Here We Go

It's the eve of my 28th birthday and I have no one to celebrate with except my cat...who is currently preoccupied with her dinner and couldn't care less about celebrating the day I arrived on this earth. Such is life.

27 has been strange. More ups and downs in the past six months than I could ever recall in years prior. I keep telling myself you need the bad to appreciate the good, but the bad hurts sometimes. And lately, it hurts a lot. It's a dull, lonely pain that stings most when I am alone. Which these days, is a lot.

I shouldn't be so mopey. I'm incredibly lucky to have a home, a car, a family, some money in my savings account, a job, travel plans booked and ready for take-off. And while all of that is great and wonderful - none of it matters when you don't matter to anyone. Or a particular someone.

I think about him every day. I dream about him every night. It's not on purpose and I feel like a but of a psycho but it's not that kind of thought or yearning or obsession. There's no particular thought or feelings that accompanies his presence on my mind - he's just there. And I'm not sure why.

I'm a little nervous for 28. It's the first year in a loooooong time I am entering alone -  I'm not sure I'm ready for the trek but here we go...such is life.

Summer Pains

It had to happen this way. The seven year itch stung me hard and I threw my inhibitions to the wind on a gamble I knew wouldn't end well. Now I'm stuck in a torturous replay of the past 60 days, recounting every mistake I made and realizing how my own shortcomings made me end up alone.

I'll back up a bit so you can catch up.

I've always been in a relationship. I'm just that kind of girl. I meet a boy, I like a boy and boom - my life is devoted to that boy. Not solely devoted mind you - I'm still a very independent person with my own job and finances and family life...but I've always found myself in a relationship. A security I didn't realize I held so dear until my boyfriend of seven years and I split. My choice, my mistake.

There had been waves of unhappiness throughout the years. Me wondering if there was someone out there I would have more passion with. A deeper connection with. My relationship was fine. But fine wasn't good enough for me. I bought into the idea of true love and couldn't settle for "fine". I wanted more. And then I met a coworker.

I wasn't particularly attracted to him at first but somewhere during week two on the road I was smitten. He was so debonair I had to have him. We started texting and flirting and he called me his "set girlfriend". A joke that had truth to it as we both liked one another and wound up in each others hotel rooms getting acquainted. He knew I had a boyfriend and we both knew it was wrong to carry on the way we were but we let temptation get the best of us.

It was amazing to like someone like this again. The fresh excitement of a new relationship was a drug I couldn't get enough of. I was ready to run off and marry this man and we'd work out the nitty gritty details of life along the way. Mistake number one.

I got ahead of myself. And I'm fairly certain it scared him away.

Wanderlust Wonderland

Sometimes I think about selling my possessions and traveling abroad for months on end...But then I snap back to reality and realize that is a ridiculous thought. 

What would I do for money? How would I afford such a lifestyle? Who would take care of my cat? Once those realities set in I reconsider the insane thought. 

But the other day I came across Albert Einstein's definition of insanity. 

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." 

Suddenly I realized, maybe ditching my life for an adventure wouldn't be so insane after-all. What's truly nuts is the mundane routine of my life. 

- Wake up at 7am (ish)

- Tidy up the apartment 

- Shower 

- Put on makeup, fix my hair 

- Pick out an outfit (A.K.A. Wardrobe Typhoon in my room) 

- Pack a lunch 

- Love up my cat before heading out the door 

- Drive in ridiculous traffic to work (Seriously Los Angeles, invest in some decent public transportation!) 

- Work 

- Drive home in ridiculous traffic (See note above) 

- Run 

- Make dinner 

- Love up my cat before heading to bed

- Bedtime 

BORING. 

While I have a few vacations to look forward to in the coming months, I can't help but wish I was brave enough to ditch the comforts of a normal life and live day-to-day as if seeing the world was my full-time job. 

It's exciting and dangerous (in a good way, not the fear for my life kind of way) and something I think would make me very happy. 

But then another reality sets in...the awareness that I'm not that kind of person. I don't often throw my inhibitions to the wind. I like having a plan. I like knowing a paycheck is coming. Though there's nothing wrong with that (I'm bias, of course) I find it depressing to know how much solace I take in routine.

I will continue to lust for adventure. And someday...I will continue to tell myself. Someday I will be sane enough, and brave enough, to do it. 

Not My Type.

When I was growing up there was simply skinny and fat. Sure over the years fat became preamble to a myriad of configurations;  plus size, chubby, curvy, obese, voluptuous, full-figured, etc. But skinny was skinny. Or so I thought.

I never realized how many versions of skinny there was until I moved to Los Angeles. And even then, it took me nearly two years to realize I'm not skinny.

We've created so many categories for our bodies that I don't know what I am. In fact, "skinny" might be an extinct word at this point.

Triangle? Tall? Pear? Hour-glass? Straight? Let's just shout out random shapes, fruits, words and objects and see if your body looks like it! That's basically what body-typing has become.

According to my boyfriend I am "athletic". Which for a 5'10" woman who prefers jeans to skirts and struggles daily with being feminine is the exact opposite of what I want to hear. Being athletic is not sexy, it's not dainty, it's not girly. It's muscular and masculine...and a quick google search showed it also means I have no butt and no boobs. Great. I don't want to be athletic. I want to be skinny!

I don't even know how I got this body-type. Genetics I suppose, though neither of my parents (or extended family for that matter) are very sporty. We like being outside, but no one is out running marathons or participating in tournaments. I'm not a fitness nut. Two miles is about my max for a run. And though I try to eat healthy, you certainly won't find my in the aisles of Whole Foods or on a weekly juice cleanse.

I used to love my body. And sometimes I still do. In fact, most of the time I don't mind it until I start comparing it to the tiny people in my life...and again, being 5'10"- there's a lot of tiny people in my life.

In a world (and a city) that works hard to define you...I've forgotten to define myself. And once I did, I was amused and invigorated by my discovery:

I am strong. I AM skinny.

A Modest Realization

I had a realization the other day that explained so much of myself...to myself. You see, I'm the type of person who likes to be good at everything. Not just good, the best. I bust my butt to think harder, do better and excel above any competition seemingly in my way. For the most part I think it's a good trait, though in this latest self-revelation I find perhaps it's working negatively in some aspects of my life.

I have strong opinions on NOT getting married and NOT having children. I generally attribute that line of thinking to being raised as an independent career-focused woman. And of course I'm sure there's underlines of emotional damage from my parents divorce [but who doesn't have a little underlying parental damage?]. I digress...

I realized perhaps part of my hesitation for a nuclear life is the mass competition I face. There's no way I would be the best wife or parent. I will inevitably fail in some way. There's just no working around it. And then I realized, maybe part of being a good spouse or a good parent is accepting failure; from myself and from those I love.

It's a tough pill to swallow - but I bet some modesty will help the medicine go down.

Options Without Answers

I didn't realize it until now, but I am lost.

I've spent the last few months in a whirlwind of work. It's in my bones to never say no to an opportunity, especially if that opportunity pays the bills. Now don't get me wrong - I am careful with my decisions; you won't see me on the street corner...at least not in the foreseeable future. What I mean is, so many doors of opportunity have opened for me and though I feel incredibly lucky to have such fortune, I am also starting to feel discontent in what I am doing here.

I have a goal and am trying my best to stay on track with said goal. I want to be something specific but I am still a few steps from where I want to be. I have no answers or google-map navigation to the correct path and I'm starting to feel overwhelmed with all the options.

I am at the point of my journey where every step I take matters. Each decision I make will take me down a different path that could be the right one, or it might be the wrong one. And as you might have guessed; only time will tell which choice was the right one.

I suppose all of life is this way. Everyone's choices are half chance.

At times like this I try to remind myself that there is a bigger plan, a plan I am not directly involved in. And I simply need to trust that plan and make the best possible moves in this game called life.

Your move.  

Decisions, Decisions: The Temptation of Options

My profession is very much like one of those choose your own adventure books. I am often faced with decisions that can only be made by me. And I hate that. Despite my yearning, wishing, pleading for a sign from the universe on what to do; nine times out of ten it comes down to me making the final call on my own life. A blessing and a curse in it's own right. I am lucky to be able to do with my life what I please, but sometimes it would just be easier if someone else would do it for me.

I made a decision this afternoon that I had been queazy about for two days. I made the call, accepted the offer and instantly regretted what I had done. Now I am stuck with the remorse and realization that I may have chosen the wrong path this time. My only choice at this point is to make the best of it.

I hope I did not make a mistake. But when life gives you lemons (or a job offer through August for a major cable network) you take them and make something great, right? Cheers.