Wednesday, August 27

secretly, I started a new blog??

Hoowwwwdy!!

I thought I'd come say hi. This feels a little weird. Technically it's only been a matter of months since I've blogged on this blog, but I thought I'm come around just in case anyone is still here.

Here's the truth of the dang thing: I fell out of love with blogging so long ago and I complained about it nonstop, and even after my "honest" posts about my feelings surrounding this blog, nothing ever really made those feelings go away. It wasn't that I stopped loving the people who stuck around or the readers who have continued to email me even when I stopped. It wasn't that I stopped loving writing. It wasn't even that I really stopped loving blogging in itself. I guess I just sort of got tired of the whole thing. I got tired of coming to this 5 year old blog and figuring out how to be "lifesize paperdoll" and the 22 year old I am now. I also got tired of the pressure to be more interesting or as cool as everyone else, as it seems the blogging community came to be about which bloggers had the coolest rug at Ikea or best Instagram with their Starbucks cup. When did everyone become so similar?

I've changed so much over the time I've been blogging. The me who started this blog never thought she'd gain a follower, never thought she would get drunk (willingly), never thought she'd think about sex until she was married, and never thought too hard about the big bad world. The fact of the matter is: I became scared of disappointing any of my long-term readers. I still am. But rather than stick around here where it was becoming harder to be more honest while receiving my first bouts of disappointed emails from readers I loved, I took myself elsewhere. I guess I needed time to sit with myself and really decide what I needed to write about again.

So here's the deal. Here is the deal. I'm done with being afraid of disappointing anyone. I'm done with sort of freaking out that so and so would read something I did on my blog and would stop talking to me forever. Because the thing is, though I quit wearing dresses from Modcloth that made me look like a mushroom and though I have changed my opinions about what I should be doing with my free time, I really am the same exact person. In fact, forming my own opinions about feminism, discrimination, alcohol, religion, government, sex, and gender politics has made me a better person in my own opinion. And here's where I say that a big part of why I decided to come clean on this public blog I know my teacher from 4th grade and ex-best friend from freshmen year will read is because the most important thing I've learned is how important it's been for me to be accepting of other people's choices. I hope we can still all be friends. I miss sharing stories of our lives and talking about TV and boys and the real part of blogging behind shiny perfect filtered pictures. I like the ugly and the real.

I doubt my new blog really looks any different to anyone right now. However, it feels different to me to have a space of vast possibilities. What's new isn't any different than who I've been, it's just a result of how I've grown. I'm excited to see where I go with this new blog. It wasn't designed by a professional and I still haven't changed much from the default Simple layout.

If you're still reading and curious, my new blog is HERE. I hope to catch up with you allllll!

Monday, April 7

That time I quit blogging for a month

The fact is, this semester has just plain sucked. I haven't been my best self. I've been self loathing. I've overindulged in my own problems. I've let a crappy professor dictate how I feel about my writing. I've complained and complained and complained without doing anything about it. I stopped blogging because I knew I was just being a turd. I knew I'd dealt with much bigger problems and yet I let dinky ones get in the way of happiness. I don't know what feeling bad for myself for a month means but when it finally all just become silly, I did something about it. And then life became better.

In two weeks, I've gotten a job as a barista, scored an internship for this spring and into next summer, started volunteering at a nursing home, and returned back to hiking and running again. The action of doing something rather than sitting at home in bed with my journal and a sweet boyfriend to complain to made all the difference. 

So, I guess I'm back. I'm back and I miss blogging and I sort of miss my old self. I'm ready to do again. Chalk it up to a winter that never ended, a professor tell me I sucked, a series of migraines and colds that didn't seem to end, stuffing as many credits as possible into a semester so I can study abroad next spring, or immaturity- but a month of doing nothing proved to be the kick in the pants I needed. 

A couple weeks ago, while I was volunteering, I wasn't anxious to make the rounds to the ward of the nursing home of older folks who aren't active or talkative. It's hard to watch people who seem to have given up, but it's harder to watch people who seem to have given up because they've reached the stage of their life where their reasons for living exist only in their past. However, as I made my way down the hallway, one gentleman sat in his wheelchair outside his room. I've met him once and he barely smiled when I introduced himself. I knew his family lived states away and he spent most of his time reading alone. This time, though, I said hi and asked if he wanted to play a board game. 

He looked at me and said, "Girlie, you don't look old enough to ask a man if he wants to play a board game." 

He followed this statement with a wink and then looked me directly in the eye. I stared in shock and then, at the same time, we both started laughing. It was the only reminder I needed. Life is too serious to take so seriously sometimes.
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Sunday, March 2

snowed in

When imagining the best present in the entire world, I might first picture something like a mountain of cinnamon rolls, a Mac desktop, the camera of my dreams, coffee by the truckload, love, or the boxed set of Gossip Girl on dvd.What I don't imagine is the impossible gift of time because in Montana, when they say it's going to blizzard, you never allow yourself the indulgence of imagining a SNOW DAY. It doesn't happen. I learned that two days into my first Montana blizzard freshmen year when my roommate and group of friends holed up in our dorm room (throw back Sunday to me four stinkin' years ago). You simply survive through it, in as many layers as you can fit in and over your down jacket.

So when I woke up Friday morning at 6am to a text saying that school was cancelled, I can say without a doubt, it was the best present the world could have provided. After my less than optimistic attitude that lasted so many weeks, a text that explicitly said, "DO NOT GO OUTSIDE!" I took that to mean that I should soak up every single second of free time to stay indoors. 

Heaps of dishes were completed tag team style while listening to the new Lake Street Dive, naps were taken, three movies were watched, pizza was consumed, fuzzy socks were worn, cell phones were ignored completely, snuggling was a necessity, and acknowledgement of a world outside a 2 bedroom apartment were ignored.

It was a stress free happy day that made up for a month of never ending to do lists. 

The blizzard lasted a full 48 hours in which I went outside twice: once to unbury my car and the second to take pictures of the snow for documentation because, really, how many times is this going to happen? The last time a blizzard in Missoula closed the University was in 1996.

I think I might be prepared to conquer the rest of this winter now. It's amazing what two days can do for the head and the soul. 
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Wednesday, February 26

the weight of it allllllllll

Maybe it's the record amounts of snow we are getting (after a record warm January last month) and the sheer amount of crazy happening in all my classes, but I am feeling a little (a lot) stretched thin right now.

I want to do it all. I want to show up to every class having carefully read every single word. I want to be there for every single one of my friends who are enduring loads of emotional drama in their lives (is this the winter of breakups after breakups or what?). I want to volunteer at the nursing home like it's my full time job. I want to read every single one of the 300 submissions to our school's literary magazine that I'm working on this semester. I want to meet my Netflix quota for the week. I want to meet my personal Netflix quota but also hang out with my boyfriend when I'm done with homework. I want to cook healthy meals every day instead of eating crappy food on campus. I want to work harder to book more photography jobs than I am now. I want to work out and be active. I want to babysit on weekends. I want to ski, go snowshoeing, take winter pictures, and thrift. 

I want to do it all. For five weeks, I've tried. I've tried and it's starting to take a toll on the quality and quantity of sleep I get every night. It's starting to take a toll on my happiness and the way I process every emotion, good or bad. It's starting to all become an all consuming never ending to do list I'm always thinking about and taking me away from the present.

And the thing is, my "problems" aren't even really "problems". It's just life and being busy. It's just those pesky extra ten minutes in the morning brushing six inches of snow off my car, losing a couple hours of sleep, and not being able to have as much fun as I'd like that's getting to me. It's just LIFE and I'm sick of waking up feeling stressed every morning. This week I'm trying to wake up with a fresher and happier attitude. It's starting to help and putting in time to go to the gym is also helping. The fact is, I can't do it all and after five weeks, I'm starting to accept I won't be able to execute all of the above perfectly. And that's okay.

My best sometimes is good enough.
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Saturday, February 22

winter is still here

The past month.

Writing, constantly and obsessively. Pages and pages and pages. No fewer than three separate word documents on my screen at one point. Five research essays each week; memoir 15 page increments; and dreaded poetry. I like to think all of this writing is helping me and that I'll grow from it, but most days I just feel like I go to my computer and write to get the required pages out. Most days are starting to blend together to feel like 'eh' writing days.

Snow, predictably inconsistent and exhausting. One morning, it wakes me up gently, coaxing me outside with its elegant fluffy layers, and the next it's all been replaced by swaths of ice and slush. I hate the slush and ice days more than anything. On mornings when my walk to school feels like living in Narnia, I feel light. But those February ice days, man. They're getting to me.

Friends, uplifting and necessary. Pains in the ass some days. Important, always.

Crocheting, because for every moment of chaos and panic, there is always something tangible I can create and hold with my hands when I'm done. That is everything when it feels like everything else is swimming.

Homework in bed when there isn't time to cuddle and watch movies. Reading when I've finished my homework and he hasn't, curled up on my own side facing the window in my room where you can see a hint of the Bitterroots. Back tickles between page turns.


Head and the Heart. John Butler Trio. Lorde. Lake Street Dive.

So, so ready for a new month. February, as I've decided, has been the best of the best and the worst of the worst in terms of everything.

Tuesday, February 11

red velvet was calling my name

Prepare yourself for a post mostly about nothing.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, I have eight glorious hours of classes in a row without a break. There's nothing better than eight hours of class without more than a 10 minute break, all in the exact same building, so that most days I don't even have to smell the fresh Montana air. This morning, my first class was cancelled because my fancy professor is speaking at Stanford. I would be impressed but this is also the same professor who left her students for the safety of her office during the lock down last week, so. She blew it there. With an extra two hours this morning to spare, I decided to go to the grocery store to buy coffee creamer since I've been out for a week instead of buying espresso, and picked up Red Velvet muffins without a second thought because, duh, it's Valentine's week, right? I am happy to report that within six hours of purchasing them, one whole muffin and two muffin tops are gone. 

I decided to do laundry and while in the laundry room, a very attractive man entered and to my surprise, recognized me before I recognized him. How often does a hot guy recognize you from sharing a class together before you realize you know them? Never, if you're me. We chatted and he was every sort of adorable and I tried to peek around him to see if he was a boxers or a brief (forget shoes, this says everything about a man). After he left, I loaded my washer and realized I left my soap at home but Hot Guy From Non-Fiction left his laundry detergent sitting on the washer. Thanks, dude. 

As we get further into the spring semester, I just get happier and happier that I'm not graduating yet. I will be the proudest super senior in school. 

I've turned memoir writing into an excuse to just eat grilled cheese for nearly every meal and I'm okay with my future if that's what being a writer looks like. I mean, chin acne has never been worse and I've never been more motivated to go to the gym as a means of procrastination but all in all, it evens out.

I have plans for Valentine's Day this year and they involve a concert and I'm not even mad about how corny this holiday is going to be.

Sunday, February 9

the most pretentious thing I've ever done

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Wanna hear a joke?

I am writing a memoir. For class. It seems absurdly out of the question to be expected to produce a memoir in a semester's amount of time as an undergraduate creative writing student who is barely twenty one and a half years old but there you have it.

We've started writing them. I spit out four pages, without really thinking or concentrating about what it was going to be "about", which was my creative writing professor's best advice.

"Let the story come to you," he said.

It seemed silly at first. In an obtuse way, it makes sense, to write the story that wants to be told thumbing around in your head, but it's never been how I do things. I always seem to have to form a plan in my head before I write something. I always need to know what direction I'm going in before I start something new. Otherwise, I end up writing 12 pages and it's only around page 11 that I figure out what I'm REALLY writing about.

In my time at the University of Montana, I've learned how to make every single word I write count. I've learned to tell a story in 50 words. I've learned to obsessively nit pick over one word for twenty minutes until I find the right one. I've learned to cut out the 'fluff'. I've also learned how to write without thought, for pages and pages and pages, without editing because my professor believed firmly in the roughness of a 'first draft'. I've learned to get everything on paper before reading something twice. I've learned to write every day.

But this class has a different approach that isn't one method or the other. It's new to me. There is less instruction and fewer guidelines than I've ever used. Even though it took a week and a half, I think I finally am latching on. I'm not producing word vomit until I figure out what I mean but I'm also not reediting the same lines over and over again. I'm, as corny as it sounds, trying to find the words within my own voice to tell whatever story is in my brain that is bursting to get out. I've heard the best writers write stories they are obsessed with and I'm trying to embody this idea that my professor is forcefully shoving down our throats.

I thought this class would be a joke but now I sort of see that if I wasn't forced to do this, I probably wouldn't do it. Ever. 

I'm trying to embrace it. Trying, trying. Come at me, stories of my life. 

Friday, February 7

Taco Bell robberies and Lena Dunham

These past two weeks of school have just been plain funky.

Yesterday, in the course of three hours, my roommate totaled her car and the University of Montana had their first ever 'lockdown'. 

My roommate is fine. Just poor luck and unmarked intersections. 

The entire lockdown was live tweeted and our school ended up being a trending topic on twitter for a hot hour or so. I don't think I've ever been so entertained in my life. I should clarify, no shots were ever fired, and the whole thing transpired because an armed robber decided to wake up in the -20 degree weather yesterday and rob Taco Bell. He then fled through campus which is why for two and a half hours, I was locked inside of my classroom without a professor because she realized our classroom was much less safe than her office. We watched Mulan instead of learning about gender roles in Sons and Lovers and those with iPhone chargers busted them out. People out of state were looking at us like, "Seriously? One armed robbery and the whole city goes on lockdown? At Taco Bell?" Pretty much. I should also add that students were so hungry as they starved in their respective classrooms that Jimmy Johns was called dozens of times and the police had to issue a statement saying that no food could be/would be delivered to campus. After we were released, Jimmy Johns gave everyone free sandwiches anyways because they felt bad for us. This is Missoula in a nutshell, folks. Thankfully, no one was hurt or injured.

Otherwise, I am writing a memoir for class. We are being forced to and in no other circumstance would I dare venturing to write my life memoir at 21 years old. More on that another day.

I also became addicted to Girls this week. Two seasons in as many days addicted. Lena Dunham, however, makes me reaffirm my belief that trying to be a writer is a great thing. Can I be her, with floral dresses, cute weird boyfriends, and an armor of confidence in three years?

Tonight I'm attending my second poetry reading of the week which is something I never expected to say, even seeing as I'm an English major. Guys. I don't do poetry. I know that's a terrible thing to say, but I seriously don't get or like poetry. I'm trying. I'm openminded about the idea of liking some poetry. Keeping my fingers crossed.

I also had a lot of 'friend' time this week. Last week was 'alone' time, and this week has been 'friend' time. The thing about dating music majors is that they have things like dress rehearsals and concerts almost constantly and when they don't have concerts to prepare for, they have pep band and marching band ect. It's almost weird to be the less busy one in a relationship? Friend time, however, is good time. I keep forgetting that even though I'm not graduating, a solid 75% of the people I love that make Missoula so great will be gone in a couple months. 

Happy weekend-ing!

Monday, February 3

you've got something I need

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Things that deserve a round of applause include: fresh snow after a March feeling January (because there's nothing like winter that looks AND feels like winter), new music, The Fault in Our Stars trailer (if I'm feeling these many emotions for a trailer I can't imagine how the movie will go), leather jackets with cat printed sweater dresses, and blog posts that make you remember why you love writing and blogging (KUDOS TO YOU, pretty girl.)

Things have hit a more positive note for me this week. I spent an entire day by myself at a coffee shop on Saturday catching up on a week's worth of homework I didn't do and it reminded me of how important it is to continually 'date myself'. I'm one of my favorite people to hang out with and sometimes in the throes of stress and drama, I forget that the simplest way to escape it is to physically isolate myself. A solid day of me, my cup of joe, my writing, my journals, and a stack of homework. There was nothing better.

Also, if that doesn't work, there's lipstick and night clubs.

Here's to more BLOGGING and hopefully more cat printed everything. There is never enough.

Saturday, February 1

my wretched self

This week was pretty crappy.

I let the wretched parts of myself dictate my mood and how I reacted to things that were happening.

I debated dropping my creative writing non-fiction class because I thought after the first class it sounded "dumb". I am a lot of things but being a coward is not one of them. This creative writing class is going to force me in directions I've never considered let alone attempted. I am going to have to produce a 'manuscript' by the end of the semester that our professor says he wants us to write with the intention of someday pursing getting published. Maybe I was just intimidated. Maybe I thought he was bonkers. It's possible I thought for a second I knew better than my professor and felt falsely arrogant.

I also yelled at my boyfriend; mark that as a first. It was stupid and happened due to the result of a misunderstanding that I jumped on in a moment of my feeling insecure. Oops. Thankfully, the next day we talked it out and I realized how awesome it was that as silly as a fight that it was, it's sort of a blessing to be a little bit messy. It's healthy. I am not perfect. I've never fought with a boyfriend and in the heat of the moment, I never for a second thought it was going to lead to a break up or make him hate me. It showed me that in a good relationship, disagreements do happen and I don't have to be so afraid of messing up. We're human. Mishaps happen! And it's beautiful.

I let myself become all consumed by the negative things happening to everyone else, too. Which isn't to say that I shouldn't have empathy for the people in my life because a good friend absolutely should. But I let the problems people in my life were experiencing leak into other faucets of my own, too. I took out frustrations other people were going through onto other friends and family.

These are things that I didn't want to write about during the week on my blog because I don't want to be a complainer. That's part of why this week sucked. Usually I'm a wizard at looking at the bright side and choosing to be positive. I hate complainers. I found myself complaining and coming back to the same frustrations over and over again. I was less than myself. But maybe that's what my problem was, too. I was trying to shut out all negative things I was feeling when maybe I should have just come to terms with them instead of trying to force rainbows and sunshine. Maybe I shouldn't demean my emotions so forcefully. Once I stepped back and gained some perspective, I understood the motives behind my actions and there was some justification to them despite the petty ways that I reacted.

I am going to vow to listen to myself a little bit better instead of shrugging things off. I am going to vow to let myself be messier. I am going to vow to let myself feel what I feel, good or bad, because you can't move past something until you address it. DSC_0665

Sunday, January 26

getting the heck out of dodge

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As far as I'm concerned, when your best friend gets her heart broken, it only means one thing: it's time to get the hell out of dodge. It also means being joined spontaneously by your other best friend and road tripping home to Idaho. When you have parents that offer up being designated driver for the night, buy breakfast and dinner, and provide a cozy place to have some serious girl talk time, there really is no better cure than a week long escape from Montana with da girls. Key words: no boys allowed.

It's hard to watch people you care about go through hard things. It's hard to lend your own perspective knowing that when you've been there before, you know that nothing anyone says is really going to help or make sense right away. The only thing to do is listen. And drink a few margaritas. And dance. A lot. And enjoy the heck out of your friendship with your fellow gal pals. Because damn it, is there anything girls can't accomplish together?

p.s. I have no idea why I look so pregnant in this photo. I am definitely not. Note to self not to pose like this again in the future in front of a camera.

Tuesday, January 21

Yellowstone and Bozeman

This weekend I decided on a moment's notice that we should go to Yellowstone National Park. I loaded up on the pistachios and hats for this occasion, piled into my boyfriend's car for our second "road trip" together, because seriously, what else is there to do with a six week long winter break? Are you going to go to Yellowstone or are you going to go to Yellowstone!?

"I'm going to bring my new camera and take so many cool pictures!" I said to myself. Until I realized into day two of our mini vacation that I'd left it on my living room floor. And without cell phone service and a forgotten phone charger, it was a completely picture free weekend spare the photos I took of the hot springs in Yellowstone, my boyfriend's cat, and the most epic Billiards team you've ever seen. Because obviously.

So, no pictures were taken to document the weekend. And all I have are the memories of eating a lot of breakfast food with views of some of the prettiest mountains I've ever seen, voyaging downtown Bozeman being shown favorite local bookstores and music stores, meeting the parents and seeing old stomping grounds, and being within 3 feet of a full grown elk.

It was the best weekend. I have nothing but a few crappy iPhone pictures to show for it. I was fully immersed in the moment all weekend long and I loved every second of it.
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Friday, January 17

better, not bitter

Today, "what could have been" looked me in the face. And boy, did it have a lot to say in very few words. It caught me completely off guard, of course, as I was mid-chew into my Boston Creme Pie donut but that's exactly my point: it's only when you're scarfing down a pastry enjoying how sweet your life really is that your past stares you in the face and you realize just how far you've come.

I'm not bitter towards my past because long ago I realized how thankful I was for it. I'm not bitter towards the years I spent studying something I hated and the time I wasted worrying too much about what other people were doing instead of worrying about what I was doing. 

Another friend of mine said to me this week over coffee, "Remember that conversation we had when you were studying for your physics final?" Yes, yes I did. Distinctly. It was a conversation that jerked me back into reality and gave me what courage I could soak up to make some definitive choices about nearly every aspect of my life.

I wondered later this afternoon how much of our lives are dictated by our own actions and how much is dictated by the actions of others. I wouldn't be where I am today if not for choices other people made and I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't stopped to listen to what my friend was telling me that day on her living room floor. It made me realize how much is out of our control and how, in the end, that is sort of an amazing thing. We can't know the effect someone else's choice will have on us until months or even years later, but undoubtedly they do have the ability to send us far away from the path we meant to take. Wouldn't life be boring if everything happened our way? And consequently, how much about ourselves would we never find out if things happened the way we planned? There are so many layers and hidden strengths buried beneath our own doubts and opinions about what's best for us that sometimes the only way for things to get better is for things to happen to us. The only things we can control are our own reactions. 

So, my sweet sweet past, thank you for showing me that I am more independent than I knew. Thank you for showing me that I have the ability to be a bad ass bitch when I need to be. I have a voice to be reckoned with. Thank you for showing me that I was deeply unhappy and needed to change. Thank you for shoving me towards a new haircut that I'd keep around for years to follow. Thank you for showing me, too, that I don't always need a big push from another person's choice to do something. I can get there on my own, too. Thank you for revealing that somewhere inside me is someone that is more courageous than she knew. And thanks for all the good memories, too. Not all of it was bad, in fact, most of is was pretty good. And it all turned out for the better.
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Tuesday, January 14

advice from my mom

(1) When looking for love, simplicity is key. Complicated is overrated. You want to be with someone who is certain they want to be with you; no questions asked and without mind-games.

(2) You are the only person who can know if something is right for you. Trust your gut.
finished_45 My mom is all knowing. At least, she has yet to be wrong about something. She's always right. She may not know it, but I hope someday that I am half as wise as she is. She also may not know that I'm taking careful notes of everything she tells me. Thanks, mom.


Saturday, January 11

it was a good hair day

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My life this week has been a bit scattered and everywhere this week.

For starters, I spent four days in Missoula "homeless" since I got a ride and forgot my car keys in Idaho. It was a convenient time to forget my apartment keys seeing as our bills were already a few days late and my boyfriend's parents were in town. Thank goodness for friends with empty apartments and boyfriend's with their keys.

I signed TWO contracts with brides this week to take their wedding photos this summer and I could not be more exhilarated. The spontaneous purchase of my new camera over Black Friday that cost my entire savings has, well, already been paid for over again. So. That's great news. Major financial weight lifted off my shoulders knowing I can afford rent for the next few months again.

I've reevaluated everything about myself and about the world after being sucked into 8 hour marathons of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. I've never sworn to be above much seeing as Taylor Swift is the most played artist on my iTunes and I own every season of Gossip Girl but I would be lying if I said I didn't think I was above reality TV. Well. I was completely wrong. I am not above it. If I could be Khloe for even a day....

I miss Missoula. I miss these mountains. I miss my bridge. I miss my friends. I feel genuinely lucky that Missoula is the place I'd rather be.

My sister is back in Virginia so once again I'm the "only" child at home again. I'm headed back to Missoula once again for the long haul this week and I just can't deal with 6 week long winter breaks anymore.

My mantra for the rest of the month is, "Maggie you NEED a job this semester."

I miss blogging.

My hair looked really good this day. I'm not sure this is a return to "outfit posting" at all. In fact, I'm positive it isn't because I suck at it, but when you have a good hair day.... you should ask your friend to take pictures of you and immediately post those photos to your blog? Guess so.

Wednesday, January 8

discipline

Dun dun dun.

I don't know where my voice went.

My 'voice'. What a stupid but powerful word used by every English major in every single creative writing workshop critique. Some days, despite my best effort, every word I write sounds fake and forced. Like, I'm trying to make lemonade out of my shoddy prose lemons but failing miserably, or some silly life metaphor like that.

You see. I don't believe in New Years resolutions. Never have, never will. When goals are too unattainable, I'll get lazy and quit halfway through (i.e. run a half marathon- reached nine miles and never ran another mile again). But if they're too easy, I also procrastinate and never do them either (i.e. write for ten minutes a day in my journal - nine days straight and then nothing for a month). There's a happy medium somewhere in there and last year I was actually able to achieve all of my New Years GOALS because they felt unattainable but not impossible. I made a to do list for myself and knocked those bullet items out like nobody's business.

This year, my goals aren't quite so far fetched. I don't have any 'big' goals for myself. I accomplished a lot last year and my goals are somewhat more long term ones I hope to accomplish in the next couple years at the moment. This year, I want to attack my nasty habits and flaws. It's one thing to move to a city alone for a summer and work full time, for example, but another to be able to do that but not be able to do simple things like take out the trash and keep my dirty clothes off the floor. Or eat servings of greens and fruit a day. Or establish routine in my life. Or work on those long term goals I have. What kind of adult am I if I can accomplish the big things and not the small ones?!

My goal for 2014 is simple and that is to focus. Focus on staying organized in my life because I seriously struggle with the little things. Utilizing some dang discipline in my life and sticking to it not because I want to, but because I need to.

Looking at the big picture of things, it's the small attention to details that can set someone apart from failure and success. I can't achieve the big things without putting in the extra effort to finish them. That being said, I want to write every single day in 2014. 750 words. Daily. Of anything.

I am trying. I'm determined that this is the year that I prove to myself that I really can do everything to achieve my goals. I can apply for the big internships and get them AND I can work on my own projects with long term end goals every single day. I can work every day towards something I might not see the success of for years. I want to prove to myself that I am passionate about what I am doing and I will do anything it takes to get there. Discipline. I won't be the majority that gives up because something gets hard and I won't be the majority that won't put in the last 10% to make something good great.

Have at me 2014 and this beautiful challenge in front of me. I'm armed and prepared. DSC_1208

Saturday, January 4

the start of 2014

For the past week, I've forgotten what it's like to have a sister who lives across the country.

For the past week, I've forgotten what it's like to have an alarm or how to put on eyeliner.

I've also sort of forgotten about the internet entirely. Oops.

This week, I felt grateful for parents that teach me gym glares to ward the wondering judgmental eyes while you're lifting 7 pound weights and that it's okay to listen to One Direction as a 48 year old woman. My parents are the coolest and by that I mean the least cool. And I wouldn't want them any other way. Growing up and getting to know my parents as people is a pretty neat thing. I see myself in them now in a way that 15 year old me would want to dye her hair black and spend more time at the skate park if she knew I'd turn out exactly like them.

Spending time with my sister has also been, well, humbling. You know what? I am totally an annoying older sister. I totally worry way too much about what she thinks of me. I totally love on her too much. But this realization is a good one. A great one. My sister is her own person and she rocks it. I am my own person and I need to rock it more instead of worrying what other people think.

My boyfriend traveled across the border to visit me this week. It was only about five minutes before he showed up on my doorstep that I realized I had never introduced a new boy to my parents before. Upon telling my dad he was coming his response was, "That dude is coming here?" I think he fully expected me to introduce him to another skinny-jean-wearing metro piece of eye candy so I like to think that by the end of the trip when my dad had texted his few friends to come over to meet my new boyfriend that he was impressed by the floppy hair lanky marching band geek I brought home.

Have I mentioned lately I'm a really big fan of nice boys? NICE boys? The boys I wrote off in high school when I wanted someone who would write me poetry and go shopping with me?

On his last day, I wanted to go somewhere I'd never been. It took only thirty seconds and a few texts to declare that we were going to go the Palouse Falls where apparently the world record for biggest waterfall ridden by a kayaker is held. 186 feet. We took my trusty Subaru on the voyage and thanks to my overpacking tendencies, we shared a bag of pistachio nuts which was our only means of food for the entire afternoon. Oops. We listened to the likes of Beyonce and Arctic Monkeys on the drive. We found the treacherous trail that took us to the cliff's edge of the 200 foot waterfall.

This world and this life are pretty great when you make the most of a single day's potential. I'm going to miss this winter break. I'm going to miss it so badly. Every joyous splendid simple moment of it with the best people in my life.
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