Holding On.

A letter to myself.

Stumbled upon this little gem of a note that I wrote to myself a year or so ago, hidden within the folds of my journal this morning. I found it to be extremely raw and real and exactly what I needed to read while sipping coffee on a date with myself this beautiful Sunday morning.

"Remember this time your life. Never forget how it feels to go to bed alone with your thoughts and to wake up with a clear conscience. Never forget the feeling of independence, the freedom that comes with only having yourself to worry about. Remember what it is like to put your friends first, yourself first and savor the time when this is still the case. Never forget these years when you are so perfectly content with you, your thoughts and your own dreams- dreams that are concocted by nothing but the brilliance of your own imagination. And most importantly, be satisfied and grateful for the realities that you and only you have created for yourself. Relish in the big and little daily decisions that have defined and directed the course of your life thus far.

Because at some point, things will change, and people will come and others will go. And one day you will wake up and this independence, this freedom- will be gone. And when that happens, as happy as you may be in your new shared life, there will be moments. Moments where you miss this. Where you miss the quiet or the simplicity. Moments when you miss playing a song on repeat just because it's how you feel. Moments when you miss going to bed alone, with your thoughts and the freedom that comes with only have yourself to worry about."

"And at once I knew I was not magnificent."

Seeing Color

...and just when I thought the grey mundaneness of winter would swallow me whole, I saw color again. Vibrant pinks and oranges in the sunsets, deep magnificent shades of turquoise in the water and brilliant light in the faces of those who literally have nothing, but a world full of color.

Belize 2012

Everyday.

"I love you" he said, his voice sounding farther away then ever. "I love you everyday" I responded before reluctantly hanging up the phone. Sitting in our sunroom, staring out into the dark Denver night I couldn't help but wonder when the next time I hear his voice will be. We already seem so far away and in a few short weeks- we will actually be worlds away.

It's been a little over a year and a half since our paths have crossed and with the new turn his life has taken, it is unclear when I will see him next. Our friendship however, has never been one based on close proximity- in fact we only ever lived in the same place for four months total. But that short time was all it took. Those four months were the start of our friendship, the beginning of a deep relationship and a lifetime of a mutual understanding. Our paths crossed and our lives were forever intertwined, regardless of where we are today and the extremely different paths that will get us to where we want to be in the end.

"I'm proud of you" he said after I detailed my life in Colorado, my job, the committees I sit on and my social life that never really seems to slow down. "and I'm proud of you" I responded as he explained his upcoming move, the choices that he's made for his family and the way his life has changed so quickly. As I sit and listened to the things he wants out of life (because somehow, we always find ourselves discussing these types of things), I couldn't help but realize that though our current lives, realities and responsibilities may be so very different right now, in the end- we want the same thing.

It is what brought us together in the beginning and it is what will continue to be the foundation of our friendship, whether we go a year without speaking or five years without seeing each other. We get it, and though we are taking different paths to get there, happiness is coming for the both of us.

"Isn't it funny where life takes us?" he asked as we were closing out the conversation. "Those signs in life that you follow, that you feel deep within you- really do lead you to where you belong"

And as I sat in the sunroom I remembered the signs that I felt before moving here. The license plate, the late nights on the rooftop dreaming of Colorado sunsets and the actual physical pull that I felt to this state and to the place that I now call home, all signs that I chose to follow. "When you feel a place deep within you, you know that it will be a part of you in some way forever" he finished. And as I agreed with him I couldn't help but feel that Colorado will definitely be a part of me forever in one way or another. Then I pictured him, bags packed, leaving for the place that he will put his roots down, the place that he will begin to call home and I couldn't be more proud and more excited for my friend and his next step towards happiness.

"I miss you" he said. And I responded with a simple yet very heavy, "I miss you everyday".

Things I Learned After a Weekend At Home.

• There is no such thing as too much wine


• No matter what - your parents are your biggest support system


• Your grandmother is not as naive and innocent as you think. Thus, listen to her carefully and take her advice. Her life experiences trump yours - ten fold.


• A full house is a happy house. And a house full of family is a house full of love


• Those friends who come over to say hi to your family and end up staying for hours, are the ones who will stay with you forever. They're the ones who are part of your family themselves.


• Traditions are a way for us to confirm our deepest values as a family, as a community


• No matter how hard you try, your mom's pumpkin bread always tastes better than yours


• You are the purest, most real version of yourself around your family


• There is something comforting about sleeping in your old room, surrounded by old memories - even if it means accepting the fact that your room has literally been untouched by the sands time


• As you get older, catching up with your cousins feels like reconnecting with best friends


• Noticing more grey hairs and wrinkles on your parents is no longer amusing, as the weight of their aging begins to really sink in.


• Sharing a silent ride to the airport with your dad at 4 am is the best way to decompress and end a solid weekend at home


• That being happy to return to your city, your job, your own home - means you are in the right place at the right time. And that in itself, is something to be thankful for.

Brunching Hard.

When I moved to the mile high city a little over a year ago, I was the farthest thing from a brunch person. Coming from Seattle I was accustomed to grabbing a quick Starbucks coffee and a bagel (or a pumpkin loaf, if I was feeling wild) to go each and every day of the week. Maybe it was the great sense of urgency I felt living there, the constant state of rush, the hurry up and get it done mentality - but rarely did I ever find myself sitting down to eat my first meal of the day, weekend or not.

Denver though, is different. There must be something in the air here that causes people to slow their roll, embrace their hangover and show their faces in public for multiple hours over an eggs benedict and a bloody mary any given day of the week. And as hard as it was to get used to in the beginning- the mid-morning socializing, the fact that my body now rejects coffee as a hangover cure and only permits vodka, as well as coming to terms with looking heinous whilst being out in public in morning- I, after a year here have become quite the brunch connoisseur.

I knew I had made it as in the big leagues not too long ago when I realized that I was able to break brunch down into four categories, all of which I or someone that I am close to has had first hand experience with.

The First: "Rally The Troops" Brunch

It's Saturday morning. 9:30 am. There's three people asleep in your living room and your best friend is passed out next to you fully clothed wearing her boots and cross body purse. You hear people moving around in the kitchen and you know it's time. You call the neighbors with your eyes still closed and beg them to bring you coffee. They refuse. Vodka is coming out of your eyeballs and you begin to get the feeling of impending doom. "If i don't get to brunch right now, I just may not make it" you think to yourself. An hour and nine haggard friends later - you find yourself at an oversized circular table ordering rounds of water, diet cokes and a make it or break it bloody mary. Your waitress hates you all because she's equally as hungover but has it much worse than you do because she's working on a Saturday morning. You hate her because she won't split up the bill. You find yourself inhaling your meal and the meal of the person next to you, only to feel worse than ever before. But the gossip from the previous night keeps your spirits high and you order another bloody. "what the hell else? it's Saturday and we're at brunch" you think. Three hours and six rounds later you're back where you started- in your house, wanting nothing more then to be horizontal, for the rest of your life. It was a successful morning, now you must sleep and regain your strength to hit the town for the second night in a row.

The Second: "This is how we do it in Denver" Brunch

Recently my cousins came to visit me from guess where? Seattle. And in planning out our weekend together and their first time to D-Town, I made sure to put two brunches on the weekend itinerary. When family or friends come and you're trying to impress them - you must take matters seriously and make a reservation somewhere. In this case, I reserved a table for five at a local favorite. We would never dare hit up this place on any old Sunday, as the line is always out the door and when you're hungover the last thing you want to do is sit and stare at people chowing down on french toast, likewise i'm pretty sure the last thing that they want to do, is watch you try to keep your shit together while waiting in line. Anyways, this is the type of brunch where you show off the local cuisine and you say things like "Oh my gosh, the crab cake benedict is to die for!" or "you must try their french press coffee, it's outstanding". Regardless of whether you're feeling hungover or not, you keep it together for the sake of you visitors. You limit yourself to one mimosa - you've got the Coors brewery tour next anyways, and you order mini scones as a pre-brunch snack. "Everyone in Denver goes to brunch" you tell them, and Monday morning you get a text from one of them that reads "my bagel just didn't cut it this morning." Right?! because that's how we DO it in Denver.

The Third: "Why Am I Sitting Across From You Right Now" Brunch

Not too long ago at a "Rally the Troops" brunch, I was enjoying my third trip to the bloody mary bar when a guy walked in followed by a girl that was clearly in her clothes from the night before. "Sucks to be her" we all said as we watched them awkwardly converse and try to stuff down food as quick as possible. "Why do you think she agreed to go to brunch?" we pondered, then we spent the next hour playing the guessing game on what they were talking about and feeling really bad for the poor girl who was in stiletto's and sparkly top. I guess the only thing to say next here is Karma is a bitch, because recently I found myself in a similar situation. Our paths crossed during a day of drinking and football, too much of both actually. Had I actually brunched before we went to a bar to drink and watch the football game, maybe I wouldn't have found myself spending far too much time with a guy who was wearing a camo hat that said "gut deer?" on it. Why "gut deer?" you ask? He went to school in Montana, he can't help it. Not to mention there's something about camouflage that unfortunately, gets me every gdamn time. So there I was, ten am at a bar drinking a bloody mary and breaking bread with this guy. He was wearing the "gut deer?" hat. I was wearing a scarlet letter and my clothes from the night before, wondering how many people in the bar were placing bets on what our conversation was about. It was a nice gesture, to buy my brunch I mean. He really did not have to do that, and in retrospect I most definitely did not have to accept his invitation. But somehow, the experience shed a whole new light on this aspect of brunching. Thus - I am forever indebted to "gut deer?" and though he actually refused to give me his hat at the end of our 24 hour date, I doubt I will ever forget him and if anything, at least now I know what people talk about during these type of brunches.

The Last and Very Well Respected: Date Brunch

Contrary to the third type of brunch, people here in Denver do actually date over brunch. Take for example, my friend Jenny who went on a brunch date not too long ago herself. A reservation is definitely needed in these instances, as is looking presentable and not smelling like day old booze. She met him at a conference, and being the doctor that he is, mornings worked best with his schedule. Thus, the brunch and the first and last of it's kind for those two. Though I was initially really perplexed by his early morning date offer, I now have come to the realization that morning dates may be the best kind. I mean, it's bright outside, there's natural light and you see things and people for what they really are, nothing is hidden by dimly lit corners, sexy candlelight or red wine. Also, your brain is freshest in the morning, making conversation easier and giving you the potential to seem smarter then you actually are. I've seen them before, these so called brunch dates. Two people, dressed cute yet casual, laughing and sharing a frittata and a seared egg sandwich, discussing their jobs, their dreams, their lives. They always look happy and for the most part genuinely interested in each other, and though I have yet to go on a brunch date of this kind - I get the appeal. And though it did not work out for Jenny and the shorty doctor that she met mid-conference in Kansas, I appreciate the change up and her attempt at early morning, completely sober conversation.

In conclusion, perhaps the best part about brunching is the fact that you're surrounded by people that all fall into one of these four categories. Someone is being rowdy in a corner, someone is showing off, another person is trying desperately to hide their face and that couple in the corner is falling in love over cappuccino's. And as a connoisseur now, I would have to say that being in one of these categories sure beats the hell out of getting a luke warm coffee, a half-toasted bagel, and a simple "good morning" on your daily Starbucks run. And that's how it's done in Denver.

Color Blocking.

3 Boys Who Said They'd Love Me Forever.

The Latin Lover

I was 16 and had been chosen as a delegate from my hometown to attend a international leadership conference in Washington D.C. the summer before my junior year of high school. I had been to both the city and statewide versions of the conference and while spending a week sans parents in the Nation's capital sounded fairly enticing- I couldn't imagine giving up an entire week of my summer with my friends and the 19 crushes I was pursuing at that time. After quite a few back and forth arguments with my mom, I agreed to take part in this "resume builder" and got on my first solo plane ride across the country.

It was just after the opening ceremony on the first night during one of many 'dances' at the conference, that I spotted him. "Umm that guy is staring at you" Dana from Georgia said as I returned the favor and flashed him my best sixteen year old version of a geisha glare. He was standing across the room surrounded by a posse of Puma wearing, dark haired and brown skinned friends, just staring at me. I guess you could say it was love at first sight and despite the extremely difficult language barrier, we spent the rest of the week wrapped up in each other's company. His name was Alfredo and he was a soccer player from Mexico, sent by his own school to better his English and represent his country. Alfredo and I spent hours together, post-conference sessions, just being together. I would watch him school his buddies in soccer and he would listen to me intently as I desperately tried to explain to him what fettucini alfredo is and why his name was so funny to me. At the end of our seven days in D.C. we had one final formal dance. Alfredo showed up at my door with flowers and a TY beanie baby dog, asking to escort me to the event. "He loves you, I can see it in those eyes" my roommate Shira from Israel said.

And, well it turns out he did. Or at least he said he did. That night Alfredo and I danced 'til dawn, we stayed up until my early morning flight in the dorm hallway holding hands, kissing and trying to make sense of our whirlwind romance and the deep feelings that had come from it. Upon my return home, I had 17 love interests waiting to be pursued and the flame that burned between Alfredo and I faded with time. He frequently expressed his feelings for me via AIM for months after the conference and I often times led him to believe that I still felt the same, though I really had no intention of trying to make an international relationship work, especially before Skype was even on anyone's radar.

Alfredo called me the summer after I graduated college, proving two things. One - yes, I still have the same phone number that I did when I was 16. And two, I found myself thinking that his love really was endless- that when he said he would never stop loving me, he meant it. It was endearing and made me feel needed, unforgettable even. That is, until last year when I hadn't heard from him in a while. I had been going through a dry spell and needed a little positive affirmation that I was still on someones (anyones) mind, so I bit the bullet and reached out to Alfredo via Facebook just to say hi, see how he was and to maybe check to see if the love was still there.  I dont exactly know what I was expecting him to say, after all- it had been years.  I guess I should have seen it coming when to my dismay, Alfredo wrote me back a four line message only to say that he was seeing someone new, they were in love and that he wished me a nice life. Right...he really let me down easy that Alfredo, and that was when I told myself that the language barrier we once encountered as love struck high schoolers, still existed.

The High School not-so Sweetheart

I met Dan at youth group during high school. Being the party loving jock that he was, i'm fairly certain his parents forced him to go every Wednesday and even more so- forced him to attend the spring break mission trip to Tijuana. We were in the same housing group in Mexico and became infatuated with each other while building a home for a family of four that greatly needed one. It was real love that we created while spending nights talking in the courtyard at the orphanage where we were staying. I say it was real because at the time, I had cornrows and neither of us had showered for the better part of a week. We were vulnerable, broken by the reality of the circumstances around us, we were open to the experience, to emotion and to each other. I loved the way he interacted with the kids at the building site and he loved watching me try to hammer something together, most always failing. We became inseparable that week and upon our return home, immediately began dating. Time passed, and unfortunately Mexico became a mere memory, the feelings became harder to conjure and with the pressures of modern day high school we began to encounter problems that any typical high school couple faces on the reg. He would drink and make out with other girls, I would drink and send him hate/breakup text messages, only to get back together with him days later. We struggled daily to get back to the place where we had started, to the realness we felt in Mexico and one rainy night we met in a parking lot, both knowing full well what was coming. We sat in my green Jetta and sighed as we both finally accepted the inevitable - it was over, we were done. And as he got out of my car to head home he said "I love you and always will". It was the first time he had ever said those words in such a way and for a moment I saw a glimmer of hope. Unfortunately, that glimmer was short lived and I don't know why exactly I was the least bit surprised to hear that he had sucked face with some hussy that night at a party only hours after our break up and his confession of love, while I most definitely was simultaneously drowning my sorrows in a bucket of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream and a chick flick on my couch.

I went away to college soon after that and though our communication was sparse, it still existed at times. That is-until I got word that he had a new girlfriend, quit drinking and became the committed boyfriend that I had always wanted him to be. Dan sent me his personal statement to edit one day during my first semester at college, signing the email "can you edit this for me? love ya girl" and I edit it I did - rewriting everything and fixing the thousand or so grammatical errors found on the first page alone. I mailed it back to him, including a personal statement of my own, and never heard from him again. It's been six years since then and while I sometimes wonder where he ended up or who he loves now, I mostly just wonder if he used the personal statement that I wrote for him to get into his dream school.

The One That Went Away.

"You're going to be an actress someday Miss America" he used to say to me when we were riding through the orchards and hop vines in his white pick up truck. "You show all of your emotion through your eyes" he'd say smiling at me from the drivers side, chewing on his ever present toothpick. I would giggle and ask him if we could stop to pick an apple before heading home. Summertime was our time. Every year, my parents would drive me the three hours to my grandparents farm in central Washington only to leave me there for weeks at a time. It was during these summer visits that my grandpa taught me everything about life and it was during those life lessons, that I loved him the most.   He calmed me, he brought me back down to earth and he showed me that shared silence is powerful and more importantly, okay. We would drive through the hills, monitoring the harvest and sharing our favorite- peanut butter and honey sandwiches in complete silence. He would stop at the lake so I could run out my energy, then we'd head to his bird sanctuary to check on the soon to be hatched eggs before returning home for dinner. We would watch TV together, and plan out my life.   

Though we were close, my grandfather rarely told me he loved me, or anyone for that matter really. As much of a softy as he was, he had a hard time expressing his feelings and was very intentional when he did. When he got sick we made the all too familiar trek to the farm to visit him in the hospital. True to form, he made me laugh as I walked in the door, making faces at me and smiling through the tube that was placed down his throat. He communicated at that time through writing on a white board that was on the nightstand in his hospital room and while I was visiting we would play tic tac toe and draw pictures of the freaky nurse that was tending to him. But it was on the last day of my visit, just before I left that I told him how much I loved him and that I would see him soon. He then grabbed his mini white board and wrote "I love you always Miss America".

Weeks later, I gave the eulogy at his funeral. A young girl shaking at the microphone, I spoke to friends, workers and our extremely large family, reminding them of all the incredible attributes my grandfather possessed. Losing him was like losing a piece of myself, and I always wonder if he'd be proud of me today, if still thinks I should be an actress and if he could still read my emotion through my eyes.

*Though these three boys don't talk to me anymore by choice or by circumstance, they are all still very much a part of me. Whether they think of me on a random day and care what I am doing or not, or whether they even remember the time in their lives that they loved me, I remember them. Our timing may have been off or cut short, but at one time they made me happy and at one time they told me exactly the exact words that I needed to hear.

Happy Anniversary Denver.

Here's to quite the love affair. And it continues....

One Foot in Front of the Other.

"Left foot... Right foot... Left foot..... Right foot..." I told myself on repeat as my feet continuously pounded the pavement, keeping time with my thoughts. "Dear God, how is she passing me right now?" I thought - interrupting my own inner dialogue and watching as a sixty year old woman sprinted off into the distance, weaving in and out of the steady stream of runners ahead of me.

If there's one thing i've learned about running 13.1 miles in a half-marathon, as I did for the first time yesterday, it's that a person really thinks about some weird shit while running long distances. Perhaps these bizarre thoughts can be attributed to the fact that you do anything you can to keep your mind from thinking about the pain that you are voluntarily inflicting on yourself, or maybe it's that you actually can get bored and need to entertain yourself when spending two and a half hours of your day putting one foot in front of the other. Regardless of the reason, during my run yesterday, I found myself experiencing some pretty interesting conversations with myself. For example, in between mile 3 and 4 the only thing I could focus my thoughts on, was what I wanted to eat post race. The battle between breakfast and lunch raged on in my mind as I ran through the streets of downtown Denver, contemplating whether or not my stomach could actually handle the large quantities of food I was daydreaming of. "Left foot... Right foot... Left foot... Right foot"

Between mile 6 and 7 I pondered what it would be like to be friends with Florence of Florence + The Machine, as her unique voice pulsed through my headphones and into my ears, filling my head with a beat that my feet kept time to. "Well, i'd for sure have to be trendier" I thought recalling a recent photo shoot of her I had seen, "and I'd really need to expose myself to the indie music scene a bit more before we could even begin to have a conversation, oh and I hope she's not a vegetarian". As the song continued and the mile drug on, my train of thought drifted from weekends spent hanging out with Flo and a few other undisclosed celebs in NYC, to me somehow playing a large role in her upcoming tour and finally, just when I was getting far too ahead of myself, the song ended, a new one started and I was left with the realization that not only will Florence never be in my wedding, I don't even know enough about her to want to be friends with her. "Left foot... Right foot..."

Now, contrary to the way I'm making myself sound here, i've never been much of a runner. Besides my brief cross-country stint during the latter part of elementary school, running has just never been my thing. And to be honest, after all the training, the stretching and the emotion of finishing my first half-marathon, running still really isn't my thing. In fact, yesterday as I pushed through mile 9 into mile 10, I was actually damning myself for making the decision to tackle such a feat. "Why in God's name did you sign up for this?" I asked myself as I slammed a dixie cup of water and tossed it to the ground. I then began to make a mental list all of things I would rather be doing, some of which included: sleeping, eating, drinking copious amounts of booze, stabbing a dull pencil into my eyeball, etc. And just when I thought I couldn't go on, just when I was reaching my breaking point, mile 11 came. "Left foot... Right foot...."

It was circa the time that my legs started to go numb and my hands starting cramping from the cold, that I reached a moment of clarity. Everything around me fell away, the people, the sounds, and all that was left was my mind and the road. And then, the real thinking began. I thought about Denver as the sun reflected off of buildings and danced across the mountain tops. "I can't believe i've been here a year" I thought, as I recalled pulling up to our house for the first time a year ago to date. Floods of memories from the past year overcame me. I then let the city sink in, basking in all the good it has given me. From a real-world job, to a place to call home with neighbors that I now call family. As I embarked on the 12th mile, reaching the brink of physical exhaustion, I began to clap along with the beat to the music in my ear. A smile took over my face as I came to some pretty sound and very personal realizations. Coming upon a group of people cheering runners on, I responded to their support by throwing my arms in the air and quickly spinning around. Seeing the finish line in the distance, I let go of the "left foot... right foot..." in my ear and let my body do exactly what it pleased. I found myself jogging, skipping and even dancing. I crossed the finish line, arms high above my head and smiled as I fell into the embrace of three great friends, fellow runners, and people who have my made experience here in the mile high city what it is. "We did it." I said, tears in my eyes. And as we stood there hugging each other and taking it all in, I let one final thing cross my mind before the breakfast vs. lunch debate consumed me once again.

I thought about everyday life, I thought about how we constantly put one foot in front of the other, left foot then right foot. Everyday, we carry on and we push forward anyway we know how to. Then I challenged myself right then and there to create new things in between the steps. "Add some twirls, a few dance steps and a couple jumps" I told myself, as I stood in awe of what I had just accomplished.

Today, left with an extremely sore right knee and some fairly blistered feet, I am also left with one giant take-away. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined finishing something like I did yesterday. Moving to a new city, finding a new group of friends, starting a job and making a life for myself all took time. And at the year mark for me here in Denver, at a time when I am finally comfortable, I have done it again. I have thankfully found a way to mix things up, to challenge myself and I have tackled something unimaginable to me before my life began here. It's been a great year, an incredible 365 days and a thousand new unbelievable stories written. With another year's lease signed, my story here continues - one foot in front of the other, left foot... right foot... twirl.... left foot... right foot.

Connect.

"Joy comes from that bliss of connectedness, you can feel it deep inside you, it's a wonderful feeling. And you know it when you get it, you don't get it from money, you get it from connection."
-John Perkins via Gary Carrier

& they danced.

"One house. Two girls. And one too many stories."

http://andtheydanced.tumblr.com/

A Date With Myself.

"Oh what the hell?" I said aloud as I swerved into the next lane over. Taking an immediate left into the parking lot, I checked my wallet for cash. "Just enough" I thought before opening the car door and heading inside.

"What are you crazy girls up to tonight?" the all too familiar man behind the counter inquired with a sly smile. "Not much " I replied as I headed to the back left corner of the store, per usual. "It's actually just me tonight".

" You don't want to try the newest batch of that local stuff you girls love?" he asked as I placed my item for purchase on the counter. "Mmm, not this time" I answered as I placed six dollars and forty two cents on the counter.

Back home in our quiet house, I started to put together what would add up to be my dinner for the evening. Throwing random vegetables into a salad and of course, burning my only piece of chicken left, I couldn't wait to be done in the kitchen. Sitting down at the table I realized something was missing. "Ah, yes.... the wine" I thought. Giving myself the hefty pour of six dollar and forty two cent Chardonnay that I felt I deserved, I returned to our dining room table and settled in to the night and in to the silence.

It is rare to have a summer night alone in our house. Between happy hours and kickball games, working late and dinner dates, concerts in the park and random but always welcomed visits from friends and neighbors, our summer has been the way it should be- packed full of friends, sunshine and way too many late nights.

Finishing up what was salvageable of the meal I had prepared, I went back for seconds. Skipping over the unfortunately charred chicken and heading straight for the chilled white wine, I realized the weight of the situation at hand. So rare is it that I am completely alone for a night in the house, that I could not even remember the last time it had happened. "You deserve this" I told myself as I poured yet another glass of the good stuff. Falling into the sofa, I looked around the room. A pair of neon sunglasses were sitting forgotten on the record player, left over from the costume my roommate wore during the incredible win we pulled out in kickball the night before. A bottle of "after-sun" lotion rested on the window sill, just begging to be reapplied to my sunburnt skin and brutally reminding me that never again will I spend an adventurous weekend camping and boating at 10,000 feet in the mountains sans sunscreen. Our summer bucket list lay crinkled on the trunk that doubles as our coffee table, half of its contents crossed off, causing me to smile and be happy that we are actually getting somewhere with the list this summer.

As I sipped the wine, I soaked it all in. All of it. From the first signs of summer and the bbq we tried to have before it was even warm enough to be outside, to the concert at Red Rocks that we barely remember. From the much needed family vacation, to the many nights spent on our favorite local rooftop, the Ale House. Summer was flying by and I still had so many things to process. I thought about turning 24 and how with every year that passes, regardless of my setbacks and downfalls, I feel myself becoming the person that I am meant to be. I thought about my 25th birthday and the lease I had recently signed, committing me to yet another action-packed year and another birthday celebrated in this house, on this street. I contemplated the repercussions of my own aging in comparison to the aging of my parents who are reaching the point of retirement bliss and who are, with every day, happily becoming more grey. I smiled a sad smile when I thought of my grandmother, in her room resting her eyes, realizing that she is probably still recovering from the Alaskan cruise she took my entire family on in early July. And as a tear fell into my glass, I came to terms with the fact that that family vacation with her, was probably the last of its kind. And I thought about the people I hadn't know for so long, the people that I had just met in the first half of the summer, from dinner dates to new co-workers, bartenders to new neighbors, summer seems to bring out the friendly in people and I was comforted in the fact that we still have a good two months of friendliness left before the fall ensues.

Closing my eyes, I let the sunset and the silence engulf me and I couldn't help but feel as if the night came to me on purpose. It came to me when I needed to slow down, when I needed to think. It came to me so I could process what had happened and what is to come in the next sun filled weeks. And as I turned out the porch lights a few hours later, thankful that no surprise visitors had popped by, I was so content with the date I had just had with myself that I made plans for a second one.

Rarely is it that we schedule time for ourselves. Time to sit. Time to drink a glass of wine and let your mind wander. Time to be. And it was in the me time on that night that I promised myself if I ever found six dollars in my wallet on a quiet evening, regardless of the season, I would buy a bottle of wine, cook myself some dinner and take the time to get lost in my thoughts, in my memories, and in a good glass of wine.

Push and Shove.

"You never did like to be tied down, did you?" his text today read. And as my eyes skimmed over the words, I was immediately taken back to a moment. A moment on the beach at sunset. A blanket, a picnic basket and quite a few tears. "I just can't do it right now" I said. "I knew it." he replied. "That's all I needed you to tell me". The next day he was on a flight home, he was gone. And I, I was free.

Though this conversation on the beach happened over three years ago, my conversation with him today made me realize how much of me has changed, yet how much of me is still the same. You see, my freedom, my independence, the very thing that has brought me so many adventures and experiences in my lifetime, is the same thing that has for years, pushed people away. My ability to be free is one of my greatest qualities and one of my worst. It is initially what attracts people to me and in the end, it is what drives them away. It is the push and shove, the back and forth, the eventual and often times expected, "I'm not ready".

I'm not ready to be with you, i'm not ready to take this job, i'm not ready to stay here, to settle, to start a life. I'm never ready. Yet his text message got me thinking... when will I be ready? At what point in my life will I stop running, stop moving, slow down and start something that will last, and last forever?

As my six month mark at my job has come and gone and my year mark here in the Mile High City inches closer, I wonder if i'm making progress (if it can even be called that). I wonder if i'm taking steps in the direction towards slowing down and finding myself through establishing a life in one place rather than discovering bits and pieces of myself while constantly being on the move. I wondered, how the words of someone who knew me better than myself so long ago, yet barely knows me today, could have such an affect on my thoughts and feelings after this much time has passed.

"How the hell does he know whether or not i'm ready to be tied down, it's been three years since then" I thought to myself, reading too far into his words and letting his statement weigh on my mind and on my heart. Yet after some serious thinking outloud with my roommate and even more soul searching within, I have come to the conclusion that when push actually comes to shove, i'm still not there. I knew what I was letting go of that night on the beach and as hard as it was then, I still stand by my decision today. And while he is building a house and a home with someone else, giving life to her dreams, I am still giving life to my own dreams, learning myself, learning the world and absolutely not letting myself be tied down.... Just yet.

Mud On Your Tires

Sometimes all it takes is a little mud on our boots and a few days in the country, with good people, great food and no cell phone service to ground us and remind us that most often, it is the simple things in life that are truly the most rewarding.

No Excuses.

"Alright Sparky... make sure you meet with your new insurance agent, sign all of those forms I sent you and PLEASE do your research to find a good, reputable doctor in the area" my father said as he wrapped up his lecture. "Well, getting old is the absolute worst" I replied before telling him that I loved him and hanging up the phone.

Looking at all of the important documents sitting in front of me, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. As I thumbed through my benefits package, signing on the appropriate lines (which were conveniently flagged with post-it notes thanks to my mother, whom I over-nighted the packet to for advice and direction the week before), I felt as if a part of my youth was swirling quickly down the drain. "When did it reach this point?" I thought, trying to remember the days when I didn't have to worry about license plate renewals or 401K plans.

Putting down my pen, I looked up into the mirror in our living room. "Am I getting wrinkles???" I asked myself as I inched closer to my reflection, scanning the person in front of me, searching for any sign of crows feet or grey hairs. When I had sufficiently covered the entire front of my head, looking for signs of greying, I took a step back and really looked at myself.

Before me stood a young woman. A person who was well traveled, well educated and someone who is just reaching the brink of her greatness. A girl who is still trying to pinpoint what it is exactly that makes her the happiest, but a woman who is well on her way to knowing where she wants to be in life. I stared into her eyes and into the depths of her soul, acknowledging the struggles it took to get her to this place, to this point in life. And I smiled as I realized that the hints of crows feet next to her eyes are merely pure reflections of the number of times she has laughed, cried and smiled in her lifetime thus far.

Sitting back down at the table I looked again at the paperwork in front of me. "I feel old, but I still feel so young" I thought as I signed my life away, glancing at my fluorescent pink nail polish and terrible grey on grey attire.

As I climbed in to bed later, I realized that it wasn't just the influx of serious paperwork that brought on this minor freak out. Tomorrow I turn 24 years old. And while I feel like I am still that young girl who wears pink nail polish, running around with a side ponytail and not a care in the world, I am beginning to realize the power in the wisdom that comes with age. It has been amazing to me to see how fast time flies and how quickly things in life can change. I am looking forward to my twenty fourth year as I am sure it will bring great success both personally and professionally, regardless of the fact that I am one step closer to getting off of my parents' insurance plan and that much closer to my quarter life crisis, which is sure to come on the eve of my 25th birthday. I am not only confident in where I am in my life, what I am doing and the direction that I am headed, but I am certain that I will make room for change and the adaptation that will come with each year ahead. And most importantly, I am comforted in knowing that I don't have everything figured out yet. Because like my benefits package, my search for a new doctor and a new Colorado drivers license, I am still naive, inexperienced and in my opinion, young. And to be honest, that is perfectly alright with me.

Growing Appreciation.

Role Reversal.

"So.... I don't get it. What's the issue?"

I could just picture her, worlds away, staring at her computer screen, sitting in a comfy chair or maybe even snuggled up in a cozy bed, tea on the nightstand, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. "Well I don't really know" I quickly typed back, "It's just something different. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm feeling shy about it." After a brief pause she began typing a message, the words popped up on my screen, and as I began to read over them I instantly felt better.

"Things come in surprising ways" she concluded after a ten minute back and forth debate about letting go and giving in to the experience of something new and unknown. And as I minimized our conversation window, staring at the list of tasks I had yet to accomplish at work, I felt a wave of sadness rush over me. Of course I was sad because I miss her everyday, but the feelings ran a bit deeper than that on this particular afternoon in the office.

Scanning over the photos hanging up in my cubicle memories of elephant rides in Thailand, late nights drinking wine in Florence and long bus rides across India, I realized that stepping out of your comfort zone is extremely easy to do when you actually are already out of your comfort zone. In traveling, you never know what will come your way and it is quite normal to expect the unexpected as everyday is a new adventure and another chance to try something different. Here in my new-found "young professional" life however, new adventures are hard to come by considering the most unexpected and exciting thing that occurs in my day is when a co-worker surprises us with a box of doughnuts. Don't get me wrong, I love my new job and I really love a good old fashioned doughnut every once in a while, but trading in my jeans and boots for blazers and a nice pair of flats somehow also meant trading in my spontaneity for routine and familiarity, only putting my wander-lusting tendencies on hold for the time being.

My thoughts drifted to my dear friend, living and working in Europe, learning languages, learning love and learning herself. It had always been me giving her the advice before now, sending her emails from the middle of the ocean or a quick text message in between flights. "Let go" i'd tell her, "you don't have to have all the answers now, they'll come to you. Be patient and trust the process". And now, today here we are, and it is her giving me the advice. It is me that needs her words and reassurance.

"What have you got to lose?" she said before signing off and heading to bed. Contemplating her statement, I assessed the situation. "What do I really have to lose?" I thought. Nothing. "Miss you everyday. And thank you. I needed that." I responded quickly before refocusing my attention on my afternoon of meetings and projects.

When I got home from work that day I got to thinking. I thought about the crazy adventures that she will have this weekend in a foreign city, turning strangers into friends and opening every door within herself to the opportunity of experience. I thought about the ways in which I too have been open to new people, cultures and ideas in the past and I wondered, why is it that just because i've developed a routine, I am closing myself to new and different experiences of my own within my new life? Just because I pack my lunch every morning, sit in traffic and classify myself as a young professional, doesn't mean I can't seek out opportunities to get to know someone or to open myself to uncharted territories within this city. "Things come in surprising ways" she told me from oceans away, and though I may not be staring at the Alps or learning Italian, just waiting for some incredible new adventure to fall into my lap, I know that she is right, and I've never been more grateful for places that we are both in at this moment.

In bloom.

It's raining here. And when it rains, I am reminded of Seattle. I am reminded of afternoons when I would pass the time just sitting on our overstuffed red couch, listening to slow, sad songs while watching the rain fall. It would fall for hours, for days, for weeks. Eternities would pass without even a glimpse of sun and then, when I thought I just couldn't go on and the misery of the grayness almost swallowed me whole, the sun would peak through, illuminating our apartment, awakening souls in the city, and restoring faith in the coming of summer. When these little glimmers of light would come, flowers would bloom, people would emerge from their hibernation and I would fall in love with the city all over again. I fell hard for the way the sun danced across the water, the way everything seemed to glow and above all else, the way the cherry blossoms exploded in bloom, opening their arms wide, as if to say "Finally". It is that in-between time in Seattle now. The time that warrants buckets full of rain and the occasional sliver of sunlight. And as I watch the rain fall here in Denver with slow, sad songs playing in the background, I can't help but wonder if it's also raining in Seattle, if the drops are hitting the pavement hard or softly and of course, if the cherry blossoms are in bloom.

Hey Mama Rock Me.

Life As of Late.

Breathe. Go to yoga. Paint your nails. Dress trendy. Dress terribly. Learn the city. Drink good coffee. Become a regular. Love your job. Hate your job. Know your neighbors. Redecorate your room. Find new music. Sit outside. Plan a trip. Take a trip. Wear red lipstick. Go to happy hour. Call old friends. Make new friends. Pay the bills. Pay it forward. Grocery shop. Sit in silence. Date just to date. Buy new shoes. Rent old movies. Grow a garden. Make big plans. Flirt with strangers. Create a home. Create a life. Burn a candle. Wear bright colors. Read a book. Write a book. Drink red wine. Watch the news. Better your friends. Better yourself. Laugh out loud. Call your parents. Break a glass. Break your heart. Go for drives. Talk all night. Challenge yourself. Paint your nails. Go to yoga. Breathe.

Summer Is Coming.

I can feel it.

To Better Yourself.

"And any last parting words?" I asked as I slipped him a twenty dollar bill and stepped out of the cab.

"just do what you need to do to better yourself" he replied as he printed my receipt, gave me a wink and wrapped up one of the most honest conversations i've had in a long time.

"thank you... for everything." I replied as I emerged from the car and headed towards my warm bed. Slipping on my pajamas and recapping the night I thought about him, his family and the reasons why he moved to Colorado in comparison to the reasons why I did.

"Do what you need to do to better yourself" he had said in response to my question and a ten minute conversation about life. And at the end of a long day, a long night and five complete months in the mile high city, that was enough for me to hear. More than enough.

Three Things.