they make the decision to move forward despite the discomfort.

10. They have teachers, mentors and role models.

Having teachers increases their awareness. They clearly understand that each time they’re getting ready to pursue their dreams all their limitations are going to come up to the surface so that they can let go of them. Having role models and mentors helps them quickly identify where they’re stuck so that they can immediately change their results.

Article found here

Roadtripping.

This summer I will be in Billings, MT serving as an AmeriCorps VISTA Volunteer.  I have to drive from Denton, TX to Billings, MT.  1,300 miles.  Bring it on.

Mile 0- Well,  here it goes.

Mile 150- I'm not sure why, but while driving and singing at the top of my lungs I broke down crying during Say Something. Not sure why, I'm not getting over anyone. I think it's from nerves as excitement for the trip. Near Vera, Texas. No one in sight.

Mile 180- Almost hit a turtle. Don't worry. He's okay. Near 6666 ranch in King County

Mile 227- Just passed an abandoned building with at least 8 cats chillin' outside. It was kind of a cute house. I could live there. I hope someone feeds those cats. Near Dickens, TX.

Mile 252- Saw a blue heeler chasing a red truck down the middle of the road, and then I saw a Yorkie running in circles across 4 lanes of traffic. It was terrifying to watch. Near Crosbyton , TX

Mile 297- Pit stop for a day and a half to stay with family. In Lubbock, TX

Mile 332-  My first real fear that I was going to be pulled over. I wonder what cops are like in other states. Near some random small town in Texas

Mile 470- What kind of a city doesn't have a gas station?! Near Channing Texas.

Mile 471- I guess the kind of town that takes less than half a mile to drive through. Also, this looks like the road in Brudesmaids where she crashes into that car.

Mile 485- Pretty sure the whole town smells like manure. Near Dalhart, TX

Mile 519- I see these big beautiful clouds on the horizon, and it gives me hope that NM might be close. I haven't seen clouds all morning. Near nothing in TX.

Mile 539- Saw a dog hanging his head out of the window. Really made me miss Finley. Also, just crossed into NM and they had a sign warning against hitchhikers. This state looks promising. Finally in NM.

Mile 603- Although I've seen big hills so far, I think I can spot my first view of actual mountains. Super far away. They are either snow capped or this dirt is really starting to mess with my vision.

Mile 665- Ears just popped because of the altitude change. Colorado is beautiful. I'm in love.

Mile 682- These mountains are breathtaking. I feel humbled and so insignificant to something so large and powerful

Mile 759- second cop scare but at least I've figured out my hotel for the night.

Mile 800- Mountains are too pretty.  I'm gonna end this now while I'm still ahead

Mile 920- Just kidding, had to update and say that there is pretty much nothing in Wyoming but rolling hills over and over