The noise and silence that won’t go away

Write about a noise –

Or a silence –

That won’t go away.

I’ve discovered a lot of random things through my research since quitting my “day job” in April. I had no clue how to explain this to anyone. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to myself.

I had been given the opportunity to take a financial risk with the support of an understanding fiancé. I was pretty certain no one would understand this. Would I be viewed as lazy? It wasn’t hard for me to let the doubt take over. A month into unemployment I was ready to find a job, any job, so that I could stop the disappointment I had in myself and was convinced others had in me.

No one told me they were disappointed. Some even told me they were proud I took the risk. I knew I had to stop caring what it was that other people were or were not thinking. Why should I think I am that important that people honestly gave what I had done even two seconds of thought?

I turned down opportunities to apply for other jobs. Eventually, people stopped trying knowing I wasn’t interested. Knowing the only reason I might entertain the thought would be to make others happy, I was able to, if nothing else, tone down the volume of the voices in my head telling me I was crazy. Even that I was indeed lazy.

I still don’t know what to say when people ask what I do. Actually, most ask who I work for. Working for someone, a company, is the normal thing to do. To have some type of status in the professional world.

Maybe I just start saying I work for myself? I’ll still feel the need to explain myself. To give multiple reasons why I quit and the plan I have for my future endeavors. And usually it comes out as a jumbled mess, bumbling over my words like I really have no clue what I am doing. I typically say something to the effect of I’m assisting with coaching a high school dance team and I want to write a book by the end of the year. And then I throw in all the reasons and excuses as to why I quit the job not before throwing in I did get a Master’s. Assuming that would make me sound less lazy.

The more time marches on, the more I realize I’m not the only one. Other people have done this. Lots of other people as I’m discovering in my research on how to fight my way into the profession of writing. I discovered NaNoWriMo through another’s blog. I picked up a book called The Pocket Muse because of one of the many blogs I am following. I’ve learned a lot of people have taken the plunge to write a novel during “a month of literary abandon.” I’ve now met people in person who’ve done it and people who want to do it. It’s been quite inspiring.

These are people who get it. I laugh because it reminds me of running a marathon in Nepal. Running a marathon in general is unfathomable to a lot of people – even though anyone can do it. Running a marathon at close to 18,000 feet, therefore, is just plain lunacy. But being there, surrounded by people who’ve done things just as absurd, if not more daring, get it. I felt “normal” in that circle. No one questioned why we were doing it. We just did it.

Is it lonely? Absolutely. Starting out, I couldn’t stand staying in the house all day. I needed to be in a public place. I found myself at coffee shops, more or less, every day. I hadn’t bought that much coffee since writing my master’s thesis. But as time went on, it got a little less lonely. I found I was becoming far busier than I had been when employed full time. Some days, it seemed impossible to get as much practice writing in as I wanted to.

Now, I am more comfortable with the silence. But, as normal, there are exceptions to the rule. Since having a foot injury from running and being forced into doing something different to heal – joining a sports recovery clinic – I find myself looking forward to going in multiple times a week. Even if some of the exercises are painful, I love the social atmosphere. I get to interact with people rather than just overhearing conversations of those who I do not actually know. I like talking. I like that they know me enough to ask questions about my life. Ironically, I’ll be a little sad when my ankle fully heals even though it’ll mean I can finally run pain-free.

And the battle of loneliness is why I’ve chosen to write the story I want to write for my novel. The main character quits her job in search of herself as well. Decides what she has been doing is not as good as it gets. She picks up to travel the world.

I’ve enjoyed researching far off places I’ve both been to and have not had the opportunity to see. It takes me into another world. It’ll be a world I’ll enjoy experiencing through this character. I’ll get the chance to daydream again; something I thought was lost years ago. I’m happy to welcome it back into my life and excited to maybe, one day, get to experience some of the cities she’ll be seeing on her hiatus from everyday life. But not alone.

I was thanked by my fiancé for the support and understanding of why he feels the need to run the distance races he does. While I don’t feel I have quite as much understanding as I should, especially since being injured and not being able to experience the similar endorphin rush from race accomplishments, I came to the realization that he is doing the exact same thing for me. He is providing not only support but also understanding. He believes in me that I can make something of my passions.

The noise, and even the silence, has taught me some important lessons over the last few months. I think it’s all worth the risk and would undoubtedly recommend it to anyone. I’m not saying to quit your job. But maybe tomorrow, take a different route to work.

“I almost always urge people to write in the first person. … Writing is an act of ego and you might as well admit it.”
—William Zinsser

Something for fun: If there were no limits, where would you want to wake up tomorrow?

Post your answer here: 50 People, One Question

Then watch below…

Day 28: Learning to tame the mind

The feel, the energy of the room, is that of peace. Assume the correct posture. Stack the spine straight. Place feet flat on floor with palms facing down on the legs. Chin slightly lowered. Close your eyes and start breathing.

The goal is to focus on the breathing. Always come back to the breathing.

Breathing.

Breathing.

Breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

My mind wanders and I bring it back. My mind wanders and I bring it back. I find myself getting sleepy. She tells us to pull energy from the bottom of the spine. She suggests a small smile. This helps me.

The gong sounds and I open my eyes at the moment she tells us to. My body feels so relaxed it is almost numb. I have tears in my eyes. I do not know why. She tells us we had been meditating for 25-minutes. I am amazed I just did that.

I almost didn’t go. I have been trying for years to find time to meditate. Ironically, the time is there, it’s my commitment that is not.

This time, I did not have an excuse. Sunday. Nothing else planned. I told people I was going. I’m sure, given the opportunity I would have found a reason to not attend, but instead I went. I would be going knowing no one. I would be going to share space with people who had been doing this for years and had mastered the art of enlightenment; clearing the mind completely of any toxic thinking. Exactly what I struggle with on a daily basis. I would be going knowing how many times I had failed in the past. I would be going as a last-ditch effort to regain control and happiness over my life.

I am wrong. The facilitator explained the Dalai Lama spends one hour out of his many of meditation repeating the phrase “I am wrong.” We spend so much time trying to convince ourselves and others how right we are even in the face of being wrong. Admit to yourself you are actually wrong and see if letting go becomes a little easier. Hmmm.

I was wrong. Most of the people in the room had not been to this place for meditation before. While they may have meditated, everyone spoke of seeking guidance to get immersed in that peaceful state of being. No one, even those who now meditate daily, had been doing this for years. In fact, most of them were many years older than me. It is never too late to start.

Everyone fails at meditation. Multiple times. The facilitator explained that when she first started she would spend her 20 to 30 minute sessions shopping the aisles of Target in her head. She complimented me in that even though I let my mind wander, I could bring it back. Recognizing it needed to come back.

Finally, I was wrong in thinking this was my last-ditch effort for happiness. I would not be allowed to beat myself up for what has or has not worked now or in the past. She emphasized treating yourself with love and kindness. Stop blaming you for everything that does not go right. It is a journey that is taking me through all kinds of twists and turns. But look at all the things I have experienced along the way, even in these last 30, well quickly approaching, 45 days now.

Much to my happiness, I wasn’t the only one who said the best and most quiet place to meditate is the bathroom. The facilitator told us she sits in her guest room shower. It made me feel better knowing I would be doing the same. I was not a foreigner to this, but rather a seeker just like everyone else in the room. Maybe everyone else on the planet. Including the Dalai Lama.

I left after those 90 minutes with a new hope. This is one to try for at least the next 8 weeks, if not the rest of my life. The statistics show 8 weeks of mediation for peace to become a prevalent guest in your life. Hopefully one day it will take up residency. The way the world is viewed will be different, even if only slightly. It does not mean to stop after 8 weeks, but getting to that mark will undoubtedly be a significant feat.

20 minutes each day. Will I be able to pay attention to experiences and responses as they arise? Can I observe them without judging them?

Be glad you have come as far as you have. Be glad you went.

Day 27: How hard can a bad day be?

I really wanted to have a bad day. I woke up thinking about what it was that triggered the in a not-so-glass-is-half-full kind of mood. Instead of trying to fight it off, I gave up. What’s the use? The day was starting off on the wrong foot and it wasn’t going to get better.

Unmotivated, there wasn’t much I could see myself accomplishing. I had a task list of things that needed to be done. I didn’t want to do any of them, even though some of them were in dire need of getting done. I didn’t feel like being social even though reality was I would need to interact with people today. I decided I would muster up the courage, put on a front and do just as much as I needed to do to make it through the day.

If you couldn’t tell, I was having a bad day and determined to wallow in it until bed. I would wake up tomorrow and try again.

And then, I came in contact with someone who, even though he may not have known it, was not going to allow me to stick to my original plan.

With a couple hours to kill before I needed to coach practice, I surrendered to the fact that I would have to plant myself at a Starbuck’s. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s that I wish there were more options. But they’re the easiest. I know I like their coffee, I know they have reliable Wi-Fi, and I know I can drive (or even walk) down any given stretch of road and spot the green and white sign at least 3 times in a 2-mile stretch. Dang them. Today it made me mad. I did not want to go to Starbuck’s. I wanted them to stop putting the little local coffee shops out of business.

I wasn’t really mad at Starbuck’s. I was just hanging on to my bad mood unsure if anything would get me out of it.

And then I saw it. It was like a golden castle on a hill exuding an aura of white light. I swear I heard a chorus of “Ahhhhhhhs” in my head. “Coffee.” A local coffee shop!

Walking in, I was bombarded with hellos and welcomes from the employees. Confused, I feigned a smile and said hi. The guy behind the counter told me take my time and to let him know if I had questions about anything on the menu. Thinking to myself this is a coffee shop, right? Not exactly difficult to read the glaring menu above the cash register. Pretty much the same everywhere. I think I’ll be ok. I uttered an unenthusiastic “will do,” eyebrows arched, and continued my looking. I felt like I was being watched. He stood there patiently, huge smile on his face. Really?

I wonder if he could sense my annoyance. I felt a little bad I was even annoyed. This guy was a happy guy. At first, I wondered why on earth he would be working in a coffee shop.  I then remembered how many times I have thought about seeking employment in one. I was actually rejected from Starbuck’s 3 times. Maybe not rejected, but never got a call back. Guess it is a sought-after job? For whatever reason, it seems like baristas are relatively happy in what they do. Sure it can be stressful at times, but the interactions are probably quite stimulating. The ability to shape a person’s day by their attitude.

The very first person a lot of people talk to in the morning. This is so very true. When I lived alone and was doing the whole “normal” job thing, that person behind the coffee counter was almost always the first person I had interaction with. They did have the ability to shape my day. That’s a lot of power for a barista!

My attitude began to shift. Just needed a little kick in the head. I smiled a genuine smile and placed my order. After he finished making the drink, instead of setting it on the counter and calling back the order, he walked around and handed it to me telling me he hoped I enjoyed it. I should add that I was not the only person waiting in line or for drinks. This was not an anomaly because no one else was there and they were bored. As I sat down at a table and pulled out my computer I observed his interactions with others. Exactly the same. He sincerely put that much effort into everyone’s order. I wondered if it was exhausting for him? Being happy?

Instead of looking for ways to get the time to pass without really doing anything, I pulled up the task list. I knocked off 3 items in the matter of 2 hours. Things were getting better. A lot better.

I had been given the advice by someone far wiser than me;) that the times you feel like being the least social are the times where you should be the most. Turns out, he was right. By 3pm I was tired of being in a bad mood. I’d wasted more than half my day and for what? Being upset wasn’t worth it. Actually, it was just too hard.

Don’t you hate it when that little voice inside your head says “I told you so?” I told you so because I heard someone say not too long ago that being upset is so much harder than being happy. You actually have to work at being upset. See, him being happy was far easier than what I was putting myself through.

Day 24: Could’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve

I’m going to take a moment to sincerely apologize for my lack of commitment to this project. I should have completed Day 30 sometime last week, and now am just getting to Day 24’s entry. It’s not that I don’t want to see through what I’ve started and would feel undeniably guilty for not keeping a goal that has been so publicly shared. It’s that life gets complicated.

I started last week with the intent of getting through as many entries as I could before a brief planned break for an out-of-town wedding. It didn’t happen.

I had been thinking a lot, as I often do, about visiting my grandma. She is the only living grandparent I have and will be turning 92 in a little over a month. She lives in an assisted living home not that far from me, and yet it is so easy to let time, sometimes months go by, without going to visit her. I make excuses and then feel badly I don’t go. Even though she has been a huge part of my life, I struggle to make the time. I am aware of how selfish it is.

She has never been much of what I would consider to be independent lady. After moving in with my parents in early 2000, she left her familiar surroundings, gave up the few friends she was in contact with, discontinued her activities and stopped driving. I always thought it was too early. She wasn’t even 80 yet. But this was her choice. I worried she had already decided to give up and wondered how much longer she had.

Over the next few years, life changed for everyone in the family with marriages, divorces, kids, and new jobs. Dementia was developing. I still get confused on the differences between dementia and Alzheimer’s. She has never been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which has been a blessing. Doctors say that dementia is a symptom and Alzheimer’s is the cause of that symptom (but not always, in this case). Regardless, her short-term memory went from bad to worse and she had trouble recognizing people she had been the most close to.

When she went to assisted living, she was still relatively capable of taking care of herself. Then, she fell and broke her wrist. She was going to need more help. Still in assisted living, she is rarely left alone and is no longer cooking for herself.

Keeping track of when her fall happened or even how long she has been under assisted care is a blur to me. She has been one of those women who, despite the feelings of wanting to give up from time to time, muscles through and lives on. It’s remarkable really.

She is a little woman. Fragile and frail. We knew if she were to fall again, it would be bad. It could mean the end of her quality of life.

And so, as soon as last Monday, I was making my promise that I would go visit her when I got back from vacation. I needed to be better about it. On Tuesday, my mom called to let me know she was in the ER with a broken hip. I was too late on my promise.

Below the blankets in the hospital room, I swear I couldn’t even tell she had legs. It looked like her body was part of the bed. She has become so skinny I don’t know how her organs can pull her through this even though the doctors determine she is strong enough for surgery. But, she recognizes me. She says my name. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt knowing I haven’t seen her most of the summer, but have to let it go realizing she doesn’t care, she is just glad to see me. I want to be strong for my mom. I know this is very hard on her.

Statistics state that about 25% of patients who go through breaking a hip in their advanced years are gone within a year. Even though she had the surgery, she will need to be able to recover. To move freely. To walk. If she cannot, it is difficult to know what will happen. Inevitably, it could mean that I will never again visit her in the place she was living. She will have to go to a nursing home. And then what?

I don’t know how to handle aging. I don’t think I’m afraid of death, but at some point, I seem to tell myself I can’t deal with it. That I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ll just close my eyes until it’s all over. If it’s part of the cycle of life that everyone goes through, why is it so hard for me to see? For me to accept?

I remember how excited we would get knowing grandma was coming when living overseas as kids. It was awesome to have any visitors from the U.S., but there was always something special about her visits. I remember her townhouse, her pool, how she would let us pick out a toy at the grocery store, trips to Disney and other fun destinations, her peaches and sugar dish, cobblers of every kind, how she was the only other person in the world I would allow to sleep with my stuffed dog Baxter when she’d come to stay overnight, and her support of me no matter what it was I wanted to be. Soft spoken and kind, it’s always difficult to see what something like dementia can do to the mind.

The beauty of the symptom, if there can be a silver lining? Long-term memory is crystal clear even if she cannot recall two hours ago. It would be a shame for me to let her slip away without getting to hear everything she may have to say. I have to believe I will get to do this. I will not sit idly by waiting for the call.

Before surgery last week, I sat by her bedside with my mom and aunt in the room. For as weak as I thought she looked, her grip on my hand was stronger than I thought it could be. Not being as big on physical contact other than the hug here and there, I could not remember the last time we had sat like this holding hands. She told me she loved me and I told her I loved her. I kissed her on the forehead before leaving. From this moment forward, things would be different.

She told me on her birthday last year that she hoped she would not see this year’s birthday. I explained to her how much she has to live for and how loved she is. She is so strong, she’ll be around for a long time. But I am not her. I cannot know what is going through her mind. Her soul. She has lived a remarkable life and if she could think through even the most recent years, would not be disappointed with all she has done and how much she means to so many people. But I do understand that, at some point, you decide enough is enough. You want to go out on a good note leaving a legacy of happiness and goodness. I know this is what she wants.

Even though I keep hoping she is not right in what she said to me last year, I know only she can make that decision. When God says it’s time, it’s time.

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. I hate that. I hate that I do that. It’s never too late, right? Until one day, it is.

Day 16: A Walk in the Woods

For those who have read the Bill Bryson novel of the same name, this wasn’t a similar journey. Mr. Bryson, a really phenomenal travel writer who I would highly recommend to anyone who has never read to pick up one of his many books, took the challenge to walk the entire 2,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. He didn’t quite walk the entire thing, but did eventually get to Maine.

I can’t say I’ve ever had a desire to attempt that feat given the fact that I would need a lot of time and considerable funding to do so, but today was one of those days where a hike sounded like a really good idea. Albeit, a few miles less than 2,200. What I didn’t quite think through was that I didn’t know exactly where I was going nor did I tell anyone where I was going. I wanted to disappear for a while. Life lesson #1. Always a good idea that even if you want to disappear for a bit, tell someone where you’re thinking of disappearing to just in case…

What was going on? I’d hit a bit of low. Ok, a really low low. I thought I’d might be sick as I slept for about 14 hours the night before. I figured my body was trying to fight off something. Instead of making sure I was 100%, both physically and emotionally, I had it in my head that I needed to get away if only for a few hours. Get out where you could no longer hear cars. No longer hear people. Be in nature. Turn off the phone and just walk.

My judgment was a little off…obviously. I went anyway. I picked a trail that I knew existed but had never hiked. I looked at the map at the trailhead. Typically, they give mileage between points. This one did not. I started out thinking I would just go a little ways and turn back. But at each cutoff where I could turn around, I kept going.

My mind was racing with all kinds of thoughts. I didn’t know what my purpose was for being out there. So, I began talking, quietly but still aloud, as I walked. At this point, I hadn’t seen many people and if any did come up behind me, I was ok with them thinking of me being a little crazy. I felt crazy. I never quite know who I’m talking to, but I think this time it was to God.

I asked for clarity. I wanted to know what was making me so sad that day; actually over the last few days. I wanted to know what it was going to take to pull me out. I knew I would be able to, I always do, but felt like I was at a particularly low point for no good reason. I told Him two things. I said I would listen and watch for a sign. Then I said I was going to go all the way to the top. Come walk with me. Mind you, I had no idea how far that was and I only had a bottle of water with me, but I thought by conquering the mountain it would metaphorically mean I was conquering whatever was ailing me.

I stopped talking and walked on in silence. I took a turn on a path called the Enchanted Forest. Glad I did. It was starting to really warm up and there was very little tree coverage on the main path. Naturally, being as unprepared as I was, I had no sunscreen. Life lesson #2. Whenever in the Colorado sun, wear sunscreen. Again, I don’t recommend doing anything I did today. But the Enchanted Forest path was just that. It was shaded and it was cool. It was also really steep. Not a bad workout at the very least.

My mind wandered through a randomness of thoughts. I thought about my ankle and if I should be hiking considering its weakness for injury. I thought about the sweat gathering on the back of neck because I’d forgotten to put it in a ponytail. Another obvious sign of lack of planning. I really didn’t want to take another shower today. Showers had become my enemy lately with all the hair shedding I’d been doing. Don’t worry, I still shower.

I tried my best to focus on the wind rushing through the trees. The multitude of butterflies – more than I’d seen in a long time. The squirrels gathering nuts and other edible delights only they could appreciate. The blue and purple columbines giving much needed color to the brown dirt and bark lining the trail.

But as I kept climbing my way through this wooded area, I realized I hadn’t seen a person in a while. I had no watch, so I wasn’t sure how long it had actually been. My thoughts journeyed back to Bill Bryson’s book. He made it a point to discuss the bear situation along the trail. Great. Of everything in the book, I had to go there. He talked about black bears and how they are more likely to attack with no needed reason or aggression from a hiker. He concluded that because they can also climb trees, he would be at a loss should he encounter one and they were hungry.

I had never seen a bear in the wild and wasn’t sure that Colorado had black bears. But it didn’t stop me from thinking about wouldn’t it be just my luck that I’d run into one today of all days? I tried to push the thought out of mind thinking it was far too warm for them to be this low, but what about those stories of them coming into the city? Being spotted in people’s yards? Then again, this is nature. We’ve moved into their territory. What’s meant to be is meant to be. Maybe coming face to face with a bear was my sign. Hold on, God, is this really going to be my sign? Come on. Not today, please?

Umm, what about mountain lions? Luckily, I stopped that thought quickly. If I’d let myself, I probably would have started thinking about encountering a newfound walking land shark.

I finally passed a couple. Ironically, they asked me if I’d found any bears today. I laughed it off not wanting to think about how I was just thinking about that. Regardless, it was nice to hear voices.

I made it to the top. Low and behold there was the map with the mileage. Why it was at the top I have no idea. Seems logical, right? Other than having just hiked uphill 4 miles, I didn’t feel like I had conquered much. At least not what I’d told myself I would, or whoever was really listening down below.

I felt like I’d probably missed my sign somewhere between my thoughts about sweat on the back of my neck and bears. As I started back down, I couldn’t put the thought out of mind that I really should have told someone where I was going. This was a bad idea. I thought about that a long time. I wasn’t looking around much and the bugs that hadn’t really bothered me on the way up were bothering me now. I rolled my ankle on a rock. Fabulous, now I was hobbling and I still had 3 miles to go. It was definitely much hotter now and there were a lot more people including the mountain bikers with their speeds downhill being so fast I barely had time to get out of the way. What was left of my water was almost too warm to drink. My mood had gone from melancholy, really hoping to get something out of my journey, to frustration. I just wanted to be done.

When I reached the parking lot, I figured I’d done about 9 miles. I was tired especially considering my body was most definitely not recovered from whatever was going on. I went to a park. All I wanted to do was to sit under the shade of a tree.

That’s what I did. I found a bench under two towering pine trees. An hour and half went by. I don’t even know what I thought about. I lost track of time. I knew I was depressed. What about didn’t matter because I didn’t know. When I get in these states I often don’t know what triggers it, but I do know I am the only one who can get myself out of it.

Realizing I had been just sitting there for far too long, maybe you could call it snapping out of it, I looked around. I saw this.

Was this my sign? And what did it mean? I’m ready to grow, I’m already growing, I need to grow? Start fresh? Start over? Move forward? I couldn’t focus. I decided to think about it some other time.

I found a little friend. He didn’t seem hesitant to hang around. Most squirrels scamper off with the slightest movement, but he made circles around me. I felt like he was staring at me. He was posing for me when I wanted to take his picture.

Eventually he did run off and I felt saddened he was gone. Not quite the volleyball incident in that Tom Hanks movie Cast Away, but funny how the littlest of things can bring comfort.

I keep thinking if only I had told someone where I was going, maybe my day would have gone differently. It’s pretty phenomenal that the mountains are close enough to be able to get out and enjoy nature. But I’m afraid I missed the whole point. I needed inspiration.

This is pretty cool. Watch it:)

Day 13: Let the music pull you in

Followed an idea today and decided to write a note in song lyrics (anything italicized is a lyric).

Oh what the hell she says. I just can’t win for losing and she lays back down. Man there’s so many times I don’t know what I’m doing like I don’t know now. But if you really want to know, I have my addictions. I keep my share of secrets and things you’ll never see. I get selfish and defensive and pay too much attention to my insecurities. I laugh at silly movies, tear up when I see babies, and I’m stubborn as a stone. I criticize my body. I wonder if I’m ready to ever be alone.

It is ok. This is who I am and this is all I know and I must choose to live for all that I can give. The spark that makes the power grow. And I will stand for my dream if I can. A symbol in my faith of who I am.

What then? All my life I’ve tried to make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide waiting for someone to tell me it’s my turn to decide. All for these feelings. Because I wish I were pretty. I wish I were brave. And if I were fearless, I’d speak my truth. And the world would hear this. That’s what I’d do.

But what if I just…Put the world away for a minute, pretend I don’t live in it. Is it the answer? Probably not since I don’t want to spend my life jaded, waiting, to wake up one day and find I let all these years go by wasted. I don’t want to keep on wishing, missing the still of the morning the color of the night. Maybe I should stop walking like a one-man army. It’s not your destiny to be the king of pain. Finally let the sun illuminate the words you cannot. Live your life with arms wide open. Because today is where your book begins.

I know that I don’t want to be left behind. Distance should not be a friend of mine. Instead find yourself laughing hard with the windows down leaving footprints all over town. Take a risk. Take a chance. Make a change.

But yet, I’ve seen people try to change, and I know it isn’t easy. Then again, nothing worth the time ever really is. Put up a fight. Face the cardboard masks of all the people I’ve been. Thrown out with all the rusted, tangled, dented goddamn miseries. One foot in and one foot back? It don’t pay to live like that. There has to be a crossroads, a place to draw the line.

Stop.

Don’t compare where you are to where you want to be. You’ll get nowhere. Instead, know that all the doors closed one time will open up again. Have faith it will come in time. Be patient. Your blue might be gray, your less might be more. Your window to the world might be your own front door. Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night.

And then you find love. You helped me see the beauty in everything. Every long lost dream led me to where you are. You just call out my name and you know wherever I am I’ll come running. He tells you if this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear, just call me up because you know I’ll be there.  For when I lost hope, you were there to remind me this is the start.

Those moments, those minutes, those years that go by. In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights and cups of coffee. In miles, in inches, in laughter and strife. Forget regret or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.

xoxo

Day 11: When work doesn’t feel like work

I’ve sat for an hour now trying my very best to get something down. Day 11, due to certain circumstances, inadvertently has lasted 4 days. It was bound to happen eventually. I wouldn’t be able to get the time to write and when I did, I wouldn’t know what to write.

I heard a man named T. Lynn Williamson speak a few days ago at a coaches clinic I had to attend to get my certification with the state of Colorado. That makes me now an official high school assistant spirit coach. I never, in a million years, thought this is what I’d be doing, but am absolutely loving it. I guess to the point that I don’t feel like I’m really working.

T. Lynn Williamson is the advisor for the University of Kentucky’s cheerleading program. This is no ordinary team. In the college circuit, they are arguably the most well known squad in the U.S. only outshone by professional football’s Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. His team has won an unprecedented 19 national championship titles including a consecutive run of 8 from 1995-2002. The best of the best want to be a part of their success.

He is remarkably grounded for someone who has been doing this for close to 40 years with an amazing track record. He expects a lot from the team and from himself. He knows that competition is about winning. In the end, there is only one winner. Losing does not mean he lets them dwell in negativity, anger, and sadness. His role is to make sure they understand how proud he is regardless of what happens. He refuses to go back and analyze what went wrong. He models moving forward and expects they will follow.

What stuck the most about him was the story he told about a young guy who had put his heart and soul into cheerleading and the team, that it nearly killed him. He spoke about this guy as being the happiest person he had ever met. He never had one negative thing to say and found absolute happiness in each and every situation. He was a role model for everyone he came in contact with.

A couple years in, his grades began to slip. It was a difficult decision, but was ultimately “benched” at the beginning of his junior year so he could get his academics back on track. It was explained to him that if he didn’t pull his grades up, he would lose his scholarship and be kicked out of school. Was he upset? Maybe. But he never let on.

Later in the season one of the cheerleaders had to sit out a few games due to injury, so he was asked to sub. The first night back at practice, he was dropped and ended up in the ER with a broken neck. He would be a quadriplegic for the rest of his life. When visiting him in the hospital that first day, without turning his head, he looked up with eyes and said, “coach, I believe this is the best thing that could have happened to me. Accidents just happen for a reason.” He couldn’t believe it. How could this guy be so positive? He later understood what he meant. He finished school with a 4.0 and went on to become a lawyer. He never let his circumstances get in the way. He continued on and found something new to love.

No doubt powerful. Unrelenting positivity. In this year of starting over and trying to find what I am passionate about and actually doing it, I have the opportunity to reinvent who I am and who I want to be. I’d like to think that the adversity of becoming someone who is quadriplegic wouldn’t faze me, but that requires being happy now in order to handle the situation in the event that something does happen, regardless of what it is.

These past few days have helped me to realize what it feels like when work doesn’t feel like work – something I hear people say, but don’t actually believe. There is always something to reflect on whether it be an inspiring story like the one told in the clinic, getting to cheer on the excitement of teenage girls as they are awarded a well-deserved opportunity to compete in a national dance competition, basking in the heat of the sun while listening to live bluegrass amidst towering mountains, a flowing river, dancing kids and the greatness of Colorado micro-brewed beer, or watching my 2-year old nephew smile the moment he sees his slice of birthday cake.

Maybe I missed a few days of writing, but I think I may finally be getting a clear view of what it means to follow your passion.

Day 10: Do over?

I’ve heard it a million times before, but it doesn’t feel like it’s ever really and truly sunk in. It is far easier to be happy than it is to be sad. It’s not exactly been scientifically proven that it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. The suggestion, however, is that because most people tend to smile more often, the muscles get used to that position and therefore require less effort. Reason enough to smile? I think so. Check out more info about this on the Discovery Channel website.

But let’s face it, there are some days it just really sucks to be happy. When I go back and read this, I’m sure I’ll regret saying it. I am going to say it anyway because it’s important to the purpose. We all feel it. It’s a matter of what you do with your “bad day” that actually counts.

I woke up yesterday feeling relatively happy. I’d had a good end to my night. Admittedly I had been frustrated about something during the day. As I have now forgotten what it was, must not have been that important. It wasn’t until much later in the afternoon that I realized I was working really hard to stay in that frustration zone. What for? No particular reason, but felt I deserved to be there. Once I realized what I was doing, I understood the ridiculousness of it all and decided to turn it around. Find something to be happy about. How much easier was that? I’ll give you a hint. Much.

I went to running practice, so thrilled to be running again. I smiled through the 30 minutes of hill repeats. The coaches couldn’t believe it and am not sure anyone else could either. Said I made it look so easy, but I think it was more the smiling that made the run feel effortless. Afterward, I enjoyed some wine on a good friend’s patio. The, I slept well for the first time in weeks.

The downfall started. I saw I hadn’t washed out all the conditioner in my hair. I didn’t realize it until I was drying it hoping the greasiness was just from it being wet. Annoyed at my hair, it was sadly all I needed to ignite the downward spiral.

My mood continued. I thought about how I’d skipped sit-ups for no good reason other than I was being lazy. I wasn’t fond of the reheated coffee I was drinking and decided I should feel grumpy from the lack of caffeine even though it wasn’t actually true. After opening my email, I read a fairly curt rejection from one of the breweries I had visited about getting a keg donated for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society event I would be doing in September. In a very short two lines of words, I was told they “couldn’t be giving away beer. They are a small brewery and need to be able to stay in business. Again, we can’t give beer to just anyone. Hope you understand.” Wow. A simple no, we cannot help you out this time, would have been sufficient.

My hair was greasy, I couldn’t get my eyelashes to curl, I felt rejected and wondering if I should just cancel the event I was doing for a good cause. I hadn’t had any coffee and didn’t really feel like eating breakfast. And, I was feeling lazy.

Thinking about what I would need to get done during the day, I realized I hadn’t put an update on Facebook for my fundraising in the last week and a half. Ugh. Just one more thing to do among the millions of other stuff I had to get done. Does anyone actually read them? Does it really matter?

I decided I better sit down to get it out in effort to show my commitment to raising funds. At least I could check it off my list. I found a video about a little girl named Eva.

3 minutes and 45 seconds later, my day had changed. I told myself I could not in good faith post this to my page unless I made an attitude change. Watching the video, my mood changed. It brought me back to the importance of what I was doing and how one little girl, in what was a very scary situation, was undoubtedly far braver and more courageous than anyone at that age should have to be. But she focused on the humor, the happiness. She was given a second chance and knew how to live life. Take a lesson from Eva.

I didn’t have to spend much time thinking about it. My problems were trivial and I was embarrassed I let myself go in that direction.

Now that I was on Facebook, I couldn’t just post something and leave it at that. I compare Facebook to Target. I’m not sure I’ve ever been able to go into Target and walk out with nothing. Something about that store forces you to buy. Much like Target, I can’t be on Facebook without walking away with some tidbit of information a friend has posted. I’d feel cheated on my visit.

After posting the video link to Eva’s story, I didn’t have to scroll down too far for another reminder…A friend of mine, who I see as an inspiration for living her life with the most energy and happiness as possible regardless of all the crap that gets thrown her way, posted something so simple and so touching. She said “Today is going to be a good day. I’ve already decided.”

I didn’t need to look any further. After putting my hair back in a ponytail and ignoring the urge to get back in the shower and start the process over, I took one last look in the mirror and turned off the light. I dumped the coffee I wasn’t enjoying and decided to go sit at a coffee shop surrounded by smiling faces. I replied to the rejection email with a much-appreciated thank you for getting back to me so quickly and told her I was looking forward to stopping in and supporting their small brewery. I thought back to the sit-ups. I had at least done my lunges and was glad I did something that morning.

Instead of dwelling in any more of my pity party, I left to start my day. It started much later than I would have liked it to, but felt proud about pulling myself out of what could have ruined the day.

Thank you to Eva. Thank you to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Thank you to my dad for giving me the encouragement to do this. Thank you to Ryan and Ashley for supporting me through this journey and giving me the courage to start, and to continue. Thank you to Ashlee for being my role model. I need this every single day.

Despite a bad start, it was incredibly easy to change my mind and make sure my day would end on a high note. The sun will rise again tomorrow. But with no guarantees on this thing we call life, make the most of today.

Do not give any time to your past, you can’t change what happened 5 minutes ago. ~Jan Ruhe

Day 7: Writing what you don’t want to write about.

It was in an article I read a while back. Ways to spark your creativity include writing what you don’t want to write about. Write for 10 minutes straight. At the end, don’t go back and read it, just tear it up. Delete it. What if you don’t want to delete it? Here we go.

I can still see her. She would sit in that closet when the world felt like it was caving in on her. It made her feel safe. The darkness. The ability to shut the world away if only for a moment. She could be sad. No one would ever know.

She had a very normal childhood. Good food on the table, roof over her head, more travel opportunities before the age of 6 than most people get in their lifetime. There was nothing wrong with the world in which she was growing up in, except herself. She didn’t like who she was. Taking for granted the life she had been given.

She told her mom after the haircut she received when she was 10 she hated what she looked like. She looked like a boy. She looked like a really ugly boy. The kids at school tomorrow would be relentless. She cried that whole day, refusing to eat, to talk, sitting in the corner of the living room. She was too exposed and looked ridiculous. She knew it, but didn’t care. That’s when she discovered the closet.

As the esteem started slipping farther and farther away, she fell into an eating trap. Proud of the day she showed up at school and realized she did not need to eat her lunch. She could throw it away and not be the slightest bit hungry. She was thin, she had a problem. But that wasn’t enough. People still picked on her in the very best way middle school girls can. She would spend hours the night before choosing clothes and deciding what to do with her hair just to have it all fall apart the next morning when someone told her she looked ugly. She felt incompetent in almost everything she did. She didn’t think she was good enough in dance class, she had been terrible at tennis, she cried when she had to do math, she wasn’t as smart as her sister.

She would listen to her parents argue over her mental state. She was pretty sure she was crazy. She would go back to her closet and cry. Talking to the stuffed dog she’d had since infancy helped. He just listened. And listened. And listened. She really was crazy.

One night while in high school she took too many pills. She didn’t think she wanted to die, just wanted help. Stop spending so much time in the closet crying to a bunch of stuffed animals, regardless of how much she loved them, and tell someone, anyone who would listen to what she was feeling. She didn’t die and she never tried again. It was a scary night.

When the psychologist asked her if she had ever thought about suicide. She lied.

Years went by. She didn’t feel good all the time, but it was infinitely better. People complimented her even if she never complimented herself, or believed what they were saying. It made her feel good. She relied on others for her happiness.

After college, weight gain happened. She was too focused on superficiality of her appearance. She stopped eating and exercised far more than her body could sustain. The result of her hard work gave her eight stitches in her head after passing out in an elevator while at work. Everyone knew. Everyone could see what was going on with her. She tried to go back into her closet, but it was too late.

She needed to run. To try and be her own person away from everything that she knew. Start new. Maybe she would find out who she was and learn to truly enjoy the company she kept.

It worked for a while. For the first time ever she had some confidence. People gave her respect. Gave her compliments she listened to. She felt in charge of her life. She loved the people she was meeting.

She couldn’t sustain it. Eventually she thought she was losing who she was or who she thought she was. She was listening to too many other people who were trying to give her advice on what to do with her life. She wasn’t sure if she had ever made the right choices personally or professionally. It felt disconcerting, meaningless, hopeless. Maybe she needed help…again. Someone else to give her the happiness she sought.

Her dad was diagnosed with cancer. She cried a lot thinking about the relationship that should have been. She should have been trying harder. She started spending more time in the closet thinking. She had kept all her animals. Too sentimental to let go. They continued to listen. She was spending too much time alone. Her problems were trivial compared to what he was going through.

He beat cancer because he had the will to live. He was strong. She felt inspired by his determination but was still struggling with her will.

She finally gave in to the asks for a date. She moved in with him. She conceded to his ways of never wanting marriage or kids. She needed someone to give her happiness, even if it wasn’t really happiness he would ever be able to give. It was good enough. Maybe this would be as good as it got for her. She found herself settling.

She didn’t cry in the closet. She didn’t really have a closet. She shifted her time alone to the workplace and hid her sadness from him. Some days it was five or ten minutes alone in the bathroom until she could make sure co-workers wouldn’t notice her puffy eyes. Some days she would sit on the curb outside the office trying desperately to convince herself to go back in.

By this time, she had stopped sleeping. Insomnia became her best friend. While the world slept, she could be alone to think. She thought far too much. And then one day, without telling anyone, she decided to apply for graduate school. She spent a very gray and dreary day inside a coffee shop writing essays in an effort to convince admission this was the right program for her. It worked and she got in. It made her proud for the first time since making the decision, without anyone’s input, to move across the country for a job flying.

Then she told people. He feigned support. When she told him what she wanted to do with her degree, he told her he had no reason to move. She knew it was over. She probably knew it was over even before it began.

It was January, her least favorite month of the year. She had been dumped, had no where to live, just started grad school, was incredibly sick from a medication withdrawal, and was about to turn 30 in less than a month. This was not exactly how she had pictured her life.

Then, it started happening, and fast. Her hair was coming out in clumps. She had to make the appointment to chop it off. It was too hard to see the long strands falling to the ground. She knew she had an autoimmune disease. Knew it wasn’t life threatening. Knew it was ridiculous to be caring about her appearance. It didn’t matter what she knew. Her thoughts took over and she sunk into deep depression.

She barely saw friends. She did most things by herself ashamed of who she had become and ashamed she was letting something so like this take over her life. It was not as much a physical disease as it was emotional. She hated seeing the magazines focused on beauty. She knew she would never pick up a fashion magazine again.

She hit bottom. The insomnia was the worst it had been. She was unable to sleep in her bed and spent most nights lying on the couch just staring into the darkness. Waiting. Waiting. It had to get better. It got worse.

It was the first panic attack she’d had. It will probably be the worst. Lying on the floor unable to move she could not go to work. She would not have been able to drive. Her mom spent the day with her, first at the hospital and then on her couch watching TV trying to forget what was happening. She wasn’t able to be alone.

That night, a dear friend who had seen her through most of her life, the ups and the downs, sent her a message. Told her to read Jeremiah 11-13. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Crying because it was the first time that year she felt hope, she was able to get up off the floor. She slept that night. In her bed.

She decided she was supposed to do something with this. She had some purpose even though she was not sure what it was. Maybe she should move to another country and provide something to those less fortunate. Maybe she should help girls overcome issues of insecurity. Maybe she would lose every hair on her head, but be able to show people how strong she was. It wouldn’t matter what her appearance was, something she been obsessed with most of her life since she was 10 years old. She would be brave.

She agreed to take a weekend trip with some friends. She was doing an excellent job in school and getting congratulated on her writing. She was seeking out networking opportunities to find a new job in the field she was pursuing. She finally went to the running group she had wanted to go to for so long. She went alone, talked with complete strangers. She realized she could make new friends. She met him.

Her hair started to regrow. She bravely decided she would quit her job even though she had nothing specific lined up aside from an unpaid internship. Her boss wouldn’t let her go and wanted to help her until she found full time work. It meant a lot how much they valued her as a person. A month later she got a full time internship. Her persistence had paid off. Her sleep was slowly getting better. She loved being with him. He pushed her. Challenged her. She needed him. Things were going uphill, fast. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. It all started with a bible verse.

She wasn’t able to sustain. The slip happened. She started losing even more hair than she had before and had to cut it even shorter. She hated it, and made the appointment to get it shaved off hoping it would stop her obsession. She changed her mind last minute and cut it even shorter. Stress had caused it to start falling out again, and the stress of it falling out sustained the loss. She couldn’t do it. She was worried he might leave her. She was sure he was going to that day up on the mountain on their trek to base camp. She had really messed up this time. She had gone too far and would never have it this good again.

But he didn’t. He stuck with her because he believed in her and knew she was capable of pulling through this. She knew she was capable. She had a track record of pulling herself through. Getting up and keeping going.

She pulled out that verse again and again and again. For some reason, it did not have the same meaning. Why? She didn’t understand. She tried other quotes, other verses. She gave herself pep talks. She talked to her stuffed dog that she still had. She desperately wanted to go back into the closet and hide. But knew she couldn’t and had to power through this regardless of who noticed or who did not.

A year went by. It had been three years since she found her first spot and was told about what was happening in her body. This was going to last the rest of her life. A part of her image would never be the same. She thought back to the ridiculousness of her childhood, adolescence and early adult years when she was overly concerned about her appearance and was sure it would be the only way anyone would like her. Funny how life comes full circle.

She felt lost. He had committed to wanting to be with her the rest of his life and so had she. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she could not find her confidence, this would not be able to last. He would regret his decision. It was not something she wanted to happen.

How does one change something they have dealt with their whole life? They say it takes at least 6 weeks to break a habit. But she had been insecure more than half her life. So insecure that she had become afraid to be alone, something she had never feared before in her life.

After her last breakup when things started to spiral, she had come to the conclusion that if God had meant for her to be single the rest of her life she would be ok with that. She would do something to make a difference and to leave a legacy on this world. She wanted that back, not afraid to be left.

She realized she needed so badly to open up to friends, but felt foolish doing so after holding it in for so long. Her problems so trivial. She was having difficulty opening up to him. Trying so hard to put on a brave front and then falling apart over the smallest of things. It was unfair to him.

Some days she feels like she is standing on a platform in the middle of all the holes she has dug for herself. They surround her. If she steps forward or backward she will fall in. She must stay where she is. She must give herself credit for being able to stand in the middle of challenges. Give herself credit for taking small steps to recovery. What exactly did she need to recover from? Hopelessness.

A few days back she looked in the mirror. She has been afraid of mirrors most of her life. Her family used to wonder why she cleaned bathrooms with no light on. Promising them they were cleaned, she told them it was because she didn’t want to have to see herself in the mirror. As though she was ashamed. They thought she was ridiculous, but it was who she was and they let it go. This time, she forced herself to look. To really look. She felt pretty. She didn’t know why, but she did. It made her smile.

There is nothing anyone can tell her. No book she can read. No video she can watch. She will never give up. She has pulled through far too many times and knows it gets easier with each passing day even when she feels lost and confused about the cards dealt. Maybe she is stronger than she thinks.

I needed to tell someone even if it is difficult to confess. A creative writing teacher explained that even in fiction there is always an element of yourself in the story. You cannot avoid it. Each experience I have had will bring the novel to life.

Seven days in, I don’t necessarily feel like I’m changing. Maybe I won’t notice it until day 30 or 3 months from now. Don’t stop hoping. Find that faith I know is there.

My new word: “Blesson.”  It’s when you’re able to view painful lessons as blessings.  A blesson is what happens when you see the blessing in the lesson that your challenge taught you.

~Karen Salmansohn

Finding beauty in each and every picture along this journey. The transformation, but with the same smile:

Day 5: Walking down memory lane

It seems like a lifetime ago since I was in college. When I left the University of Colorado Boulder campus in 2003, I never went back. It didn’t seem necessary. It was a chapter in my life that was closed and I was moving on.

Have I been afraid to go back or just not had any reason to? I think there is a part of me that feels regret. Regret for so many things I did not take advantage of and regret for the degree I received. Don’t get me wrong, I attended fabulous classes, learned more than I can actually remember now, had amazing experiences and met lifetime friends. But I still regret not knowing what I wanted to do back then and maybe a fear of having wasted time and my parent’s money for a degree that hasn’t been useful aside from the ability to check the box on a job application that I do have a degree. Maybe I should have listened when people told me to really enjoy those college years. Once you’re out in the “Real world” you’ll probably wish you could go back.

Then again, maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Many people don’t know what they want to do at 18. Many don’t know at 80. And that’s ok. I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had. Even the not so good ones.

Why does it matter? Because I think it’s kept me from wanting to step foot back on that campus. Not sure I want to remember what it was like to be there without thinking about how I wish I knew then what I know now. We all do it. Obviously if I did know then what I know now, I’m pretty sure the path would have been different.

It was kind of a fluke I ended up there today. I had been in Boulder having lunch with some friends when a searing pain started taking over the right side of my neck eventually moving down into my left shoulder. When it became bad enough, I popped an ibuprofen and had to sit very patiently until it kicked in, as there was no way I would be able to drive. I couldn’t turn my head.

Once I felt comfortable enough to get in the car, I thought about what it was I would write about for Day 5. I was in Boulder. I hadn’t been on the campus in 10 years. Maybe now was the right time. Thanks neck.

I didn’t have the same knowledge of where everything was as I did in the past, but had a vague sense of where I was going. I spent four years walking that campus every day, knowing all the best short cuts when I only had 15 minutes between classes and they happened to be on the opposite sides. Today, though, I could just wander and remember.

It is summer, so the campus is pretty quiet aside from the few students still in summer classes and the pre-freshman and their parents following the arrows for new student orientation. I remember the 2 days I spent on campus before I was a freshman. It was when I learned you can be pulled over for biking under the influence. It wasn’t a first-hand experience, but happened outside my bedroom window.

As I walked on, I remembered the skateboarders. They were fun. Even though there were none to be found today, it didn’t stop me from wanting to look over my shoulder to make sure one wasn’t going to run right in to me. I can’t count how many times I got clocked in the heels on my way to class.

Even though today’s temperature was hot and the sky was blue, I recalled a gray January day as I walked away from the math building towards the mountains. The view has and will always be beautiful. I remember the snow was just beginning to fall. The air cold and dry despite the fact that I was having a difficult time holding back my tears all the way through class and on the walk back to the house.

I had my heart broken and was trying my best to talk my way through what went wrong and what I could do to get him back. One of my sorority sisters was walking with me as I dumped my woes on her. Once she’d heard what she needed to hear, she turned to me and bluntly said, “Jen, why would you want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with you? You know you deserve better than that.” It was a bit of a harsh blow thinking about him not wanting to be with me. But it was true. Fast forward 10 years and I can now see why it had been so important to move on.

I looked at each of the building names as I passed trying to remember what class I had in each. Harder to recall than I thought. I would have to go back and look at a transcript to see exactly which classes I had taken. How easily they are forgotten.

I found my freshman dorm. It was easy to spot as it sits at the end of a long field facing the scenic Flatirons. I may be a little biased, but I still think mine was the best dorm on campus…at least the prettiest.

I walked past the art building vaguely remembering a class in which I was completely out of my element surrounded by the creative artsy type. I wandered through the University Memorial Center. It had been remodeled in the last 10 years, but the memories were the same. The smell of dominoes pizza still predominates after all these years. Breadsticks and a drink were quite the combo for the poor college student. The huge open area of tables I had spent many days and nights sitting at, studying, was still there. I found it easier to concentrate with lots of action and noise happening around me.

The courtyard behind the UMC looked the same. I remembered the poster fair my freshman year. Plastering your dorm room in posters was essential to the freshman experience of 1999. That and Napster. I won’t talk about how much of my music collection is from there… One of the posters was from the movie Say Anything. It was a picture of John Cusack holding the stereo above his head as In Your Eyes flowed from the speakers. Every girl’s dream, right? The other was Ricky Martin. Give me credit. It was 1999. He became a big sensation after his Grammy appearance. I went to his concert. I was young and, at the time, had no idea I would never have a chance with him.

I walked into the biggest lecture hall on campus. At the time, at least. Chem 140. Seated 500, I think. Today it was empty. It looked like there had been a few updates to the decor, but the general feel was the same. When in class, I sat on the right side. Somehow, I always managed to get myself a seat right behind the guy with the dreads. This may be normal for Boulder, but his dreads had a whole circus of little bugs. I was fascinated by this. Most circuses travel, but it looked like these guys were a permanent fixture.

This was also the room where I had taken Deviance in U.S. Society. I remember it being an interesting class, but again, having a hard time knowing exactly what we learned. As I stood there looking down the stairs to the front of the lecture hall, I recalled our professor spending a lot of time standing on the counter in the front of the room. She taught us how pickpockets do their thing and learned the “technical” difference between a street walker, prostitute and call girl.

A couple of new buildings have popped up since. The unique thing about this campus is that all buildings must be built uniformly. It would be difficult to tell old buildings from new. It’s what makes the campus really stand out when compared to others across the U.S.

Heading back to the car, certain I could now drive, I passed by one last memory. Carlson Gymnasium and Bach Fieldhouse. One of my favorite memories of college was Song Fest which occurred at the end of Greek Week each year. One sorority and one fraternity were paired up to perform a dance routine. Each group competed against each other with there being one winner. This was a big deal during Rush to be able to tell the girls you had won Song Fest.

The routines were judged and the whole student body was invited to attend. Not sure how this tradition and competition started, but I am proud to say that my freshman year we took 1^st place among 10 teams. The theme was Around the World. Just as it sounds, we used artists and songs from…you guessed it, around the world. Wish we had a video, but have never found one. Guess it’s just going to be one of those things that will live only in memory.

Carlson Gymnasium. Spent many days and nights practicing in there. It’s also the place I took my first hip hop class instructed by a guy from Brooklyn. Just a tad intimidating. I stood there for a minute smiling. That was a good time.

I have to mention that Folsom Field, the football stadium, is next door. I am still ashamed to admit that I set foot in that stadium only twice in four years. Once for half of a football game. Got bored and needed to go shopping for an outfit to wear to that night’s party. Priorities. And once for the all school graduation on May 10, 2003 for which it was snowing. Have to love the unpredictability of Colorado weather.

I feel like it was important for me to walk this memory. Remembering where I have come from helps to appreciate where I am. College was a growing experience; a learning experience. It set me up so that I could continue on some crazy path to self discovery that has brought me through working for a ski resort, living in hawaii, flying for the airlines, and getting a master’s degree in criminology for which I am still uncertain what I will do. Working with felons didn’t seem to be the right fit.

As of right now, it matters that I was able to stand here today and remember the good times as I thought about how often we seem to recall bad memories so much more vividly. Where you were on September 11. Where you were during the Challenger and Columbia shuttle disasters. TWA Flight 800. When Princess Diana died. I distinctly have memories of these events, yet have a difficult time remembering my first kiss. This is likely true for many. The brain seems to hold on to the bad more easily. I have to fight to let them go.

A writer I saw not too long ago, Qais Akbar Omar, wrote a book titled A Fort of Nine Towers. The book is about growing up in Afghanistan. He began his speech by stating he would be discussing the good parts of his life in Afghanistan. You must start by telling jokes, being happy, remembering the good times, as so many of the stories about Afghanistan end in tragedy. While I cannot relate to living in that kind of environment, I understand how important it is to remember the good.

It was nice to take this really enjoyable walk down memory lane. What degree I received doesn’t seem so important anymore. Life has become so much richer.

I’ll commit if you will. Make one good memory every day so that 10 years from now, when you look back, it’ll be there for you.