Blowing in the Wind

It's pretty fitting that it was a comment from my dad that led me to write my 30-before-30 list and it was also a comment from my dad that led me to abandon it.

My mom is irreplaceable because she'll spend hours wading in the minutiae with me, discussing and analyzing and looking at the Subject of the Day from every angle. My dad is irreplaceable because he'll come in, without ever hearing 95% of the minutiae, and spit some truth so potent I often wonder if he was eavesdropping the entire time. (He wasn't--he was watching NASCAR in the other room.)

On the way out to camp to learn to shoot over Christmas, my dad mentioned a conversation he'd had with a family friend, who had asked about my life in Chicago: Was I dating? Would I stay there? What was to become of my future?

That last question obviously wasn't verbatim, but tells you a little bit about the tone of this inquiry. Just enough 'concern' to make you wonder what questions weren't being asked: Wasn't I going to settle down? Who would take care of me?

I'm almost 30. I'm single. I'm a writer by trade. In the non-profit sector. And I'm selling my house. I'm basically blowing in the wind. In some parts, that's cause for concern, a life trajectory unknown. Some folks are not so comfortable with that.

 

Emily McDowell is a greeting card genius.



My dad's answer astounded me.

"We don't worry about Bobbi," he said. "She is going to do what makes her happy. She's not going to get married just to be married. She's going to pursue happiness, and whether that's living alone in an apartment in the city with her dog, or moving to a different country, we're happy for her and will help in any way we can. She's not ever going to settle. And if she's happy, we're happy."

We don't worry about Bobbi.

You know this kills me, right to my core. Not because I want them to worry. Not because I think they don't care, or aren't interested in every twist and turn. And definitely not because I think they've given up on me.

It kills me because it is a simple, prideful statement, one that both of my parents have felt for longer than I could imagine. They believe in me. They don't doubt I'll get the life I want...whatever that looks like. They don't worry when I don't know what it looks like. They trust me when I do.

I've already made them proud. They're just happy I'm pursuing. I am who I am because they encouraged me, and I've already delivered on their dreams for me: the relentless, stubborn, ardent pursuit of what makes me happy.

And they're very good with the reminders. Each year, my mom picks out the perfect Valentine's Day card, painstakingly crossing out each single pronoun and replacing it: We love you, You make us so proud, Happy Valentine's day to you from us. This year, before signing "Love, Mom and Dad", my mom wrote:

"We've said it a thousand times and we'll say it again. We're so proud of you. Keep finding your path in life, and you'll always have family at home to support you."

Keep finding your path.

 

Looking at what remains on my list, I'm no longer in any rush.

I'd like to have my own kayak, someday.

I'll visit my 6th (and 7th, and 8th, and so on) country, someday.

I'm going to rock the shit out of some Jewel on the guitar, someday.

I'll be completely out of debt, someday.

I don't have any doubts about it. I'm not worried about Bobbi. I'm finding my path.

Bobbi Lately

Well, this foot in my mouth tastes...really awful. Like it's been stuffed in a boot for four months OH BECAUSE IT HAS.

Remember what I said as summer was turning to fall? Allow me. Ahem:

"I think there is something to be said for being in a happy place in your life. Namely, that you don't long for other seasons. You can walk gracefully into a new season without worrying if you savored every last drop of the one you're walking out of. As my dad would say, that's clean living.

I am so full of shit sometimes.

I totally savored fall, drank my weight in hot apple cider, wore holes in all my favorite tights, took Henley on epic city sidewalk journeys, kicked my way through piles of crunchy leaves like I was in a goddamn Nora Ephron movie. And I still long for it. Simply because it's not winter.

This winter has taught me that sometimes it doesn't matter what's going on in your life. Sometimes the weather gets a girl down. Sometimes relentless cold and gray and complete sun-deprivation take a toll on even the happiest of campers. It has nothing to do with longing for other times. It has everything to do with the fact that I can't feel my feet. Or my face. Or, at times, my fucking soul. (Ellen, that was for you.)

For real though, something happened this winter that made me feel like I just. could. not. get. warm. Physically or emotionally. I got a little lost. I got a little cranky. I lost sight of the positive, the spring, the forest for the trees. I let the wind and the cold and the salt and the gray drag me down. It's been tough going, and the people who've surrounded me during the womp-womps deserve a medal or at least an adult beverage of their choosing. Seriously, props, guys. Wompy Bobbi is a total drag.

My mantra for the rest of the season is:

Because it's gotta come sometime, right? Because even if right now I don't feel as self-evolved as Albert Camus, there indeed lies within each of us an invincible summer, even in the worst of winters. The trick, I think, to surviving Polar Vortexes both ecological and proverbial is to surround yourself with people who see it in you always, despite your frozen exterior.

Anxiety: The Only Way Out Is Through

I've wanted to write about anxiety for a while now; it's just that every time I start I become really self-conscious. I don't want you to think I'm any crazier than you already do.

Ahem.

The truth is, while most of the time I go about life with a can-do, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar mindset, there are times when anxiety damn near cripples me. I can go from molehill to mountain in no time flat. I'm halfway up the mountain when I realize I've don't even remember what the molehill looks like anymore.

But if I've learned anything about anxiety it's that it thrives on isolation. And the more I talk about it, the more I realize that so many people suffer. Quietly. Alone.

The wonderful thing about anxiety is that the more you study it, the more tricks you pick up to help squash it. And those tricks add up. You can call them coping mechanisms, stress reduction techniques, whatev. They work, that's all I care about.

I thought I'd share a few of mine:

Think about the Worst Case Scenario. No really, the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen. It's ridiculous, right? It's probably ridiculous. It's probably not going to happen. And if you're a super expert mountain-maker, not only is the WCS in your brain probably not going to happen, it probably isn't actually possible at all. So anything less than whatever catastrophe you conjured up is probably lookin' pretty good right now, eh? The moral is that it's often never as bad as it seems.

 Source

Exercise. I'm not talking a walk around the block. I mean, sweat like a pig, double over because you can't breathe, run until your legs give out. Something about intense physical exertion seems to reset my monkey mind. Science. It's a crazy thing.

Ground yourself in the physical. Anxiety is a mental spiral. Like exercise, doing other things to focus on the physical can help that spiral from becoming a vortex. Things like crafts, getting a massage, doing some yardwork...they can all help you get out of your head and into your body. (Hugs. Hugs, too.)

Call your peeps. You know this is a hard one for me. I didn't start actually calling my people and saying the words, "I'm anxious" until about a year ago. The thing is, there is magic in saying it out loud. It instantly becomes unhidden, taking the shame out of it. Speaking of ditching additional emotions...

Don't worry about the worry. I once read that anxiety is "worry about worry". That was over 10 years ago, when 'anxiety' was a new word in my vocabulary, and that definition has stuck with me to this day.

And that's because when I'm anxious, there are usually two emotions at play. There's the first emotion or scenario (worry, fear, insecurity, anger, disappointment: the deadline, the confrontation, the unknown) and then there's the secondary emotion about the first emotion or scenario (shame, worry, anger: I can't believe I'm upset about this again! Why I can't I just... Why can't it be different?! When will I learn?!). The thing is, the secondary emotion is actually a compounding factor. It doesn't make it twice as bad; it makes it 10x as bad.

So I've learned to cut myself some slack, because that secondary emotion is usually just thinly-veiled self-criticism. So, you've gotta show yourself some compassion and just accept life as it is, as much as possible: I'm an anxious person! Life has curveballs! People make mistakes! Writers have deadlines! So what! What matters is what I do with the portion of my life that's in my control. If I'm responding rather than reacting, I'm doing the best I can.

Be super freakin' kind to yourself. Buy yourself a new magazine. Take a really long bath. Spend an entire afternoon walking around looking for pretty front doors. What makes you feel comforted? Do more of those things. Clean sheets, tea with honey, stovetop vanilla pudding, rolled hand towels, a big stack of new books. Beauty and the Beast. Henley snuggles. And in a pinch: Skittles.

Be super freakin' kind to someone else. I've noticed that I can work my way out of a funk just by being a good friend, a good daughter, a good human. It feels good to lessen someone's load, or to forgive, or to buoy someone else up. It's not all about you anyways. Geeeeesh.

Watch your inner monologue. How are you narrating your life? Would you say it to a friend? How would you feel if you overheard your sibling talking to him or herself with the words you're using in reflection of your life? Simply being aware of what you're thinking is the first step towards...thinking better things.

How does your body respond to stress? For me, it's clenched hands. Noticing this was life-changing. I can actually spot clenched hands in old photos. The great thing about having a 'tell' is you can use it to your advantage. As soon as my hands tense up, it's like a cue for my brain: How can I counteract this? (Another thing: Anxiety, to me, feels physically like too much caffeine feels. So if I know I'm anxious or there is something happening that day that might throw me, I skip all coffee, even decaf. I also limit my daily intake to one half-caff.)

What can you control? Sometimes it helps just to clean my apartment for the sake of having things in order (says the chronically messy girl). Pay some bills, run some errands, cross some things off your to-do list. Do what you can.

--

These are simply tools that I use to manage anxiety--and I think that's the most important thing to remember...because in my experience, it's not something you "cure". It shows up over and over and you just get better at managing it. The only way out is through.

And lastly, I'll leave you with a few kind, albeit paraphrased, reminders I've received throughout the years from a few lovely friends. My gut says they're probably true about you, too.

"You've got this. You've already conquered way bigger things than this." -Shanon
"You're safe, surrounded, and loved." -Alicia
"You'll find the lesson in this and come out the other side inspired." -Allison
"You're amazing, and there is no way you'll mess this up." -Ellen

Books I Might Write Someday: Volume III

Volumes 1 and 2...soon to hit a Hypothetical Book Title Bestseller List near you.


"I'm Just a Girl, Texting a Boy, Asking Him to Love Her": Dating in a Digital World

 Source

Developing An Editorial Eye-Twitch: What They Don't Tell Aspiring Writers on High School Career Day

 Source

You Don't Wanna Know What's On My Mind: A Collection of Facebook Statuses I Deleted Before Posting

Finish Your Goddamn Sandwich: A Collection of Angsty Open Poetry to a Commitment-Phobic Male Generation

 Source

Bullseye Bobbi

It feels a little like I went home for the holidays, turned on the love tap, and let it run the entire time I was there.  I spent a lot of time with my brother and parents, and it was exactly how I needed to see 2013 to a close. My cup runneth over, and it made for a rough transition back to city life.

But I promise that this is not my 450th post about the sway between my roots and my wings.

No, this is a post to let you know that my new nickname on the mean streets of the Upper Peninsula is Bullseye Bobbi. Or at least that's what my dad calls me now when he wants to make me giggle.

As part of my 30-before-30 list, I asked my brother and dad to take me to our family's hunting camp to shoot a gun for the first time. It was pretty sweet to see them so excited to teach me one of their favorite hobbies. We turned it into a family affair, pups and all.

It was so much fun! I got a bullseye on my second shot, and tried out three different guns--a 9, a 22, and an assault rifle. Every time I shot the latter (above) I screamed involuntarily. It was a reflex!

I definitely thought that this would be a one-and-done, but I think it'll become a new family tradition. 

...and one more because I think it's the Yooper equivalent of a glamour shot 

and it makes me laugh a lot. Deep thoughts at the shooting range.

I also just realized that I match my dad's truck and that makes me super happy. 

Things I'm Going To Stop Doing When I Turn Thirty

• Calling the people I date "boys". I'm not sure when I'll start calling them men, but I'll concede that "boys" sounds silly. I like "guys" for starters.

• Accepting half-love from said guys. 

• Forgetting to refill my contact prescription and going blind for a week every fiscal quarter. 

• Avoiding the dentist. 

• Dreading confrontation of any sort. Confrontation is progress. Confrontation is progress...

• Not asking for help when I need it. No need to figure everything out on your own, yo.
  

• Giggling when I receive a compliment.

• Hesitating to ask for what I want.

• Eating cheese when I know I really shouldn't eat cheese. 

• Minding the nay-sayers. The haters can suck it. 

• Letting other people's moods affect me so much.

And, some things I'll never stop doing, regardless of age or sideways glances:

• Calling my dad "Daddy". 

• Daydreaming about being Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I mean, that library! Swoon.

• Digging Lorde. Mah girl. 

• Avoiding the phone most of the time.  

• Giggling in general.

• Asking my mom to make me snack. Being overwhelmingly pleased with whatever she brings me.
  

• Twirling whenever I wear a twirl-worthy dress.

• Acting like a kid in a candy store when, you know, I'm in a candy store. Or on a cruise ship. Or in Europe. Or in Bed Bath & Beyond's bedding aisle.

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.