This thing called life

Sitting in that leather chair, I swiveled around and took in the air of what my life had become; a dreary reality of routine and comfort.  As I reached for that paycheck and breathed in the last hope that things could be different, I was instantly prodded with the dread that I had to walk away.  I looked around at the walls that surrounded me with accolades and trophies displaying all I had accomplished—certificates, diplomas, pictures; treasures to remind me that I had worked so hard to get to this place that so many only dream of.  Educated, experienced, seasoned…and yet it was time to say thanks, but no thanks. I climbed out of that chair and decided to take a walk.  I peeked in each office, observing the lives that could be mine.  Is this the life I wanted?  Did I want to be him and her?  Did I want my life to be good enough?  Or did I want something more?  Did I dare to do the insane and unthinkable and risk it?  While so many of us dare to dream of what exists beyond the borders of the reality we so quickly find ourselves in, only few of us actually muster the courage to hand back the just good enough.  And in a moment of what some would call insanity, I took the road less traveled.  I grabbed my purse, my diplomas, and trophies and said goodbye.  And I ran. 

What is it about comfort that is dangerous and enticing?  I think the constancy is one of the most unseen disadvantages to our lives as humans.  Once we think we have achieved a level of security, we quietly buy the house available in its neighborhood and move in.  And we stay.  Years pass, memories fly by, and moments are swallowed by our fear of change.  We aren’t really joyous and full; but we are comfortable, and that is safer than the leap of faith to rock the boat.   The reality is just that…reality.  And we are left wondering what else exists that can feed that desire that doesn’t seem to go away.  This life is a journey.  It’s full of joys, smiles, and laughter mixed with tears, frowns, and heartache.  Reaching a goal does not fulfill the desire of achieving the goal unless the goal is constantly growing and changing.  What’s more is that we become robots in this treacherous storm called life, holding on to what we know and are in the hopes that the thunder will pass.  Except the thunder does not pass.  It may quiet for a while, but it doesn’t disappear.  The only way to survive the storm is to float.  Fight it, and it pulls you under.

And the thunder rolls in.  Again.  We ask ourselves why we stay.  Is this a life really worth living?  Is this daily monotony the definition of life?  But yet we cannot face the reality of letting ourselves ask those questions because if we do, the desire to do more overcomes the coziness of our reality.  And then we have to do the unthinkable—create anew. 

I haven’t looked back.  Not a second.  Not an ounce of me misses what could have been.  I have no idea where I am going, or what the next 60 days looks like.  But I am free.  I have an opportunity to create a life for myself that is brilliant, beautiful, and full of hope; a life that I will create, not a life that will be created for me.

Life happens, whether we are looking or not.  It is wild and full.  If you don’t grab it and create it, life will overcome you.  It is glorious and funny.  It is rocky.  Hold on.

Cheeseburger in a bowl

Last night, I threw together a few ingredients and ended up with an amazing pasta dish.  It's basically a cheeseburger in a bowl.  I love to create new dishes with the things I have lying around my kitchen. There are different variations of this recipe, but here's what I came up with.  Let me know what you think!

Ingredients:

Ground turkey meat
1/4 of an onion--diced
2 cups of milk
1 cup of water
parsley seasoning
oregano seasoning
paprika
chili powder
black pepper
garlic powder
whole wheat spaghetti noodles
1 1/2 cups of cheddar cheese, shredded
1/2 cup of grated parmesan

1.  In a skillet, brown the turkey meat in olive oil over medium-high heat.
2.  Once cooked, add the diced onion.  Saute until tender.
3.  Drain excess liquid.
4.  Add all ingredients except the cheese.  Once it boils, turn the heat down to medium, cover, and let cook for about 9 minutes.
5.  Taste noodles once they are just cooked to make sure they are ready.
6.  Turn off heat, add cheese, and mix it all together.
7.  Enjoy!!

For the girl who chose wisely

Keep running.  

Keep going.  Don’t stop.  See the road ahead, even it isn’t there yet.  Feel the ground you are trotting and sense the past behind you.  At some point you will stop, and you will want to turn around.   Don’t.  If you do…

You will see him.  You will see his face in complete light.  You will see what all you are leaving…a life you have built with him.  But you walked, and you did it for a reason.  Your gut told you to run.  So run.  Do it. 

Your mind will trick you soon.  It will portray him in a beautiful way.  And you will only remember the good.  You will remember how he held you, you will remember how he smiled, and you will remember his laugh.  You will hear a song, and be quickly reminded of when you heard it…and you were probably with him.  Shut it off.  None of us are so strong as to be able to betray the memories we create in our fragile states. 

His laugh will echo.  It will ring through your ears, it will shake your core, and you will hope for a second that he is behind you.  Don’t look.  Keep running. 

You will want to look at old pictures, to feel the wedding dress between your fingers, and to count the years that could have been.  You will not know what to say when you are asked why you ran—and a piece of you will want to betray what you had.  Don’t.  Be a woman.  Be strong, and be courageous.  Its okay to run, yet still be kind to yourself.  Bitterness will not get you anywhere. 

The tears will come, and then they will disappear.  You will be left with anger—at him for not making it work, and for his ability to let you slide right out of his fingertips like a veil in the wind. Release him.  Watch him float out of your hands. 

And when you can stand to see the light of day, get out of bed.  Put your feet on the floor, and get dressed.  Really get dressed.  Dress up.  Make yourself feel extra beautiful on that day.  And look in the mirror.  Where you once saw tears and puffs, gently wipe away the slate.  Tell yourself you are beautiful, that you are enough, and you deserve more. 

Eat healthy, work out, put your all into your work.  See friends, hug family.  Call a therapist.  Buy a dog.  Train it.  Be busy.  Be very very busy. 

But when you feel emotion about your decision, find an outlet—write in a journal, listen to music that doesn’t make you remember him.  Figure out what you are most upset about.  I can promise you it isn’t because you genuinely miss him. 

In fact, you don’t really miss him.  You miss the idea of him.  You waited so long for the day to come home to a man…someone to cook for, to love, and to make you feel as if you are special because he chose you.  But how about this:

You come home to you.  You love you.  Be good to you.  Do what’s best for YOU.  Feel special because you are special, and choose you over and over again.  In fact, when you walked away, you chose you.  And you’re strong, and brave, and your courage climbs mountains. 

When you feel alone, write about it.  Embrace the beauty of your inner solitude.  Make new friends.  Do things that you never did when you were his.  So this time, become yours.  Become you.  Beautifully created you.  

Curiosity

I don’t know when I first felt it, but it was an underlying flood of curiosity that shook my core.  I remember the lack of understanding, the worry and doubt; it’s like it was yesterday.  For as long as I can remember, I have been that girl—the wild one at heart with the pangs of uncertainty.  Uncertainty about love, about work, about myself.  Who was I at the bottom of all of this?  And at the end of the day, who would survive? 

I took many paths that I didn’t know where they would lead—a tennis team, an out of state school, a new city, and a law degree.  At the end of each of them, though, and what connected each piece was security.  I was good at tennis, so why not continue?  I had a team to jump on to, so why not a big school out of state?  I had a boyfriend waiting, so why not a new city?  And I got accepted, so why not law school? 

I think I realized over time, though, that sometimes you have to do the unimaginable.  The aching heart that craves new things needs to be heard.  That pounding inside that screams for attention, yet I want to know I won’t fail. 

I still feel the sadness, the quivers, the pain.  The fear of what I may never have.  I can feel the tears streaming down my face, and I can feel the self doubt covering my being.  I cry out for an answer, for a moment of stillness, yet I cant breathe.  The choking, the sobbing, the incredible stabbing—the moment of failure seething through me. 

And I wake.  The reality hits me, and I get back up.  And I tell myself it’s a blessing, because what else can it be called?  A blessing sounds better than failure, and at least my gratitude can lead to acceptance, to lessons learned, and to new beginnings. 

That fight or flight instinct took over, and I fought.  Like the badass I am, I fought like hell.  And I clawed and I scratched and I pour myself outward, and I succeeded.  That’s who I am.  A champion.  A fighter, a winner, and a hero all in one. 

But I still catch myself sinking within those enormous moments of certainty, of security and of stability.  I’m complacent, but at least I know; I’m bored, but at least its something; I’m afraid, but at least I’m safe.  And all the while I want to spread my wings and sore.  To fight this urge to feel safe, and secure, and certain.  And yet to know I can be safe, and secure, and certain just because of who I am.  Because I am a fighter, and a clawer, and a winner. 

And I sit, and I stare, and I wonder.  Do I have what it takes to outsmart my temporary being?  Do I have the desire to overcome this place of constancy?  And if I do, will I fall?