Resolving, Revisited

So, you guys, I didn't really start the bright and shiny new year out on a real...bright and shiny note.

Truth be told, I was a little bit wompy. A little bit homesick. A little bit in my head.

I realize this is grounds for having my Yooper Card revoked, but Chicago is damn cold in the wintertime. More than that, it's really harsh.

It's a far cry from the homeowner-with-a-big-backyard and a remote-starter-on-the-trusty-Jeep lifestyle I was living in Michigan. Henley needs to pee. And experience a life other than the apartment we live in. And that requires layers upon layers of clothing for me and many, many treks in the great windy city. At all times of the day and night. #whinewithyourcheese? Add to that the fact that I just gave up my car and need to brave the cold and wind any time I go somewhere for anything....

Needless to say, I had a little bit of a hard time adjusting from 17 days home over two stretches in a 40-day period. It was a rough week, and an especially rough morning this morning. There were a lot of tears, and some of the frozen, wind-smacked sort. (You're allowed to call me a baby. I own it.)

Some gym time, some quiet time, and some conversations with some of my nearest and dearests helped me sort it all out and I'm feeling back to my normal self. My crush on Chicago has resurfaced.

But what I really want to tell you about is Henley. #duh.

I came home a few minutes ago from a completely impromptu soul-warming and bolstering night with one of my nearest and dearest Chicago friends, Whitney. I prepared to let Henley out, per usual, but at the last minute decided to let her take a toy out to the alley where she does her business.

We have snow out there. Not Michigan-quantity snow, but snow. It's not a plowed alley--we trudge, there is slop.

I threw the toy for her several times--maybe 20?--but the last time, it got lodged somewhere in the snowbank. I stayed where I was, nuzzled in my NorthFace, letting her sniff and search, trying to find it.

You guys, her tail was wagging the whole damn time. Like it was the best moment of her day, trying to find that damn toy in the wet, soupy snow. She circled, she perched, she dug, she rolled. She wagged.

That's my New Year's resolution. To be happy while searching. To be so damn joyful about how much promise there is in this fucking cold, snowy city, no matter whether I'm sure I'm going to find the prize here or not.

Resolution

Last New Year's, I was thinking a lot about beginnings. I know now that was because I hadn't had any in years, and there was a lot I needed to seek out. What I didn't know at the time was just how many new beginnings were in store. A new city. New friends. New opportunities. New experience. New perspective.

I'm proud of how open I was in 2013, how much new life I let in and how much I risked for it all.

But this year, as "the countdown" approaches, I'm feeling differently. I've been thinking about what, exactly, it means to make a resolution. Many people make them on New Year's Eve, but I think the introspective among us are always resolving.

But what does that really mean? 

I love versatile, yet powerful words like resolve. To have resolve means to be bold and courageous, steadfast and earnest. To exhibit willpower, intention, and purpose.

In medicine, to resolve means to heal. 
"symptoms resolved after a median of four weeks"

When talking about something seen at a distance, to resolve means to turn into a different form when seen more clearly, to transform.

"the orange glow resolved itself into four lanterns"

When dealing with problems, to resolve means to find a solution.
"the firm aims to resolve problems within 30 days"

In musical arrangements, to resolve means to move from discord (confusing or harsh sounds) to concord (harmonious sounds). To, quite literally, move from chaos to harmony.
"the song resolves from dissonance to consonance near the very end"

When dealing with decisions, to resolve means to firmly choose a course of action.

In chemistry, it means separating something out to distinguish between its parts, or to make sense of something by putting it on a spectrum.

It can also mean placing a vote to express a formal opinion, or dispelling doubt by clearing away the inflammatory or unnecessary. 

Source

All of which feels a lot like what I need to be doing and being in the coming year.

Her eyes are light and clear
And fearless like Chicago winds in the winter time
And her hair is never quite in place
And the knees in her jeans have seen better days
And she's no beauty queen but you love her anyway
She's a wildewoman

Yeah, she'll only be bound by the things she chooses
-Lucius, Wildewoman

Here's to resolution. 2014, we have our work cut out for us.

Epiphanies, Volume III

Volumes I & II.

• Are you ready? Get ready, because I am about to blow your mind. Ready? Tootsie Roll-flavored coffee creamer. Am I right? I would buy that in bulk. (I Googled it. It doesn't exist. But I did find a recipe for a Tootsie Roll drink based on vodka, so, you know, win.)

• Socrates said, "An unexamined life is not worth living." He didn't say, "Examining your life is one route to achieve happiness." or "You should stop and examine things from time to time." Nope. He said a life without reflection is not even worth it.  This is thinly-veiled justification for my over-thinking tendencies, I admit, but damn, that's some statement, Soc. 

• On that note, Pema Chodron's notion that "Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know" is blowing my mind recently. 

• The United States spends less money on cancer research than it does on potato chips. Think about that next time you buy a $.99 bag of Lays.

• Winter in Chicago is no joke. It's either gonna toughen me up or make me so crabby that I just start running in the south/west direction. So far the latter is more likely. I shall arrive bundled up beyond recognition--and then I'll be crabby because I'll be too hot. In the event that this happens: West Coast friends, please gently remind me to remove my scarf. (This sweatshirt made me laugh.)

• Music that is perfectly acceptable for treadmill purposes suddenly seems fourteen kinds of inappropriate when it comes on in other settings, like the bus, or, you know, the office. Also, 'Sup Diddy, where ya been? I've sort of missed you. #butseriouslyLudafolife

Confessions

• I slather my hair in a gooey concoction of honey, mayonnaise and olive oil on the regular. That is not the confession. The confession is that I actually believe 100% that it works magic on my hair. I have a lot of beliefs about hair. 

• Sometimes I wonder who would see my Google search history if I died. And by 'sometimes', I mean 'nearly every day'. And by 'wonder', I mean 'worry about'. Let my headstone read: 

                               Here lies Bobbi Marie. 
                               She was a very curious person.

• This Craigslist Missed Connection post made me cry. Twice.

• Sometimes I wait for a second elevator in the morning because I like to be alone until at least 10am if I can help it. 

• A random guy at Trader Joes asked me what I'd do if I won the Mega Millions (In retrospect he was hitting on me, but--confession within a confession--I can never really tell I'm being hit on *while* its happening...). Anyways, I told him I'd buy an island and just live the life, and maybe an airplane so people could visit when they wanted. But, really, the first thing I'd do (while my island sale is pending) is buy this dress  and throw a Gossip Girl-esque party. And you would all have to wear masks. No exceptions.

• The second thing I would do is throw a ton of money into private detectives so that the people from the Craiglist ad could have a second drink.  And then I would do something about this.

• Whoever I marry will need to be cool with me wearing that dress on our wedding day, because, seriously, purple > white any day of the week. Besides, as Miranda said so eloquently, the jig is up. 

• I know that show is seventeen kinds of ridiculous, but good god, I am so thankful for friendships like theirs. You know, the kind where your phone call ends with: "God, could you imagine if someone was listening to this conversation?" "Well, the NSA is, but oh well. Screw 'em. They'll laugh their a$$es off."

30-Before-30 Update: Donate My Hair

As I've mentioned before, part of the fun of checking things off my goal list has been looking back at my frame of mind when setting the goal and seeing how things have changed.

Before my health issues, it was just a 5k.
Before the back-to-back deaths of two close loved ones, it was just a tattoo.

I wasn't sure I was going to write about what changed surrounding donating my hair, but I think it's important to share.

When my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer, it was my family's first experience facing the loss of someone in my parent's generation. My dad could barely get the words out; I can still remember where we were standing in the kitchen when he told me she'd been diagnosed, how he covered his mouth with his hand like he wanted to keep the truth muffled. I was proud of the way he stepped up; retired, he could accompany her to chemo appointments and visit with her while she recovered.

My aunt Vicki was always made up--she always looked really beautiful, hair coiffed, mascara just so. She was terrified of losing that. I was terrified to watch it.

My mom predictably sprang into action mode and arranged for her to try on real-hair wigs. I felt like it was an honor to be there, so met them at the salon, where our family hair stylist had arranged for her to try a few options.

The first one was vetoed--too Dolly Parton. We laughed and tried the second. I thought it looked beautiful; it was her color, it was shiny but real, and since it was real hair you could modify the cut a bit...what more could you ask?

Her face emitted hesitation, and we tried to convince her that she looked great. Tears welled in her eyes and she was silent; it was clear she was conceding to her new reality.

I think it was my dad who suggested she try on the third option, which everyone had kind of brushed off as "not Vicki". As the stylist secured it on her head, she looked up into the mirror and her hand rose to her mouth: "Oh." The tears that had collected fell. It wasn't her typical cut, but for some reason she looked like herself. Most importantly, she felt like herself. Her new reality seemed a little less scary, a little more familiar.

When I first declared I wanted to donate my hair, it was in a general, this-is-something-I-can-do-to-help kind of way. It's become a lot more than that. I want someone else to have that moment in the mirror: "Oh." A little less scary, a little more familiar.

 I mean, I totally win Movember, right?

Here's where I get real and tell you that I almost didn't go through with it. Dating is hard enough as it is--you can go from confident to vulnerable with one delayed text response. Was I really ready to give away one of the only things I'm truly confident about?

But I went through with it because even if I might struggle to feel like myself for a week or so, it's going to grow back. I didn't have it taken from me without my will. I didn't have to stare down death while having my identity and femininity taken from me piece by piece.

And a wise, extremely beautiful woman once taught me that a little mascara and some good friends can go a long way in making you feel like yourself.

Quoteworthy: Vulnerability

I often have to have written about something before I understand it.

It's what makes me good at my job--I essentially write about things I don't know about for a living. I gather morsels of information in the research portion of a project, and by stringing the words and paragraphs together, a fully formed idea inevitably emerges. I don't know what it's going to look like until it's finished. It kind of feels like painting sometimes, working on the strokes themselves and later backing up to see the big picture. I don't think I'll ever be able to teach it. It's just how I've been my entire life, thanks to some really great teachers, and since it works, and it pays my bills, I know when to leave well enough alone. I don't question it. I just write, and things make more sense.

In my early twenties I recognized that writing could help me process things in my personal life as well. Only a few years ago, around the time I started this blog, did I really force myself to write as a vehicle for sorting things out. If I had to guess I'd say I only post about 10% of what I write--outside of work, of course. There are a lot of drafts in my Blogger account, a lot of Word documents on my laptop. I've got a lot to sort out still.

I am telling you this not only because I think it's important to recognize our strengths, but because it's the only way I can explain my biggest weakness. Because with this blessing comes a curse.

The world doesn't communicate the way I'm wired to, not on an interpersonal level.  In relationships, you can't hole up in your bedroom and work things out alone on your laptop. You have to be able to work things out in real time. You have to meet another person half way. You have to address things piece by piece, before the larger picture emerges, if it ever even does. You can't play to your strengths because everything has to be on the table. You need to hang in, be open, be vulnerable. Your emotions can't just percolate in a Word document somewhere. You have to share before you're ready to. Life is unpolished. Messy, even.

And before there is even a chance to have to "work things out", you have to be open enough to enter a relationship. And before you enter a relationship, you have to be open enough to be seen, truly, by someone. To know and be known: the precursor to loving and being loved.

I don't have to tell you how risky this all is. I don't have to tell you how much it hurts sometimes, how terrifying it is. There's rejection. Opposition. Conflict. A thousand wounds to be opened. A hundred new ones to avoid. We all know this. It's the human condition.

But I've been thinking a lot about vulnerability lately, how necessary it is. Excruciating at times and definitely pushing us out of the ol' comfort zone, but necessary. I'm learning in this season of my life that even if I get hurt, even when the wound still smarts and I have to rally my girlfriends or cry it out in the shower, being vulnerable has always been worth it.

There is no reward in being closed off. There is no merit in keeping yourself hidden. Vulnerability is the key that unlocks a lot of doors, doors behind which there are a lot of good things: Love. Support. Friendship. Not being alone with your thoughts.

I didn't realize that was the point I was getting at until I finished this post, which tells me I have a lot of work to do. But maybe I'll try to edit a little less intensely this time around.

"I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life--and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do." --Georgia O'Keefe (Speaking of painting...)

"Vulnerability sounds like the truth, and feels like courage." --Brene Brown, the vulnerability expert

I got a hunger and I can't seem to get full
I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have always seems to slip my mind
But you, but you
You write such pretty words
But life's no story book
Love's an excuse to get hurt
and to hurt --Bright Eyes, A Lover I Don't Have To Love (<--Phenomenal cover)

How come the only way to know how high you get me
is to see how far I fall? --John Mayer, Heartbreak Warfare

Open: (adj) allowing access; not closed off; being in a position to permit passage 

Synonyms: free, expansive, unobstructed

Sounds good to me.

Quoteworthy: Detours

I've got about 6 months left until I turn 30, and despite every effort to just 'be cool', I find myself needing reminders that April 13 is not an expiration date, it's not a deadline, and it's not a finish line. It doesn't even really have to be a milestone if I don't want it to be.

Because I've kind of come to realize that milestones are a bunch of hullaballoo.

It's human nature to look around and wonder if we're aligned with certain norms or certain timelines--careers, investments, relationships and babies. You know what I'm talking about. We're quietly satisfied and relieved when we hit these marks, but we struggle to be happy with what happens in the meantime. Life. The living we do. The mistakes we make. The surprises that are in store.

And maaaaaybe by "us" I mean me. Historically, I've been pretty terrible at weathering the detours.  

In a recent email, my friend Allison offered a new way of looking at the happenings of my life: What if they were not defined by my feelings about them? What if they weren't normal or abnormal? What if they weren't even poor choices or good choices? What if they simply proved that I was living?  No matter what, that had to be a good thing.

It took a while for my type-A brain to process that. It couldn't be that simple, could it?

Take my house for example. I bought it because I needed to do something to feel like I was making a life in Marquette. Fast forward two and half years, and I decided that was no longer the life I wanted. Then I spent the first six months in Chicago beating myself up: How could buying that house not have been a huge mistake if its no longer what I wanted? How could I have gotten it so wrong?

But you know what? She's right. Life happens. Goals change. You buy a house and then you don't want to live in it anymore. And that's okay, because you change course, and you rent the sucker out and you move to a new city and you find a life waiting for you that was beyond any of your expectations. But, plot twist!, mixed in with the awesomeness is this new strain of struggles that you didn't anticipate and you realize that expectations are a bunch of bologna, too. Timetables and goals and what you thought the future would look like... it's all a mirage and it changes and here's the most surprising part about it:

It's so much better that way. 

Consider it reserved.

The really beautiful part of it all is that I want the life I have now more than anything else I ever wanted before. (Maybe I need to chill with the wanting a little bit?) This really beautiful life I have is kind of messy, but the mess is so much better than the vision.

The mess hurts sometimes, yes, #likeabitch. I fall for people I have no business falling for. I say the exact, precise wrong thing at such a remarkably wrong time that there ought to be a medal around my neck, but then sometimes I really nail it and that feels really good. I struggle to communicate my needs but when it happens, and I'm heard, man, strike up the band! I rely more on my parents than I'd like to, but really, I think it's time to admit that I will always need them, and I think they like to see my name on the caller ID, regardless of why I'm calling. I still haven't learned how to gracefully accept support and advice, but you know what? Grace is a bunch of malarky as well.

A majority of the time it feels like I'm in over my head, but somehow I manage to pull it all off, sans Xanax. The mess is...messy and sometimes it feels like I have no idea what's next, but right now is so much better than anything I could have ever conjured up.

I'm trying to learn that it's okay to take risks, to fall easily, to speak up, to lean on others, to fail--it's okay to do all of those things. Those things make me a human--one that isn't closed off or playing small. What's not okay is measuring myself against fabricated timelines or expectations. What's not okay is beating myself up when plans change or are stalled or fail completely. Because that's usually when things get the most interesting.

You tell me that the hardest part of living / is living in the moment 
You turn around, your moment is gone 
It may come down to a decision / to change the way you're living 
The only way to live it / is to give it everything that you've got  --Mike Moran, The Difference

"If a train does not stop at your station, then it's not your train." --Marianne Williamson 

All you want is what you can't have
and if you just look around, man
you'll see you've got magic
So sit back, relax, enjoy it while you still have it
Don't look back on life, man, and only see tragic
Because you can be better than that
Don't let it get the better of you
Life's not about what's better than --John Butler Trio, Better Than

"And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." --Max Erhmann, Desiderata
 
Well I never seem to do it like anybody else
And maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down
But if you ever want to find me I can still be found
Taking the long way around --The Dixie Chicks, Taking The Long Way Around

Detour: (n) an indirect or roundabout course to a destination
 
Destination: (n) the end of a journey or voyage

Have a little faith, Bobbi Marie. The best and most unexpected is yet to come. Take your time getting there.