“Sometimes you need to go back to where you started to be where you need to be.”
That was an inscription on a gift that my boss gave me for Christmas. She had passed by this particular item several times – it always reminding her of me – but never purchased it because she wasn’t sure how I would react to it. She understood and knew well of my internal struggle with moving back, but decided that maybe I was at place in my life where I could agree with that statement.
I am.
Nearly two years have passed since I made the decision to come back, and I constantly realize why. It hit me many times in 2009, and I have no doubt that I am where I am supposed to be. I’m not always happy about it, but this is right. I’m in the right place.
Looking back over the past year, I can’t exactly say 2009 was a good year. Going into this year, I was so confident in myself and who I was becoming, yet the last 12 months have felt like back peddling – going, but never really getting anywhere. All the progress I made in personal growth seemed to be tested and unraveled and I feel that I have no strong understanding of who I truly am now. I’m sure that isn’t an entirely bad thing, but I have yet to see the good from it.
This year has been a struggle and I’ve fallen into overwhelming pits of frustration and confusion. From deaths to betrayal to “you won’t make it” to restlessness so deep my legs shake, times of clarity rarely appeared. And on certain days, grasping for air is all that I could do to completely losing.
Still, on the day before Jan. 1, resolution is in my heart. Maybe it’s the optimism that a new year brings or the ability to finally be OK with certain situations, but I feel calm right now. Like a rainbow after a heavy thunderstorm, all I can do is smile at what passed and the sunshine to come. There is no anxiety, remorse or regret flooding my veins, only reassurance that all of the events played out the way they needed to.
And not all of the year was bad. My big resolution of the year was to take risks and I think did that. I’m following a dream, one that many said couldn’t survive. It’s too early to say “I told you so,” but I took a leap that many only talk about. It’s a battle each day, but one I love. I could never regret the decision to pursue this endeavor, even if it would flop tomorrow.
I also moved to another city, a hope for 2009. Again, it’s not the settling-down point, but I much happier here. The air just feels fresher 50 miles south.
Each time I met despair this year my army of overwhelming supportive friends was there to hold up my back. They held me as I cried, offered encouraging statements and put time and energy into my dream without hesitation. In a way, I’m really thankful for the people who hurt me, because it only made those that love me shine brighter. More than at anytime in my life, I learned the difference between a good friend and a bad one.
Tomorrow, 2010 begins. I’m still restless, but good things are going to come. And no matter where I am Dec. 31, 2010, I will appreciate how the year began.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
A merry day
One of my beloved, but not very original, Christmas traditions is to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" on Christmas eve. After mass and before some gift opening, my mother and I—dad joins in for the last half hour—watch the tale of George Bailey. Each time I watch it, I'm moved with hope and spirit as if it was my first introduction to the people of Bedford Falls. And each year, I find a new way to identify to the film that I've loved for years.
In the last two years, I discovered similarities between George Bailey and myself. We were both bright-eyed kids, with dreams as big as our imaginations. We want to kick the dust of this crummy town and leave footsteps in exotic places. Yet, life happens and dreams morphed into other things. Adventures are swapped with what seems right and we only know work with one adverb: hard.
My brothers hate this movie so it's an argument every year when I demand to watch the film. There is usually a screaming match and I often get my way. This year, I decided to compromise. I watched all but the last half hour of the movie before mass, saving George Bailey's realization of his wonderful life for the evening when the snow was falling and the fire cracking.
As I watch the first half, I saw those similarities again and fell into a slump of frustration and discontent. My life wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had anticipated it would be at the age of 25 and I can't say that any grand adventures await me in the near future. I felt stuck and like a disappointment to all those “I am going to”s.
At Christmas Eve mass, my mind mulled over where I am and where I could be. There are many parts of 2009 that I’m proud of, but I tend to focus on what I don’t have during the holiday season. I’m not somewhere special, doing something magnificent, or so I lecture myself instead of listening to the first and second readings.
The pastor moves into the homily as he talks about hope and the potential for great possibilities that are often represented in the holiday season. At that point, I saw Christmas as a transition point, one where we forget about what happened in the year past and focus on the journey ahead. And then I start to rethink my mood. Maybe I can dwell into possibilities instead of missed opportunities. Maybe my life is pretty darn grand and there is so much to live that it’s a wasteful to start discounting dreams.
After mass and movies with my family, it was time for the last few minutes of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” As Clarence shows George how important he is to others, I remember that I might not be saving the world, but I play a significant role in this universe and nobody can replace me. And when all of his friends come to his side, I’m reminded of the great people in my life who’ve stood by me this past year, rooting me on in this challenge.
At the end of the movie, I’ve transitioned. No longer am I scolding myself, but I rejoicing in the good parts. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for and, blessedly so, a lot to look forward to. Similar to George Bailey, I too have a wonderful life.
Merry Christmas each and everyone.
In the last two years, I discovered similarities between George Bailey and myself. We were both bright-eyed kids, with dreams as big as our imaginations. We want to kick the dust of this crummy town and leave footsteps in exotic places. Yet, life happens and dreams morphed into other things. Adventures are swapped with what seems right and we only know work with one adverb: hard.
My brothers hate this movie so it's an argument every year when I demand to watch the film. There is usually a screaming match and I often get my way. This year, I decided to compromise. I watched all but the last half hour of the movie before mass, saving George Bailey's realization of his wonderful life for the evening when the snow was falling and the fire cracking.
As I watch the first half, I saw those similarities again and fell into a slump of frustration and discontent. My life wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had anticipated it would be at the age of 25 and I can't say that any grand adventures await me in the near future. I felt stuck and like a disappointment to all those “I am going to”s.
At Christmas Eve mass, my mind mulled over where I am and where I could be. There are many parts of 2009 that I’m proud of, but I tend to focus on what I don’t have during the holiday season. I’m not somewhere special, doing something magnificent, or so I lecture myself instead of listening to the first and second readings.
The pastor moves into the homily as he talks about hope and the potential for great possibilities that are often represented in the holiday season. At that point, I saw Christmas as a transition point, one where we forget about what happened in the year past and focus on the journey ahead. And then I start to rethink my mood. Maybe I can dwell into possibilities instead of missed opportunities. Maybe my life is pretty darn grand and there is so much to live that it’s a wasteful to start discounting dreams.
After mass and movies with my family, it was time for the last few minutes of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” As Clarence shows George how important he is to others, I remember that I might not be saving the world, but I play a significant role in this universe and nobody can replace me. And when all of his friends come to his side, I’m reminded of the great people in my life who’ve stood by me this past year, rooting me on in this challenge.
At the end of the movie, I’ve transitioned. No longer am I scolding myself, but I rejoicing in the good parts. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for and, blessedly so, a lot to look forward to. Similar to George Bailey, I too have a wonderful life.
Merry Christmas each and everyone.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A traveling heart
“The road is my artery, travel is my friend.”
A friend sent that text message to me as he was driving across five states to be home for the holidays. The emotion that reeked from his words was familiar. It was one I knew and one I craved.
I have issues with traveling. It bugs me when people say, “Oh, I love to travel.” Yeah, well many people do; it’s not a unique concept, although the voice box would often like you to believe it is. And the “traveler” identification comes off pretentious and can make others feel so small if they don’t have the means to visit far and away places. It irritates me when people judge each other based on the number of countries they’ve visited.
Yet, behind the smug and commercial appearance of travel is something gorgeous. There is an addiction to not staying in one place and immersing oneself in something foreign. The idea that one can find a new location, just for a day, is so captivating that we spend great amounts of money for a day, a week, a month to go somewhere that isn’t home.
I’m by no means a world traveler or an experienced travel. I go when the opportunity rises and try to indulge where I can, whether it be Paris or Omaha, Neb. Yet, I felt traveling’s ambiance and often dream of vagabonding.
Sure, I dream about the cobblestone streets of Europe, the sparkling blue ocean of the Caribbean, the invigorating colors of Africa and the pretty languages of Asia, but most often, I dream about a stretch of warm, isolated highway.
Last summer, I drove 3,000 miles by myself to visit friends in mountainous states. I long to do that trip again. The hot July sun soaked through my open car window, reddening exposed skin, while my radio hummed with a book on tape or a song from my entire library. Scenery varied from desolate patches of dirt to winding roads along the mountainside to small towns, which I imagined were jammed pack with good stories. I cried. I laughed. I talked to myself. I worried. I angered. I hung out with myself for 12 hours west, 6 hours north and 15 hours east.
Seeing old friends and meeting new ones was the objective of that trip, but the unexpected highlight was the road time itself.
On that trip, I learned to appreciate me time and traveling solo. Somewhere along side a road in Montana, my devils came out and I lost a tough battle to an addiction. I decided who I was going to vote for in the next election and developed a fear of driving at night thanks to “In Cold Blood” on audio book. I made a decision about my future and forgave myself for a grudge that wouldn’t be quiet. I saw myself in way that I never had or never could.
Most of all, I felt free and hopeful. I felt like I could drive anywhere in the world, no matter the distance or ocean in between. That trip confirmed my idea of simplicity. Happiness, I decided, could be as easy as me, my car and full tank of gas.
To be with my friend, traveling, I don’t have to hope on plane, a train or a boat. I just need my car and my heart will be happy.
A friend sent that text message to me as he was driving across five states to be home for the holidays. The emotion that reeked from his words was familiar. It was one I knew and one I craved.
I have issues with traveling. It bugs me when people say, “Oh, I love to travel.” Yeah, well many people do; it’s not a unique concept, although the voice box would often like you to believe it is. And the “traveler” identification comes off pretentious and can make others feel so small if they don’t have the means to visit far and away places. It irritates me when people judge each other based on the number of countries they’ve visited.
Yet, behind the smug and commercial appearance of travel is something gorgeous. There is an addiction to not staying in one place and immersing oneself in something foreign. The idea that one can find a new location, just for a day, is so captivating that we spend great amounts of money for a day, a week, a month to go somewhere that isn’t home.
I’m by no means a world traveler or an experienced travel. I go when the opportunity rises and try to indulge where I can, whether it be Paris or Omaha, Neb. Yet, I felt traveling’s ambiance and often dream of vagabonding.
Sure, I dream about the cobblestone streets of Europe, the sparkling blue ocean of the Caribbean, the invigorating colors of Africa and the pretty languages of Asia, but most often, I dream about a stretch of warm, isolated highway.
Last summer, I drove 3,000 miles by myself to visit friends in mountainous states. I long to do that trip again. The hot July sun soaked through my open car window, reddening exposed skin, while my radio hummed with a book on tape or a song from my entire library. Scenery varied from desolate patches of dirt to winding roads along the mountainside to small towns, which I imagined were jammed pack with good stories. I cried. I laughed. I talked to myself. I worried. I angered. I hung out with myself for 12 hours west, 6 hours north and 15 hours east.
Seeing old friends and meeting new ones was the objective of that trip, but the unexpected highlight was the road time itself.
On that trip, I learned to appreciate me time and traveling solo. Somewhere along side a road in Montana, my devils came out and I lost a tough battle to an addiction. I decided who I was going to vote for in the next election and developed a fear of driving at night thanks to “In Cold Blood” on audio book. I made a decision about my future and forgave myself for a grudge that wouldn’t be quiet. I saw myself in way that I never had or never could.
Most of all, I felt free and hopeful. I felt like I could drive anywhere in the world, no matter the distance or ocean in between. That trip confirmed my idea of simplicity. Happiness, I decided, could be as easy as me, my car and full tank of gas.
To be with my friend, traveling, I don’t have to hope on plane, a train or a boat. I just need my car and my heart will be happy.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Being lost
It’s what you’re not looking for that you find.
Today, I was searching my car looking for a receipt in order to return something. As I was rummaging through my life, since that mostly takes place in my car these days, my temper rose. “You always lose things you need,” I scolded myself and kept digging into every cranny possible to find that small, white piece of paper. I decided to give up, when I saw something sticking out beneath the passenger seat.
“Holy crap,” I said out loud in my cold car. It wasn’t the receipt, but something else I misplaced. It was the key card to my office building, which I’ve been lacking for months. Without the key, I could only use the main entrance door that was open regular business hours. It became a nuisance, especially with my unusual hours, to plan any errands, food runs or trips to my car after 8 a.m. and before 5 p.m. I even went to the trouble of organizing my apartment and desk, hoping it was lost in the fray. Eventually, I gave up. I thought it was long gone, a driftee of my pocket or lost soul to the washing machine. But here it was, and the joy of finding it completely replaced my rush to find the receipt.
When I gave up looking for it, I found it. All I needed to do was stop looking for it.
Life is like that. It’s good to set goals and aspire to them, but what you are looking for can’t always be found. Sometimes, it has to be stumbled upon.
As one year ends and a new one begins, I think about things I’ve lost in the last 12 months. I let people take advantage of me and lost a piece of myself in the process. Some of the hard work I put into defining myself was cracked. And I am no closer to finding my life path than I was nine months ago.
Last week, I took an oath to pull back, to just let things be. I’ve given up searching, or frivolous searching, for that big thing that is supposed to settle my restlessness and hope to just live. I have an idea of what I want from life, but, for right now, I can’t find it. That’s OK, and I need to be OK with that being OK.
So, I’m done. I’m gonna stop looking, and hopefully, what I’ve been searching for will present itself to me in an usual way in an usual place. And if doesn’t? Then I was never meant to find it.
Today, I was searching my car looking for a receipt in order to return something. As I was rummaging through my life, since that mostly takes place in my car these days, my temper rose. “You always lose things you need,” I scolded myself and kept digging into every cranny possible to find that small, white piece of paper. I decided to give up, when I saw something sticking out beneath the passenger seat.
“Holy crap,” I said out loud in my cold car. It wasn’t the receipt, but something else I misplaced. It was the key card to my office building, which I’ve been lacking for months. Without the key, I could only use the main entrance door that was open regular business hours. It became a nuisance, especially with my unusual hours, to plan any errands, food runs or trips to my car after 8 a.m. and before 5 p.m. I even went to the trouble of organizing my apartment and desk, hoping it was lost in the fray. Eventually, I gave up. I thought it was long gone, a driftee of my pocket or lost soul to the washing machine. But here it was, and the joy of finding it completely replaced my rush to find the receipt.
When I gave up looking for it, I found it. All I needed to do was stop looking for it.
Life is like that. It’s good to set goals and aspire to them, but what you are looking for can’t always be found. Sometimes, it has to be stumbled upon.
As one year ends and a new one begins, I think about things I’ve lost in the last 12 months. I let people take advantage of me and lost a piece of myself in the process. Some of the hard work I put into defining myself was cracked. And I am no closer to finding my life path than I was nine months ago.
Last week, I took an oath to pull back, to just let things be. I’ve given up searching, or frivolous searching, for that big thing that is supposed to settle my restlessness and hope to just live. I have an idea of what I want from life, but, for right now, I can’t find it. That’s OK, and I need to be OK with that being OK.
So, I’m done. I’m gonna stop looking, and hopefully, what I’ve been searching for will present itself to me in an usual way in an usual place. And if doesn’t? Then I was never meant to find it.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Why I did it
Why I did it
I didn’t do it for The Post.
I didn’t do it for Palin fans.
I didn’t do it for Palin haters.
I didn’t do it to show off.
I didn’t do it to outdo other media.
I didn’t do it for money.
I didn’t do it because someone told me I had to.
I didn’t do it because it was easy.
I didn’t do it because I’d been craving a story like this.
I didn’t do it to draw attention to myself.
I didn’t do it to earn praise.
I didn’t do it because it was difficult.
I didn’t do it for anyone.
I did it because I needed to be reminded of why I am a journalist.
I did it to feel that euphoria pumping through my veins again.
I did it because I believe in what it meant.
I did it because dreams only take you so far.
I did it for journalism.
I did it to reacquaint myself with my skills.
I did it because I needed to be rewarded.
I did it because I needed to win one.
I did it as encouragement to keep fighting.
I did it for me.
13 hours. 12 degrees. 2,511 words. 1 night. All for me.
It.
I didn’t do it for The Post.
I didn’t do it for Palin fans.
I didn’t do it for Palin haters.
I didn’t do it to show off.
I didn’t do it to outdo other media.
I didn’t do it for money.
I didn’t do it because someone told me I had to.
I didn’t do it because it was easy.
I didn’t do it because I’d been craving a story like this.
I didn’t do it to draw attention to myself.
I didn’t do it to earn praise.
I didn’t do it because it was difficult.
I didn’t do it for anyone.
I did it because I needed to be reminded of why I am a journalist.
I did it to feel that euphoria pumping through my veins again.
I did it because I believe in what it meant.
I did it because dreams only take you so far.
I did it for journalism.
I did it to reacquaint myself with my skills.
I did it because I needed to be rewarded.
I did it because I needed to win one.
I did it as encouragement to keep fighting.
I did it for me.
13 hours. 12 degrees. 2,511 words. 1 night. All for me.
It.
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