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.