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.

A Domesticated Affair

I heard the other day that cats are the only domesticated animal that would revert to their natural instincts if released back into the wild. I'd like to think of myself being that way. That if for some reason this whole relationship thing went awry, I'd easily find my footing in the wilds of single-dom. [And based on the dating tragedies I've been exposed to over the last two years in this city; I would guess I'd be in it for the long haul.] 

The thing is, my boyfriend mentioned something along these lines awhile ago that made me profoundly sad. He said that if we were to break up - he thinks I'd move on just fine. Why is it I think of myself as a survivor yet hesitate for others to think the same of me? 

Is this a survival method in itself? To be exposed is to reveal my cards in this game called love. Do I want him to think I need him or do I really need him? Is it possible that I would be just fine without him? And if that's the case - why am I with him? For now I'll enjoy the luxury of our relationship, much like a house cat enjoys a day laying in the sun. [Pass the catnip, would you?] 

Familial Battleground

Each family member plays a role. Sometimes several, sometimes one. The most unfortunate of these roles of course is the role of the middleman. I have a lifetime of experience in this role as I'm sure many out there do. It is a sad role; one you can never truly be detached from for the part is played among the most fundamental of convictions - family.

It's impossible to describe to the fullest extent the pain it has caused me personally. And it would be stupid of me to offer advice on how to how to play this role for I, myself, have failed it miserably. The middleman's job is to be the intermediary, the go-between, the peacekeeper; and while I have perhaps prevented a few wars I find myself with no peace...and rather in a mess of confused pieces.

My role has shifted across the years. No battle less painful, no circumstance easier than the other. And while the situations and the scenarios and the settings change, I find myself permanently stuck right where I have always unintentionally landed.

I didn't ask for this role. Most wouldn't. Truly I don't think anyone wants to be a middleman. It's the hardest job and the most mocked. The least appreciated and the hardest fought. And while the sides of each perpetual feud exit the scene, they leave the battle scars behind. In the middle ground, in the middleman. A mess, scarred and torn. Sewn up, but never the same innocent quality as before.