Category Archives: Living

Dear [Baby],

I originally wrote this post about six months ago, but decided to hold off on posting it at this time.


You are precious. Your life has just begun and you have a lifetime of moments ahead of you. And my wish for you is that you get to experience every single one of those seconds. The joyous, the painful, the thrilling, the terrifying, the precious, the bittersweet – all of the good and all of the bad. Take in and savor each and every emotion. Hold on to those memories. Because the adventure ahead is just beginning and you’ll need all that you know, all that you’ve learned to make your journey your own.

When you’re young, the years fly past. Summers seem endless until the snow falls, and before you know it you forget to remember the last browned leave hanging from a tree. And they say that as you get older time seems to move faster with each passing year, but I disagree. I think we stop savoring the moments and truly living each experience that passes us by.

No longer do we whiff the scent of a fresh cut blade of grass as the spring’s rains subside. The first flakes of winter loose their glittery charm. Instead, we’re always ready and waiting for the next big thing – even if it’s happening, right then.

So do grow up, do grow old. But while you do: Live. Experience life.

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Body Image

Over the last year, I have struggled with my weight more than ever.

Growing up, I was never thin, but I was also never fat. I know plenty of girls who suffered eating disorders throughout their childhood and teen years, but I guess I always just accepted my chubby cheeks, thick thighs and belly. Fore the most part though, I was fine.

In high school, college and after graduation, my weight fluctuated. A boyfriend led to extra pounds, and the following break up shed what I’d added plus some. Biking and hiking around the city always kept me fit, and I owe something to that. Still, I was never skinny.

But after a three-month recovery, I was finally thin. I joked: Great weight loss trick, get hit by a truck. But at that point, I was unhealthy looking and the doctors urged me to eat, eat, eat – even if it was ice cream and potato chips. So, I did. And I got healthy. Then, I got fat.

I don’t weigh myself, to me it’s more about how I look and less about my actual size. Because of that, I think my body image issues have worsened. On top of the pounds, I have a hideous scar. Fake it as I might, never will I feel confident laying out at the beach in a bikini – no matter my size. I’m hesitant to even let a peak of my mid-drift slip into view.

(For those of you who are unaware, I have about a 12-inch scar running down the center of my abdomen – the result of emergency surgery.)

Some people say it’s beautiful, and I want nothing more than to wear my skin with pride. But it’s not. Either side of the scar is off-balance, as the left will always remain a little bit swollen. And more than anything, that scar serves me as a daily reminder. No, it’s not something everyone can see, but I always know it’s there. It greets me in the morning when I shower, and kisses me good night when change for bed.

If you follow me on social media, you know well that I’ll be participating in Mudderella Chicago this May. Not only have I found this training as an outlet for aggression and stress, but of course I’m also getting stronger. However, over the last six weeks, my visible body has not changed. Tonight, that hit me as a frustrating and disgusting fact. What do I have to do to be happy with my body’s image?

Still, I can feel myself getting stronger, and for that I am infinitely proud.

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What’s a Tragedy?

I’m sure if I had a lot of followers, I would get a lot of backlash for what I’m going to say in this post. However, I don’t, so I’m not too worried about it.

With the breaking news of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death (may he rest in peace), social media has been set ablaze with grieving fans posting about the “tragedy.” From what I have read, it sounds like this was the result of an overdose – please, correct me if I’m wrong.

Of course, death is a difficult thing for many to warp their heads around, especially when it comes unexpectedly. I don’t blame these people for grieving. However, I do not think that ODing constitutes the same response as an actual tragedy would. In my opinion, a tragedy marks reference to something that was out of the victim’s own control: terrorist attacks, disease, murder. But choosing to pump yourself full of too many drugs and paying the ultimate consequence for those actions? No, that’s not a tragedy.

Now, don’t think that I don’t find the news of Hoffman’s death sad. I am, after all, human – of course I do. I enjoyed his work and think it’s a shame for him to have left this world at just 46. I also wonder what led him to an early grave? There’s always a driving force behind addiction.

I’m hesitant to post this, or at least to link to it on my social media profiles. In no way am I looking to spark a controversy, this is just something I’ve often thought when hearing breaking news of celebrity deaths from over doses, reckless driving and other unhealthy decisions. Shouldn’t I feel safe to feel my thoughts on my personal blog anyway?

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Do Wishes Come True?

Throughout my childhood, I must have spent $100 in pennies, throwing wishes into fountains. Of course, that change never came from my pocketbook. I’d ask my mom, grandma or an aunt, “Can I make a wish?” How does one say no to that?

First, I’d look at the date to see how old the penny was, and then hold it tight in my tiny hands. I’d squeeze my eyes shut tight as I rubbed my wish into the copper. Before tossing it in overhand, I’d open my eyes to ensure it was safely delivered.

Never once did I feel a magical response, as though my wish would be granted. And never once was my wish granted – I know this because that wish was always the same.

At some point, I’m not sure quite when, I stopped wishing on fountains. With this, the hope for my wish slowly faded away.

On this past Christmas Eve, though, I saw a shooting star. It was a brief, magical sight in the clear, dark sky – when I was a child, I would have believed it was Santa’s sleigh. While it had probably been 15+ years since I’d tossed a penny in a fountain, I found that my wish had changed. Yet still, seeing that meteor’s tail glowing behind it as the rock entered Earth’s atmosphere made me wish again.

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I Guess That’s How The Future’s Done

Do you ever hold on to things and you’re not sure quite why? I have knick knacks that make up a well-told history, but really have no meaning. Some may hold some sentimental memories, but there’s no real value in any of it. And no, I’m not talking hoarder-style. I do have a lot of belongings, but the majority of it is clothing and books.

However, there are some things I’ve held on to past their time of need. Some date back years, while other only weeks. For instance, I have a framed photo of my best friend from high school and I on the shelf in my living room. We haven’t spoken since early in college, but I keep that picture on display. I’m not sure why, I just never thought to replace it.

I have a piece of loose leaf paper I once received folded eight times from a stranger when getting off of the bus at my college campus. After a bad day – of which I don’t remember the cause today – I read inspirational words on that paper. When I looked up to see who had turned my day around, I saw no one. It didn’t change my life, but the words written in blue ink have remained tacked to my cork board since.

Every single spare button that’s come attached to a sweater, jacket, shirt or blazer I’ve purchased are bunched together in a small sack. I doubt I’ll ever do anything with one of them, and many are from clothing that’s long gone. Still, I keep them on hand.

I have Beanie Babies, remember those? Not the entire collection from my childhood – those are boxed up somewhere in the basement at my parents’ house. I have four, all of which I believe I’ve obtained since leaving for college, and – if I remember correctly – were given to me by my mom. There’s a pink sock monkey, his name is Poet. The other three are a pig (of course), a giraffe and a bear. Every time I have to find a place to put them, I wonder why they’re still around or how Maize hasn’t de-stuffed them, but still … I keep them.

Yet, in spite of all the things I keep without knowing why, there are other things that must go. Eventually, once treasured cards get tossed in the trash. The now rarely printed photograph gets replaced. Things break, they fall apart, and lose their necessity. Other things, are harder to throw away, but simply need to go so you can let go. Tonight, I did just that.

A bag full of damaged property that held nothing but poor memories was taken out to the alley and shoved into an overflowing garbage bin. The musty smell that had been hidden in a storage room for months was finally removed. The only belong worth saving had been recovered – yes I know the exact date – on November 25, 2012. It was a ring I had adored and feared was destroyed beyond repair. But lo and behold, the first time I ventured into that bag of nightmares, it was found.

I’m not sure why we hold on to faded memories, in our mind’s eye or with physical objects, but we do. What’s in the past is just that, passed. And perhaps it shouldn’t matter, but it does.

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