She's got beauty, she's got grace...

But she will, without hesitation, say "shove it" to your face.

Anna Eckhardt is a licensed social worker and a psychotherapist in private practice. Personally that sounds like a dream job and I would like to be her friend/patient. But seeing as how she regularly provides beautifully intellectual and poignant commentary to BuzzFeed, she's probably pretty booked these days.

I read an article recently where Eckhardt talks about the difference in emotional sharing between men and women. It is no secret that even in 2016, men are conditioned to repress the messy stuff because someone, somewhere is still teaching their baby boy that he cant express what he feels for fear of being shoved in a locker and endlessly mocked as a "sissy". While that is not a riveting revelation, it hadn't occurred to me in contrast that we, as women, inherently feel compelled to lighten the mood and worst, lighten the load, putting our own needs and feelings behind those of others.

"Eckhardt offers the example of how we're taught to 'be gracious' above all. In our society, women are taught to be thankful for the space, time, and things 'allowed' or provided to them, she says, with the result being that when we need to demand these things for ourselves, it becomes very difficult."

Earlier this summer, I sat in the cafeteria of a local community college to interview eager youths looking for internships. It was disturbing, and not in the sense that these were soon-to-be high school freshmen with more impressive resumes than my own (one girl developed her own app at age 13 to exploit and monitor the development of cliques in her school district). I was really concerned with the difference in dynamic between the girls and boys. I watched these 14 year old boys nonchalantly interview without an ounce of preparation, but oozing with entitlement. However, I watched girl after girl nervously fidgeting with clothes and hair, practicing elevator pitches, and putting more effort into thanking me and other groups for their time and the opportunity than their male counterparts.

It would be entirely unfair to generalize each gender-- boys and girls as independent but all-encompassing wholes. I try very hard to never do that to any human being. The amount of times people have made assumptions, harsh and unfounded judgments about me are innumerable, and I desperately try to avoid pigeonholing others in the same way. But there was a pattern in that cafeteria. There was a theme, an obvious division that as liberal as I tried to be in this qualitative research, I could not deny.

I wondered if these boys were being taught to be lions, and these girls, gracious lambs, or was it inherent?

Humans are a lot of things inherently, chief among them: self-serving. We come out of the womb that way. I believe that. I believe that on some level we are all looking out for ourselves at first, reliant on those around us to provide without question all that is needed for survival. That's just our nature. But then nurturing happens. Some find this deep sense of guilt for having relied so much, that we exceed others with our independence. Some keep on the tit- suckling and always expecting our needs to be met by those dubbed to serve. And there are others who feel, by their own accord, indebted to those providers; who develop what they call a "servant's heart", slowly but surely always bleeding for a cause, to do their part/make their contribution/give unto others freely.

All of these are fine. I pass no judgment. Every part has a place in our world; a need is satisfied in all situations. But I would be a fool to not realize another pattern. That historically, it is the men who are the fiercely independent, the takers, the crushers of concrete jungles they savagely run through. And historically, women are the gracious, conscientious lambs with servant's hearts. Please know that there are men that are lambs, and women that are lions. There are also humans, men and women alike that are somewhere in the middle or nowhere near those categories at all.

But I couldn't help but notice that day that the proud den leaders were just 14 year old boys, and there was a quiet desperate need to please, to thank, or hone in on the needs of others above their own from these girls.

What I have concluded is not a flag flying high in the name of creating lionesses among our female youth or breaching the enemy lines of male insensitivity. I have concluded that these divisions, these placeholders for lions and lambs, men and women, remain, standing tall, not wavered by progress.

I doubt I will be the driving force in this change, especially not through this blog that most people forgot exists. Although, I do make J tell me why he feels the way he does and that's a super cool transformation to witness. What worries me for these girls, for women, for myself is that while we are proud lambs with bleeding servant's hearts, at what point do we become wholly self sacrificing? At what point do we find ourselves saying yes to everything and no to no one? At what point do we give so much to a person, a service organization, or the worst, our job, and realize that along the line we have given everything? I ask again-- at what point does my servant's heart, the extent of my giving, become an all-you-can-eat buffet?

I brought in gender to this, because I see a pattern in myself, in my world. I see a concerning division among women, where neither side has a solution. I see women so desperate to prove that they are just as worthy, just as smart, and capable and powerful as a man, that they've left their servant's heart far behind. They are then not invested in equalizing women, but making themselves equal with a man. And that doesn't help in the long run, as most self-serving mindsets don't. And then this is the opposite, like me. Where I give, and worry that I haven't given enough so then I give more. This opposite group has a mantra and it reads: "whatever works best for you works for me". We answer the phones politely, and never let the assholes see us cry. We are embarrassed for giving so much, and apologetic for not giving enough. We give because we are called to give, not because we are crazy; we give because we hope if we give enough, someone else will want to give too.

Gender roles aside, there's one problem bigger than the rest--- that somewhere along the line someone decided that whatever society labels you as-- male, female, lion, lamb-- you're stuck with it. I love when J is strong and decisive and independent, but my favorite moments are when he looks at me, quietly, and sheepishly talks to me-- it could be anything, too, as long as I felt that in that moment he was being vulnerable with me. (He sweetly whispered "mcdoubles?" the other day and I would've married him on the spot had we not been nursing the mother of all Pat O'Brien hangovers) Because what I have found most lacking in human nature is vulnerability. We are either labeled as "too vulnerable" (also see: moody, unhappy, crazy, Taylor Swift) or "impenetrable" (also see: intimidating, cold hearted bitch, unfeeling, leaders of literally anything).

We have spent so much time clinging to or speeding away from cliches that we have, as a society, stopped allowing people to change without notice, to adapt without approval, to ebb and flow without apology. When we think of servant hearts as lambs and lambs as less than lions and all of the above are restricted to their own category of human, we lose.

So boys remain lions, and women remain lambs, with a few breaking the mold, but never helping the cause. I think we can do better than this. I hope for our sake we start trying.

AD MAIORA

 I won’t lie. I usually deeply loathe “new year, new me” mantras. I tend to believe that if and when a need or desire for change occurs, one should act in that moment... not waiting for the dangerously magical January, hoping that a new calendar will bring lasting determination to accomplish any goal. It’s always felt a bit silly, and ultimately as if I am setting myself up for failure. Resolutions have gotten a bad reputation over the years when folks gallantly set out to reinvent themselves, only to find out in Mid-February that the said reinvention is exhausting, and possibly not worthy of continuation. I think there’s room to argue that it’s not such a bad thing when people realize that the changes they think they should make are driven by superficial forces and that, in fact, they are quite content with the way they are. But as someone who has experienced a personal shift for well over a year, I decided that 2016 was a good time to make some changes. Call me cliché. Call me a hypocrite. Feel free to also call me thin if this lifestyle change (aka less pasta, more walking) works out in my favor.

I’ve made some resolutions towards a healthier lifestyle and it seems to be going well. I haven’t murdered anyone or been found in a corner shoveling ice cream down my throat in between sobs. 

(for the record, every time I eat celery the quote “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” crosses my mind and I think to myself.. I can name 47 things on the McDonalds menu alone that taste better than skinny feels and anything tastes better than this stick of celery.)

But aside from a better diet and more exercise, I’ve been working on something a bit more… substantial. This year for me is not going to be about reinvention, revision, or reinvigoration. I am taking a cue from my girl Shonda Rhimes and going out on a limb- I am saying yes to more, especially myself. “Ad Maiora” is the title of this blog and means towards something greater. That’s my goal and this, dear friends, is going to be my most vulnerable year yet.

To be vulnerable is to be susceptible to physical emotional attack or harm—a common definition among us. However, I spent a lot of minutes looking up definitions, example, and synonyms of this word only to find the same theme. The English language tends to associate pain, danger, and fear with being vulnerable. Luckily, I spent some online time with Brené Brown on this topic. In her TEDtalk, she noted that her qualitative research brought to light an earth-shattering conclusion: the people in this world who believe they are truly, wholly worthy of love and belonging are those who see vulnerability as fundamental, while those who struggle with their sense of worthiness see vulnerability as excruciating.

Brené breaks down the three necessary factors to ridding a life of shame:

1.   Accept “courage” as not an act of valiant bravery, but as the ability to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart
2.  Instill compassion for yourself, first and foremost, and then let that carry over into your treatment of others
3. Connect with yourself and those around you with authenticity

Here’s where we are going to get vulnerable.

I struggle with my own internal sense of worthiness. Like Brené said in her talk, I don’t have family issues or some childhood bullshit. I think it’s always been around, but if I’m being honest, it has really come out to play since my aneurysm. That moment and the recovery that is still in progress debilitated my independence, threw my identity and purpose into the shitter, and exasperated some deeply-rooted feelings of inadequacy. Don’t worry, this is not a pity party. It’s just part of this journey of vulnerability.

It has been proven that in more times than not, people who struggle with worthiness often desperately aim to make uncertain situations or plans concrete. I have struggled during this last year with lashing out when I’m not in control—I am snappier, sassier, and sometimes just plain mean in my responses. Some people use humor to deflect discomfort—apparently not all of my jokes are funny. I am always looking for ways to make myself “perfect” for whatever audience is watching. I’m like a human chameleon! Which sounds fun with that exclamation point but it’s not. Trust me. And ultimately, I’ve viewed any moment of vulnerability as excruciating weakness, not as normal and fundamental.

I have not had the courage in every situation to let myself be seen and to tell my story whole-heartedly for fear of rejection. I haven’t been kind to myself… often leading to me not being as kind as possible to others (super sorry mom, you’ve taken the brunt of this).  And I have not been connecting with myself, and probably others, out of authenticity.

Brené said that part of this struggle is rooted in selective numbing: the practice of numbing certain emotions. Unfortunately, we aren’t advanced enough to truly accomplish that. When we numb one emotion, we numb ourselves to all of them. So while we (I) try to block out feelings of fear or shame, I also put up a wall against creativity, warmth, tenderness. It’s a bastard of a battle, let me tell you.

BUT GUESS WHAT? It’s going to be okay. It always is. I like to tell myself that if I can learn to walk again, I can learn anything—even if that is acceptance, joy, courage, compassion and connection.

The best thing any of us can do is try to be better. Focus on responding instead of reacting. Delve into daily acts of joy. Search for big and small moments, people, places, and experiences to be deeply grateful for. For example-- I started a gratitude journal earlier this month. Every day I write in it at least one thing I am grateful that day. Some days I’m like “totally grateful for this Starbucks latte ”, other days I take up an entire page of people and moments I want to acknowledge. This is not an exact science, but I would go out on a limb to say that we could all use a little more mindfulness to our world.

I wonder if we spent more time being kinder to ourselves, respecting and celebrating exactly who we are, if that would spill over into our interactions, into our connection with the rest of the world.

I sure as hell hope so.

Stay tuned. More awkward insights into my own brand of crazy to come!

Grace and Gratitude

I've been noodling with a post this week, anxious to not let my blog fall to the wayside now that I am in San Antonio. Because isn't that the whole point of the Internet?  Location shouldn't matter if the content remains relevant. (or at least, that's what I'm telling myself)

I drafted a piece on complaining. It is, indeed, one of my most treasured activities aside from primetime television and eating McDonald's. But what I felt most necessary to complain about is something none of us can fix: 90+ degree weather in mid-October. Bitching about warmer temps will not, unfortunately, convince Mother Nature to give me the autumn breeze I desperately crave.

The next piece I drafted was on how I've magically found myself doing really adult things like: weekly date nights with my boyfriend and pre-sunrise dog walks with mi madre; planning my evening around flea baths and Target runs; working at a desk from 8a-5p; joyfully stocking my desk drawer with healthy snacks (because heaven forbid I become even slightly hungry in between meals). I could go on and on because I have spent an absurd amount of time realizing how adult-like I am ... and how, 98% of the time I feel like I'm playing a video game where I've skipped the tutorial and am just sort of running around with no idea how anything actually works. But, this is not some riveting revelation. I'm certain many twentysomethings find themselves all of sudden being adulty. It's just like "BAM 10p, time for bed because I'm an adult. Also, did I get enough calcium today? You know #bonehealth"

Despite my now exposed lack of creativity, I figured I would just leave the browser open for a bit and hope something would come to me. It was not until I was aggressively sifting through holiday tablescape ideas on Pinterest that inspiration struck. One table display debuted an easy way to make your own placemats. The stamped quote of choice read "Give Thanks with Grateful Hearts".

It's like life ... or God... hit me upside the head, Jethro Gibbs style. This whole time I've been searching for ways to write about negative things: complaining in general and then complaining specifically about my newfound depleted youth. "What's with you, Debbie Downer?", the nonmushy part of my brain said. The reality is the negative stuff is funnier. I'm literally picturing Jakob's face when he catches me 'in a mood' about something utterly maddening and equally ridiculous. The poor guy thinks he's just asking how I am, only to get an earful about something that doesn't matter *to anyone* and can't be fixed. But when I saw that preciously handcrafted placemat, I knew I had fallen into the ultimate blogger trap-- "bitching just to bitch".

So here's what's gonna go down today. I'm not going to bitch. I'm not going to rant about the fact that it's basically still summer in Texas. I'm not going to tell you all about how weird it is to be an adult. I'm sitting back, closing my eyes, letting my heart and my mind fill with what's important: grace and gratitude.

 There are a lot of things I could get twisted about that aren't so superficial. I could sit here on my soapbox (I'm far too lazy to stand on it) and tell you about overwhelming feelings of self-doubt, a hurt heart and an even more wounded pride, and fighting against petty judgment. But I'm not going to do that either. I think so much of what weighs me down is not my affinity for McDoubles, but because I am a certified, card-carrying member of a top not-so-secret society, Grudge Holders Anonymous (GHA for short).

I think it is often so easy for us to get bogged down with things that suck-- especially when those "things" are people's attitude (and when I can't wear a scarf without sweating). Jakob and I went to Sunday mass at Blessed Sacrament, a new joint for me, and the sermon delved into a discussion on letting go. The question posed was this: "What is something that you could let go of that is holding you back from stronger relationships?" And that went for all kinds of relationships. The one we have with God, our spouses and significant others, our families, our friends. That's not to say that you should just brush ya shoulders off every time someone is a jackass to you. But, really think about it. Is there something that you are refusing to let go of, and subsequently, letting it dictate the growth in your relationships?

Sometimes people wrong us. Sometimes people hurt us. Sometimes we grow up without realizing it. Sometimes Mother Nature just won't give me afternoons in the high 60s. With very minimal effort, I can usually find something to complain about. Most times, I'm not actually upset- I just think being generally cynical is entertaining. But once in a blue moon, I am upset. Every so often, I get a legitimate pass to lose my cool, be angry and cry (also, another favorite pastime). However, Steve Maraboli (via @elitedaily) said it best--

"How would your life be different if you stopped allowing other people to dilute or poison your day with their words or opinions?"

A little more grace and a lot more gratitude could go a long way towards a healthier and happier life. Maybe I'm insane or naïve. Scratch that, I know I am both. But, I'm not sure I am wrong on this. Maybe if we all took a little time to stop looking for faults, stop bitching just to bitch, and focused on the good in ourselves, the good in this life, and the good in others, maybe...just maybe, everyone could find a little bigger slice of happiness.

                       Speaking of slice: I really wish I could get some pie delivered to my office.

if you jump, I jump Jack

self·ish [ADJ]: lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

Of all things I strive to not be, selfish takes the cake. Nothing irks me more than blatant disregard for others, for how your opinions, your actions, and even a lack of action affects another. My generation is constantly judged for an insatiable need for instant gratification and an overwhelming selfish mindset. Yet I have met handfuls of people from varying generations that fit the definition above.  I truly believe, as humans, we are innately selfish. Maybe it's our programming or upbringing. Maybe it's an engrained desire to achieve the "American Dream". Maybe it's just how the world remains spinning on its axis. I'll be sure to let you know when I figure out the common denominator. But, however unsuccessful I may be at times, I absolutely try to be as unselfish, as self-sacrificing for the good of whole, as possible. This past weekend, however, I was selfish.

Within the span of five days, literally FIVE, I changed my entire path. For some, that may sound insane... and trust me, i'm still digesting it all myself. I not only interviewed for a position in another city, but I accepted that position and am bidding Fort Worth adieu on Sunday. I am packing up and moving back in with my parents (hope they know or this will be very awkward). I am leaving the city that has made me so much of who I am. I left a perfectly good job. I am leaving brilliant humans who have given me more than I could ever hope for-- love, support, true friendship. The most selfish part of this is that I am leaving my perfect roommate/best friend/little sister to survive 2.5 more months in our house, on our crazy street, in our little oasis alone. The truth is, I am leaving so much of what has made my world bright, my heart full and it's the hardest decision I've made in a long while. But as I sit here in the backyard that has become my sanctuary over the last three years, I've found peace.

"you have to do things
for yourself before you
do things for other people.
love yourself
then love other people.
trust yourself
then trust other people.

be kind to yourself.
be good to yourself.

when it is time for other people,
it will be time for other people.
but right now
you have to save yourself
before you can save other people."
- r.m. drake

no one ever tells you what growing up is like. you spend endless hours studying for tests, completing hundreds of pages of assignments and then you get out, degree in hand with an invincible attitude ready to take on the real world. I've been making a decent run at the real world for a year and a half now. but for the first time in 16 months, I think I've actually got something figured out. scratch that, I know I do. I know that this past weekend, this week, in this moment, I have to be selfish. I have to take this incredible career path and run. I have to pack up my things, sign a new contract, and go for it. Luckily, I live with a beautiful human whose love and support for me runs deep. Luckily, I've found a nice married couple with a spare bedroom. But even if I weren't so fortunate, I would be crazy to not jump at this chance to pursue my calling, to be more than what I am now, to follow my heart.

Eight days ago, I stumbled across an Instagram of this awesome shiplap sign that read "Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created" (Esther 4:14). I saw it and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I snapped a screenshot and tucked it away because I knew there was a reason it resonated so deeply. Three days later, I got the call for the interview and over the weekend, I accepted the position for Constituent Services with District 10 City Councilman, Mike Gallagher. Now all I need is some killer pant suits and I'm basically Olivia Pope.

Strategic Communications majors at TCU have gotten a bad rap over the years. It has been dubbed the "MRS" degree of the school-- the degree that pretty girls who just want to be housewives, but whose parents made them go to college, get so that way they can plan awesome bridal showers and birthday parties. It is so very far from the truth. We aren't just a bunch of Real Housewives in the making. I have met so many men and women Strat Comm majors who have gone on to have incredible careers in all kinds of fields. Some found their success right out of the gate, making those of us who are late bloomers envious and sad that we've somehow missed the window of opportunity. But you would be a fool to think that window is restricted to the first three months after graduation. Opportunity comes knocking everyday. My opportunity showed up this week.

A year ago this weekend, I was making my way back to Fort Worth after *the incident* with my brain. I could have stayed in San Antonio. I could've found my way into a job there and not come back. But I would've regretted it. This last year has been one for the books-- full of so much fun, life lessons and yes, a big dose of love. I wouldn't change one moment because my mother is right: every single thing that happens in this life is part of a bigger plan, part of God's plan. There are good things that happen and there are bad things that happen, but they all matter; they are all part of the plan. I didn't think that I would be here, at this crossroads, but here I am, steadfastly following the plan.

I am so humbled by everything the last five and a half years has brought me. I am so grateful for the people I have met, my friends, my mentors, my anchors. So much of my heart will always be in this city. But while my wings have taken me to a new place full of some of the very best people in this world, my roots are where I belong. So, to San Antonio I go with a new job, with my cool new roommates, with my phenomenal boyfriend; it's time I don't have to finagle my travels for Fiesta.

In the eternal words of Logan Huntzberger, "It'll be fun, it'll be a thrill. Isn't this the point of being young? It's your choice, Ace. People can live a hundred years without really living for a minute. You climb up here with me, it's one less minute you haven't lived."

Thank you TCU, Fort Worth, my friends that have become my family-- I am who I am because of you. Promise you'll visit-- San Antonio has better Mexican food.

Judgment Day

Being a "Millennial" is by far one of the most fascinating plights of my life. As if navigating through the real world at 23 isn't difficult enough, the ideology of Millennials has erased centuries of precedents. Anything goes. What was once deemed "taboo" is now basic. What was once deemed "right" is no longer the standard. It is a different world the one we live in and I couldn't be more grateful.

@betches instagrammed this today:

The caption read: "This is the most millennial headline ever" and IT IS SO TRUE. I am "liberal" when it comes to social issues and unconditionally accepting of however anyone chooses to live their life, but I didn't even know "sexually fluid" was a thing. Now I know and all I gotta say is "you go girl".

You see-- this is our world. There aren't rules of society to abide by. Stereotypes are for the weak and ignorant. This world, our world, driven by Millennials, is about breaking barriers and not just accepting, but praising the differences in each of our lives. We get to make the rules and our number one rule is the oldest adage there is- do not judge a book by its cover. I would think that would be hard to argue against, but I am disappointed to report that so many have not seen the light of acceptance and respect.

Despite this world we live in being rich with change, not everyone has jumped aboard. People suck. People are mean. And the most frightening and heart-wrenching is that people actively CHOOSE to hurt others. Luta said " You can be as "traditional" as they get. Know the stories, sing the songs, and suffer for the people; but if you can't stop gossiping, bringing people down and treating people like they are below you- our traditions mean nothing."

I have three tattoos. I like a stiff drink on an occasional week night. I curse more than I should and some days, I don't wash my hair. But I never show up to a dinner party empty-handed. I still send proper thank you notes in the mail. I strive to always be respectful and gracious. And my heart is as big as the ocean is deep. So which of those matter more than the others? I think they all matter. I think every facet of every human matters. Just because the cover is untraditional does not mean the content is unworthy. There comes a point in every human's life where they have to realize that they will never be 'good enough' for some people. The question that I beg you to ask yourself is this: Is not being 'good enough' your problem or theirs?

Please don't be fooled by the soapbox I am standing on today- I am not perfect. I am all kinds of judgey on a good day and it's not something I am proud of. But I am human. However, I would like to believe that I truly do not disregard another person's worth because of their "cover".

SCOTUS said this on marriage rights: "No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization's oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right."

Whether we are discussing marriage, friendship, or general humanity, the reality of the world we live in and should so desperately cling to is that EVERYONE deserves equal dignity. What Millennials, myself included, are fighting for in this world is not instant gratification and the abolishment of authority. We just want the people around us and generations before us to give us a chance to prove our worth despite our covers not fitting an outdated standard.

The reason people say that you find love when you least expect it is not to give false hope to singles swiping on Tinder. It is the clichéd truth-- you find love, friendship, success and fulfillment when you stop looking because then and only then have you let your guard down, become vulnerable and open to any possibility. We should not judge a person whose burdens we have not carried, whose challenges we have not faced, whose battles we have not fought, whose path we have not walked. We should only love and pray for them. We only know what life is like in the shoes on our own feet. Even Jesus knew that.

There are only two remedies I have found for battling the wrath of judgment:
            1. Surround yourself with good, kind-hearted people who respect you and the path you walk
            2. Know your own worth

If you keep the good hearts around and truly believe that all you are is worthy of love and respect, you will come to realize that those who don't see your worth are the ones missing out.

unbecoming

Life is a funny thing-- one minute it is this beautiful blessing filled with unicorns, good wine, all of your favorite people and jaw-breaking smiles; the next moment you are sitting on the floor sifting through the proverbial shambles wondering WTF just happened. Life is funny and fickle, but mostly, life is filled to the brim with light and love... if you know where to look.

Today is Monday August 3, 2015. Today was like most Mondays- manic, mind-numbing, slightly disheartening, hotter than the depths of hell and worthy of a very cold beer. But as I sit here listening to pop hits and watch Sam the Lab desperately rip apart something that used to resemble a shoe, I can't help but be grateful for all that today was.

Three hundred and sixty seven days ago, things were a little different. For most of you, I imagine if you looked back to where you were at this time last year, you would be keenly aware at how much can change in less than 400 days. Around this exact time last year, my sweet sister and former Merida Mate, Ashley, was heading out to Dallas for what became her evening shift at Zale-Lipschy University Hospital. She would come, armed with her iPad and Nalgene bottle and often dinner, and most evenings would just sit beside my hospital bed, while my mother took a much needed breath of fresh air. It wasn't a day full of meetings that could've been emails, 6 cups of tea, software training and no lunch hour. That day, like most that would follow it over the next few weeks, were stacked with constant vital checks, blood draws, catheters, and some sassy attending doctor asking me obscure questions to gauge my cognitive progress.

By now most of you are well-aware and probably so sick of hearing about that time my AVM burst and bled out into my brain. It's okay to think that-- some days I get sick of the story too. I get sick of trying to evaluate if my head hurts or if I'm having another stroke. I get sick of bad hand writing days. I get sick of forgetting things and being a little moodier than before. I get really sick of falling-- of losing my balance and legitimately falling. Last week, I was walking into the house with a HUGE jar of pickles from Sam's Club, only to lose my balance rounding a doorway and smashed the damn thing all over the floor. Luckily, it was my parents' house so I wasn't alone to wallow in self-pity that I just destroyed a concession stand jug of pickles that I planned to eat all by myself; but I fall at Merida more times a week than I will ever admit and each time it sucks. But if I am being honest with you and with myself, what I am most sick of is that tiny, nagging feeling that creeps in when things go awry and all my mess of a brain can muster are thoughts of incapability.

Please do not misunderstand me. I got lucky. I was saved. I have made a miraculous recovery and to the general onlooker, you probably wouldn't have guessed that last year I was a bed-ridden, mumbling, stroke patient who desperately needed to wash her hair. But grief and trauma are messy. They live essentially undetectable 90% of the time and then one tiny thing triggers a tidal wave of emotions. 3pm Saturday was that wave. I was sitting outside at a super rad bar, Javelina, in Austin waiting for my boyfriend to return with more drinks, and when 3p hit, the exact moment of the bleed, I lost it. I called my mom and all I could say was "I love you" in between ugly sobs. My precious father called a few minutes later, parallel to the time he called last year to see if I was still conscious/alive while waiting for the paramedics. By the time I hung up with El Jefe, the waves had crashed and I was reeling myself back to shore. Jakob set down the drinks, reclaimed his seat, immediately noticed the ugly tears and sweetly inquired about exactly what I was feeling. For the first time, it truly wasn't sadness. I wasn't sad about the setbacks I had and continue to experience. I wasn't sad about the version of myself I lost. I was truly so happy. So happy to have had my incredible friends text me with a range of messages from "you're an inspiration" to "glad you're still alive"-- all appreciated in their own context. I was so happy to have opened the hotel door earlier that day to a stunning bouquet from my best gal pal. I was so happy to have received a fabulous bag of goodies and two bottles of champagne from my parents for our weekend in Austin. I was so unbelievably happy to be alive and to be celebrating all that this last year has brought to my world with my best friend/brilliantly caring and supportive boyfriend who let me laugh and cry and feel all I needed to feel as the reality of this "anniversary" set in.

*crying is an ugly look for me, but I felt prettier because it was driven by joy and hidden by Ray-Bans.

A few weeks back, my mother shared a graphic on Facebook with a quote that read: "Maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything. Maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you, so you can be who you were meant to."

 I lost several months of my "normal life" in hospitals and rehab and general recovery and there are some things that will never be the same. There is no mistaking that I am a different person than I was last year leading up to the bleed. I am more sensitive (or as mom says "moody") and a little wobbly on my feet. I am stronger in my faith and even closer to my family than most could ever imagine. I hug tighter, laugh louder, love harder and smile more than I frown. I am still insanely flawed and definitely human, but my heart is happy. That quote is right-- last year, a lot was taken from me and my family and so much had to be rebuilt. But being forced to start over from scratch was a beautiful, perfect blessing in disguise. Learning to walk and talk and write and drive is hard at any age, but they said I was lucky because I was young and healthy (haha, OKAY super healthy with a bleeding brain? good one, docs). PLOT TWIST-- starting over as a twentysomething means battling an engrained sense of invincibility. Thankfully, I had to walk through HEB in a caftan with a cane and if that doesn't humble you, nothing will.

This last year has been exactly that quote- a year of "unbecoming". It has been a year of tearing down walls and expectations. It has been a year of starting over. Without the bleed, without being literally and metaphorically broken down, I may still be on a journey, chasing a person/dream/life that wasn't meant for me. There aren't words that do my gratitude justice for all who saved my life, rescued my family, who went through and are still going through it all with us. I am Eternally grateful for "our world" and that is where I find my light when the tunnel is especially long and dark.

 I wouldn't suggest an aneurysm to anyone, but "unbecoming" has been an enlightening, profound experience. I say you should never underestimate how or when you find your happiness-- just be grateful for the opportunity and never let it go to waste.

When Left to Her Own Devices

I remember this day last year distinctly. It was a week after graduating, a full seven days since walking the stage, cap and gown and goofy smile all on worn proudly. My high school graduation was filled with more nerves, having had to give the ceremony invocation as Senior Class Chaplain, praying to God that when I prayed to God out loud on that stage, I didn’t royally screw up. It went well if I recall correctly, so thank to the Big Dude for that one. But graduating college was a different experience entirely, at least for me. The coliseum was under construction so our entire class graduated at once in the middle of our massively impressive (for us) football stadium and it was HOTTER THAN HELL. I sat with my gown completely unzipped and used my program as a makeshift fan. And to be completely honest, no one really knew how this whole singular graduation outside was going to go. It was a free-for-all. People were up and all over the place; I watched a kid order pizza, leave the stadium to meet the delivery guy and bring the box back to his row. But that’s how things worked with my class. We were a hot mess and we still are… or at least Hilary and I are. But a year ago today, I was sitting there wondering why I didn’t feel any different. I remember feeling more accomplished when grades came in and we all knew we would get to walk than I did a week later, diploma on display and a full week of work under my belt. But that’s where graduating college gets tricky.

You spend four years chasing this dream, working hard and probably playing harder. You soak up every last memory you can, never missing a trip or happy hour. You do a multitude of now-pointless papers, prepare for endless interviews, and hope to God you can pass as a decent adult. And then all of that hard work ends with a piece of paper, the prized TCU Alumni car sticker and hopefully a full-time job. (let’s be real—any sort of job at that point will do).  But then what? No one actually prepares you for what the real world is going to be… or better yet, what it won’t be. No one tells you that your once standard 1am bedtime would quickly be traded in for 9pm. No one EVER tells you what a hangover is like at 23. No one tells you that being an adult will be boring and kind of hard and mostly anti-climatic for a while.  

There are some people I know who excel at being a young professional. They have a really, really snazzy job and more money than they know what to do with. They have a killer group of colleagues that appreciate weekly happy hours and spend their weekends off gallivanting at musical festivals #nochella. But for the rest of us, being an adult is just a thing we would rather not do. Oh what we would give to be 20 and only have to worry about reading quizzes or finding a decent formal date.

But to be honest, I haven’t been this happy in a really long time. They call college your “formative years” and that cliché rings all too true when I really sit down and think about who I was rolling up to Fort Worth five years ago. I recognize that girl, but only in some aspects. I have changed in more ways than I could’ve imagined. And while I give my collegiate years the credit they deserve for getting me to where I am now, the real game changer has been the last 12 months.

It’s been one hell of year. I worked so hard that summer following graduation; months of nonstop working for two cool ladies and a neat company. And most of that was because I thought that’s how this post-grad thing went down. You go to college for a degree to get a good job and then you work, a lot. In high school, you work really hard to get to pick the university of your choice, to determine the kind of experience you want for those formative years. I picked TCU for a lot of really good reasons and I wouldn’t trade that alumni car sticker for anything. Hell, by December, I will have lived in the same house behind campus for three years. I really do love my alma mater and this town. But August 1, 2014 took that world I was desperately clinging to and turned it upside down.

The three months following the aneurysm, better known as Kimmy Jyon, sometimes doesn’t even feel real. But then I remember braving HEB with my mom, my first real outing since getting out of rehab (the kind for stroke patients, not Lindsay Lohan), hobbling behind her with my cane, and it gets real very fast. Humor is really my strongest defense mechanism and I’ve worked hard since August to keep things light when it comes to my brain. No one wants to hear the tragic parts about that. Last week, the oldest girl I used to nanny, Jordi, texted me as she was driving through Dallas, passing my hospital of residence for most of August, and said “remember that time you almost died?” My response was “remember that time I didn’t wash my hair for three weeks?” It’s funnier that way. It’s easier to deal with that way. But the reality is, August kicked my ass. So did September. So did October, even as I made my way to that first football game of the season I could physically attend. There are days even now that are more challenging than I would like. But life has this incredibly funny way of humbling you, of bringing you to a perspective that you never anticipated. And for that, I am Eternally grateful. Don’t get me wrong—I’m totally grateful I didn’t die, too, but I do have faith that had things gone south, it would’ve been a very fun funeral (party theme, open bar, cover band, the whole shebang).

So yeah, I remember a year ago. I remember the post-grad dream I thought I was supposed to achieve; the life I thought I was meant to lead. Some days, I miss that dream. Some days, I miss the path I was on and the person I was. Some days I sit and think about how much easier things would be, had my brain kept its shit together, had I stayed with Consuro at the pace I was progressing, had the “dream” panned out. But if the last 23 years have taught me anything, hell- the last 12 months, it’s that “easy” does not an extraordinary life make. Everything that I was last year, everything that I thought I wanted, was all really lovely and fun and would’ve been good. But because of these last 12 months, I am a much better version of myself. I made a huge career jump, one that was scary but fills my soul daily with goodness. I have some of the most incredible friends, ones who appreciate how embarrassing I am 99% of the time and like me because of that. I am in love with a truly great man who never ceases to make me laugh, to challenge me, and who brings a light to this world I didn’t know I was missing. And just when I thought I couldn’t be any closer to my family, I am. They are my life line, my heart and soul, my greatest blessing. San Antonio has never felt so far away as it does now.

When shit hits the fan, the people who step up without being asked, who show up unannounced, who never give up on you, are the people you should go to the ends of the world for. If nothing else had come out of the last year except those people, I would still consider myself the most blessed.

To those who are a year or more into this post-grad daze, I challenge you to think about what you’re doing and who you are doing it with. I challenge you to look in the mirror really hard and be sure you recognize and LOVE the person looking back at you. To those newly graduated, I challenge you to look at this next chapter of your life with fresh eyes and an open heart. I challenge you to not absent-mindedly accept “the dream”, but to actively pursue a fulfilling life. The most incredible thing about this life is that it is capable of changing on a dime. It most likely will flip a switch on you and that’s when who you are truly meant to be will surface. It may be a choice and it may not be. But one day, it will all be clear and that’s your moment to relish in, to seize.

I often say that I really shouldn’t be left to my own devices. When I’m alone, there’s no telling the kind of overanalyzing I can produce. But every once in a while, it’s good to be alone, to overanalyze and it be sure that you are still growing. Just because the time spent in college is the coined “formative years” does not mean the rest of your life is meant for standing still. Extraordinary lives are possible if you let go of what you think it should look like. I beg you to keep growing, keep exploring, keep loving and hoping and fighting for yourself. No one is making you recycle those Miller Lite cans, but at least try not to be wasteful when it comes to your Earthly life.

YOLO, my friends, YOLO.

resolution revolution

From mid-October to mid-March, I smile more than most. Things in Texas finally cool down and even better- calm down. There's something about the Texas heat that gets people all hot and bothered (literally, you filthy animals). But this.. this is my most favorite time of year. There is always something to say at the end of my sales calls- "Enjoy this great weather!"; "Happy Holidays!"; "Have a great New Year"; "Oy! Hanukkah is over already? I feel like it's only been 3 days!" Even the 4000 people in line at Old Navy on the last Saturday before XMAS were cheery. The world just has a pep in its step and I'm skipping right along, too. 

But once Christmas tidings have been spread and Granny's out of eggnog, the fun is over. I will inevitably open up any social medium on December 31st, find the devil of all posts: "New Year! New Me!" and think to myself: OH SWEET FRESH-FROM-THE-VIRGIN-MARY'S-WOMB ANGEL BABY JESUS, SPARE ME.  

These posts and the mindset that accompanies them poses two very poignant questions:

1. What is so bad about yourself that you feel the need to devote an entire 12 months to completely reinventing yourself? 

2. If said human flaws are so horrid, so tragic that a reinvention is actually necessary... WHY are you waiting until January to start the process?

I am human, not surprising to anyone; and I am a human with flaws. Should I run more? Probably. Should I drink less? Eh. Should I not swear as often? Definitely. But those are things that I should consider all days of the year, not just at the beginning of a new one. Now, some people need set goals. Some people need lists and sticky notes and ways to track their progress- helllloooo fitbit. But to those that are desperate to start anew, I beg you to reconsider.

I remember sitting cross-legged at cabin devotional at Camp Capers one really hot summer night and talking about "worth". We talked about things we didn't like about ourselves (which at 9 years of age doesn't touch what i have to offer at 22). We talked about body image and purity of heart and mean things those stupid cootie-clad boys said about us and the difference between complacent acceptance and the true embracing of our human flaws. It may seem intense, but I think the goal was to explore that then in hopes of instilling a way to combat the issues that were bound to sneak back up later in life *not sure it worked, but A for effort*. At the end of it all, we hashed out the notion that God didn't just accept us for who we are, but loved us for it and if He could do it- if He could see, understand, respect and love us for our exact make up (big ears and all), we should work to do the same for others, and especially for ourselves.

You are a living, breathing human with a real purpose in this life. Whatever your beliefs may be, that should hold true. We are in control of adjusting our lifestyle to smooth out whatever "flaw" we think we possess, but saying and believing that the person you are in this moment is unworthy of another year breaks my heart. (And for the record, if I voted to reinvent myself in my 23rd year of life, I would feel bad for the people that put up with me for the prior 22. Like.. I should've started when I was 4 before all the real damage was done, not wait until after the storm.) 

So what I propose, with all of my mighty blogger power to do so, is a revolution of the resolution. We, as humans, evolve every hour, every day, every year. I am not the same person I was this time last year. I don't even have the time nor energy to break down that journey so just take my word for it. But from what I've seen, felt, and lived through, I've learned that the most important, pivotal, essential resolution we can make is not to start from scratch or to budget more carefully- it is to break free from what's been broken.

According to the second chapter of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, there are obstacles or burdens one inevitably encounters along the spiritual path. These are called kleshas and there are five:

1. avidyā:  ignorance; confusion; lack of insight

2. asmitā: self centeredness

3. rāga: belief that outer circumstances are responsible for good luck

4. dveṣa: belief that outer circumstances are responsible for unhappiness 

5. abhiniveśaḥ: deep seated anxiety; fear of death

Whatever it is that has happened, whatever it is that knocked you down- it does not have to control you or define you. It can and is merely an obstacle that hit you really damn hard straight in the face. So what makes your klesha any harder or easier to handle than another's? Nothing. It's just different. So what if instead of fixating on "flaws", the broken pieces of your life, by vowing to eat less or run more or not drink 4 cups of coffee daily, we resolved to fall in love with who we are right now and only strive to improve our minds, bodies and spirits if we choose to walk a new or different path? Just because something is broken does not mean it is ruined.

Your happiness is in your hands, as is your unhappiness. Do things because they add to your life, because they feed your soul- not because you think they will make you better. Because if we are being completely honest- we should question who dictates the definition of "better"?  I think what the world needs is a little more compassion for the unfiltered, imperfect, true-to-form human being. The things you do, the people you surround yourself with and the thoughts you think should all fill you up with love, not remind you of the ways you "don't measure up". Maybe the reason we can't love our neighbors as ourselves...is because we, in fact, do not love ourselves. 

 Enjoy your life. It is a beautiful gift, in all of its brokenness, and it is yours.
Give love and gratitude everywhere you go. Happy 2015, my friends. 

INVICTUS

It’s like riding a bike”- a cliche meant to reassure a person that whatever obstacle they are currently facing is, in fact, easy. You know what is easy? Microwaving Easy Mac. It is literally in the title. But as I sit here trying to think of activities, emotions, tasks that are universally easy, I struggle. For something to be considered easy, it must be the opposite of difficult. My company’s Marketing Director can whip in, out and around spreadsheets without even the slightest hiccup. They make me want to pull out my eyelashes one by one. Being witty comes effortlessly to Maggie, who has an unparalled sense of humor. I cannot even think about myself in the same capacity which my mother thinks about others- her thoughtfulness is unreal, y’all. Of course, there are some things that come naturally, easy to me; painting my own nails, doing anything with my brother (except wrestling where I inevitably get my ass kicked) and love.

Grief, however, is not easy. For anyone. It is not even kind of easy. It is hard, messy, and unpredictable. This is because there is no telling what will send someone into a grief-stricken oblivion. Being human means that we have different triggers. For some it’s the loss of a loved one; for some it is a cancer diagnosis; for some it is an ended marriage; for some it is an unpredictable birth; for some a broken high heel can really send them over the edge. It is not our place to say that someone’s trigger is any less traumatic than “typical” or “legitimate” hardships. You would be amazed at the things that can put me in tears. I cried in Bill Miller’s BBQ a few weeks back for heaven’s sake…and everything at that place is pure gold.

Grief is the way we process loss- regardless of the significance of that loss to others. I had an aneurysm. I started bleeding in my brain and actually almost died. And yet, I burst into tears one night in ICU, wailing to my mother that “I will never dance again”. (ps- my talent level pre-aneurysm was not enviable… by any means. Just so you understand that it was not something to cry over). But I have come to learn in the last 60+ days, that what makes grief so messy, so miserable for anyone has actually the same common denominator- the loss of possibility. Maybe it could’ve been prevented. Maybe it could’ve been delayed. But what is gone is gone and you’re left, often alone, to reel yourself back in.

I have learned a lot in the last two months, about myself and others. I have seen the true side of people, some of which I wish I could unsee. But I also have been witness to a level of compassionate, empathy and love that I’ve never known. The people in my world have restored my faith in humanity and in myself. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for those that brought me back to life. I was never left alone and that is the greatest blessing, the real champion in my recovery. But I’m not 100%. I may never be. The reason I can’t say a lot of things are easy is because I had to relearn the “easy” stuff. Learning to walk as a child isn’t difficult because you’ve never known what it’s like to walk. Trying to teaching your legs to move normally when it once came easier than breathing is hard. And while I am grateful every day to be alive, to be back in Fort Worth navigating my twentysomething world, to have a support system unlike most—it does not mean that I am not grieving the loss of the abilities and a life I had before 3pm on August 1.

Someone told me that they admire my “strength” like it was a gift I was born with. I was born with two legs. I was born with a big nose. I was not born “strong”. I don’t believe you are deemed weak or strong at the beginning. You do not come out of the womb capable of being a successful single father. You are not destined to kick cancer’s ass. Some people may disagree. There are people I know who think that we are born equipped to deal with whatever obstacle is in our life’s “plan”. I don’t buy it. I don’t think I am any more capable of surviving an aneurysm than anyone else. I don’t believe that my brother was born with Down Syndrome because my parents were “made” to handle it. You don’t lose your spouse because you’re strong. You don’t have a sports career ending injury because the universe determined you capable of moving forward at conception. Things, good and bad, happen to good and bad people every day. The way you respond is a choice. It may not be a conscious choice, but it is a choice nonetheless.

Of course, I believe in destiny. But I believe that each person has the potential and ability to determine their own destiny. If there wasn’t a choice, a choice wouldn’t be presented. Choices change the course of our lives every second… thus why time travelling is so frowned upon. You alter a moment, you decide differently, you change the course. It’s that simple.

I may be naïve. I am certainly clouded by my own grief. But to me, choosing strength is the same thing as choosing happiness. You may not feel it all day, every day… but you should aim for a daily glimpse or two. We all live in an uneasy reality; one that is marked by living through moments that are so internally traumatic, yet almost undetectable to the onlooker. But adversity, like grief, comes in many shapes and sizes and severity. No one chooses adversity, but you always have the ability to choose strength as your weapon of choice when adversity comes knocking. William Ernest Henley believed in the potential of the human spirit. He believed that it can be indefatiguable. He believed that strength, while rooted deep in our souls, was a choice. Because of those beliefs and because he made the same choice for himself, he wrote “Invictus” (translation: unconquerable)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

You, me, friends, family, and strangers alike are all innately unconquerable. We all have the potential to succeed, to survive and to thrive in the midst of the most unimaginable adversity. Choice, not chance, determines our destinies. You are the master of your fate. You are the captain of your soul. The only thing you have to do is chose to reach your own potential, trusting that your intentions are good, your eyes are clear and your heart is full. Then, and only then can you not lose. 

Ain't It Fun?

In world of blogging, a 4 month hiatus is just plain shameful. The inability, regardless of circumstance, to write regularly can only mean one of three things: 
1. you suck
2. you're a rookie
3. you don't actually care 

Considering TCT has been live for only one year, I'm obviously a rookie. Not the Andy Dalton kind though-more like Steve DeBerg circa 1978.  Number one is true because I totally suck for letting my absence get so out of hand. If this blog was my cable bill, Charter would have cut my ass off a long time ago. But as far as the last conclusion goes, FALSE. I absolutely DO care. Don't get me wrong, people. There are a lot of things I honestly could care less about ... including but not limited to: professional soccer, calories in a McDonald's cheeseburger, having only 23 songs in my iTunes library, the dead potted plants on Merida's front porch, etc., etc. This blog, however, is cared about. But I won't complain because in the eyes and eternal words of Meat Loaf, "Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad".

In my defense, my last post was exactly 51 days prior to graduating. I have no earthly clue where those 51 days went. And as I sit at my clusterfuck of a dining room table aka "home office", I'm dumbfounded. Two months month and 51 days ago I was bitching about proverbial hall passes, quoting random famous men, and preaching about the glories of growing up. NEWS FLASH:

Today marks the two-month anniversary of being a fully-employed college graduate. (PUKE to those couples that celebrate month-iversaries, though. Those are nauseating. This is okay.)

There are no random men to quote here. There are no hall passes, proverbial or tangible. There's just me, my two laptops (yes, I need both to be mildy productive), a headset that would get NASA's rocks off and 50+ hours a week of being an "adult". Shit got real and it got real fast. Hayley Williams gets it (click me). I no longer lay in bed awake at night justifying the inevitable skipping of that LAME 8am lit class. You know why? Because when you're 22 and working your way up the corporate ladder, you have to show up at 8am every single day regardless of your condition. Hungover? Too bad. Sleep deprived? Welcome to the club. Just not feelin life? Shut yo mouth.

And to top off this dose of reality... you know those random alumni who show up at football tailgates and bitch to those still classroom-confined about "appreciating the good ole days"? That will be me in September. 

BUT guess what? I'M SO EXCITED. Literally. e-c-s-t-a-t-i-c, ECSTATIC. 

Sure. The full-time career thing can dull a girl in about 3 days. All of a sudden your brain hurts, your eyes burn and your soul is as black as your fourth round of K-Cup coffee. Those cute reading glasses that you bought to channel your inner most "Elle Woods, Harvard Law Student" are now an appendage, not an accessory. If I could get an IV of B-12 to pump through my veins everyday, I would. And please do not get me started on a social life. It has taken two months of adjusting to even consider mustering the energy to think about going to Capital on a Wednesday. 

DeGroot said it best, "Growing up sucks ass." She's right. It's not SATC glamorous. I don't get to just write a weekly column and stroll Berry Street in my Manolos. But would I go back two years to relive my glory days? I think not. Would I start all over from the beginning? HELL TO THE NO. Here's 5 reasons why:

1. There is beauty to be found at the bottom of the totem pole.
Sure, wiping down dry erase boards and ordering lunch for meetings you don't get to attend is less than desirable. But those tiny moments when someone says "wow, you're a rockstar today" or "seriously, you're a lifesaver" or the Granddaddy of them all "thank you", it makes it all worth it. Plus, it's okay to mess up when you're at the bottom. Learning curves are real and reserved for new hires. It won't last forever, so enjoy the leniency while you can.

2. You can totally have a dog!
This is probably my favorite reason. Having a dog while in college is s'cute. "Like OMG, let's go run the greek with Buddy the labradoodle and maybe those sexy porch-stooping Sigma Chis will be out there and see us!" But who is going to watch after the dog when you're in Cabo for Spring Break? Who is going to feed the dog when you go straight from your night class to the buses for a mixer? And let's be real, do you truly want to spend your tiny expendable income (aka leftover scholarship/grant $$) on dog food when every bar within walking distances has daily happy hours? I think not. Granted, working from home is PRIME for getting a new dog, but seriously- it's so much easier with a normal routine that doesn't include college life chaos.

3. Morning Glory
Most days I don't appreciate 7am. Most days I lay in bed wondering what I can postpone or eliminate from my morning routine to just spend another 20 minutes dozing. You know who does like 7am? The dog. Sam, INEVITABLY, rolls all 90 of his pounds into the remaining 3 inches he left me on the bed and nudges me like "I don't want to be rude, but if you don't get up, I will piss on your white comforter." Endearing, isn't he? 

That aside, when you are waning adulthood, there is something special, almost ethereal, about the quiet of the morning. It's the calm before the storm; the few moments before the universe kindly bitchslaps you into reality. On a really good morning, you're up before 7, leisurely sipping your first cup o' joe on the porch and for those few precious minutes, you can appreciate all that your life has blessed you with. It is almost like a really great dream: Life isn't so scary. Bosses aren't so intimidating. There is money in your bank account. Your hair blow dried itself. Writing brilliant posts for your company blog is easier than breathing. Catch my drift? Of course, those moments won't last forever, especially if rent is due that day. But for a moment, for a small slice of your day, you can breathe a little and have the confidence that you won't single-handedly burn the company to the ground that day. The mornings are now glorious and there is nothing as precious as 7am on a Saturday before the entire world is awake. When you treasure this, you know you are a card-carrying member of The Grown Up Club.

4. Peer Pressure ain't the same
In college, I always felt pressured to go out and be seen. No mixer went unmixed. No house party went unattended. No bar was left unscathed. If you weren't there and if there weren't pictures, it didn't happen. Let me be the first (and probably only) to say this: IT IS A LOT. There is never a shortage of places to be and I never felt 'excused' from going... except that one time junior year when my semester GPA crapped on my privileges, but I digress. Would I love to have an excuse to wear my ski goggles and tutu again? Duh. Would I love to be obligated to do it weekly? No. No. N-O. Peer pressure for grown ups is far more forgiving. If I had a really tough week at work, people understand my need to hermit. Weekends, for me at least, have evolved into a privilege- where what I do is my choice and no one judges. Once you get a handle on that 7a-7p weekday grind, you're bound to feel a little pressure to get out on the town. But let's be real: the only significant peer pressure for a twentysomething involves BRUNCH. And who in their right mind ever feels oppressed after bottomless mimosas and make-your-own Bloody Mary bars? No one. ever.

5. THE PEAK
If you actually know me, you have heard me say that I peaked at 9. That was a prime year for me. I was still cute, really smart for my age and didn't have a car payment. Hell, I rode a unicycle at Spurs games. If that isn't peak-worthy, I don't know what is. But the most important reason that I'm perfectly content not time travelling back to the "glory days" is because I truly feel that it can and does get better than that. Yes- Hangovers become significantly harder to bounce back from and drunchies DO count even if you don't remember eating 17 Taco Bell burritos. (Truth: the burrito calories do not count if you find it in the frocket of of your XXL sleep shirt still wrapped the next morning. I just don't advise eating it when you come-to at 11am).

But guess what? Who cares? You are a living, breathing *relatively* successful adult. You have the funds to actually buy decent beer. You don't have to shop at XXI anymore. You get to date other real adults who have more on their agenda than getting you drunk enough to go back to the frat house (unless that's your thing. judge not. what not.)

Will your friends start getting engaged, married and knocked up? Yeah. But if you haven't seen the movie The Wedding Date, do NOT discredit being a wedding date. Will you feel less comfortable asking your parents for money when you fail to budget correctly (or at all)? I hope. Will it suck for a while? Absolutely. No one actually wants to be a grown up. No one wants to have responsibilities, car payments or spring break FOMO. But, I hope that my greatest days, my greatest years are not behind me. I hope that I did not climax in life at 19. Because what does a girl have to live for if she's got 60+ years left of knowing that it won't ever get any more fulfilling than that one time she got stage and danced with Paul Wall?

To my bright, young, still-optimistic friends in school: Soak it up. Soak up every ounce of embarrassing fun you can. But do not dread "the real world". It will kick your ass at first, but I promise-- you will grow to love every second.

To my cynical, worn down, "I wish I could just stick it to the man" fellow grads: see y'all at happy hour.

Hall Pass: Denied

Once upon a time, I referenced a very old bearded man with a very wise lesson. No, not Jesus... Uncle Si. My post was about the overwhelming stupidity of twentysomethings. It is only right and honest to include myself in that genre because despite all efforts, I too am a twentysomething who makes less than lovely decisions all too often. But what I wrote about wasn't just how dumb we are 98% of the time; it was about the elusive mentality of invincibility and naivety-- too cocky to think we will ever get caught; too naive to realize we aren't exempt from the cold, harsh realities of life and relationships. These lessons suck. But I hope for your sake and my own that we get it right before it's too late.

"YOLO"  made its way to popularity and on spray painted t-shirts thanks to Drake (**can be found in tank form on any drunk spring breaker. chances of seeing this are inexplicably correlated to the exponential level of douche-bagginess. #math). But "you only live once" didn't leave the impression on twentysomethings the way it should have. We should've let it sink in, focused on the big goals we have to aim for, acknowledging the way our lives affect the people in our world and how to constantly make the best choices each day so if/when life ends, we can at least say we tried. But instead, we took it as a lyrical hall pass to do whatever the hell we wanted because "life is short". But, I can't blame Drake for our idiocy. Twentysomethings are notorious to looking for anything and everything that resembles a hall pass. But that is just not how life works. You don't get to play with fire without ever getting burned.

The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn.  ~David Russell

I'm not talking about deciding to drink during the Super Bowl and then knock out a situation analysis after. I'm not talking about deciding on spring break in Panama City or raging at SXSW. I'm not talking about the bullshit. I'm talking about life choices; decisions that shape your world, your future, your people.

I'm talking about your gut. If you watch NCIS, you would know that the "gut" of Jethro Gibbs is never wrong. If you knew me, you would know that my intuition is borderline creepy-accurate. I know when something is wrong.  I know when people are good and when people aren't. I know when the world, "my world", is warm and safe. I just know these things. I can feel it. I can sense it. It is all-consuming and unavoidable. But I'm not psychic or perfect (kind of, sort of, not really). I have been known to ignore my gut. I don't always lead with my best foot forward. I follow emotion instead of reason. I follow my heart despite unrequited love. I leap without worrying about a safety net. But the difference is that I strive to make choices with only the best of intentions.

Can you say the same for yourself?

Life is so damn unfair. All day. Every day. The universe is a cocky SOB that says "challenge accepted" every time you think "could this get any worse?!" But there's a catch to that cliche-- the really unfair part that is we, especially twentysomethings, have a preconceived notion that it should be fair, that life should be easy, that we are being punished, not blessed, when the going gets tough. And to those who think their poop doesn't smell, to those that think unicorns exist and to those that respond "like I just can't" when life throw ya for a loop: GROW. UP.

Be sad. Be mad. Be upset. But then grow a pair and get over it. Life really is short (just ask my dad who had to bury our family dog this morning). To my fellow seniors, we have 51 days left until we walk the stage, secretly laughing because no one knows how we made it this far. We have 51 days until the world expects us to put on that suit, quit binge drinking and sign up for Match.com. ( ps- if you have been waiting for me to join the online dating world, you've got 3 years left. i ain't facing that demon until 25) But just because we have only 51 days left until graduation does not negate the reality that most of us have 8 more YEARS of being insanely selfish. Find what/where/who makes you happy and fight like hell for it.

DISCLAIMER: do not fight for the past. do not fight for the shoulda, woulda, coulda. fight for something/someone/anything that is worth your soul.

The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new. ~Socrates

The world spins on the principle of inherent tragedy. But you, any of you, and especially Gen Y-ers are MORE than capable of surviving and thriving. As RJM, my beautiful, graceful, SMART (not dumb) gazelle of a best friend, said yesterday, "Never knock the lesson, sisterfriend". If it hurts, if it's hard, if it sucks the living hell out of your soul, don't worry. Be grateful that the Big Man Upstairs thinks you are strong enough. Be grateful for the struggle- it's real but it is ALWAYS damn well worth it.


PPS- Did I mention that we graduate in 51 days? Holy shit, Batman.

Shia gives apologies a bad name

My love for following celebrities is real and true-- not in the way that, once carefully written by Nicholas Sparks, totally negates the creepy connotation of stalking. It's borderline obsessive, completely unnecessary and all-consuming. I record TMZ if I'm going to miss the broadcast. I follow everyone worth following on Twitter. I Insta-stalk like it's my damn day job. Obviously, there are a beaucoup of things I could do with my time that would deem "more productive", but I'd really rather not. I'm a gawker and I ain't even a little sorry. ( I also blame my mother for this). 

That being said, this Shia LaBeouf plagiarism scandal has captivated my full attention. To recap: Shia allegedly copied a BBC staff writer's review of a Nirvana album as his own review for Cage's new album. Pretty casual stuff, right? Wrong. Plagiarism is the marijuana of legality: a gateway drug. Shia went on to allegedly completely rip off comic creator, Daniel Clowes. It wasn't a 7th grade attempt at sneaking in passages from Wikipedia to your book report, either. Shia made a short film, "HowardCantour.com" that paralleled Clowes' "Justin M. Damiano" storyline "beat-for-beat" (according to MTV.com). Which, in case you were wondering, is not kosher. You can't just steal someone's work and pass it off as your own. I'm not sure what Shia is going through-- amensia, Brit Spears 2007 breakdown, a little Macaulay Culkin drug thang-- but something is fishy. Or maybe this is one giant publicity scheme about the lack of originality or the right to express yourself through already existing works in pop culture today. It's probably some version of the latter and we are just pawns in the joke. Stick it to the man, Shia. Whatever.

But the real kicker of this entire scandal is Shia's version of public apologies. Now I know I just ranted about plagiarism, but this whole thing is such bogus that the his tweet apologies are honestly hysterical. See here and laugh along.

See, it is hysterical. Sure, it's a little offensive to plagiarize your public apologies in regards to your earlier plagiarism. But honestly, take a second and think about the statement that Shia making-- regardless of the offense, saying "I'm sorry" is such a cliche.

Please stop and close your jaw. I am not, by any means, saying do not apologize when you screw up. If you don't apologize for being an asshole, then you're a crappy human. But the reality of our world, the world of high speed, high tech, selfishness, is that apologies come fast, hard and often.  

How many times can Biebs apologize for being a hot mess? How many times did Kobe apologize for cheating on his wife? (because we all know he did... Vanessa's big, fat diamond screams "I'm sorry for being a cheating bastard") Reese Witherspoon got crazy and arrested, apologized and returned back to top celeb status. I can't help but wonder, will there come a day when, no matter how sincere, "I'm sorry" just won't cut it? 

To be honest, I really hope not. There are some days, some times when you just really screw up and all you have to say for yourself is "I am so sorry". I used to be one of those chronically annoying kids who said "sorry" for literally anything but one day, Steph whipped her head around to me cowering in the backseat and said "if you keep saying sorry all of the time, it will not mean anything anymore". That was the day I learned that apologies are more than "I'm sorry" . Apologizing is about accepting and acknowledging your wrong, admitting to it, admitting to being a crappy human, and then asking/hoping for the opportunity to put a bandaid on the wound and let things heal before the hurt party throws in the towel on the relationship.

Truth be told, I screw up on the reg. I always want to be perfect, always desperate to avoid disappointing the people in my world. But I fail over and over again. Luckily, I have some incredibly patient people in my world who tell me when I suck, tell me why I suck, and have enough faith in me that I will continue work harder to suck less. For that, I thank you.

Whether you are a brand new 21 year old (HBD Berg) or already retired in the Keys, be wary of the cliched apology. If you are sorry, say it. If you're not, don't. If you royally mess up and can't even believe you are such a terrible human and you should be banned from the world indefinitely, say that. Be dramatic if it's dramatic. But if you forgot to swap out an empty TP roll for a new one and your roommate throws it at your big, dumb head, put up a sticky note next to the roll holder for your big dumb head to remember next time and move on. The most offensive part of apologies is sulking, which only continues to punish everyone around you... Then you're the pain in the ass who screwed up and won't quit pouting. You messed up, you don't get a pity party.

And if nothing else, my dear readers struggling with the inevitability of screwing up during your twentysomethings, steer clear of Shia, but @Son_of_Fratter has some solid advice: