Sadie, Sadie, Enagaged Lady

It’s official.

I am…

ENGAGED!

This is weird to write. It’s weird to say. And by weird– I mean  fabulously exciting. It’s surreal. I keep looking down at my hand– admiring the sparkles coming from my beautiful ring. And every time a sparkle catches my eye– I am reminded how lucky I am to have Ryan (was that a little too corny?).

Is this really happening?

We went to Newport, RI this past weekend. A surprise getaway. And Ryan and I found ourselves on the famous ocean cliff walk. We walked for almost three hours (I have the blisters to prove it) along the coast. It was undeniably the nicest day.  We strolled along. And talked about life and moving and our jobs (nothing too out of the ordinary). Afterward we grabbed some sandwiches at a local cafe (I will never look at ham and cheese the same way) and headed to a private beach we saw earlier. The plan was to enjoy the sun. To read our books. And relax.

The beach was windier than we expected (so much so we were the only ones there) and I paced along the beach trying to find a good not-so-windy spot. Finally, I found a spot. And I as I stood admiring the ocean in front of me, Ryan bent down to get the towel for us sit on…and he was on one knee.

He said he loved me. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Ring in hand– he asked, “Will you marry me?”

There were tears. And one big “Yes!”

It was a simple moment– an unforgettable moment– a moment just for us.

I can’t put into words how Ryan completes me. He’s contagiously fun. Each day with him is something new– he continuously makes me laugh– and yet he is one of the most gentlest and strongest souls. He challenges me. And soothes my worries. He has this undeniable “voice of reason” and is incredibly smart. He is my protector– my best friend.

And even before we started dating, I knew from the moment I met him when I was seventeen (ask anyone) that there was something special about him.

Cha-cha-changes. Pardon My Stutter.

I know it’s been forever since my last post (almost 2 months, jeez).  I have no excuse except that I’ve been utterly swamped. Vacations, birthdays– topped off with a ton of work and commitments has me in a first-ever, rapid whirlwind of nonstop “go-go-go.” Taking ten classes a semester was a breeze compared to my stress level these days. I am trying my best to remain calm (ha)– but  it is incredibly hard to make time for myself. Enough about that– moving onward.

Change is in the air. I can open my windows without freezing. It doesn’t get dark at 5:00pm anymore.  And I am–I am moving.  It’s hard to write– let alone say. Sure, you may think I am being a tad dramatic (everyone moves)  but I truly loathe moving. Bubble-wrapping and boxing and taping and lifting.  It’s a long cycle. Each night I do a little- hoping to minimize being overwhelmed on that faithful day at the end of April; however, I have come to realize we (Ryan and I) have accumulated a lot of  “stuff”– and 730 days worth of memories.

I remember when we moved into our apartment– and that nervous, butterflies-in-the-stomach  feeling I had. Ryan and I had been together a little over two years, and even though I felt confident in taking that next step, I still was a tad nervous. We’ve all heard the horror stories of couples moving in together and things essentially not working out for one reason or another. I remember people telling me how things are “different” and change (gosh I hate that word) when you live with your boyfriend. I was cautioned that I’d lose a certain relationship spontaneity and things could become too comfortable. I was a little hesitant. I didn’t want to ruin “us.”

But Ryan was more than sure– 110% sure that we’d be fine.

So I followed Ryan, my intuition, and heart. And have never once regretted my decision.

I remember the excitement of our first place– setting it up just so. Ryan sitting on the floor– with his tools neatly lined up– carefully putting together shelves. I peaked into our closet only to notice he had color coordinated the entire closet which did not last long, but needless to say– a man after my own heart. And we picked out a couch (our first big purchase together) and silverware (it’s the little things).  We hung two paintings on the wall we got on a beach in the Dominican Republic. And on a shelf I lined up Ryan’s wooden, hand-carved animals from his African safari (so jealous). I remember Christmas in this apartment– how Ryan surprised me with matching monogrammed red stockings (hehe). Sunday morning pancakes. And Sunday night dinners with our parents crowded around.

In this apartment I learned Ryan cringes at the sound of styrofoam and that he only snores when he’s simply exhausted. He hates when I don’t put the caps back on my contact lens case and this is where he developed a “system” for loading the dishwasher more efficiently (it was a proud moment). I learned how much he truly adores sports– I’m talking fantasy sports, college, professional, basketball, baseball, football, golf, horseshoes (is that even a sport), ping pong, UFC fighting…so much so that he has a list of 100 sports related things he wants to do in his lifetime. Last year he went to Kentucky Derby, #63 on the list. I have grown to love his inner-jock and I admire his competitiveness.

Christina– my little sister– lives next door to me. And as the month is dwindling down– I am coming to realize how lucky I was to have her “right there.” She was a 24/7 built in best friend.  We’ve shared many laughs (and maybe a few sister fights, hehe) together in this apartment. And even though she won’t be too far away– I can’t help but be a little sad. I’m going to miss her.

This whole thing stinks– there I said it. Since I’ve been 18 years old I have had to deal with one change or another– and I  adjusted. I accepted the changes.  Now things are about to change again– my comfort zone is about to be interrupted– and I find myself  facing some all too familiar feelings: a little nervous, a little hesitant.

But Ryan says I have to trust him– to take this blind leap of faith with him– that moving will help us build our future together.

And I know he’s right.

I know– together– things will be okay.

Third Chances…

are for the naive.

I am going to sound super angry– no perhaps bitter is a better word. I’d give anyone a second chance– we all make mistakes, right?  And sometimes all it takes is that second chance for someone to bounce back. But I don’t really believe in a third chance. I say really because I desperately want to be optimistic that people can change– that a third chance is worth something; however,  history seems to repeat itself and nothing is ever transformed. And I end up feeling like the fool– a dumb fool– someone who can’t grasp the reality of the situation. Which, by the way, totally isn’t my style.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m at this crossroad. I think. I worry. I think. I worry. I wish someone would just tell me how to react, how to process all my conflicting emotions. More than anything, I wish I wasn’t so angry. Ever since I gave up on multiple chances– and took off some mighty thick “blinders”– I have exposed myself to some hard truths: Everything is not all right. And nothing will ever be the same again. Sometimes I feel tortured by my thoughts. And other times I am relieved that I can finally see– and have chosen to no longer be part of a broken and vicious cycle of trust and love. I wish I had more answers, and I wish my last memories weren’t emails neatly filed away in a binder. But I supposes this is what it’s like dealing with a loss.

The most important thing to me is not letting the anger win. As soon as I feel it bubbling within me– I take a deep breath and try my hardest to calm down. I don’t want to lead my life with spite. I don’t want to be talking about this five years from now still– outraged. I want to let it go– to be able to look at a photo and not feel this burning fury. In the beginning  I missed and longed for an explanation– tried so hard to get some sort of acknowledgment of love.

But now–

I simply hate.

I hate him.

The One, The Only…Miss.Mia

It’s not everyday I have a “woah, holy cow” moment. But I recently realized: I am officially getting *tear* old.

I am not too sure if it was when I opened my closet and saw an Abercrombie & Fitch jacket (thank you Ebay for taking it off my hands) or when I was gawking at some tween’s risque outfit (I’m telling you– she had faux “leather” leggings that were literally painted on) or just maybe it’s when I decided I’d order the Boston Sunday Globe. Regardless, time ain’t stopping for me– and as I slowly come to grips that my thoughts and surroundings are maturing– for the first time, I am actually excited about–  getting older.

Don’t  get me wrong the days of crashing on friends couches on the weekends and spending my last dollar on lip plumper, will always bring me a twinkle of fondness and irreplaceable laughter. But miss? I’m not too sure. I love my life now– and there is something far more intriguing about the unknown and the life that awaits me.

I remember when things began to change.

In 2006, our very first friends got married. James and Jenn. I remember watching them exchange their vows– how the light from the stained glass windows in the church glimmered from the snowfall outside– and I remember thinking how magical it was watching two people– our good friends– make this sacrament, this lifelong commitment to one another.

I have always admired James’ and Jenns’ confidence– they consistently seem to know what they want– and it’s been a true pleasure watching them grow into this dynamite duo.  Among many other things– fun and fabulous to name a few– I consider them the friends who have “paved the way.”  Not only were they first to tie the knot, but they were the first to have a baby.

Mia Ruth was born December 18, 2008. 8lbs 11 oz. 21 inches (she’s totally going to be a super model).

The 9 months seemed to come and go. The initial excitement– “You’re having a baaaaaaaby” to the final days before Mia’s late arrival. Although, I probably asked Jenn some of the most absurd questions: How do you swaddle? It was an incredible experience watching her grow– and watching them both glow with anticipation.

But hands-down one of the most touching moments (and I write this from Ryan as well) was when Ryan was asked to be the Godfather. Not only was he incredibly honored– but he was whole heartily thrilled. Personally, I am no longer in touch with either one of my Godparents (which isn’t that uncommon)– and yes in recent life events it would have been nice to have the extra support and helping hand– if not for a simple chat than for some spiritual guidance. I know Ryan views his relationship with Mia as an eternal commitment– and will always have a special spot for her in his heart (that may sound a little corny, but it’s true). No matter what age she is- he’ll always be there. And Mia will always be able to count on him.

Since Mia’s birth and the few times we’ve seen her (she is perfection)– I have secretly loved watching James and Jenn in action. As first time parents they are figuring out alot as they go along, but they truly seem to know what to do. They showed me the importance of communicating, taking-turns, and most of all working as team. The love they have for Mia– is something I have yet to understand (one day)– but it’s when I am with all three of them, watching James as he gently wraps his pinky around Mia’s delicate finger or Jenn soothing Mia’s sharp cries– that I see it. And realize this is just the beginning.

family photo

Ryan in action

Mia’s birth annoucment– how freakin’ cute?

P.S. December/January were busy months for new babies. My cousin Katie had her second little girl, Mary Kerwick. And my other cousin Abby had her first little girl Violet Johanna. Can’t wait to meet the new additions. Love and health to them all.

While Ryan’s Away…

Jo will go to the craft store.

I was kinda bummed about this upcoming weekend. Sure I had loads to be thankful for– Obama officially is President. My firm won two new clients (which is a huge woo-hoo in this economy). And I sold my thirteen item on Ebay. But, for the first time in a long time– this weekend wouldn’t involve Ryan. He  and the new golf clubs I got him for his birthday headed to Florida for a 24/7 golfing getaway.

And before you even begin to think what a lame, dependent girlfriend I am–I totally want and love when Ryan does things without me. It’s healthy for us to have lives outside one another. But for some reason it was harder to say goodbye this time. I am so used to seeing his smiling sideburns every day, and I look forward to our weekends together. It just felt a little lonely– but–I wouldn’t dare make him feel guilty for going.So I put on my best smile and wished him a fabulous “man” weekend.

So what did I do?

I got the car washed. Went out to dinner with some lady friends. And thought about me.

This may seem like an odd statement, but I can get so wrapped up in the to-dos, work, commitments, errands, ect that I sometimes get lost in the shuffle. I asked myself what can I do that will make me happy? I’ve always found relaxation and comfort in being creative– writing a poem or painting or designing. I love creating.

And when I was home visiting my Mom this weekend, I sorted through some old clothes and memorabilia– initially trying to find additional items I could sell on Ebay. And lo and behold I came across some of my old poems from my creative writing class in college.  It was one of the best surprises of the weekend — I literally shrieked with excitement because I was convinced the poems were gone. I thought I accidentally deleted them from my old computer. I read them aloud– as if I was standing in front of my creative class once again. And it felt oddly inspiring and a tad liberating. (I included some of my favorite ones below and my professors’ critique because sometimes it’s okay to show-off. And I love making my Mamma proud).

Poems in hand. And one call later from Ryan that he hit his best hole to date. I ventured to the craft store.

The craft store can be a little how-do-I-put-it-nicely– weird. There’s a unique collection of people all immersed in their various crafts– sewers, jewelery makers, cake decorators, scrapbookers, painters, faux-flower arrangers, and many other unthinkable, unimaginable crafters. It was a little daunting strolling up and down the aisles– looking for something creative to jump out at me. I had some ideas, but not the idea. And an hour later after debating whether or not to get some adhesive pearls– I was inspired by a hole-punch.

Being a stationary feign, I decided I would make– drum roll please– my very own one-of-a-kind note card (hey it’s the little things in life that get me excited). And it was then I had this eureka moment– what makes me happy?

I knew when I  mentioned the idea to my best friend Maura– she would instantly say yes. She is one of my creativity’s biggest advocates. I am now officially the wedding invitation designer for her nuptials in August.

I am nervously excited– and more than ready to cultivate some fresh, elegant, and affordable ideas. Bring it on.

Ryan comes home tomorrow night. And although I didn’t get to fill him in entirely of my own creative getaway– it’s when he said he was so happy for me and couldn’t wait to hear all about it that reminded me–

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

a note card I made (hopefully the first of many)– I swear it looks more attractive than this scan.

Poems:

A Never Winning Greed

Words for You

Would You?

Would you trade fifty-two for twenty-two? No mistake made four times because you would know. The watery tears on thunder-rumbling nights and the sight– four times– of smiles missing a front tooth. Travel among your thoughtful kind and soak in the beauty of a desert sunset. Soar across the Mediterranean Sea and dive into the heart of the Australian Reed, swimming your life away. The “what ifs” and scraped knees bleeding innocence no longer would be another lesson learned. Trade it. I dare you. For the finest wine from a French vineyard. Bitter taste of sweet love. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I don’t feel so good. Echo in your ear no more. Tip-toe hand-in-hand with the most witty Irishmen and laugh wildly upon green rolling hills dotted with daises. Dance in the the handsome hands of the man– too strong, too silent– dressed in the finest Italian suit. Don’t let go. Nor be tamed. And when he speaks of your beauty, flee with the currents of life and enchant another stranger to run wildly beside you. Change too his skip of life. No routine. No song. No gold band of commitment. The electricity, the mystery, the unknown shall pulse within you and propel you into the diversity of this one world. No remorse for not going to a first grade play, The Ugly Duckling or tying pink ribbons for sixteenth birthday parties. Four times of us forever gone. Would you do the unthinkable for the unimaginable?

teacher’s critique...

*don’t be alarmed about the poem “my death.” It was an odd, criptic asssignemnt.

Historical Awe.

I have re-wrote the first sentence of this blog entry twelve times– wanting to depict my inauguration experience in a heartfelt and honest manner. But alas– the words didn’t jive. And here I am speechless.

I am twenty-five. And I voted for for Barack Obama. Not because my generation told me to or because I feel like he is a super hero who can instantaneously fix our nations problems. I voted for him because I simply believe  (to be put simply). And today I chose to be part of a historical event.

It saddens me as I read blog posts and comments that ooze ignorance and hate. I don’t expect our entire nation to love President Obama. In fact, I have come to understand (and appreciate)  the right-winged and deep-rooted political views that fiercely clash with our President. And I admire all the people who can put their political righteousness away for one day– and join a united nation in honoring our new President.  So to all the naysayers and inauguration-spoilers…I say enough. Find inner peace.

Moving on…

President Obama’s speech was not only wildly motivating (I did have goosebumps the entire time), it encouraged that change is possible.

I especially was moved by this passage:

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends – hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism – these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility – a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

May God bless President Obama and his family. And may the United States become a stronger nation under his watch.

“With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come.”

The “L” Word.

Layoff.

Boo. Just to even say the word–layoff– gives me shivers. My heart races, palms sweat. I stutter– become awkward right before your very eyes. It freaks me out. And with today’s economy every other news story and word seems to involve “layoff.” 2,000 people let go today, 30,000 tomorrow. Massive, historical layoffs. It’s becoming an epidemic– and working in the client service industry– this is all quite terrifying.

Yes– I feel bad for all the thousands of people laid off with families and their enormous list of dire responsibilities. I feel bad for unnecessary struggle– infuriated at this mammoth economical problem. And believe it or not, I do feel bad– sorry– for those Wall Street CEO’s and executives because golden parachutes can only take them so far in this life– you can have all the riches in the world– but if you’re not respected and righteous– than who are you?

At twenty-five, I feel like I don’t have the right to complain. I am not a baby boomer who lost her 401k. I am not a parent who is struggling to make ends meet. I am not a homeowner who took out an unrealistic loan. Nor am I small business owner who can’t afford to stay open. I am simply a young professional who is extremely passionate about the company I work for and my career. I am a young adult who is trying to save-save-save a down payment for a home. And I am a young woman who wants to begin a life– together– with my one and my only, Ryan.

Although, I am very fortunate nothing has happened to my career or my financial stability to date, I still want to kick and scream at the utter absurdness of this economic plights because it’s just not fair. I don’t want to lose everything I have worked so extremely hard for (who wants to). And all I can hear in my mind is my Mom saying– but life isn’t fair, Jo.

So what does a twenty-five year old do in this unique situation? Well for starters, I am done being anxious over all this (well kinda). Worrying about all the “what if’s” and the things I can’t control is emotionally and psychically exhausting. Pointless. I don’t know what will happen, but I do know whatever the outcome is, I will be okay. I will continue to watch and read the news– paying close attention to market trends and industry happenings– and of course listening carefully and asking questions accordingly. This is– after all– an economic and historical learning experience. I am taking a well-deserved and affordable trip to the Bahamas for some rest and relaxation. I’ll continue to clip coupons. And of course I’ll continue working oh-so incredibly hard, trying to stay focused.

Hard work and ambition can’t be laid off.

Bah, Humbug.

Wow. This is kind of awkward– like learning how to put on eye liner for the first or walking into a screen door accidentally. Bare with me, please. Yes– I am back. I took a break. A long break. I don’t know why. I could feed you a million and one excuses but what it comes down to is my lack of motivation. The good news is, is that during my hiatus I have repressed tons of thoughts/life observations that are now surfacing, bubbling over in my mind. It’s time to unleash em.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the holidays– the excitement and festiveness. Even in this down-in-the-dumps economy, people still seem to carry some yuletide glee– adding some magic to holiday season– whether it be through a one-of-a-kind holiday sweater, Christmas card, or a front lawn decked out with lights– I bask in the holiday cheer. Bring it on. In fact like most of you, the holidays always make me feel incredibly fortunate. I am reminded of all the little things in my life– and somehow in my mind these things/act of kindness/events/memories/people get tallied up– equaling a vast, lump sum of irreplaceable and untouchable fortune. And I think, “Woah, I am pretty damn lucky.”

I appreciate putting my little life into perspective– into the grand scheme of things. I realize my hardships equate to nothing– absolutely nothing. And this is reinforced as I watch other people struggle to make ends meet or battle a life-threatening disease or encounter any other inflicted evilness I’ve thankfully never endured. I’ve learned when life attacks– I’ll know. And I should know better– all the worrying in the world about things out of my control– does absolutely nothing for “hardship preparation.” This obviously make sense to the Average-Joe but to the Worrywart Jo– this is something I have to consciously tell myself– repeatedly.

Why can’t life be like a test I could study and prepare for in advance– god I sound dull– but the unpredictability makes me a tad nervous– although I do love a carefree life, I don’t like adversity. Been there, done that. I don’t want to test my inner strength any more. I just want to live simply. And in peace. And for nothing bad to ever happen. Call me a child all you want– how immature of me. But I’ve learned that even after coping with loss and dodging some of “life” bullets– I am still, to this day picking up the pieces. And it’s the oddest feeling in the world, during all of this holiday cheer– no matter how hard I do remind myself of my fortune– I still sometimes feel these whispers of total emptiness. It’s not an everyday thing– it’s a smell or a Christmas decoration, an Italien cookie or Chevy Chase’s Christmas movie– they are little hints of a loss– a loss that is ironically resurrected during all this joy. I hate when people say “remember the good memroies, forget the bad”– c’mon like it’s that easy– memories aren’t neatly filed away– they’re smashed altogether. I’ve always stuffed these thoughts and flashes of memories deep into the back my mind (not too sure what I was saving them for). But I think it’s time to let them free because for the first time in a very long time, I am confident that I want to let them go– so one day I can simply forget. And not be able to remember.

It’s time for some new memories…

sisters. love always.

Funk my Funk– Life is too Short.

I’m in a funk. And I have been avoiding this blog like the plague– maybe out of lack of inspiration or maybe just because, I felt like neglecting it. Ha– take that blog. Or maybe I am neglecting me (which just so happens to involve this blog)…

UPDATE: I started this blog on being in a funk last night– got distracted by an hour long walk with Ryan where we admired tacky Halloween decorations and over sized Victorian houses. I came back feeling refreshed– with a new found blister on the back of my heel– and motivated to begin focusing on me (sounds selfish eh?). But when you’re working from home it’s easy to work through lunch– to lift your head up from the daily grind– only to realize it’s 6:00pm and you haven’t had any fresh air. It’s a bad routine– one I am not proud of. And a routine that I am going to whole-heartily end. But enough about this funk and my lame woes– because as I was going to finish this entry this morning– I received awful, heart-breaking news.

My colleague and friend (the young woman I wrote about in “Answer to Cancer”)– found out this morning, that the cancer is back– more aggressive, more serious. She was a breast cancer survivor– a crusader (and mom) at 27 years old– intense chemo, a double mastectomy, reconstructive surgery. She fought the cancer. And she won. Three and half years in remission, now almost 31 years old, she has rebuilt her life– stronger than ever– kisses her husband on the cheek as she leaves to bring her six year old daughter to kindergarten, works part time for my PR agency, and proudly declares her love of jazzercise. She is a fabulous Mom, wife, colleague, and friend– she’s incredibly optimistic, her laugh is contagious, and she is a constant reminder to continually find the joy and peace in your everyday life by not taking anything for granted.

Last week she had a funky rash– saw a dermatologist about it who then took the biopsy. The biopsy that would change her life. And this morning she found out, the rash was a reaction– The. Cancer. Is. Back. In her lymph nodes– throughout her lymphatic system. She gave her notice at our agency today. And begins her weekly trips to Brigham and Women’s for severe, high-doses of chemotherapy tomorrow. She cried on the phone when she told me– asked me, “how am I going to tell my daughter I’m dying?” And all I could say was “you’re going to fight this and everything will be all right.” But even though she knows the statistics and the prognosis are against her, after this initial shock wears off, I know she’ll do everything in her power to combat the cancer–to put her body through any/every treatment (again)– just so she can kiss her husband good-bye in the morning and bring her daughter to kindergarten. She’s a warrior.

Today, she asked me write about her– to tell anyone I could about her battle– “the more people who know, the more people who can pray for me, Johanna.”

I can’t focus on work today. I can’t think about myself. All I think about is her– the uphill battle her body will face– and the family and friends that love her so much. I count my blessings. And I will count them before I go to bed. And again tomorrow morning. All the economic troubles, money, lies, selfishness of certain ill-minded blood, wants, needs, betrayals, and any other gripe I’ve had are meaningless. Simply meaningless rants.

This is by far– one of the hardest, most near and dear to my heart blogs I have written. Be proactive with your health– get a mammogram if your a woman– know your family’s cancer history– and pay attention to your body. Cancer is viciously relentless.

Love to you all.

Thing-aholic.

Hello work week– woo-wee what a day. It’s one of those days where the to-do list I set out to defeat– defeated me (and grew longer). With this economy– being busy is a good thing so I’ll take it as a blessing in disguise.

The past few weeks– I’ve been thinking– about…things. Things we all want. Don’t need. Sometimes I’d like to imagine what my life would be like if– well– if life didn’t get in the way (nicely put). I wonder who I would be– if I’d still have the same outlook on life– hold the same values near and dear to my heart. I wonder if I’d be less jaded and more naive. If I’d be friends with the same people– value my family as much as I do. Would I be more selfish? This all may seem odd to be analyzing, but I just can’t help but wonder– without the things (both events and materialistic) of the past, would I be me.

I was very fortunate to grow up in a small town– a town where you can walk down the street and know everyone– go to the grocery store and high-five your teacher– or play little league in a park overlooking the ocean. A town where everything– everyone– breeds pristine sameness. I was immersed in a lifestyle– that prized possessions. Where the label mattered more than the style. Thank the lord, my parents were outsiders to this world– both of their upbringings supplied them with down-to-earth mentalities– and instilled in my sisters and I a solid set of values and appreciation– but, c’mon I’d be lying through my teeth if I told you that I didn’t think I was spoiled– not bratty spoiled– but the type of spoiled where I was given a lot. I was raised in a certain lifestyle– and although things have changed drastically over the last five years– I have grown-up, evolved, lost some things only to gain a whole lot of perspective and new appreciation from this wild world; however, every now and then, I see the inner-snob in myself. And it’s such a bittersweet moment– thankful I didn’t allow this grossness to evolve more– and yet a tinge of sadness as I think of all the things I had.

So this is my problem (and I have a feeling I am not alone). I sometimes get wrapped up in the details (the ooooh la la of things, the ‘I want, I want’ now) only to laugh at myself. Because life isn’t about having all the things now– it’s about earning it (just like my parents worked so hard to do). I think our society– and my hometown– put this pressure on my generation making it seem like we need to have it all figured out and have this perfection in terms of “things.” And if you don’t, than you haven’t amounted to anything. My parents couldn’t even afford furniture for their first house– and here I am (occasionally) worrying about how I will be perceived if I don’t have certain things. In other words, I am so excited for the destination– that I sometimes lose sight of the journey. And it’s Ryan and his oh-so wise words which remind me that all of the things in the world couldn’t buy this adventure we’re on together– building our life step by step. It may not go to plan or be “perfect” or even look beautiful, but it’s 100% uniquely ours– dents, scratches, and all.