I am currently sitting in Cottonwood doing some long overdue writing. It’s currently pouring outside as I sit in the dim lit coffee house on Main Street. As I contemplate what I want to write next, iTunes is playing my favorite raining day song, “Songs about Rain.”

I love this song when it’s raining, snowing or sunny. Every time I hear it, it takes me back to my sophomore year when I played it over and over as I dealt with my first heartbreak. Yet, it doesn’t really make me think of the guy. It makes me think of the person I have become since that time.

Right as the song goes into the chorus, the rain outside picks up as if to match the beat. Gary Allen’s soothing voice always brings a smile to face and makes me wish time would just stop for a minute. The piano and guitar notes mix so sweetly together and I decided to listen to it one more time. One more time just to sit and stare at the splashes on the dark gray cement. One more time to enjoy the song at the best possible time – when it’s raining.

I might be a runner afterall

The soreness in my stomach muscles taunted me while my mouth, full of snotty cobwebs, reminded me that maybe I wasn’t actually ready for this. I kept my eyes on the pink tank top ahead of me, while visioning the stretches and turns still to come. The beats coming out of the earphones connected to my iPod kept my pace. I was still surprised I was doing this.

In sixth grade, Mr. Halling made an announcement about cross country sign up for seventh grade. Not really sure what cross country was, I signed up thinking this would be the greatest thing I ever did. When I told my mom about my plans to tryout for the team, she looked at me like I had told her I was running away from home. I didn’t care; I was going to run cross country.

The day that I walked into that dark junior high gym was start of a passionate relationship between a sport and a girl who had no business being in it. I ran cross country until my senior year of high school, despite the fact that I got slower each year. I made the varsity team my sophomore year, but busted my butt my senior year just to earn the number seven spot to run at ESD and state. But love is blind and I was in love.

Every summer day, I ran the streets of Pierre, dreaming about the upcoming fall season. My teammates would see me out running and make a small comment about my hard work, but they would usually out run me during the season. One year, I recorded the second most miles that summer. The only person who ran more than me was Brad Lowery, who is one of the top runners to come out of Pierre. He went on to be a star runner for South Dakota State University and is currently training for the Olympics.

Running was drug. When practice started for the season, I could occasionally run later in the day. If I didn’t run, I would have a panic attack. Running fed my eating disorder and it was my friend when I thought no one else was.

I cried at the state meet my senior year, knowing it was my last race, but I knew I would never stop running. I continued on to college and found a running partner in my hall. Our routine fell apart after the first semester when we both became busy with class and other activities. I still tried to find time to run, but it wasn’t an everyday thing.

Through the next three years, my runs were sporadic, used mostly when I wanted to shed a few pounds.

My love for running was suppressed, but it wasn’t deleted. It was my medicine when school became too much, when The Collegian nearly destroyed me, when I was healing a broken heart or when I just needed something stable in my life. It was my punching bag when life dealt me some pretty tough cards. From choosing SDSU to accepting the job in Idaho, running was my counselor during big decisions.

Once I left South Dakota for Idaho, running never felt right. I did enjoy runs on the ISU cross country course and at City Creek, but runs were forced. It didn’t help that the long and unexpected hours of my job made it a bit hard to run on a consistent basis.

I missed running, though. In Idaho, I became the cross country expert in the area, giving the sport more attention than it’s ever received. I eagerly signed up for assignments during the Pocatello Marathon, while my fellow sports writers moaned at the thought of actually attending the painfully-long event. Most races, I teared up at the stories of these incredible people. I wanted to love running like they did. And I really wanted running to love me back.

Then I moved back to Brookings, and I made a commitment to running. I was going to give it my all, and I was going to fall in love with it again. I decided to take our relationship to a new level and race again. I really wanted to run a marathon, but that was a commitment running and I weren’t ready for. So I settled on a 5K instead.

I signed up for the race without much concern. I knew the course well, since it was on campus. I have been running that route for four and half years and can literally point out places with significant meaning. There is the stretch on 22nd avenue that I would sprint in hopes that a particular guy might be leaving his apartment at the same time. The little pass by Coughlin-Alumni Stadium that I would run during fall football camp. The spot by Animal Science that I broke down when I thought I was going to fail macro-economics. The spot where I flew kites with my then-boyfriend, thinking I could spend the rest of my life with him. Yeah, this route and I know each other well.

Since I had no real plans of winning, I shouldn’t have been nervous. But I was. I hadn’t raced since high school, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to do it anymore. I watched what I ate that day and said a little prayer, just like I used to when I wore the kelly green uniform.

My stomach was in knots when I arrived at the start line; I wasn’t sure why. I had nothing to prove or to lose, I just wanted to run. The race started with an unexpectedly casual “go” and we were off. To my surprise, not many people were in front of me. The woman in the purple tank top jetted past me less than 200 yards from the start, and then the older woman in the pink tank top made her move. I kept behind the pink tank top for a bit, and managed to move past her around the mile mark, but she made a play for me and was able to keep an edge on me the rest of the way.

Trying not to let my mental game win, which it does so many times, I focused on the purple and pink. I kept my arms low and just plowed through every turn and straightaway, trying to make sure no one else crept past me. A woman with an Obama ’08 shirt made her way past me with 400 meters left, but I really wasn’t bothered. I was already exceeding my expectations.

As I made the last turn by Brown Hall, I smiled at the volunteer and pushed hard to the flags. Then flashbacks of finish lines in Huron, Mitchell, Rapid City, Aberdeen and Brookings flooded my mind. I pictured my former teammates and their families yelling my name and high school girls in red, orange, black and blue uniforms as I pounded my legs into the finish line. It was almost like I went back in time five years.

I ran the 5K in 26-something minutes and I finished fourth in a pretty well-attended race. My time was so-so and I could have probably ran a bit harder to secure third, but I am incredibly proud of myself. I never thought I would do that well or feel the way I did when finished.

Today, I watched a bit of the Brookings Marathon just before mile maker 11. I watched young, old, men, women run past our corner, dripping wet from the rain. I studied their faces, and they were happy. They were tired, drenched and probably in pain, but they were happy. Many people think they are crazy, but I know they are in love. They are in love with something bigger than them and you can’t help but smile at that.

Monday, I am going to begin training for a marathon in Sioux City. I am going to run 26 miles that I am sure will be painful and exhausting and people will think I am crazy, but I don’t care. Love is blind, and I am in love.

The day I almost died

This is the infamous wave. Val took this right as I went over the rocks. You can see Brandon off to the left. He yelled my name right as she snapped this shot.


A few posts ago, I mentioned that someday I would tell the story of how I almost died. For your enjoyment, here is that story.

This past February a few friends and I traveled to the Virgin Islands to visit my good friend Brandon, who moved to St. Croix in October. Before he even had an apartment, my friend Niki had a ticket booked. Andrew and Val booked theirs about a month later, then convincing me to go too. Elissa bought her ticket after Christmas and, not much later, Niki's boyfriend Jim bought one too.

For me, this trip came at pretty poor financial time. When I bought my ticket, I was planning another year or two in Poky, but plans don't always work out that way. So I spent most of my savings moving back to Brookings and my bank account was wiped out.

Mentally, this trip came a pretty great time. Between deciding to moving back, leaving my Idaho friends, a strenuous drive back to SD, moving, starting a new job and learning to live in Brookings again, I was wiped out.

When we told Brandon we were visiting, he said you have to be open to new things. I believe in that as a life motto, so I was game. On the third day of our visit, we decided to visit go on adventure to see a tide pools near an 18th century harbor.

There are two ways to get to the tide pools -- by hiking and by jeep. Since we didn't have a jeep and didn't want to pay the extra money, we hiked. Hiking in Idaho brought me a lot of peace when I needed it, so, again, I was game.

Niki and I decided to be the official picture takers of the trip so we lagged behind a bit to photograph every leaf and interesting creature along the way. We came to a green-mossy covered rock, and I decided to hop over it. Well, my foot slipped and I fell backwards, busting my camera.

I was devastated. This was a $200 camera and it was the third day of our trip. I tried really hard to remain optimistic. I told myself that I could have seriously gotten hurt on the fall. If the worst thing to happen me on this trip was breaking my camera, then it wasn't so bad. As much as I tried this optimistic approach, it just wasn't working.

The pain of losing my camera was bit minimized when we actually got to the tide pools. The ocean reflected the most captivating blue I had even seen (well other than SDSU blue that is :) The rhythmic crashing of the waves was the best music I had ever heard. I wanted to stay out there for the rest of my life.

To actually get to the tide pools, we had to climb around black, jagged pieces of rock. Because we still had to hike back, we swapped our tennis shoes for flip flops. I don't remember the climb to be too difficult, but I was still in awe of the beauty around me. After a few minutes of climbing, we discovered and pale green pool sheltered by more black rock. We were accompanied by small green fish and the waves crashing against the rocks that blocked the ocean. Again, I wanted stay here for life.

Brandon and Andrew decided to climb up on the rocks to get a better view of the ocean. And if they were going to do it, so I was. All that I could see was blue with ripples of white getting closer and closer to shore. Every problem and doubt that existed in my life was temporarily erased at that moment.

On top of the rocks were smaller pools about the size of a hot tub. I wanted to sit in one so I ventured away from my friends to do so. I heard Brandon tell me to hold on because a big wave was coming, so I just assumed that if I ducked down in the small pool I would be fine.

The wave was stronger than any of us anticipated and it turned me around so that my back was facing the ocean and I was pinned up against the rocks of the smaller pool. I thought that was it, but the waves kept gushing and I did a backwards somersault over the rocks. I managed to grasp on to a rock before I would’ve fallen five to six feet into the ocean. At this point I am hanging off the edge of the rocks and there is nothing that is blocking me from the ocean.

As I flipped over Brandon yelled my name. He later told me that that was the scariest moment of his life. He thought I was gone.

Andrew was startled when Brandon screamed and lost his balance. The wave knocked him around a bit and he ended up with a nice size gash in his foot.

The only thing I was thinking at this moment is that this can't be it. I was bound and determined not to let the ocean take my life. I wasn't done yet and I knew God thought so too.

Once the wave calmed down, I yelled for Brandon's help. He made it over to me and helped me up before the next wave came. When I realized that I was safe and what just happened, I call I could do was laugh. I was hysterical.

Still high on adrenaline, we jumped back into the tide pools. From that point on until we got back to Brandon's car, my entire body was shacking. As we climbed around the rocks again to get back to the trail, Brandon guided my every step because my legs were trembling.

I laughed to myself as we hiked back that losing my camera earlier in the day was nothing compared to losing my life. And then that thought got me thinking.

More than likely, I would have had my camera with me on top of the rock. I would have probably been snapping shots as the wave attacked me. Because I believe that everything happens for a reason, I started to think that God had me purposely break my camera because it would have prevented me from grabbing on to the rock that saved my life.

That seems like a bit of a stretch to compare the two incidents but what happened later that day when I called my mom completely convinced me that this was true. She told me that my dad has the exact same camera I did and he never uses it so I could have his.

In the end, I didn't lose a camera and I didn't lose my life.

Happy Earth Day!

Remember to be nice to our little planet. She is the only one we have.

Right where I belong

The world turns around seven times from a Saturday to Saturday. Many lives are lost, and many just begin in that time period. In the big scheme of life, seven days is nothing. But to this 23-year-old grasping on to any spots of enlightenment, a new Saturday brought very polar feelings than the last Saturday.

Last Saturday I woke up knowing it was going to be a mentally exhausting day. It took me two hours to funnel my thoughts and feelings about being back in South Dakota to one cohesive post, yet I don't think I was very successful. My mind raced the entire day about what I was really doing in Brookings and maybe I was a failure for being here.

Today, though, is a new Saturday with an entirely new set of emotions and feelings. Today, I am happy and confident. The sun is shining and I am feeling pretty unstoppable at the moment.

This might just be a good day or it might be a new way of thinking, but I am happy to be where I am today. I am happy to be living this life in Brookings, South Dakota.

So what happened this week to whip up a new feeling towards life? I am not sure if there is anything I can perfectly frame as the reason I feel this way. Life isn't that neat.

A friend read some of his poetry for me last night. Although I don't know much about poems, I was envious of his capability to expose reality with such beauty and grace. One particular poem, called Snow Flake I think, felt like a page from my life story.

Because of our degrees and the first letter of our last names, we sat next to each other on graduation day. Three weeks later, I headed west to Idaho. A few more, and he went southeast 900 miles. We would spend hours on the phone describing our new lives, dreams and ideas for the next step. But with out a solid job or any potential offers, he moved back to Brookings in October. Months later, I did the same.

But what he did took much more courage than what I did. I came back because I had a job offer. There was no offer for him. He honestly had no idea what he was going to do back here or where he was going to live, he just decided that something was waiting for him. He eventually found a place to live and a job as a full-time pizza deliver at local eatery.

When he wrote Snow Flake, it was December. The poem described the way he realized that he was in the right place. He was a college-educated pizza delivery man in PoDunk, South Dakota and he felt confident that he was doing the right thing with his life.

I think I am reaching that point. I seem to be having more of these "Yup, this is right" moments. I had that feeling today as I stopped just to gaze at the Campanile for a few seconds. Again, when I stepped inside Coughlin-Alumni Stadium for the first time in 12 months.

I feel it when a fiery pink sunset in the western sky captures my attention. I feel it when I am having dinner or enjoying conversation with friends. It comes when I run into my brother randomly around town and when I am driving on Highway 14 toward the Yellow House. And it consumes me every time someone says "It's good to have you back."

I may not know where I am going to be in a year or what I will be doing. I don't know which of my dreams I am going to have to let go for another or what God will put in front of me. But what I do know is that everything has a purpose and I am exactly where I am meant to be.



As for my friend, he started his first full-time professional job about a month ago. We are living the dream.

Bengals vs. Jacks

When I first started covering Idaho State University women's basketball team, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the Bengals and the Jackrabbits. At first, both teams seemed to be a bit more successful than their male counterparts. They both reached post-season tournaments in 2006 -- ISU, the NCAAs and SDSU, WNIT (the Jacks were still in transition mode and weren't eligible for the Big Dance). Also, they were lead by one dominant player: the Bengals, Natalie Doma and the Jacks, Megan Vogel. Both are very nice, dedicated women with potential in the WNBA. Even after I quit covering the Bengals and moved back to SD, I see another similarity between the two.

Today I was looking through the blog of my friends back at the Idaho State Journal. And topping the blog is posts about Jon Newlee's decision to leave Idaho State University for the University of Idaho. Here comes the Bengals-Jacks connection. About this time last year, Mr. Aaron Johnston announced his plans to leave the Jacks for the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. Both were lateral moves for two very good coaches.

Johnston's announcement was not a big surprise to SDSU fans. He was the first coach at SDSU to prove that the Division I move was valid. He earned the Jacks' first D-I post-season berth, and although it was to the WNIT, no other women’s transitional team has been able to do that. He brought in the biggest crowds to Frost since the days when SDSU and USD were rivals. He put together a team that proved SDSU could be competitive at Division I. So it was no big surprise that some other school wanted to snatch him up.

But what was a surprise is what happened about 24 hours after Johnston's announcement. On the plane ride to Wisconsin, something struck deep with in him. Between the time it took to fly from Sioux Falls to Minneapolis - about 45 minutes - he realized he couldn't leave SDSU. As he waited in the Minneapolis Airport for his connecting flight, he called SDSU AD Fred Oien and asked if his counter offer still stood. According to Collegian reporter Brian Kimmes (:D), Oien called President David L. Chicoin, who confidently put the fate of Johnston's job in Oien's gut feeling about him as a man and as a coach. And with that, Johnston was back.

This is where the coincidences end. I am pretty darn sure Jon Newlee won't be returning to the Bengals. His heart isn't as tied to the university as Johnston's, and there is nothing wrong with that. He jokingly told me that he would probably cry himself to sleep after this year once his power duo, Doma and Andrea Lightfoot, were gone. Those two the type of players that don't come to Pocatello, Idaho, very often. Plus, the athletic department at ISU is a mess, to put it lightly. There is no money, no crowd support and no credible leadership. I don't blame him for leaving.

I used to make comparisons between Newlee's and Johnston's coaching styles. It was literally fire and ice, with Newlee roaring about every wrong move and Johnston rarely loosing his temper on the court. But they struck my interest in women's basketball and helped me find more appreciation for the sport.

I wish Newlee the best of luck in Idaho and will be rooting for Johnston and the Jacks as they work towards their first trip to the NCAAs.

As for the Doma and Vogel coincidence, Vogel was drafted her senior year to the Washington Mystics. She was later cut from the team only to become an intern. This year, she is one of three trying out for one spot with Minnesota Lynx. Her decision to try out just for the one team is not much a surprise for the St. Peter native. She needs to be close to home. Most here are hoping she'll get the spot so we can hop on over the cities to see the former Jack perform her famous arm pump. She might just be the Joe Mauer of Minnesota women’s basketball.

Doma, on the other hand, wasn't drafted. She, however, was signed to the Seattle Storm. I know she will do OK there. She is one heck of a player and a team leader. Knowing how much this meant to her, I am very happy for her. I just can't wait to see her in that Canadian jersey in the Olympics.

A change of heart

My brother Chris and I live in the same town, so we usually car pool home for major holidays and events. We take turns driving so one of us can sleep. Highway 14 is so monotonous that not even a magazine can entertain you for three hours. Plus, we are Mangans and we like to sleep. The rule is that the driver gets to pick the music, no matter whose car. So it's kind of a catch 22: You get to sleep but have to listen to the other's crappy music.

Chris and I rarely like the same music. I enjoy a bit of everything - pop, country, classic, rock, alternative, punk, jazz, ect. He likes mostly punk and emo-like music. Some of it I can hum to, but other stuff, popping my eardrums seems better than listening to the junk coming from his iPod.

One particular band that makes my skin crawl is The Spill Canvas. The first few times I heard the Sioux Falls band, I wanted to throw his iPod out the window. Every song featured starryed lyrics about unrequited love and angry broken hearts. Instrumentally, the music seemed just to be an acoustic guitar that played long slow notes. And the singer's voice? The scratchy high notes and forced emotion gave him away as a guy who probably cut himself.

Maybe I didn't listen close enough. Or maybe I was being to judgmental and to quick to add a stereo type. Or maybe I just like commercialized music, but the other day I caught myself downloading a The Spill Canvas song.

Being a Sioux Falls band on the rise, local radio stations tend to play the band's songs quite a bit. I recently heard a song that I really liked, but never could get the name or artist. At one point, I thought it might be a The Spill Canvas song, but then remembered that I don't like them.

So last night I was downloading songs as a way to get my motivated to work out early the next day and wanted to try and find that song. I looked on the Top 40 Web sites, but wasn't able to figure out a name or artist to the tune. Later, as I was falling asleep, the lyrics started pouring out of me. I hopped out of bed, opened up my computer and searched the song. Sure enough, it was The Spill Canvas.

Not only do I like this particular song, I have listened to it about 10 times today and am considering putting it as my ringer. It's fresh with a fast enough pace to run to. The lyrics do pay homage to a lost love, but the beat overrides the cliché. I like this song so much, I think you should all check it below.

After one day of this song on my iPod, I might be inclined to add more The Spill Canvas songs. Let's not go that far and allow my brother to be right. It's baby steps for now.


Enjoy.

The post I have been waiting for ...

CONGRATS CHRISTI!

DLTBGYD

"Don't those let the bastards get you down."

The best advice I've ever received.

And the internal struggle continues

"Look, I am here. I took a chance and left everyone I know behind. That's more then some people."

I used to repeat that mantra to myself over and over as I cried for home. I wasn't sure what I was doing in Idaho or whether I liked it there, but the fact that I left was the only reassurance I needed to stay.

Leaving South Dakota was something I wanted to do since high school. I wanted to go to some big fancy college and get the heck away from home. I first had my eyes on Boston College, and the University of Nebraska. But like so many people I know, my finances overshadowed those dreams and I went to SDSU instead.

Turned out, that was a pretty good decision because I had a pretty tremendous college experience. But I still had every intentions of leaving South Dakota once I got the degree.

So when the job in Idaho became a reality, I was never more excited to see the state line in the rearview mirror. I was finally getting out.

But life in Idaho wasn't exactly easy. It didn't help that I had a boyfriend back in South Dakota who wasn't so thrilled about moving to Idaho. I was also in a job that I was supposed to love, but really wasn't. And I spent a lot of time alone for a while, something I really wasn't used to.

Even though I would cried in airports as I was coming back to Idaho, life there wasn't so bad. I did find some great friends in my coworkers and I began to try new things.

Life wasn't great, but it was OK.I was getting to the point where I wasn't sure journalism was for me, and if that was true, why am I in Idaho? I still had left South Dakota, and that was all that matter for the time being.

Then the opportunity came to come back. The thing I was most proud of -- leaving South Dakota -- would be gone.

That is continually a hard thing for me to swallow. I am back in South Dakota, and even worse, I am back in Brookings. I didn't join the Peace Corp or move out to D.C. I am just in Brookings trying to figure it all out.

It's really hard to tell people that I am back in South Dakota. I know I shouldn't care what they say, but I hear them thinking "Wow, she couldn't hack it away from home. That's pathetic."

I feel like I gave up on one of my biggest dreams. That I am just settling for something comfortable, instead of really getting what I want.

But the problem is that I don't know what I want. My biggest problem is that I compare myself to other people. I am jealous of my friend who lives in San Francisco working as a volunteer or my friend who is in the Peace Corp in Fiji. I want to be off on some great adventure, but instead, I am living in Brookings.

Living in Brookings is the hardest thing about living in Brookings, everything else is good. I really enjoy what I do. My work environment is so much healthier than at the Journal and I really like going to work. I also like the fact that my work isn't life.

Outside of work, I have a pretty active social life. I am running more and have taken up yoga. I get to see my family more, and I take little trips every month. I have a new relationship with writing and its something I enjoy doing again.

Still, being back here is hard. Many people around me judge success by getting out of South Dakota and they talk about leaving Brookings daily. I just nod my head because I don't know what to say. I was once like them, but now I am back. That's all I can say is that I am back.

When I first told a friend of mine that I was offered the job at the Foundation, he said I should take it. He said that all I needed to worry about was getting to where I want to be and working on myself as a person. I guess that is what I am doing.

I remind myself that this is a temporary point of my life. The plan in life is to go back to school. Now, I am saving money so that I can. I am also trying to fight fears and work on aspects of my life that I have wanted to change.

There are problems that I have that were easy to avoid in Idaho. Being there was a good excuse not to own up to some of my insecurities and work on them. But as soon as the plane landed in South Dakota, those bad habits and tendencies would come roaring back. So one by one, I am trying to fix these things I hate about myself and am trying to really discover myself as a person.

This back and forth post is a clear example of my struggles being back here. It's also a culmination of some unresting feelings I've had this week. I just need to work through these feelings and there is no better way to do that than my own blog.

A rather humorous side note: A friend just called me to have coffee with him later today. He asked me how being back in the ol'town was. I told him that I have writing about that for the last two hours. Yup, that is how it is.

The only thing I can do now until I figure out was is the next step in my life is just to trust that God brought me back here for a reason.

A memo

Dear Mother Nature,

IT'S APRIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please, give us a bit of spring before you beat us down with 100-degree weather.

My kindest regards,
Heather M. Mangan

P.S. I understand part of this is my fault for living in South Dakota, but I would appreciate any sympathy you are willing to give.

Sometimes it still hurts ...

When we walked into the social, I saw her engaged in conversation with two or three others, all clutching cheap beer or strongly mixed drinks. They were laughing and I pretended to look anywhere but her direction. Jeremy, whom I was following to the room with the drinks, gave her a gracious hello, but I tried to make eye contact with someone else. The exchange lasted a second and we walked straight to the drink table.

We filled our cups, grabbed a few snacks and started conversation with a man we both met a year and a half earlier. It was good to see this man as we exchanged on-the-job stories. The man got up after a while to find a different conversation and we went back to the drink table. That's when she caught up with us, and right after a hello, she said "I hear you are breaking Randell's heart."

Earlier that week, I had finally gathered the courage to send an overdue email to Randell, executive editor of a local newspaper. I finally told him I was back in South Dakota working at the Foundation.

Last year, Randell took an interest in me. He knew I was the managing editor of The Collegian and I was stringing in his sports department. He delighted in my passion for the job, and told me outright he wanted me in his newsroom. He fit the part of an editor, without the cigar hanging from his mouth, and, just like an old movie, he told me I was going to be a star.

I ate it up and told him I wanted to work for him, but needed a few years outside of South Dakota for personal reasons. Days before I moved to Idaho, he told me to go to Idaho and get better so he could steal me back. That was the plan.

But plans are just plans and life changed. In a lot less time than I intended, I was back in South Dakota and out of the newspaper business. I wasn't sure how he was going to take it so I wrote him a lengthy email explaining my decision and that it doesn't mean I gave up on journalism forever. He responded with a good luck and that was it.

Disappointed with his response, I guess I wanted his blessing, although I know he would never give it to me. Like most newspaper people, he has a history of not liking those who jump ship, but really I didn't know what he would say.

When I ran into his managing editor, Maricarrol, at a newspaper conference I was attending with Jeremy, I didn't know what she would say, either. She made some remarks about me not staying in it long enough before leaving, but I would be back. With the bit of alcohol in me, these remarks, although they came off friendly, brought on the drunk blues, like seeing an ex boyfriend at a party.

Jeremy told me that nobody at the convention is going to say to me leaving the business was a good idea even though they may think it. He reminded me that this is a community that stays together and values their brother and sisters through long hours, bad pay and never-ending deadlines. When one leaves, it's hard not to call them on it. I understand, and respect, that loyalty but it just hurt.

To be honest, leaving journalism still stings. It's hard to hear my friends talk about great stories or come across a great story idea and know that I won't be seeing it through. Some days, reading the newspaper is a slap in the face. Seeing young journalists write moving pieces, move ahead in their careers and win awards is the same stomach acid feeling I got when an ex boyfriend proposed to the girl he started seeing shortly after we broke up.

This same local newspaper currently has two open positions: entertainment reporter and outdoors/environmental reporter. Both are positions I would love. Another reporter at the paper told me I should apply for them, and I the idea crossed my mind more than once. The pay might be better, I could move to Sioux Falls and I would be back in journalism.

Of course, it's not that simple. I would leave Sherry high and dry after she went out on a limb to get me here. I would need to eat a huge piece of humble pie and it would be even harder for me to go back to school. And I would be back in journalism.

I was explaining these positions to Kate and she told me to dismiss the options but remember that I left newspapers for valid reasons.

Although highly influential reasons, I didn't leave because of pay, hours or the scary instability of newspapers. I left because it wasn't me.

I used to think journalism was made for me. I got to talk to people all day, snoop into their business and write about it. I got to experience new things and meet fabulous people all while being paid.

But there was a dark side. I had to ask the questions I didn't want to and write the stories that nobody likes to here. I had to make peoples lives harder and I had to the bad guy sometimes to tell the truth.

After a cross country meet this fall, I interviewed a local girl about her race and her career. It was a Q&A so I ran the quotes verbatim. Apparently, she felt that she sounded stupid in the interview because I didn't give her enough time to rest and that I hounded her too much. She would see me and walk in the other direction when I came close. She told her coach that I couldn't talk to her until several time has passed after the race, despite the fact that I had a job to do. And she always rolled her eyes when I approached her.

That hurt, in fact, I cried at cross country meet because she was avoiding me. As I tried to calm myself down, I thought about what Dan or Kellis would have done in that situation. They would have apologized, tried to get something out of her until they gave up and then walk away without a second thought. I can't do that. I am too emotional.

I don't want to be the person people try to avoid. I don't want to be the person they hate getting phone calls from. I realized there were other parts of this job that just didn't fit my personality and that I didn't want to do this forever. The ups of the job were amazing but they weren't worth downs.

Tonight, I went to Leatherheads. In the movie, a reporter named Lexie has to write a story that reveals the exaggerated tale of man's rise to war-hero status. She knows it will ruin him, but she has to tell the truth. She calls her editor and has the following conversation:

Lexi: Harvey, sometimes this job stinks.
Harvey: It stinks most of the time.

Too me, it’s not worth it. Some people can let stuff like that roll off their back and just get the job done, but I wasn't built that way. I want to help people not piss them off. Although a reporter can do so much good, I really want to help people and that's where the masters in counseling comes in.

I will always love journalism and have fond memories, but I was made to do something else, I just don't know what. Saying goodbye to journalism still hurts and it probably will for sometime, but I know that, for me, it was the best move. I just need to find a new love.

It only takes 21 days

By now, all of my faithful readers are probably in utter shock.

"Heather has posted more in the last few days than she did while living in Idaho." Yes, this is true because I promised all of you that I would be better at this blogging stuff, and now I am really trying.

One of my coworkers graciously informed me that it only takes 21 days to create a habit. Meaning if I post every day for 21, then maybe it will become a regular component of my schedule. So this idea got me thinking, what else could become my habit?

I guess I could be a bit daring and stand on my head for 21 days, or I could take the undemanding route of habits and just drink myself silly for 21 days or until my liver gives out on me.

Really, I took this 21-days urban legend and decided to give it a whirl. But first, what is habit?

When we hear that word, we immediately list all of the habits we possess, and they are usually bad ones. I generally think of my stubby nails that never get a chance to sprout or my addiction to that sinful Web site, facebook.com. We never tend to think of the good habits we have, such as calling friends every few weeks to make sure their lives are going swell or double checking to make sure the door is locked.

If we focus more on our good habits and creating better ones, we could probably be a lot happier. So, I am going to try this little rule to create habits that could help me accomplish some life-goals.

Posting on my blog is the first habit on my list. Writing this much can only be good for me, especially if I want to start writing my book.

The second habit is meditating. It's something I have wanted to do for years, and when I do do it, it feels absolutely amazing. Meditating will really help me center on my thoughts and work on my shortcomings, both reasons why I moved back to South Dakota.

My third habit is one that I am already trying to accomplish, but I want to tweak it a bit -- working out. Now, I workout about three to four times a week and I want to be able to run or hit the gym five to six times a week. I am already noticing more of an ease when I run and my friend just told me today I look like someone who works out a lot. I don't agree with her, but it's good motivation. My new goal is to workout before work instead of after. I usually head to the gym or go for a run when I get home, but sometimes I work late and it takes all the motivation I can give up to put my shoes on and get out the door. Plus, I get busy with friends and whatnot so working out takes a back burner. I am gonna start waking up earlier, which is quite the goal for me, and we'll see if I can make a habit out of this.

So if the 21-day rule works for creating habits, it must work for breaking habits, right? Well, maybe I will apply that and see if I can break that nasty nail biting ritual that has been around since my birth. If it can do that, then I would say this rule is the miracle drug.

Until then, let's create some good habits.

Four women by the water cooler

When I think of sports-related pools at offices, I think of grubby men who pass their days by looking up stats and trashing talking their cubicle mate. But that is the 1990s version of office pools.

Back at the Journal, the publisher organized a fantasy football league. I didn't take part in the league because A) the entry fee was $100 and B)I have never been intrigued by the idea of picking my own football team with players for various teams across the league. To me, it didn't make sense. But I did admire it because some of my coworkers put more energy and effort into the league and beating the publisher than they did their jobs.

Most days, one of my the news reporters would saunter over to the sports side to get tips and ideas about Sunday's games. On Monday, he would linger in our department for a good 15 minutes about how great his team was doing. He was a trash talker and made sure everyone knew he was winning. The sports guys, who weren't involved in the league, made jokes and others involved in the league who join in on the trash talk until the entire office was wasting time over who was the better quarterback or running back.

Again, I just ignored it and pretended to work. This just wasn't my thing.

So when the email went out about NCAA polls at my new job, I ignored it. The pool organizer stopped in and asked if I was going to hand in my brackets and said I didn't think so. He told me to stop being a fun hater and fork over the $6 fee with my filled brackets. I though about it for a day and decided to just go ahead and play.

Before I knew it, I was actually getting involved in March Madness, which was a new concept for me. It wasn't that long ago that I actually realized that March Madness was about college basketball. I am a sports fan, just not a college basketball sports fan. But this year, I was watching games, checking scores and analyzing my brackets. I wanted to win this puppy.

I thought I had done very well with my picks and was pretty confident in my pick to win it all, Kansas. But after the first week and my fifth-to-last place finish, I realized I might not be so hot after all. I still kept with it and watched the games, hoping I could move up a bit in the ranks.

After the Sweet Sixteen, I was still alive for the Final Four and made quite the jump in places. I am now fifth overall. The current winner is Robin, who is beating me by at least 15 points, but only Rina has picked Kansas to win it all and is a head of me in the standing. My boss, Sherry, is out of it, thanks to the picks her 12-year-old son made.

The four of us happened to all be standing by the water cooler when Rina congratulated Robin on her placing but commented that she didn't have the right team. So then we all put in our two-cents of trash into the conversation when Keith walked by.

"You know what's funny about this?," Keith said. "I don't mean anything by it, but there hasn't really been any trash talk since this pool started and here you four women are trash talking by the water cooler."

I guess this office pool stuff is kind of fun. Go Jayhawks!

Finally, the UPDATE!

Yes, I know that this post is grossly overdue, but I am now writing it and that's at least something. With the exception of Saturday's unorganized depiction of my love life, it's been a good two months since my last post. So here is, hopefully, a quick update of the move and my new life.

When I last left you, I was getting ready to say goodbye to some great people and make a very difficult journey. The excruciating goodbyes got lost in stress and fear of driving a UHaul, pulling my car, through the mountains in February. After two and half days of white-knuckle driving, I finally crossed the state line only to be met with a billboard that said "Welcome to South Dakota. Watch out for Jackrabbits." Of course, the text was accompanied by a picture of the Campanile. That sign was the Christening of my new life.

The next few days were a whirled mix of unpacking and catching up with friends. I probably told the story of why I was back in Brookings about 50 times that first week, but as I ended the tale, most just looked at me, smiled and said "Well, we are glad to have you back."

Three days after I arrived in Brookings, I started my new job. It was a bit overwhelming. I didn't just jump in, I did a cannon ball into piles of projects that sat lonely on Sherry's desk until I could come and put a shiny red bow and "Finished” label on them. But from the first day, I knew I was going to like the people there and that this is going to be an adventure.

Most nights after work, I went out to dinner or drinks or a movie with friends. I played a lot of catching up, but I had no problems with this busting social life. In fact, I was giddy to have something to do every night.

Those first two weeks were a string of lunches, new projects, unsettling feelings and internal battles until I left for the Virgin Islands. I booked the tickets to visit a friend who moved there in October before I was even offered the job in South Dakota, but my boss knew I was taking this trip regardless. When the time actually came to leave, she was glad that I could go. She said, and I agreed, that I needed a few days in the sun after the last two months of emotional stress and the physical and mental drain of moving.

I arrived on the island of St. Croix where Elissa and Brandon were waiting for me. That night we picked up Val and Murph and then Jim and Nikki the next day. We spent the week drinking anything with rum, visiting various beaches and trying new food. I took the time to do a bit of writing and lots of reading. Since I am really into memoirs lately, I bought "I hope they Serve Beer in Hell," by Tucker Max and "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Two completely different books, but both authors made a deep impact on the type of writing and living I want to do.

We did a few touristy things like sail at sunset, tour the Cruzan Rum Factory and feed beer to the island's famous drinking pigs. We also hiked through the rain forest to see the tide pools. Now, that day was my favorite and worse. I almost died that day, but I am going to save that story for another post. Not to sound too cliché, but I really live different now. Maybe it was my near brush with death or maybe I just have grown up. But, as I said before, you'll read that story later on.

I came back seven days later feeling fresh and relaxed and looking pretty hot with a nice golden tan. Getting back in the swing of things wasn't too bad because I had a lot to do. I finally unpacked my apartment and now feel more settled.

Not long after I got back, I went to Omaha to see "Mamma Mia" with Kelli. That was a fun treat and good excuse to get out of Brookings. I went home for Easter, which was also nice, and this weekend I am going up north to hang out with J-Fug. SO, I am trying to take mini trips as much as I can.

I still have a very active social life, which makes me happy. I do go to basketball games and plays but I try really hard not to fall too much into the student life.

Other than that, I have just been working a lot and just living my life to try and figure out what comes after this. To make this easier for all the two people that read this blog, I thought I would answer some of the frequently asked questions that I get. Hope you all enjoy!

FAQs

How do you life your new job and do you miss reporting?
I love my new job. I love being challenged in a different way and I love the different projects I work on. I enjoy being a part of something that is making it easier for students to attend a quality school. The people I work with are amazing and make work really fun. Plus, I pretty much have the best boss ever! I do miss reporting, but the politics at the Journal are not something I long for. To keep my love for writing, I have been writing short pieces when the feeling moves me. I am also currently searching freelance work. Hopefully, something good will come out of that.

How do you like being back in Brookings?
I have mixed feelings about this. Some days, I do feel like a failure because I am not out in New York or something living the dream. I did leave Brookings but now I am back and that makes me lame. Other days, it's wonderful to see familiar faces wherever I go and know that my family is only 200 miles west. So being back has ups and downs, but I know that this isn't a permanent location for me. It's just between point A and point B.

Have you seen Scott since you moved back and are you guys going to get back together?
Um, no. I tried to get Scott just to meet with me to talk about us living in the same town and whether we could be friends. Instead, we ended up fighting through text messages and that was it. I figured I would run into him since we live on the same street, about eight blocks from each other. I did see him twice, but we both pretended not to see each other. Oh well. I am really happy now, and I think he is too.

Are you seeing someone then?
Well, if you read my last post you would know that the answer is no. And that is OK. I am happy where I am at.

So what are you going to do after this job?
I have no idea. Going back to school is a pretty likely option. For about three years I have talked about getting my masters in counseling. I should probably act on that.

Do you feel that moving back was the right decision?
Yes, because I trust that it was the right decision. God brought me back for a reason, so I am just living out the plan.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

Yesterday I ran into an old friend who was in town for a sin-ingested day called Pub Crawl. It had been months since we last talked and both of our lives had undergone some big changes. So we found a table in a crowded bar and casually discussed the current status of our lives.

He is happily engaged and working a job that he really likes. I told him about my new job and the big move back. He asked if still had my "boy toy" (I am sure he couldn't remember his name.) Not wanting to get into too much detail I told him that we were no longer together and broke up in October. We continued discussing things and he abruptly said "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" I just laughed, but he asked again, "No, seriously, I can't believe you don't have a boyfriend."

This question plagued me a bit because he isn't the only person to ask me this recently. So why don't I have a boyfriend?

It’s not that I don’t want one, believe me. So what is it?

My last relationship ended about five months ago, and I have only kissed one man since him (If you must know, he was a charming man I met in Boise who was utterly fascinated with me and nearly heartbroken when I told him I was moving to South Dakota). Many people actually thought that when I moved back, Scott and I would give it another try. I never saw that as an option because it just didn't work out for us. We are not on talking terms, but I don't hate him anymore. In fact, even when he took a shot at me on my friend's facebook wall, I felt sorry for him. I am OK with seeing him now, but I don't know if he is. Anyway, pining for an ex-lover is not the reason why I am single.

I guess I am single because my last relationship proved to me that I need to grow in several ways before I can actually be with someone.

My biggest problem in relationships is trust. I have upsetted, and hurt, boyfriends when I question whether or not they love me. When they say it, I have a hard time believing that someone could actually love me. I even give them excuses to love me, such as "He only loves me because he thinks no one else will love him" or "Most girls reject his advances and I was the only stupid one to give in." I never realized how much of insult that is to him and to myself.

So lately I started wondering why don't I trust them? Then I realized it's not just boyfriends I don't trust. It's my friends. I have this irrational fear that if someone hasn't called me in a while it probably means that I did something to piss them off and they really don't want to be friends with me. Or that my friends only hang out with me because they feel sorry for me or don't have anyone else to hang out with.

Then I realized I don't trust myself. I don't trust myself to make good decisions and to stand up and do what is right. Even more, I don't trust God and that he will really take care of me.

This is where you sigh and say, "Yup, that's why she doesn't have a boyfriend."

Oh, but it gets worse. I realized today that I so afraid of getting hurt that I just close guys off. When a guy hits on me, I automatically think he is only using me to get in my pants so I close him off. Actually, I get a snobby and bitchy, both highly attractive qualities let me tell you. I immediately write guys off as man whores when all they may want is to just say hi.

Today, I was discussing with friends how superficial love is. I explained to them how upset I was when I finished "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. The book was an enthralling tale of one woman's rise from depression, loneliness and self destruction through a pleasure-engaging and spiritual journey. It was so refreshing to see a woman find her self and happiness through pasta and prayer, until the end of the book when she falls in love with a Brazilian man. It infuriated me that she just had to fall in love. Why couldn't she just find herself and be happy with that? It continually proves to women that in order to be ultimately happy they have to have love. I felt that when the author fell in love she lost all credibility about empowering herself to be a better version of herself.

So, as I was explaining these frustrations to my friend, he stopped and said "What's so wrong with being in love, Heather?"

"Well, nothing, I am just tired of everyone believing that happiness has to come through love?"

"But happiness does come through love."

"Sure, but not all happiness."

"So why do you hate love?"

I guess I don't hate love as much as I envy those who hate. Being love is a great feeling but to me I need to love myself before I can fully love someone else to the degree they deserve. I want to give someone my all, but I need to give myself my all before I can do that to someone else.

The best way to do that is give myself things I want. The other day I spoiled myself in a way that I've never had. I got up, went to yoga, went running, wrote a bit, cooked myself an amazingly tasty meal, drank a few glasses of wine that led to a few bottles and enjoyed the company of new and old friends at my quaint apartment. It was a Heather Day.

I wasn't trying to impress someone else or make someone else happy. I was making myself happy, something I have never really done. Often, in relationships I sacrifice my happiness to make the other person happy. I will spend my hard earned money on them. I will give them any free time I have. I redirect the love I have myself toward them. I was think that if they are happy then I will be happy.

That is a stupid way to live. I know now that to love someone truly, I must love myself. That sound cliché, and it is, but it's so very true.

At this point in my life, I am learning to love and trust myself. I do that by doing things that make me happy. I eat what I want. I hang out with who I want. I wear what I want. I say what I want. I am just trying to be the best Heather Mangan I can and accepting myself just the way I am.

Also, I am learning to trust in other aspects of my life. When a friend doesn't immediately call me back, I try to remind myself that it doesn't mean anything and not to panic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but my insecurities don't disrupt my life like they used to. I also tell myself that there is nothing wrong with staying home on a Friday or Saturday night. It's really OK.

So I guess the best way to answer the "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" question is that I am working on my self development. I guess another reason is that I haven't met anyone I am willing to pursue.

Sure, I have met a few great guys lately, but there hasn't been a connection. Too many times I have talked myself into a relationship or staying in one. No more. It shouldn't be that much work. I shouldn't have to convince myself that this is a good idea. It should be.

For now, I am just gonna work on being the best me and waiting for the right time. I know that when I am ready, I am going to have let my guard down when it comes to guys, but for now I am just going to make myself happy.

As a wonderful friend once said, "I guess if I am not finding the right guy now, that's God telling me I need to be the right girl."


**** I know I haven't posted since my move back, and I plan to soon, I just needed to get these thoughts out. So expect an update of my life shortly.****

Saying goodbye

When I moved to Idaho, I knew there were good people here. But I never imagined they would change my life the way they did.

I remember being at a bar this summer, and thinking that these people are not my South Dakota friends and they never will be. My friends at home will always be on a pedestal, and these people will never make it there. I can't believe I was so closed minded.

Soon, though they got a hold me, and I began to forget about how much I missed home. I still missed home and Idaho wasn't home, but the people here made each day a blessing.

It didn't start out like this. I felt alone for a really long time and start to get a bit closer to a few people here, but they were still just coworkers. Then Kate came.

Kate moved here from Missouri with her fiancé. At first, I figured she would just be another engaged girl. The ones that stay at home with their soon-to-be husbands and would maybe get out once and a while to do something else. We really didn't talk or hangout for a long time, then one day, she added me to facebook. We decided to have coffee and then things kind of snowballed from there.

Kate is the friend I've always wanted. She understands me in a way no one else does and she never puts other friends above me. She had the same feelings and thoughts I did, and we always had fun together. She is someone I always want to call a friend.

Saying goodbye to her will be the hardest thing about leaving Idaho. I am not sure when I will see her again or how much we'll talk now, and breaks my heart. In six months, she's been a better friend to me and touched my heart in ways that friends I've had for 15 years haven't.

She'll be the hardest to say goodbye to, but she won't be the only one. Dan is another Idaho blessing. He was there when I wrote my first big story and he was there to listen when I broke up with my boyfriend. I love joking with Dan and he is one of the best people I've ever met. He is genuine and sweet and doesn't care what others think about him.

Dan has hopes to move back to Minnesota, and I really hope he does because I would love to visit him. He might end up in Washington for a few years because his girlfriend lives there, but I have a feeling I am gonna meet Dan somewhere else in life.

Cy was someone I didn't expect to get attached to. I guess from past experiences, I am leery of my friends boyfriends, fiancées, husbands. I never get a long with them, and when Kate introduced me to Cy, I kinda figured the same would be true. I couldn't have been more wrong. Cy is such a loving and warm person. He is funny and smart and he makes me feel welcome. He is not just my friend's husband, he is my friend. I am really going to miss just talking to him.

Then there is Joe. I didn't know what to make of him at first, but in the last few months, I've really enjoyed his company. He is a passionate person and a lot of fun to be around. I love joking with him, and he is probably one of the most talented photographers I've ever known. He is going places. Plus, he is dating Joelene who I absolutely adore.

My friendship with Kellis was also unexpected. We are two different people, and other people I've met like him really don't care for me. But that is just Kellis on the outside. Deep down, he is a really great guy who is amazingly talented. He is a lot of fun to joke around with and I am gonna miss his antics. His fiancée lives in Omaha and he said that sometime we'll have to meet up there. Once him and Stacy get married in August, they'll probably settle somewhere in the Midwest, so he is another I plan on running into somewhere down the line.

There is also Tim and John, who were amazing editors. They both showed me a lot and welcomed me so much. My experience here would have been way different with out them.

When I left South Dakota, my friends threw me a surprise going away party and I always thought that only true friends would do that. Well, last night, Dan, Kate and Cy threw me a party. True friends indeed.

As my days with get fewer, I can't help but think how these people have managed to touch my lives so much in such a little time. I don't want to think about saying goodbye because I know it's going to hurt.

There are a few things that ease the pain. Almost all of them are in serious relationships or are married. They are on different paths than me who still needs more time to wander before meeting Mr. Right. Also, these people are sad to see me leave, but they are happy for me because they know I am following my heart. Those are true friends.

And the last thing that makes leaving them so bearable is the number of people back home who tell me they can't wait to have me back. I don't understand why God blessed me so much, but I am sure glad He did.

I am going to miss the Faces of Idaho, but God brought these people into my life for such a short time for a certain reason. I just need to trust that He'll continue to bring just as good friends into my life.

As I say goodbye to new friends, I will say hello to old and new ones. I will never forget the people here, never. They have changed my life in so many ways and I will never forget that. I am not sure how well we'll stay in contact but I hope to visit Poky this summer and they'll visit me sometime. Till then, I guess it's up to text messaging and facebook.

Letting go of a love

Months ago, I posted a blog about being a good kind of scared with the new life I was about to embrace. And now, 8 months later, I am unexpectedly in the same spot.

In a week, I will start a new job. In three days, I will haul all of my belongings 1800 miles east. In two days, I am going to have to say goodbye to some of the best people I ever met. As to be expected, I am a mess of emotions.

Friday was my last day at the Journal. It was a really weird day. I cried at my desk about 10 minutes after I arrived because of an email my mom sent me, and then I began a long string of lasts. My last morning meeting, my last afternoon meeting, my last story, my last lunch with my coworkers, my last story, my last edit. This might not seem like significant moments to most people, but it is to me.

I am leaving journalism, and that is a scary, exciting thing. Journalism is all I ever known, and I was the girl who knew when she was 17 what she wanted to major in and what she wanted to be. I was the girl who was going to conquer newspapers, and my professors and classmates always told me I was the only one who was going to stick with it. People have always told me I am good at it and they enjoy reading my things. Those are days when journalism is a good thing for me.

The good days come when I can write a heart warming story that brings a tear to a reader's eye or when a woman calls saying my story has moved her so much that she is speechless. They come when a young boy said he reads my stuff all the time because he wants to be a journalist or when administrators realize they are wrong by the things I wrote. They come when I get to tell stories of remarkable people. I can't help but sob when I think of how much I am gonna miss those stories.

But then there are days when I can't do it anymore. They come when my editor tears a part my story because of small errors or I make mistakes on major things like names or quotes. Or when I have to ask tough questions and put people on the spot. They come when I have to write something I really don't want to write because I know it will make someone angry. It's the days I work 12 hours but know I am only getting paid for eight. That's when I realize I am not cutout for this business.

I am terrified because I am leaving the one thing I've always known. I am letting go of dreams to work for the New York Times and win a Pulitzer. I am treading in unknown territory and I am petrified.

I am crossing over to what journalists call "the dark side" -- PR. That's a hard pill to swallow, but I need to try this. I need to try something else.

Working for a non-profit is something I've always wanted to do, and now I get to help raise money for a university that I love. Sometimes I am not sure if I can handle this, but who knows, maybe I will be a PR rock star. I just know that I can't willing go back to school if I didn't try this part of communications.

There are benefits of leaving journalism. I will get better hours and more of a normal lifestyle. And I will get the chance to be more involved in politics and interest groups, something I really want to do. But I won't get to experience nearly as much as I did with journalism and I won't get to meet nearly as many fascinating people. Again, I need to try this. I just want to go to work everyday and say that I love my job, and right now, I can’t say that.

My goal is to keep writing. I would like to do some freelance for a magazine or specialty pub. And there's always the goal I have to write a book. Whatever I do in life, I still want to write.

I've had a love/hate with journalism for a long time and doubted if being a reporter is my true destiny. It's not outside of my nature to doubt things. I've doubted boyfriends and friendships. But there is an old saying that if you love something you should set it free, and if it comes back, then it was meant to be.

So, journalism, I am setting you free. If you are my true love, we'll find a way to be together again. If not, then it wasn't meant to be and I will find something that makes me truly happy.

Following my heart

Following your heart is supposed to be easy, or so it seems. But really trusting your heart and surrendering your rationale is scary. Yet, once you do it, everything seems right and you know that you will be truely happy.

In May, I followed a few dreams to Pocatello, Idaho. I wanted to be a big time sports reporter and move away from South Dakota without looking back. Well, once I got here I realized those dreams were just stepping stones to finding out what I really wanted in life.

Eventually, I realized sports just wasn’t for me. I found out that I was passionate about other things and would rather tell other stories. It's funny, because I met a few reporters this past week who got out of sports for the same reason. So, in November, I switched to the news desk where I covered city government then the Idaho Legislature. Things really started to click for me.

After a few changes in my personal life this fall, I was able to embrace Idaho with a different attitude and I began to really fall for it. Sure, the pay was still low and the hours were still long, but there was something so calming about this new life outside of work. I was trying new things, developed a solid group of friends and had found some real happiness in Idaho. Then I went home for Christmas, and everything changed.

A few months back, I applied for a job with the SDSU Alumni Association mostly out of frustration. I knew the job opening existed, but always found excuses not to apply for it. After a typical hectic day at the Journal, I filled out my app. I forgot about it for a while until I got an email about a phone interview which led to a request for an in-person interview. I set something up for when I was going to be home for Christmas, but again, forgot about it.

The night I was to fly back to South Dakota, my friend Dan asked me if I was going to take the Alumni job if I got it. I told him that I was really liking Idaho so I didn't think so.

Well, a few days later, I went into the interview and things went alright. I wasn't sold on the job just yet, but I found myself intrigued. Leaving the interview, I wasn't sure whether they would offer me the job or if I would take it. I put it at the back of my mind and went across the street to the SDSU Foundation.

A former advisor I had in college called me the night before to meet me for lunch. I had only talked to her on the phone once since I left, so I was really looking forward to catching up with her. When we got to lunch, she asked me questions about the interview then turned the conversation in a direction I never expected. She offered me a job.

She wanted me to come work with her as her assistant. She spends so much time planning that she needs help putting products together. The job would require me to write magazine articles, design brochures, write various pieces about the organization, make invitations, put together proposals, make video testimonials and update the web. We talked about the two jobs in Brookings plus the one I currently had. We debated the pros and cons for a few hours and then she let me go, telling me to do some heavy praying and thinking and give her a call by Jan. 7.

Over the next few weeks, I sought advice from trusted friends, cried, prayed and made several pros and cons lists of Brookings and Pocatello. I told my former advisor that I needed to thinking about it while I was in South Dakota and Idaho in order to make an objective decision. I was hoping that when Jan. 6 came, I would have a clear cut decision. That wasn't the case at all.

I woke up the morning before the deadline date and never felt more awful in my life. I honestly didn't know what to do.

You see, the job in Brookins is something I've always wanted to do. The organizations is a non-profit, and I've always wanted to do PR for a non-profit. Plus, it would require me to do some of things I did as a student at Dak, which I really missed. It paid more and the hours would allow me to have more of a normal lifestyle.

But, I would have to leave newspapers. From the time I was 17, I wanted to work for the New York Times. Journalism is all I ever known and it's something I love and hate at the same time. People know me as the reporter, and I hear all the time that I am good at what I do and I shouldn't leave. They tell me if anyone is to make it in this business, it's me.

I also struggled with the idea of leaving Idaho. My working conditions were so frustrating, but once I left the office, things were good. I don't have a lot of friends here, but the ones I have are different than any other friends I've ever had. Someone once told me that there is no better feeling than working your butt off during the day then going out for a few drinks with other young journalists, like yourself, just trying to make it. And there is something very euphoric about that.

The idea of going back to South Dakota was also hard for me to grasp. I left SD for a reason, and I was afraid that going back meant a step backwards in my self development, meaning I was a failure. I never wanted to be someone who couldn't or didn't want to get out. I always felt that to really find out who I was I needed to leave behind everything I knew, and going back would be giving up on the quest. I would be a failure.

I was that the things I’ve learned about myself and the ways I grew in Idaho would disappear once I went back to a familiar setting. I was just scared.

What I couldn't forget, no matter how hard I tried, was that South Dakota was home. My friends and family are there, and I am attached to that place. I sometimes like to hide the fact that I really miss it there, but people in Idaho know the truth. They here me talk about it, and they can see how much I love SD, even though I don't admit it.

I knew that I wanted to go back to South Dakota at some point, but I never expected it to be 8 months after leaving.

I was stuck on this decision. How do you chose between a job in your home
state and a life somewhere else? I cried so much and denied signs that were pointing me to the truth. My friends told me to follow my heart, and I would say I didn't know what it was saying. Truth is, I wasn't listening.

On Jan. 6, I sat in church and was praying harder than I have in a long time when I realized something. If I left Idaho, I would be sad but I wouldn't regret it. If I stayed, I would regret not taking that job.

It took some time to realize that that was my heart talking, nothing else.

The next morning, I called Sherry and accepted the job. Second thoughts did cross my mind. When I was deep into covering the Legislature in Boise, I couldn't help but wonder if I was making the right decision. I thought about it again when I met a charming man who told me I was too talented with too good of principles to leave journalism. I took a step back when I saw the beautiful Idaho mountains from the top of a ski hill with some good friends.

But, every time I wondered my heart reminded me I was doing the right decision. I was taking a big step in my career life and was getting the chance to start all over in South Dakota.

What I've learned in the last few weeks is that I am not giving up and I am not a failure. I am taking a big chance and stepping way outside of my comfort zone. I am treading into a field that isn't as comfortable as journalism and I am going back to a changed town as a changed person. It won't be easy at all. Everything I left in South Dakota will be there when I return, the good and bad. I am gonna have to look my fears straight in the eyes and fight through them. Finding yourself is easy to do in a different place, but to go home and really look inside yourself is not easy. And I really think that going back will be harder than leaving. Yet, I can’t help but smile when I realize all of that will make me a better person in the long run.

Jan. 25 is my last day at the Journal and then I will load all of my stuff up and make the journey back to Brookings. I start my new job Feb. 4 and am excited and terrified at the same time. But no matter how scared I am, I know great things lie ahead for me.

For once, I am following my heart and there is nothing that makes me happier.

As much as I hate Dec. 31, I love Jan.1

Welcome to 2008. It's a new year, and I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be one heck of a year.

Already this year is going to have some major challenges. In seven days, I must decide if I want to continue a life in Pocatello or return to Brookings and start all over again. Whichever path I decide, I am going to make a lot of overdue changes to become the person I truly want to be.

Based on my life goals, dissatisfactions in my life and lessons learned in 2007, here are my resolutions for 2008:

- To only follow the will of God and my heart. Too many times I let my mind take control and usually I get burned, so I am only going to listen to those things that matter.

- Only let people into my life that prove they deserve to be there. I allow people to use me in an unappreciative way. I vow to only date and be friends with people who prove to me they love me and want to be a part of my life. I am only going to surround myself with people who make me a better person.

- Take care of myself. I feel that I haven't been doing a very good job of treating my body well. So I am going to exercise regularly and eat more healthy. I think those two things could add a lot of benefit to my life.

- Biting my nails. I have done this for so many years and it's so disgusting, but this year I am going to stop.

- Run a marathon. Running is the constant in my life, but I don't rely on it enough. I am going to finally complete a marathon, whether it's the Brookings Marathon or the Pocatello Marathon.

- Pray more.

- Worry less about things out of my control.

- Stop looking in the past.

- Find a guy who treats me the way I deserve.

- Learn to cook.

- Take up painting.

- Write more.

- Take up yoga.

- Take more pictures.

- Send more letters.

- Gossip less.

- Read more.

- Get healthy amounts of sleep.

- Take more weekend trips.

- Be financially fit.

- Value the people most important in my life.

- Recycle more.

- Volunteer.

These are my resolutions. I am not good at sticking to resolutions, but I feel this year I can. Here's to a new year!