Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts

Friday, January 24, 2014

What to Do When Your World Gets Rocked

I met two girlfriends for dinner last night, and a common theme rotated around the table: we have all been lied to about life.

We all grew up with plans and goals and expectations for ourselves that were fed by our surroundings. For example, you do well in high school, go to a good college, major in a subject that will prepare you perfectly for the rest of your professional life, graduate with a starting salary of 50k, begin a career and meet your significant other, and then balance said career with starting your own family.

Piece of cake.

I totally understand the first part of the above example: if you do well in high school, you go to a good college. Thankfully, we grew up in supportive households that taught the value and reward that lie in hard work. Yes, there is always value in hard work. Reward, though? In our twenties, we are no longer always rewarded for our hard work. Which, I know in the scheme of things, is important. It’s what adds value to ourselves as humans and teaches us not to be entitled. I've come to terms with always working hard, even when it isn't recognized by others because, well, I recognize it. Which leads me to the next part, the part of the example that I'm totally hung up on.

I had to make a decision that would affect the rest of my adult life when I was seventeen. (As in "major in a subject that will prepare you perfectly for the rest of your professional life".) Yes, I went to college when I was seventeen, and felt weighed down in having to make the right academic moves to set myself up well for the real world.

I reiterate: I was seventeen.  A mature, head-on-her-shoulders, driven seventeen-year-old, but a seventeen-year-old nonetheless.

I was also the type of seventeen-year-old that made choices and saw them through. While I believe that this is a good quality to have, I believe that my stick-to-it attitude has gotten in the way of listening to my gut and staying true to my values.

Both of which—my gut and my values—have changed since. Because that’s what happens: you grow, and you change. And that’s what we were lied to about.

Nobody let us in on the secret that we would graduate and not have it all figured out after college, or even in the years to follow. Nobody told us that our hearts, relationships and identities would change as we got older. Instead, this is what we were told: make a plan, stick to your goals, and everything, eventually, will come.

But what happens when your plans change? When your goals are completely different from what they were just a year ago?

Something beautiful. That’s what happens. Because here we are, in a decade known for changing, for developing (though still, why didn’t they tell that to us before we got here?). So although we didn’t necessarily expect the change, here we are.

I am not bitter about the lie, about being ill-prepared for adulthood. And actually, I think that I was prepared for it as well as possible. It just wasn’t enough, but purely because it couldn’t be enough. The proper preparation, the understanding, the getting a grip, all comes from one thing: experience.

And in this time of gaining experience, of living a life independent of everything we once knew, we can no longer point fingers.  We can no longer blame the lie we were told about how life would be. Instead, we have to embrace everything that is happening. We have to experience life. Most of all, more than anything, we have to stay true to ourselves.

No more comparing our lives now to where we thought they would be when planning five or ten years ago. No more comparing our careers or our relationships to those around us. No more comparing our hectic situations to the seemingly normal situations that others are in. No more comparing. There is no normal. There is only life, and one thing to do with it. Live. Live your own life, wherever or whatever that may mean.


Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Life After Santa



I was in second grade when I found out that Santa Claus did not exist. I was in the library, leafing through books, when two of my peers started whispering. Being a seven-year-old girl, I naturally wanted in on their secret. They caught on (let's call them Girl #1 and Girl #2), gave each other wide stares, and turned their attention to me.

"Santa Claus isn't real," said Girl #1, hands on her hips. "You probably still thought he was."

Girl #1 was never very nice.

Girl #2 nodded. She clearly too had thought that Santa Claus did in fact exist, and that he was up at the North Pole overseeing proper present and coal distribution into his sleigh at that exact moment. But, as many do, the mean girl prevailed.

"Yeah, Audrey," Girl #2 said meekly, "I found out forever ago. We just didn't know if you were grown up enough to handle the truth."

Bitches.

But, the fact of the matter was--and, in many ways still is--I was in no shape or form ready to be slapped in the face with the truth. Because in hearing the words "Santa Claus isn't real," I felt the magic of Christmas crumble around me. It was as if somebody had shut off all of the Christmas lights. In that moment, elves and flying reindeer and Santa's workshop broke down into a tiny million pieces, fell to my feet and were washed away with my next words.

"I know. I've known for a really long time. I found out last year," I lied. Mean Girl #1 had already crushed my Christmas Spirit and she was not going to crush my pride too. As I walked away from them and into the school hallway, I let out a shaky breath. Santa isn't real. Santa Claus is not real, played on repeat in my head for the rest of the day.

When I went home that afternoon, I said not a word to my parents. And I never did. Since that day I've been stuck between knowing the truth but wanting to believe the unreal. With this nonacceptance, I have never properly mourned the loss of Santa Claus from my life.

Instead, I've spent my time trying to find the magic that Santa brought in other ways.  At first, this was no easy task. How does one replace the utter joy of Santa Claus? For many children, Christmas is built upon a foundation of being labeled as naughty or nice. It's about believing in a man that flies through the sky with nine reindeer in a sleigh full of presents for the entire world. It's about putting out cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer, too) in a small act of thanks for the generosity of a jolly old man that bestows complete strangers with their most coveted possessions. For children, Christmas is about magic. Pure, happy, unfiltered magic.

So, naturally, you lose a little bit of your childhood when you find out that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Personally, my belief system was crushed. It was as if my childhood was a balloon full of hope and magic and Girl #1 & Girl #2 untied the knot that held everything in. On that fateful day, hope and magic began their process of dissipation from my life.

But as a girl who holds onto anything that has ever brought me happiness, I've never fully let go of that magic. It's why I've never fully said goodbye to Santa Claus. He may not actually exist, but Christmas Spirit does. And at Christmas time, the magic in my life is slightly rekindled. I take that glimmer of hope and run with it.

I fill my days with scratchy old recordings of Bing and Frank singing about warm fires and glistening snow. I get excited at the sight of every single Christmas tree I see. Our family spends time reminiscing over Christmas ornaments. Garrett and I dress our poor old dog up in reindeer costumes. I make a point of watching Love Actually, The Family Stone, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and The Santa Claus every year. We make gingerbread houses and decorate Christmas cookies. We sing Christmas carols. We get excited to give. Most of all, we get excited to be together, to do all of the above together. Because in one another, the Christmas Spirit comes alive.

Santa may not be real, but his cheer does exist. It's in all of us, if we want it to be.


Friday, December 6, 2013

Roaring 25

As each year passes in my life, I like to reflect on all that has happened in the 365 days leading up to my birthday.

Last year, I wrote this blog post as an ode to year 23. Since 23 was a year of accomplishments and milestones, I set three goals for myself to meet in year 24.

I'll be the first to admit that I didn't accomplish any of those goals (apart from sporadic 2-week yoga stints, hardly the makeup of a yogi).

Normally, I'd be disappointed in myself for not meeting any of those goals I set for myself. However. In lieu of disappointment, I felt an understanding. Because what I learned in year 24 was this: sometimes, you have to let life get in the way.

24 was a year of self-discovery. It was a year of growth and change, a year of recognizing that I wanted something a little different than what I was living. It was a year of keeping big change in mind and accepting the fact that change might not happen right away, but would happen nonetheless. It was about loosening control and believing that all things happen for a reason. Because I made myself relax a little bit, year 24 was filled with the best elements of life: family, friends, health, travel, and laughter.

And you know what? Everything worked out. That big change I was talking about? It happened. Garrett and I moved to San Francisco, at the exact time I was hoping for. And in moving to San Francisco, I'm embracing another change, one in my career. A change that hasn't happened quite yet, but one that I'm working toward and, more importantly, accepting the fact that it will come in due time.

In the meantime, I'm letting life get in the way. I'm letting myself get distracted as I explore the streets of my new city, allowing my feet to wander into any space that catches my eye. I'm letting myself sleep a little later and cuddle a little harder. I'm letting myself say "yes" instead of "no", the latter my usual first reaction. I'm letting myself live unrestricted in all the best possible ways.

In living this way, I've discovered something new: I cannot be afraid to ask for what I want. I cannot hold back from fear of burdening others, from fear of rejection. If I truly believe that all things happen for a reason, I need to actually let all of those things happen. I need to ask for all of those things to happen.

So watch out, world. I'm entering 25 with a roar.




Sunday, November 10, 2013

To Ladies, With Love


We are spread out all over the country, some even across the world. It's been years since I've seen some of my friends and nearly half a decade since I've visited my home town. And though days, weeks, months pass between conversations, I still feel connected to the people who built me up to be who I am today.

A big part of that comes from social media, in being able to see their words or pictures spread across a screen. I get to be a third-party viewer of engagement videos, ultrasound pictures, travel logs, relationship news, career achievements and more. Through this viewership I feel a slight sense of being included in their story, of being kept in the loop. But nothing (aside from in-person reunions), absolutely nothing is better than being included through hearing a dear friend's voice on the other side of my phone.

With the best of friends, conversation is effortless. We catch each other up on the big current events in our lives and inquire about the other person's family. We giggle over funny stories and gasp over exciting news. And though it's been ages since we've spoken, we know exactly which questions to ask. Those questions are answered without hesitation, answered honest and true. No detail is spared, no emotions hidden. In giving or receiving words, there is no judgment, no shock. Just words, passing from mouth to ear, establishing an understanding between two people separated by time, space, and life.

It is this understanding that I cherish, the acknowledgement of one's state of being that I hold close to my heart. Knowing that I can pick up my phone, dial the number of a friend that I haven't spoken to or heard from in what seems forever, and instantly have us be in tune with one another's life means the world to me.

What I love most of all, though, is how each and every one of these conversations ends, with three simple words that mean so much. Hearing somebody say "I love you," is never, ever taken for granted. How good does it feel to be loved by someone that you've been separated from, to be loved by someone that hasn't seen you face-to-face in years ? Really good. It feels really good. To know that no matter where I am in life, I can always pick up the phone and have love and understanding in a matter of minutes? That feels really, really, really good.




Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

When I was a small child, my family often referred to me as Cindy Lou Who as my over-sized eyes and ski-slope button nose resembled those of the endearing Grinch character. From the age of 3 or so, I proudly puffed out my chest and batted my lashes to fulfill my nickname. I've felt a close connection to Dr. Seuss ever since.

Green eggs and ham day was my favorite memory of kindergarten. I religiously read Go, Dog, Go! and firmly believed that I would someday own a cobalt-blue or bright green canine companion. I watched the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas on repeat every December and was first in line when the Jim Carey version opened at the theaters.

You could say I've got a thing for the doctor.

Our relationship has faded over the years, however. Though the annual viewing of How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the original, of course) hasn't gone away, my other connections to Dr. Seuss have dissipated in my adult life.

Until now.

In packing for my big move to San Francisco today, I came across this:

Dr. Seuss

My sister gifted me with this book at my college graduation (please note "party edition" under the title), and though it resonated deeply with me at the time, its message didn't hold a candle to my life then as it does now. Because now, not only am I moving to a new city, I am totally redefining my career.

I am really, really excited for this new chapter. I'm working hard to try something new, to follow a passion that's become evident in my adult life. I just know that I'm on the brink of excellence.

But. Every once in a while the excited flutter in my chest falls to dread in my stomach. I am, after all, moving to one of the most expensive cities in the country without a job.

That thought was circulating my mind while I was packing today. So, when I came across Oh, the Places You'll Go!, I welcomed the distraction that the glittery cover offered me. A smile instantly spread across my face as soon as I read the first page.



"Congratulations! 
Today is your day. 
You're off to Great Places! 
You're off and away!"

You're so right, Dr. Seuss, I thought to myself, so right. Hungry for encouragement, I read on.

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose."

Yes, yes I do, I thought, nodding my head, and yes, yes I can.

"And when things start to happen,
 don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll
start happening too." 

Yes, I will!

"You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest."

Duh!

"I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
that Bang-ups 
and Hang-ups
can happen to you."

Noted.

"You can get so confused
that you'll start to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place."

That's where I am right now, at this present moment. I'm a resident of The Waiting Place. Waiting for someone to give me a chance. I know that I can do it all; I just need the offer. With that chance, I'll be off to great places with brains in my head and know that I will be the best of the best.

"And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)
KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS."


I will! I will move mountains!
 



 

See! That's photographic proof of me moving mountains.


"So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!"


I'm ready to leave The Waiting Place. I'm almost out, I can feel it. I oh so badly needed Dr. Seuss's words of wisdom today, needed his encouragement.

My mountain is waiting; it's time to go move it.