Time May Change Me, But You Can’t Trace Time

Sometimes we make mistakes. If we learn from them, that’s supposed to make it OK. But sometimes there’s no coming back from a mistake.

This weekend, my once best friend got married. I wasn’t there. She didn’t even tell me she was engaged. We’ve not spoken in two-and-a-half years. People who are close to me who don’t understand why I can’t make things right have kept me in the loop, and now I’m here realizing it’s a good thing I wasn’t a part of her big day.

Toward the end of our friendship, I became selfish. I took on a mean girls mentality, and somewhere along the way stopped being kind. I started putting myself first and asking why she was never attentive to my needs. I took years of feeling like I was her support without any reciprication and let that fester and explode. Our friendship imploded.

In the days, weeks, months after, maybe I could have mended things. But I was far too proud to admit any wrong doing and I became angry. The longer I sat with my anger, the more I convinced myself I was better off.

And now, I’m mostly just sad. And it hurts.

It feels like it’s been too long to still grieve our friendship, but I think that comes from having regrets.

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My 4-Minute Life Story

Per The New York Times’ 30-Day Well Challenge, here’s my 4-minute life story:

I was born on a Tuesday, shortly after my family’s house burnt down. The stress of the trauma put my mom into early labor, but we were both safe. In fact, the doctor told my mom it was probably pre-labor and encouraged her to have a glass of wine and relax. I came along shortly after.

Before I can remember, my parents divorced. I have no memories of my parents being married or living together. I remember being raised by my mother, with the help of my aunts and grandparents. And while I always thought myself a daddy’s girl, I think that was more a pipedream than anything else.

My favorite memories with my dad include watching and playing baseball and snuggling with our dog Sammy. Otherwise, most of my memories with him revolve around his joyriding through fatherhood with little consideration for his children.

As a kid, I spent my time writing. My grandma likes to tell me how before I could even write, I would scribble on page after page of my notebooks writing “stories.”

My brother and I fought like hell as kids. He was my idol but wanted nothing to do with me. In fact, that even lasted through high school. It wasn’t until college that we both finally figured out how to be friends. And, today, I consider him my best friend.

Anyway. My mom enrolled me in tap dance classes as a kid, which I loved. But I have one distinct memory of a photographer telling me to “suck in” my gut. I always knew I was chubby, but that was a real kicker. Enter a lifetime of self-hate.

By the time I was in 6th grade, I opted out of dance class and into sports. I was never very athletic but always very competitive. I played volleyball, basketball and softball through 8th grade, and while I was never very good I loved being apart of the teams (except when we were losing).

When I started high school, we moved out of Detroit and to the suburbs. Holy fuck was that a god damn nightmare. I went from classmates who were on food stamps to having a “friend” who received a Jaguar for her 16th birthday.

I can’t really say I have any good memories from high school. I spent most of my time listening to emo and punk music, sneaking off to shows solo and trying to forget things. But, really, nothing worked.

So when I got to college I immediately fell in love. I basically wasted 4 years on a trash human who did everything he could to control me. He broke up with me during our senior year when his family pressured him with questions about marriage over Thanksgiving break. We shortly got back together with a hell of a lot of rules and regulations. When I realized I was my own person and couldn’t deal with that shit, we broke up. Soon after, I ran away to Chicago.

During my freshman year of college, my stepmom died. She was the definition of a wicked stepmother, but I felt the need to gain some closure so I went to the funeral. It was then that my paternal grandfather told me he regretted not being a bigger part of my life as a child and asked for forgiveness. Of course, I forgave him.

That was an opportunity to reconnect with my father. It didn’t really go so well.

So, back to Chicago. I moved here in 2008, during the height of the recession. Getting a job sucked, so I spent the next few years freelance writing, walking dogs and waitressing. After a series of unfortunate events, I ended up working as a barista at Starbucks.

That job eventually led me to the Chicago Tribune. And while that job sucked, it dictated the future of my career. Gone were the plans to work at a publishing house and I found myself working in content marketing.

While working at the Tribune, I was in a really bad bicycling accident. I shattered my ribs, collapsed both lungs, fractured my pelvis and spine. I think that covers it? I spent a month at Northwestern and three months at my mom’s outside of Detroit recovering. As soon as I was strong enough to, I moved back to Chicago. In retrospect, I’m not sure what for.

It was then that I connected with who would be my future husband.

As part of my recovery, I got involved with different physical challenges. It started with Muderlla, a 5K obstacle course (in the mud). The proceeds went to the fight against violence against women, and I finished the race with three badass chicks.

Since then, I’ve finished two Tough Mudders, the Chicago Marathon, two half marathons and a boatload of other events. Currently, I’m training for my third marathon and after that, I’ve got my second triathlon to work on.

Today, I find myself focused on work and my career. My husband and I bought a house last year (in Chicago) and we’re making plans for the years to come. And while I don’t know exactly what the future will hold, I’m looking forward to the possibilities.

I’ve been through a lot of hardships and I’m at a point in my life where I feel happy, confident and comfortable. I’m thankful for that.

Today I Missed My Workout

Christmas morning seems like as good a time as any to reflect. Especially when it’s 6 a.m., you’ve been up for two hours and you’re at your in-laws trying not to wake anyone.

Whole 30

2018 has been a full year. I kicked it off with the Whole 30 program, a diet meant to help you learn more about the foods you eat and how they affect your body. I was proud, and surprised, when I hit the 30-day mark cheat-free and feeling good. As an avid cook, meal prep was something I looked forward to, even if it meant no booze, sugar, carbs and a whole lot of other stuff.

Running

From there, I jumped into training for my second full marathon. Looking back on my training program, I don’t quite remember where I fell off. I know I hit my 18-mile run and missed the 20 miler. But I did a lot on the treadmill, big mistake.

Race day, Memorial weekend, was hot and humid AF. The Top of Michigan Marathon starts in Charlevoix and ends in Harbor Springs, hitting Petoskey along the way. And, unlike the Chicago Marathon, the course is slim. There were maybe 100 marathoners and even fewer supporters along the course.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to finish the race. At the halfway mark, I called it quits. The night before, my CamelBak broke and I wasn’t able to carry enough water to stay hydrated in the heat (water stations were limited and some even ran out of cold water). The humidity made it difficult to breathe and the lack of crowd support killed my motivation. Don’t worry though, I signed up for the 2019 race and plan to kick its ass.

Home

The summer was consumed with our new house. We moved in in April and I literally never wanted to leave. From unpacking to decorating to yardwork, it kept us busy. While we still haven’t finished hanging our decor, we did just furnish the third bedroom.

I’m in love with our home, and I think the rest of the family is, too.

Friends and family

We spent time celebrating some of our closest friends throughout the year. Weddings, babies, engagements, big moves and new homes. Even our niece’s first birthday.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what I’ve lost on here. It’s part of the purpose for my blog—coping, healing and remembering. But 2018 has shown me how lucky I am for what and who I have in my life.

SuperSprint

Training for my first triathlon also kept me busy this summer. Part of the Chicago Triathlon series, the SuperSprint is awesome for first-timers. Event weekend takes place at the end of August and the course is manageable.

Swim, bike, run. That’s the basics of a tri. The atmosphere was electric and the participants were incredible. So much support and inspiration. While not as physically difficult as a marathon, a triathlon is more mentally taxing.

This is another race I’ve already signed up for in 2019. This year, my goal was to finish. Next year, I’m keeping time. My hope is to one day complete a full triathlon. Until then, I’ll be working on my open-water swimming.

Work, work, work

The end of the year has kind of been swept up with work. Professionally, I’ve been given a number of opportunities to grow and advance, all of which I’ve embraced with open arms. For the first time in a few years, I’m not only satisfied at work but excited for the future.

Personally, I’ve been focusing on my beer blog. The focus the past two months has been on social media, but I’m planning for a 2019 relaunch of the blog. Until then, check us out on Instagram: @chibeerclub.

To help expand my reach, network and knowledge, I joined PorchDrinking as a copy editor and social media coordinator. I’ve only been working with the team for a couple of weeks, but it’s been a positive experience so far.

2019 and beyond

I think 2019 will look a lot like this year, only refined. I’ve learned so much and have so many things I want to accomplish next year. More travel. More learning. More growing.

Turned All My Ls into Lessons

When I don’t know what to do or how to feel, I write. I write in hopes of finding some sort of safety, connection, security. I don’t know if writing has ever helped me figure out what to do or how to feel. But I can say that writing put me at ease. It calms me and strengthens me.

I haven’t been focused on self-maintenance the past couple of years. I threw myself into wedding planning upon getting engaged, and from there I was dedicated to marathon training. After that, selling the condo and getting into our new house. I’ve given myself goals for distraction from the emotional difficulties I’ve faced. Even currently, I’m (half-assedly) training for the Chicago Triathlon Super Sprint.

In all of this distraction, I find a comfortable pace. But somewhere along the way, I collapsed emotionally. It’s only  here with my thoughts that I’ve been at my best. When I can navigate my self doubt, triumps and failures. When I can reminice and remember, smiling at the good and cringing with the bad. But in my head is no place to live. Those moments are memories and are worth moving on from.

So how do I find happiness in the present? I’ve come to terms with the inescapble fact that I will never get closer and may never truly move on. Do we ever, even when the damage is repaired?

So what’s next? Where do I go from here? I’ll turn to the things that I love. I’ll turn to the written word, long adventures with no destination and enabling change. I’ll be busy and maybe it will all just be a distraction, but I know that’s where I can find happiness. I’ll stop trying to fill a gap and start trying to heal.

The Way Things Change

Moving on is hard, and sometimes damn near impossible. For the better part of the past year, I’ve spent more time than I care to admit obsessing over a lost friendship. Funny isn’t it, we always think romantic relationships are the hardest to end. Now, this isn’t the first friendship I’ve had come to a close, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. However, it’s the only one that ended in an explosive argument. And — at the time — I didn’t realize it was actually the end. I thought she’d admit wrongdoing, apologize, or at least forgive and forget. But none of that happened.

The more time that passed without one of those things happening, the angrier I got and the further I distanced myself from the relationship. Looking back, I realize how that probably just made it easier for her to pull further and further away. In the end, by the time I was ready to acknowledge my wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness, it was too late. By that time, she’d moved past our friendship and was ready to not turn back. Oh my god how that hurts.

Perhaps the hardest part of accepting the fact that “your person” is no longer there for you to turn to is not even having the chance to say goodbye. Not even getting a big “Fuck you, I’m done,” and instead receiving radio silence after a phone call, text message and email. For some reason, as much as that response sounds painful, it seems better than this. Better than a lack of closure. Especially knowing I could have prevented things from going this far.

So, I try to look for the good in things. Lessons learned, frustrations ceased. But in the end, none of that matters. Nothing can replace the person you could laugh with, cry with, bicker with. So it seems the only thing to do is become better. Recognize how to better deal with situations and react to emotions, even if it’s too late to fix what’s been broken.

Day 4: Writing Retreat Reflection

Earlier this month, I confided to my mother that I was disappointed when my former best friend didn’t show up for my 31st birthday. I’m not sure why, maybe it was because the last time we “spoke” (texted) was on her 30th birthday — six months prior, but I had some expectation that I would (at least) receive a generic “happy birthday” text. Even worse, I had some small hope she’d show up at the finish line of my half marathon that day. Obviously, she didn’t. She didn’t text. She didn’t call. And she sure as hell didn’t show up. My mom’s reaction to my disappointment?

“Fuck her.”

A few months ago my husband told me that he’d considered reaching out to J to help me reconcile things. I had two reactions to this:

  1. Why didn’t you?????
  2. I’m so glad you didn’t.

In the months since October, I’ve been sorting through a lot of emotions and trying to figure things out. The first is I’ve been shocked at how much a friendship ending can hurt. The gut-wrenching pain and constant reminders of someone who was once such an influential part of your life is outstanding. In all honesty, it’s worse than almost any breakup I’ve been through.

I’ve lost friends over the years, but never like this. In college, my high school best friend replied to an email telling me she “didn’t have time” for our friendship anymore now that she had a boyfriend. Despite our closeness, the fact that we went to different universities and I was consumed with a boyfriend (the only breakup that, in memory, seems worse than this friendship ending) and other friends made moving on a lot easier than this. I think I can contribute a lot of that to the fact that my high school best friend and I didn’t go through nearly the shit I did with J.

So, I’ve been trying to figure it out: Am I better off without her? Should I listen to my mom’s advice and say “Fuck her” after all? She was the maid of honor in my wedding just two months prior to this breakup.

J and I met working at Starbucks sometime in late summer, early fall of 2010 – I actually didn’t realize until now how far back we go. I was 24 and had just been fired from my first and only waitressing job in Chicago. I’d been living in the city for three years working as a freelance writer, which meant I was also a dog walker, waitress and barista.

If my memory serves me right, we became fast friends as two young adults trying to accomplish our dreams in a big city. She’d gone to college in Chicago, and I moved there immediately upon graduating from college.

We were exactly the same and completely different. She was a quiet theater girl who was ready to marry her abusive boyfriend she was living with at the time. I was an outgoing writer who had no idea what the future held and prided myself on my independence. She was from Kentucky. I was from Detroit. She was a runner. I was a smoker. She had bunnies. I was the proud owner of a hound dog. And yet, a powerful bond was formed.

Over the next six years, a lot happened. And I mean a lot:

  • I left Starbucks to finally kick off my career at the Chicago Tribune.
  • J left Starbucks not far behind me. She was in an off-Broadway play, Pinkalicious, and started working at a children’s gym.
  • I was in a near-death accident when riding my bike to work at the Tribune.
  • J visited me almost every single day during my month-long hospital stay at Northwestern hospital.
  • I spent three months back at my mom’s recovering from my accident (yeah, it was that bad – you can read more about it in my post We’re Goin’ to Better Places).
  • I moved back to Chicago.
  • I started dating my husband.
  • J’s boyfriend came out as transgender and decided to make the transition to become female. J supported her and stayed with her.
  • J left her girlfriend, because she’s heterosexual, and moved out – living alone for the first time in her life.
  • J’s apartment building burnt down. (She didn’t call me. I only found out because she posted it on Facebook.)
  • J started dating a psychopath who eventually told her she was “too damaged to be loved.”
  • J texted me threatening suicide; when I reached out to that psychopath boyfriend, he informed me they had broken up (at least) a week before. I had no idea.
  • My boyfriend moved in with me.
  • I got engaged. (J didn’t respond to my call/voicemail celebrating the good news. It took several months for her to actually — reluctantly — congratulate me.)
  • I asked J to be my maid of honor.
  • J started dating the “male version” of me (her words) via Tinder.
  • J’s six-month old nephew died unexpectedly.
  • I got married.

And then, our friendship ended. The event that triggered the breakup deserves more than just a bullet point. And I’ve been reading about “how to deal” with these types of breakups. A lot of articles say that the author realizes at a later date how they made themselves out to be the victim. So I hope one day, once I’ve actually mourned this loss and moved on, I can see it that way too; I think it would make it hurt less. However, for now, I’m still bitter as hell.

My near-death accident (mentioned above) involved me (on my bicycle) being hit and partially run over by a delivery truck — think FedEx truck, but smaller than a semi and bigger than a van. In the years since, I’ve been traumatized by stories of and actual encounters seeing other cyclists hit by cars and trucks. My reaction is the same every time: I freak the fuck out. And I usually freak out to my mom, my husband and J.

One of these events is that catalyst for mine and J’s demise. I had recently started a new job and was having an issue with my contacts, so I went home early. (If it hadn’t been for my early departure, J and I would probably still be friends.) On my walk home from the train, I came across a motorcyclist who had been hit by a minivan. He was on the ground, unconscious. There was blood. Good Samaritans had stopped and were at the biker’s side. I heard sirens coming. I knew help was on the way. I kept walking.

I was rattled. I think the first thing I did was call my mom and sob, “Why do I always see horrible things?” Earlier that summer I’d seen a bicyclist get thrown into the air by a car when crossing the onramp near my house while out for a run. He was OK, I’d called 9-1-1 and he’d walked away.

I texted J, in need of a friend. In need of support. And I got shut down.

What happened next was a series of text messages (still on my phone) that I refuse to look at. I know it will make me mad and sad and a lot of other emotions to revisit the exact words. But, overall, the conversation went something like this:

I asked J why she hadn’t responded when I’d reached out the day before. Her response? She was talking to her mom. Apparently some things were going on back in Kentucky that I don’t know about to this day. But somehow, I was supposed to recognize that she was “going through something” even though I’d never been looped in. (If I had to guess, it was something to do with her brother and sister-in-law who were still dealing with the effects of losing their son a year and a half prior.)

My confrontation regarding her lack of support resulted in J asking if I was drunk. This only fueled my fire. The texting ended with one request. I said something along the lines of, “Don’t bother talking to me until you can admit you’re wrong.” She responded with, “I mean, likewise.”

Her 30th birthday was a few weeks later, so I shot a HBD text her way. It was greeted with a simple thank you. That’s the last time we spoke. And I’ve been devastated ever since.

I’ve thought about reaching out, trying to mend the fences. Maybe it’s my pride, but I’ve chosen not to. I’ve also gotten more and more angry the longer she’s gone without reaching out.

Sometimes I think it might be better for my personal well-being to get some sort of closure with this. But in the end:

Image result for i want to forgive you and forget you the hills gif

I’m completely hesitant to even post this, because it means putting how I feel out in the world. It means the possibility that J will see it. Which means the end. But, I need to move on, and I’m not really sure how else to do that.

Multiple articles say writing a letter you’ll never send is one of the steps to closure of a friendship that’s ended, and, I’ve done that. It’s in the drafts folder of my Gmail account, and it’s mean. It says things that I don’t even feel or think. And I think that’s because I’m still in the anger stage of grief.

I don’t know where I was hoping to go with this or what I was hoping to get out of it. I think it just needed to get my thoughts on the page, and vent. So, I’m really no further along than I was at the start. Somehow, though, I’m OK with that.

Why I Love ‘Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’ And You Should Too

If you’ve started watching Season 2 of “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” on Netflix too there’s a good chance you can’t get that catchy-as-hell theme song out of your head. But do you know where this viral little ditty came from?

Unbreakable!

They alive, dammit!

It’s a miracle.

Unbreakable!

They alive, dammit!

Females are strong as Hell.

As a word nerd, I had to find out what it was he was saying. So today, I Googled it and dove further into my obsession with the show.

Simply finding the lyrics proved tougher than I expected, as I stumbled across multiple pieces discussing the origins of the song. Turns out, not surprisingly, the theme song is the product of a monologue written by producers Tina Fey and Robert Carlock, according to Vanity Fair. See a clip of character Walter Bankston’s full monologue below, from Netflix’s YouTube page:

While I found it surprising that some viewers thought the above was a legit newscast, there was another point in the article that stood out to me. Vanity Fair refers to Ellie Kemper’s character as being not “just a survivor of a horrific experience, but a very famous one[.]” That got me dwelling on how the silly and sometimes dumb Kimmy Schmidt was so much more than just another unrealistic comedic character to watch.

Turns out, Fey and Carlock were asked by NBC if they’d want to write a show for Kemper. As the two (mainly Fey) go on to explain to E! in an interview, they recognized that Kemper has “this kind of sunniness, but also this strength.” And it was with these two traits and the crazy-horrific backstory that Kimmy’s character was born to create a twist on the standard starting over story.

For me, I think that’s what makes this goofy girl and sitcom so lovable – it is relatable and inspiring. Unlike most of us, Kimmy is able to keep a sunny disposition despite tragically losing out on her childhood. So we get to follow her around NYC as she makes her way, and laugh about it with her. Because there seems to be one thing that Kimmy did learn while living inside that bunker: Bad things happen.

And, as Kemper points out in an interview with E!, Kimmy has the ability to overcome her bad things and not let those experiences define her. Which is what makes this comedy so worth watching. Let yourself be inspired by the pure optimism and strength of a character who may just seem simple at first glance.