For Better and For Worse

As our wedding draws closer, I have an inexplicably heavy anxiety and fear woven throughout my excitement and joy.

I knew that planning a wedding came with a special set of frustrations and headaches. What I wasn't prepared for was the upheaval of all I thought I had satisfactorily buried. This process, in the midst of excited anticipation, has also been one of the saddest and loneliest I've experienced.

I can't begin to express how empty this feels knowing that neither my mom nor my fiancé's mom is here to share in all of this with us.

Part of me is still angry that not only did my biological mother not desperately want to keep me, I lost my adopted mom when I was still a child, and then I lost my mother-in-law-to-be; my last chance to have a mother figure in my life as family. I don't know what the words are to explain how that feels...

Every meltdown has me wondering if maybe I'd be having less of a meltdown if one of them was here to listen as I agonize over all the stupid details that probably won't matter in the end anyway, but more importantly, as I hash out all my fears about trust, commitment, my life's direction, and the risk of letting someone in so close that it would tear me apart to lose them.

My dad tells me even if he knew what was in store for him and my mom before they got married, he still would've gone through it. It was all worth it in spite of the two decades of hell watching her struggle physically and mentally while fighting to keep his entire family afloat.

There is some solace in that for me; even with as heart wrenching as it was, he doesn't wish it just never happened at all. I am lucky and got to witness my dad set an extraordinary example of commitment, devotion, and love in the face of impossible odds. I've watched many others turn away for much less.

I adore the man I'm marrying, and I know he adores me right back. I believe he would stand by me if our world came crashing down. And that terrifies me. This man loves me for who and what I am. I have trouble doing that myself some days.

I spent years making myself strong and fiercely independent. It's not that I entirely closed everyone out– I just didn't let anyone get close enough to really hurt me if they disappeared somehow. Now I feel completely dependent, vulnerable, and as raw as though someone ripped away all of my scabs and scars.

Thankfully, my husband-to-be is infinitely patient and possesses a steadiness I can only hope to one day attain. He's becoming quite skilled at soothing my demons when they attack out of nowhere.

I avoided writing for the last year because, quite frankly, this is all embarrassing to me. I feel like a failure because I can't "just" focus on the good parts. I don't have the eternal optimist's silver lining to paint around my little gray cloud. Sure, I've learned a lot and wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't gone through all of that, but I don't think I'd be a horrible person if I would've had a stable mom in my life. Who knows, there's a chance I'd be slightly more well-adjusted.

But maybe it's not always about turning something into what it's not. We so often look for the heroic inspiration in every sad story, but perhaps sometimes the lesson is to let it be what it is. Maybe the healing is in the acceptance.

I am incredibly excited to have found this man with whom I want to spend the rest of my life, and I can't wait to see how our story continues to unfold. I am looking forward to our wedding and seeing all of our closest family and friends together; I know they will make it an unforgettable night. I am also indescribably sad because there is, and will be, an irrevocable emptiness.

Yann Martel so poignantly wrote in Life of Pi, "To lose a brother is to lose someone with whom you can share the experiences of growing old, who is supposed to bring you a sister-in-law and nieces and nephews, creatures who people the tree of your life and give it new branches. To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches. To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you…"

Our lives will never be the same, and that's ok; it is how it should be. We will carry on with our lives creating new habits and patterns around the emptiness like a tree around a knot in its wood. Some experiences will usher in sadness alongside happiness because I will always wish for the sun to shine.

"Joy and Sorrow are Inseparable"

I never thought that would happen. 

It's not even that I just didn't think it would happen for me, I just didn't think of it at all. 

But here I sit with a gorgeous rock on my left ring finger thinking about what day would be best for our wedding. 

That's a long way to come for someone who, at one point, didn't expect to make it to 30. 

But here I am at 30, and I'm so happy it feels unreal, like if I blink one too many times, it'll all disappear. 

I have a beyond wonderful fiancé, a cozy little home that becomes more ours each day, a job that doesn't feel like work, an adorable tiny wiener dog, and amazing friends whose devotions blazed more brightly than ever this year.

It's certainly no fairytale story; we've struggled a lot in the last year and a half. But, we've made it through an immense amount too. 

We've suffered all that comes with the loss of friends we thought we'd never lose, the sorrow that comes with any big life transition- even the happy ones- and the heart wrenching grief that comes with the loss of a mother. 

All of these things have brought us closer than we would have ever anticipated.

The 16th anniversary of losing my own mother is rapidly approaching, and every year around this time, I feel the same sort of antsy anxiety as though my body is subconsciously prepping itself for the morning of October second. You'd think after over a decade and a half that sensation would subside, but I have yet to discover otherwise.

I am incredibly grateful for my life now, and so very sad that absolutely none of it contains the presence of my mom. Even her memory is barely a whisper contained only in the few people left in my life who ever knew her.

It's a strange realization to know I have, by necessity, built the last 16 years without a piece that seems so vital. And it's beautiful. And I'm happy. And I'm sad.

As my fiancé and I make plans for our wedding, our joys highlight our sorrows, but our sorrows graciously serve to highlight our joys.

It is a good life.

Show Up

Over the last several months, I've been developing a deeper appreciation for those in my life who show up. The ones who say they'll be there, and are there. The ones who say nothing and show up just because they know life is hard and want to be supportive even though they can't fix anything. The ones who, even if far away, send messages to check in and offer their love and encouragement.

Those are the people you know you can count on because they understand the importance of relationships and what it means to be invested. 

We all get caught up in the "I was so busy, I couldn't bother to send a 30 second text…" excuse, but if and when life tears that person away, we then fall into, "I wish I would've made more time…"

There's another kind of showing up I've been learning about too. 

How many of us have had this conversation with a co-worker, a family member, a child, or a significant other?

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Right, but are you LISTENING to me?"

I'm a self-proclaimed multi-tasker extraordinaire. The problem? Sometimes when someone talks to me, I hear something, but I wasn't actually listening; which means I heard sounds, but I didn't pay attention enough to figure out what the meaning of those sounds were. 

That's an issue because if I'm not listening, I'm not learning- I'm not learning what it is that needs to be taken care of, I'm not learning how to understand, I'm not learning how to respond, I'm not learning how to navigate what's between the sounds.

But what's more important is that if I'm not listening, I'm not present, and if I'm not present with someone I say I care about, I'm showing them that I don't care enough to understand what they're trying to communicate with me.

We all do it.

Think: "Hey, how was your day?" "Eh, I've had better..." "So, what's going on for dinner?"

In that brief transaction, the expected response was, "good", and if the questioner wasn't listening, they didn't realize the expected response wasn't given, and then missed an opportunity to show up. That "things've been better" could be as small as "I clumsily spilled coffee all over my clothes this morning" to a bigger, "I just found out my friend just died." Of course, the tone of voice would give further indication, but if you're not listening, you're probably not noticing tone of voice either.

And no, I'm not exaggerating. I've seen these things happen. It's no wonder people feel lonely and disconnected.

Imagine how different the person answering would have felt if the questioner would have been listening and just simply asked, "what's going on?"

Whether it was coffee or a friend passing that caused the answer, the questioner emotionally showed up and totally changed the dynamic and course of the interaction.

Sometimes it's not as bad as someone dying. So many days people simply have hard challenging days that wear them out, and all they need is for someone that cares to emotionally show up and ask questions to which they're listening for the answer.

With our vast array of technological gadgets and apps meant to network and stay in touch, we've somehow gotten worse at actually creating and maintaining meaningful connections.

I'm not saying we shouldn't show ourselves some grace. There are definitely days where we're barely keeping our own heads above water, but when days roll in to weeks into months into years, it becomes a larger issue of where our priorities really lie.

"When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?"

Being present isn't just about being physically there. I have friends who show me they are with me no matter how many miles are between us.

What matters is that we show up, in person and/or in our attention- how we listen and learn from what we listen to. It's not about always knowing what to do or say; it's about genuinely wanting to understand the people you love.

Each seemingly insignificant encounter adds up to whether we draw someone closer or push them away. When we show up, we build trust in our relationships in priceless and profound little ways.

On Turning 30 (and other things)

Well, it's been a(long)while since my last entry.

Sometimes a hiatus is necessary, even from the things you love. 

So, what have I been up to the last few months?

November and December were quite full of the usual holiday chaos running alongside the difficult loss of my boyfriend's mother. Needless to say, life was less about trying new things and more about spending time in the inner circles of our close friends and family.

The circumstances surrounding that situation were heartbreaking in and of themselves, but having lost my own mother added another layer of sorrow.

It broke my heart to watch him and his family day after day, understanding as best as I could, how hard that time was. Our situations were so different. The one thing I understood was losing mom. As Yann Martel wrote in Life of Pi, "To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you…"

Here I was in the most vulnerable, intimate and private part of their lives in the midst of just beginning to get to know them. I had only moved back a few months before. Generally, people take a lot of time to get to know their significant other's family, but time wasn't on our side.

Sometimes I felt like an intruder, but they, in spite of their own situation, were incredibly gracious and open to me. I gained a profound respect for them.

Through it all, it focused us on how incredibly precious time is; there was no time for bullshit or putting things off.

We learned an intensely vivid lesson on what and more significantly, who, is important in life.

Since I moved back in mid-August 2013, there's been a rough series of events in transitioning from the mountains and the constant activity of living where I worked to being back in the place I thought I'd never return to for a million different reasons.

It has taken me nearly 6 months to finally start to calm down and even begin to feel somewhat settled. The stress of everything happening all at once left me feeling particularly doubtful, sad, and vulnerable; which made me feel like an incredible jackass. I wanted to be strong and supportive for my boyfriend, but so often it was him being strong for me.

Thankfully, he is unfailingly optimistic, and in spite of it all, we still managed to find quite a bit of happiness and joy through the months. He has been my rock through everything.

Speaking of happiness, odd as it sounds, turning 30 on January 22 was quite festive and fun- I still feel exactly the same as I did when I was 29. ;)

I am looking forward to my new decade and the new adventures it has to bring.

And speaking of new, one of my new endeavors is another blog called The Little Things, which is a place where you can find, you guessed it, little things that make my days happy. Since I love cooking and finally have a lovely kitchen equipped with nearly everything I could ever need, it is currently a lot of food and recipes.

I recoiled into preservation mode the last several months, but now as I've begun to find my center again, I'm starting to open up and am ready to continue pursuing what I set out to find when I originally started this blog; the things I love. The things that make me happy. The things that make life rich and meaningful for me.

Or maybe more accurately, I should say "more of" those things because the reality is, I already have all of those things in abundance.

Here's to the next 30 years.

Leading an Adventurous Life... in My Own Home

It's over. 

I have trouble with endings. 

Over the last two months I've spent a lot of time realizing that I'm having horrible withdrawal from the adrenaline that comes from a few years of consistent travel and a massive life changing move. 

When I left Pennsylvania, I swore I'd never return. Now I've moved back and am in almost precisely the same location I said I'd never come back to. I'm easily comfortable here, which ironically feels wildly uncomfortable. 

I've heard the line, "I'm so happy you're back, but I was really surprised you returned" more times than I can count.

It kinda feels like failure because I spent so many years talking about and preparing to leave, I finally left, and then came back after only a year.  

Ultimately, what I struggle with the most is that this is not what I thought would happen. I didn't have a plan per se, but this wasn't part of my unplanned plan. If you happened to read my earlier post this month, "Sometimes when you lose, you win", you know the main reason I came back was for love.

That's big, right? Most of us skeptics are generally pretty adverse to making big life decisions for such seemingly intangible concepts.

But for me, I've learned how important love is largely because of my mother and my best friend. I've been broken hearted and also very very lucky. 

During this gray area of my life, I'm learning that maybe searching for an adventurous and passionate life is like searching for happiness. I think it has less to do with searching and more to do with being open. Sometimes you have to just live your life and be open instead of frantically searching for the end results because really, there isn't an end to any of it until the very end, which is when we cease to be alive. At that point, then we can have our regrets or make our peace. 

Until then, the gray area is very often not just a piece of our lives, but a very large part. The new rage is to go out and find your passion, be exciting, be interesting, be different, daring and bold- which I think holds a lot of merit; however, how many people promoting that life tell you how difficult and sometimes painful it can be until you get there? And who tells you just how long it may take? Or that you could go the majority of your life before you find it? Or that, heaven forbid, you never really find that one thing?

I, for one, don't want to feel like a failure for the majority of my life simply because I didn't/wasn't able to figure out what exactly would make an adventurous passionate life for me in the eyes of others, and even myself.

I do want to live my life the best of my ability and often that's going to mean doing things that look pretty routine, and possibly even mundane, on the outside. (Grocery shopping, anyone?)

Currently, I have no plans for traveling to foreign exotic places or finding innovative new work. At the moment, I'm writing this blog then going to clean our cozy little house. 

My most exciting plans are going to a concert tonight with my boyfriend and making dinner plans with friends for the next few weeks.

Admittedly, though doing domestic house chores likely ranks up there with "routine and mundane," it feels pretty good to have a home to clean after living out of bags and cubbies. It feels particularly good knowing I'll have a clean home to have dinner parties in because I have tons of time to cook which is something I happen to love to do.

Perhaps an adventurous life has less to do with doing what looks exciting and more to do with doing what feels good to you, even when other people think it's boring, maybe especially when...

Learning to Love and Live When Life Gets Hard

My latest post on tinybuddha-  Learning to Love and Live When Life Gets Hard

"I Want to Die"

"If relationships matter most then [at the end of our lives], 

shouldn't they matter most now?" 

-Max Lucado 

Before any of you get concerned, I don't actually want to die.

But there was a time when I did.

Years ago, that phrase haunted my mind during most waking hours. If you've ever felt that way, truly genuinely wanted it to all be over because you just couldn't imagine how anything would ever be better, you'll easily understand this post. If you've had bad days but couldn't fathom ever wanting to check out, you are lucky and it might take a bit more, but try anyway.

On Saturday I found out one of my old friends shot himself the night before. I've lost a lot of friends to suicide over the years, and every single time I wonder what the differentiating factor is between who makes it through and who doesn't.

The age old nature or nurture question pops into my mind first- "How much is determined by environment and how much is an inherent strength?" Then I think about that cliche "you're never given more than you can handle," and wonder if maybe that's not entirely true.

I hear opinions varying from the sympathetic to the judgmental. "How could they be so selfish?? Why weren't they thinking about everyone who loves them? Why weren't they thinking about ME, how I would feel???"

But then I think two things. 1. Maybe they did think of you and (erroneously) thought you'd be better off without them and 2. Did they know you loved them or even cared at all?

I'm not going to write an in-depth analysis of suicide because I have no answers.

Sometimes I have what I equate to survivor's guilt. I have no idea how I survived the years when I wanted it to all be over. Perhaps it was because I was lucky, maybe because I was blessed enough to have at least one person who loved me at some point each step or maybe it's because of an uncontrollable character trait I was born with.

Most likely it's some incalculable equation of them all. I wish I knew how and why I'm still here and they aren't. Maybe some of them would still be here then.

The one thing I do know is there's a pervasive loneliness that I've watched shape the way people see themselves and the rest of the world. We live in a world that's more socially interconnected than ever, and yet our sense of displacement is increasing.

So often I've heard the last words were something along the lines of, "Nobody would care if I was gone. I can't handle any of this, I don't know how to fix it. I'm so alone. "

Why is that?

We hear the old wisdom and see it burned onto a crafty pieces of wood,"Love the ones you're with", "Home is where you feel love", and other stupid bullshit that sounds great and we whole heartedly agree, but we still ignore it or at least don't really live it out... till things like this happen.

We could use cop-out lines like, "they needed to change their perspective" or "they wouldn't have believed me, it wouldn't have made a difference," but sometimes I think that's a cover for the guilt we feel because we remember all those times we thought to call but didn't or said we were "too busy" to talk or hang out.

The world we live in will continue to move at unmercifully dizzying speeds. It's easy to have a rational sounding excuse to dodge putting the effort into the people we say we love, but when the end comes, we're too often left with regrets.

Love changes everything. I'm not saying that we can prevent all suicides. There are innumerable factors that play in, many of which we never know about. I am saying that there is a problem with the growing sense of disconnection and displacement.

We all have a role to play in that.

We don't get control over how someone else experiences life, but we do get control over how much love we give.

Sometimes, it makes a difference. I know it did for me.

"As the globalized placeless world spreads... it could be that the most radical thing to do is to belong."

 -Paul Kingsnorth

"Sometimes when you lose, you win."

This is by far the longest I've gone without writing. Where did a month and a half go?

Generally, I do my best to put myself out there and share even some of my most vulnerable moments, but the last month and a half I felt as though I was being rolled in a giant wave and couldn't figure out which was was up. 

Honestly, it's entirely embarrassing. I left my job, my family and friends and Pennsylvania with the goal of finding my passion- that thing that makes me excited to wake up and go do it everyday (or at least not make me wonder if maybe I sold my soul to pay my rent). 

I spent an intensely life changing year in Estes Park, CO (which I seem to have left with impeccable timing as it's a giant flood zone currently) working at a residential high school with incredible teenagers who all had amazing resilience and strength; they taught me more about myself than I would've ever anticipated.

After a year of being constantly immersed in activity/work and surrounded by people, my fellowship ended and I returned back to Pennsylvania to be with my friends, family, and largely- the man I love. 

Initially, it was relief to finally be with my boyfriend, and especially to have the constant stress and frequent sensation that I was failing in being (good) enough alleviated. But as the weeks rolled on, I became increasingly more frustrated not knowing what my next steps were career/work/job wise. 

I realized that I hadn't found my passion. Not even close. 

"Who wants to read about my confused anxious floundering??" I'd ask when questioned about the lack of writing, but then one of my friends said, "Probably a lot of people. You're not the only one who struggles through times like these."

Oh. Right.

So, here it is. Even as I'm writing this, I hesitate and wonder if I should delete it all, but who knows- maybe someone out there doesn't need a 'how-to' or some profound revelation/inspiration, maybe they just want to know they aren't the only one wondering what the fuck to do next.

I realize that it may sound as though I regret returning; however, that couldn't be further from the truth. On the flip side of my angsty wandering/wondering is a revolutionary love that is, baby step by baby step, teaching me to let go and have a little trust in life.


I've never been good at waiting. Patience is not one of my (strongest) virtues. From what I can remember, this is the first time in my life I've felt this clueless and still, but that said, I've also never been very good at resting and allowing myself time to process and heal.

I'm currently in a position where I have the luxury of taking my time to figure out what it is I want so I don't end up in the same place I was in before I moved away (miserable and depressed), while stepping aside to finally attend to some old wounds.

At this point, I have no clear ideas of where I'm heading... but then again, maybe we don't always need to be heading somewhere. Maybe sometimes we need to learn to be still once in awhile so we're not always missing our lives while looking for the next big thing.

Maybe this moment IS the big thing.

And when I stop stressing out about my future for a hot second, I realize just how good my life is .right.now.

A Different Kind of Love Story

This isn’t your conventional love story. There is no “happily ever after,” or, maybe there is…

Once upon a time about 10 years ago I met a boy while visiting a friend in college. Not just any boy, mind you. Admittedly, on the surface, he looked just as regular as any other boy possibly could- tall and lanky with dark hair and sincere playful eyes. He liked to write, seek out adventure, play pranks on his friends and fool gullible girls (me) into believing he could call squirrels when in reality, he was secretly dropping food behind him.

I met him in the darkest years of my life; I was reeling from a great deal of heartache and loss and had more days of not wanting to wake up than I could count. There were some days I tried not to, but that is a story for another time and place. He brought laughter and light to my darkness.

Under the seemingly regular boy appearance, this particular boy seemed to possess an uncanny ability to see through to my soul. He saw the best in me even when it was shrouded by years of abuse and neglect. He told our mutual friend after our very first meeting, “That is by far the best girl I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

I didn’t know that until 3 years later, a week after his funeral.

“What the hell? How depressing. Where’s the love story?!” you may be thinking, but give me a moment to explain.

After 6 (ok, maybe 7) years of anger, frustration, heart-shattering sorrow and never really allowing anyone to get close- I finally began to recognize the gift he gave me.

This seemingly ordinary boy left me with the lesson of what it means to love- really truly love someone when they’re not at their best, but more, what it means to love unabashedly, whole-heartedly, deeply and honestly with no hesitation and no fear.

My great love story is not one that involves two people enduring through the years together. Instead, it is a short story where one brave boy unknowingly taught an unsuspecting girl to let go of her fear and sorrow in order to love- love people and love the very act of being alive.

His death was a gift in that he taught me that the only thing we are guaranteed is the very moment we are in. Each and every moment is of infinite value, and we must strive to permeate each second with as much awareness and gratitude as possible because we may never get that chance again.

Today, my love story has opened my heart to a new chapter that involves taking the amazing opportunity to build a relationship with someone who has captured my heart in a way that hasn’t happened in 10 years. I don’t know what the future holds, but I can say that this moment I’m in is abundantly full and is enough in and of itself.

…and she lived happily ever after.

Home Is Where The Heart Is (Also: The Final Weeks)

Nine months ago I left my cozy stable life behind in pursuit of what I hoped would be a better life. 

Did I find it?

Yes and no. 

It's a story that's so popular these days; leave your stable well-paying job, sell all of your things, leave your home, live by the seat of your pants while hoping that the universe really will conspire to assist you once you make a decision (I'm still not so sure of that, Paulo Coelho).

I've only got 5 weeks left in this too-beautiful-to-be-real living and working space tucked away in the mountains. The last several weeks I've felt completely and utterly excited to start a new chapter of my life mixed with a sense of complete and utter failure. 

I have just as little clue of what I want to be doing with my life as I did when I arrived. 

In addition, as I reflect on the past several months, I catch myself wondering how much any of what I did really mattered. 

Did I just pour everything I could into something only to find it wasn't (good) enough? 

Generally, I have the wherewithal to pull myself back into a more rational positive mindset, but lately I've been struggling with everything going on back home for which I'm not present; a death, a major health issue, a struggling wandering heart, a family crisis, and a love.  

My friends are an incredible blessing, and even those who are struggling are reminding me that this decision was not a mistake. I've learned lessons here that I may never have learned any other way, and, I have a love reminding me of the home awaiting me. 

"You had to leave to find what you really wanted. You know now where your heart is. I know you don't know the specifics of what you'll be doing, but you know where you want to be. You'll figure the rest out, and we'll be here for you." 

So, I guess I lied a little when I said "no" in regards to my opening question. The answer is simply "yes," I did find a better life than the one I had been leading. This one has been full of learning, adventures, new friends, eye-opening experiences and a redefinition of what and where home and love are. Trite as the phrase "home is where the heart is" sounds (and is), it also holds a lot of truth. 

And as far as feeling as though what I've done isn't good enough, I have to remember that when we do the best we can, at the end of it all, we have to be ok with accepting that is good enough because it's all we've got. 

Accepting A New Normal

"I doubt whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me- 

yet I sometimes long for it." -Lord Byron

I never thought I'd make it to 20.

I'm almost 30 now.

I've spent the majority of my life (sub)consciously planning to take care of myself and not allow anyone to get too close. Don't get me wrong, I have a few amazing friends who I would give my life for, and they for me. When I say "get too close," I mean the type of close who knows every inch of your skin, the weird noises you make at night, the stupid embarrassing things you find hysterical, your most fragile fears and vulnerable sacred hopes.

The kind of close that could devastate you in moments because they know the tenderest parts of your being.

After over 2 decades of watching people leave/betray/lie to me in some form or another, I had no intention to ever open up the possibility for someone to do it again.

...I opened up my life and the possibility for someone to do it again.

Over dinner with a friend I freaked out saying, "I can't do this. I'm too scared. I've spent so much time making myself ready to live my life alone- to travel and keep moving and not count on anyone and now this person is in my life. What if I let this guy in and trust him and then he just disappears like the rest?  I never imagined this would be possible... I thought my life was just going to keep being really fucking hard, and  now there's this potential for it to calm down and be happy?? "

He said, "You know, you may have to accept a new normal. Normal for you was not having anyone else there and staying safe in your defenses, but things can change. ...you also didn't think you'd make it to 20, but here you are almost 30."

Oh, right.

Aside from my absolute fear of being vulnerable and risking getting hurt because as much as we want guarantees someone won't leave us, that's wildly unrealistic- I was also afraid of letting go of my ungrounded wanderluster lifestyle. Is finding a(nother) stable(ish) job, a home,  a love and not living by the seat of my pants all of the time going to mean I'll become one of those boring mediocre drones who barely remember any of their lives?

But then I had this realization- I'm not letting anything go aside from what I think is expected of me. I won't become a drone because I've been cursed blessed with too many experiences that have driven in the lesson that life is short and we must do our best to LIVE and take nothing for granted. 

So here's the truth of the matter. Would I change a second of any of my traveling or moving? Not a chance. Will I stop having the incessant urge to see every bit of the world that I can before I die? Highly unlikely. Do I want a home base and maybe someone to come home to? Yep. Absolutely. 

And in order to do that last thing, I need to learn to trust- trust him, trust life and most of all, trust myself.

Here's to happiness in unexpected ways and places, even when, or maybe especially when, it challenges you to really see who you are and grow.

Starry Night

When night falls and the sun has given reign to the moon, look up. I don't mean just look straight ahead. I mean look up so that your neck is tilted back and you could potentially trip because you missed that rock on the ground. It sounds so basic, so easy- just look up. 

But how many of us really give any more than a passing glance to the star-lit infinite hanging over our heads at the end of each day? 

I spent a large percentage of today (and the last several) driving myself nuts while over-analyzing every situation I could possibly think of, getting engulfed in my 'To-Do' lists and trying to, once again, plan out my entire future all at once.

As I was walking back to my house late this evening, I felt compelled to look up. I have forgotten to do so for months. When I did, I was greeted by an incredibly sharp clear sky gorged with stars of varying intensities. I remembered immediately why it's so important to slow down, take a deep breath and, even if just for a second, let go of the 8 billion thoughts racing through our heads moment to moment.

It's like an instant meditation, a visibly intangible reminder of how infinitely small we are and that at the end of it all, most of what we worry about is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 

We're so small, and yet every single thing we do creates millions of complex repercussions of which we will likely never know about. Our actions affect everything around us. It's a balance between understanding how profoundly significant we are and how absolutely minuscule we are at the same time. 

We're tiny, but we matter.

For me, it's the ultimate reminder to live the best I know how, to love with every ounce of my being and to be completely and utterly grateful for each numbered breath. 

A Place in This World

(Picture from the article: Korean Adoptees, Part 3: Dating Inside and Out)

It hasn't been until the last year or so that I've begun to dig deeper into the part of my identity that I so boldly wear on my face, but ignore otherwise. I'm nearly considered an adult now. It's time to put on my big girl pants and confront myself. 

At the beginning of the month, I received the translation of the latest letter my biological father had written to me. I had all but forgotten about it until tonight. 

Well, that's sort of a lie. I didn't quite forget, but after a cursory review of it, I didn't read any further in depth. I read it the way I'd read a story about a stranger's life, and then promptly dropped it in case it would start to sink in that it was, in fact, not about a stranger. 

A couple of weeks later, I had a conversation with one of the staff members here about what I've been struggling with in terms of reconciling my 'too Asian to be white and too white to be Asian' issue as well as a bit about my apprehensions in visiting Korea to meet my family. She put me in touch with another Korean girl in LA who was a fellow at the school a few years ago. 

Nervously I composed my first email thinking, "What the fuck am I doing? Am I just going to pour out my life story to this poor unsuspecting stranger? What am I even trying to accomplish??" Thankfully, she was perfectly accepting and was, mercifully, better at directing the conversation than I was. 

After the exchange of several emails and a phone call, she sent me a list of resources for Korean adoptees. In this list contained a 4-part essay addressing several issues faced by Korean adoptees in the U.S. (If you have a moment, check them out. They're good for a different perspective. And for those of you who are close to me, they're another way to understand me. What's Your Name?, When Adoption Became Visible, Dating Inside and Out, and Return to the Motherland)

Shit. That's me. 

I read each part, and then read them again. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. "These are my thoughts and feelings written out by someone else." 

As I was reading the third essay, I came across the quote, "As much as I know my birth mother gave me a better life by putting me up for adoption, and as much as I'm grateful for my adoptive parents for doing so much for me… Do you ever feel like no matter how much someone will love you, there may be a day where they'll just leave?"

All.the.fucking.time. 

Looking back over the last 29 years, there's never been any question by me, or those who love me that I have a deeply embedded fear of being abandoned stemming from the adoption. A few people have brazenly suggested that, because I was adopted as a baby, it doesn't really affect me. 

Sure, right. I wasn't 11 years old. That unquestionably comes with its own set of obstacles. That said, who thinks about the ramifications of being inside a mother who is profoundly depressed and anxious for 9 months? About being born and instead of being surrounded by excitement, joy, and love- being met with disappointment, sorrow, and regret? About the first 3-4 months in an orphanage where no one knows if anyone responded to me when I cried?

The people who were supposed to love me forever rejected me the moment they saw me.

It's something I've been working on, and though I've come a long way, I know I still have a long way to go. Thankfully, I am blessed to have a few who love me deeply and have spent years by my side gently coaxing and convincing me that I'm stuck with them.

Love changes everything. It might be slowly, but it brings light where there was none.

After processing what I read, I remembered the letter from my father. After nearly a month, I finally went back to actually read it. 

"...And when I gave you over to Holt Child welfare agency I requested that your name be sent to America with you. However the employee changed the name I gave you "HyoJin" to an American name against my request. About the circumstances regarding your adoption... I was the eleventh generation of a "Kwon" and being the first born and without a son, my great grandmother threatened that if you were a daughter that she would force me to take a concubine so that it is why we eventually chose to send you off to be adopted, not because we had no money to perform an abortion. That isn't correct. I sincerely hope there is no misunderstanding about this."

(The files the agency sent with me said the reason for relinquishment was that my parents couldn't afford to have me abort. It also said I was the third girl. I was actually the fifth and final attempt to have a boy.)

The weight of the Korean culture forced my family to send me off into a world where I would spend many years struggling to find a place to belong. 

Day by day, moment by moment, I am finding my way into what I want for myself and my life. I'm learning what's important to me, and in a weird way, such a brutal form of rejection has been a blessing. It has allowed me to pull close what I know I want in my life in spite of the fear. I have a family who, in spite of our many years of distance and heartache, have been growing closer as times goes by, and a few precious friends who are not scared of my past or the parts that are still vulnerable and healing.

I haven't found that place that feels like home yet. Maybe I never will. Maybe this journey is home, and once I realize it, all my years of searching will find a place to rest.

(In Response to) 19 Ways to Make Me Fall in Love With You

I read this list (19 Ways To Make Me Fall in Love With You) today, but decided it wasn't at all the what one would need to do to "make" me fall in love with them. So, I decided to create my own list.

Here it is:


20 ways to make me fall in love with you:

1. Make me smile/laugh through silly jokes, unspoken acknowledgement of quirky situations, and the ability to entertain absurd conversations.

2. Build me something. (nearly) anything. Bonus points if it's functional.

3. Take me away. The quickest way to this girl's heart is a plane ticket to a new place. (A long road trip can also suffice.)

4. Cuddle. Physical affection is very important.

5. Send random messages throughout the course of the day just to let me know you're thinking of me.

6. Make dinner AND clean up once in awhile.

7. Hold the door open for others, help an old lady carry her groceries to the car, be kind to waiters/waitresses- in general: be kind and compassionate.

8. Accept me. That includes the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. 

9. Listen to me because you want to know me. 

10. Watch what I do because you want to understand.

11. Be active, eat well, and take care of yourself. Nothing is as unattractive as someone who doesn't take care of themselves physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. 

12. Be supportive of my interests even if it's not "your thing."

13. Be honest. Tactfully. Tell me you've seen me look better in other outfits. Tell me I have kale in my teeth. Honesty in even the seemingly little things goes a long way.

14. Stand by me, walk by my side- literally and figuratively. Tell me when I'm wrong, but make sure I know you always have my back. 

15. Be sociable with others. Interact with my friends and make an effort to get to know them.

16. Communicate with me, even when it's about something that's uncomfortable or difficult.

17. Teach/Introduce me (how) to (do) new things. 

18. Have impromptu conversations with me that last long into the middle hours of the night.

19. Cloud/star watch with me.

20. Love me.

Love With a Love That is More Than Love

"If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life."

Valentine's Day. The day people focus on buying flowers, chocolates, and cards, dote on romantic partners, or find ways to cope if none of the above exists.

But what about focusing on a different kind of love? Instead of romantic suck-face (frequently) fleeting sorts of love, why not spend that money giving to those whose struggles go beyond just being single? 

Today, my sweet friend and little-sister-I-never had posted this status:

"Doing laundry today, a lady was begging for change outside for some food. Instead of giving her $$ I took her over to the pizzeria & bought her some pizza, and a soda. She said, "Everyone walks by and gives me change so I'd leave them alone. Thank you & Happy Valentine's Day." Enough said."

I'm not saying we all need to go find someone begging on the street, but perhaps we can pull our heads out of the hazy Valentine's Day clouds and redirect that attention to those who could use some genuine compassion, love, and concern. 

If you're in a relationship, pay it forward. If you're single, pay it forward. 

I totally get the ever-increasingly trite sounding cliche-for-a-reason question, "Why do we need one day to remember to express our love? We should be doing that every day." And that's TRUE.

But here's the thing about us humans, ready? WE FORGET AND NEED CONSTANT REMINDERS. It's true, we should love every day, not just when we're expected to buy cards we're going to throw out the next day. That said, a day of intentional remembrance isn't a bad thing either.

Valentine's Day, like everything else, is all in what you choose to make of it.

So go dote on your special loved one (if you don't have one, do something you love and be thankful for the time you have to focus on yourself), and maybe while you're at it, send some of that attention and energy to someone whose lot in life may not be so lucky as your own.

Just Another Heartbreak

Well, I did it again. 

"What?" you may ask.

I allowed my heart to be broken. Again. 

Thankfully, this one was not as dragged out as the last, though I wish it would not have happened at all.  You can tell me all of the conventional trite wisdom like "It wasn't a waste of time" or "You learn a lesson from it," but I have to admit, I'm tired of learning the same lesson. Which makes me wonder what I'm doing to attract the same experience over and over again. 

I bet you're wondering if I'm a relationship hopper, but no. Against reasonable logic, I'm not. I take long periods of time between my relationships so I can re-center, assess what happened, and do my best to not repeat the situation. 

There's clearly a glitch in my system. 

It always presents entirely different with each relationship, but rapidly deteriorates into the same ending.    I'm working on figuring out why. 

That all said, one valuable lesson I have learned through it all is that I'm not nearly as jaded as one (I) would expect from repeatedly having my heart broken, shattered, crushed, and stomped on. I still love openly and wholeheartedly, even if imperfectly. 

Oh, and the other lesson I never get tired of learning? How amazing my friends are. I would never make it through without them. They show me over and over again how blessed my life is.

Today, I feel a little hurt and vulnerable, but I take comfort in knowing that my friends have my back (even from a distance), and knowing that when the time comes for me to break the cycle and find an honest love, I will be ready with an open heart. 

What's Love Got to Do With It

In spite of being through various broken uncertain hells, the forefront of conversations are... 

Can you guess?

Relationships. The current loves of their lives. 

It's amazing that no matter how old people are, what they've been through, where they're from, what country or culture they belong to- relationships are so often front and center of what matters. 

Even if it's in the context of attempting to avoid them because it's "safer"... 

Why is it that someone can be abused, raped, neglected, and/or abandoned, and somehow, what still seems to matter most is a deep meaningful connection to another human being? 

It makes me rethink our society's tendency to champion complete and utter independence. Sometimes I wonder if that's just a facade to cover the insecurity and fear that prevents so many meaningful connections from occurring. Maybe what we need isn't sheer independence, but an acknowledgement that we are social creatures and there is no surviving, let alone thriving, without each other. 

I do it too. I try to pretend I don't need anyone or anything... but at the end of the day, all I really want is for someone to understand the language of it all- the sacred unspoken nuances of existing.

One of the most poignant messages I remember hearing in passing was "love changes everything." The more I thought about it, the more I realized how profound such a simple sentence was... Love does change everything- the way you see yourself, others, and life itself. It gives depth and purpose to existing- it changes how you live.

It only makes sense that people who have been through hell- lost their homes, cultures, identities, friends, families, loves, dignity, maybe even parts of themselves- would want another person to be there, to stand by them when the world is too much to bear because love makes the unbearable bearable. 

Peace at Midnight

Even in my most triumphant moments, there exists a bittersweet remembrance of my mother and my sweet friend who are no longer here to celebrate these times with me. It used to taint everything with sadness, but as the years have passed and I have grown, I've found it to be an inspiration. These people who poured their hearts and souls into me invested their lives to help make me who I am. Even in their absence, they've propelled me forward through a lasting legacy of unfailing, unflinching, unabashed love. How could I feel sad when I am so lucky to have been that loved? 

As anyone who has lost a part of their heart could tell you, you will miss it, always. But you can either wallow in sorrow forever and let the rest of yourself die while your physical body walks around, or you can live a life you, and those you miss, will be proud of. 

So here at 12:56 AM (mountain time!), I remember those who are no longer physically present with a grateful peace instead of a heart-wrenching sorrow. 

It's been said that 'time heals all wounds', but that's a load of shit. It's not time that heals. It's you.

 

                                       Mom when she was young.                                        A life changing friend. 

                                                                                             

Home is the Love You Carry With You

12 days.

Holy shit.

I'm leaving in 12 days. Less than two weeks.

This realization began to finally settle in as I re-read the cards given to me at my farewell party last night. Looking at pictures of my 2 year old niece and 4 year old nephew that my sister had put in my card caused me to reflect on the last few years- I remembered part of why I stayed so long was wanting to stay long enough for them to be able to remember who I am.

They remember me now. They ask when I'm coming to visit. They are little people with likes and dislikes, thoughts, ideas... I had a brief teary-eyed moment as I realized my monthly visits to Philly to see them will be reduced to once or twice a year.

Then I thought of the last two months, of the people- my friends and family- I've been able to really spend quality time with, and I felt really really sad. Sad because these people who have loved me, in spite of my quirks and neurotic (sometimes obsessive) tendencies, will be much further than a quick car ride away. Dinners, lunches, trips to the beach, hikes, and happy hours will all boil down to long distance Skype, emails, and phone calls.

But then I remembered that it is also because of them and their love that I am able to take off. They have loved me through some of the most difficult parts of my life, and helped me to heal. I can leave with my heart whole and intact with the knowledge that they will be with me wherever I am. 

I am unspeakably grateful for these people- these talented, passionate, intelligent, strong, loyal, loving people- who, for whatever reason, have made room in their lives for me. They are my family and my home.

As the days wind down, and I prepare to pack up my car to venture westward, I am shifting my focus from leaving what I love to remembering that what I love is the reason I am able to go. For much of my life I've had a pervading sense of lacking a home, but now more than ever, I've been learning that home  isn't necessarily a specific place or person. Sometimes, home is the love you carry with you.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, 

while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

-Lao Tzu