Holiday Reminder

Ah, the Christmas season. Where Christmas fanatics and self-proclaimed Scrooges sprinkle the streets like a fresh winter snow. Encountering a few too many bah-hum bugs this holiday season made me question what makes people so anti- a merry Christmas that they act like disciples of the Grinch. For as long as I can remember Christmas was always the time of the year where no matter what kind of cascading terrible sequence of unfortunate events you had the holiday season hinted the promise of family, support and some form of appreciation with a gift or inspired gesture. But now, instead of the fear of coal in your stocking you become worrisome that the next encounter will be someone that just hates everything about Christmas or they try to ruin your Christmas mood with some asinine joke or sniped remark. So, what gives?
I know what you're thinking; here's another holiday nut telling her readers to spread Christmas cheer. Nope, not doing that today - especially since Christmas is over.  Here's what I am telling you, though: when people get older the simple elements, you know that out-of-the box happiness -- becomes way overcomplicated. People start with the compare and contrast method to qualify their happiness and designate what their Christmas should look like. The bubble of Christmas cheer serves as a reminder of all the bad things or reasons why Christmas is overrated. Then Christmas becomes what you don't have instead of a celebration of what you do have. No wonder people get upset and melancholy runs rampant through their conversations.
But, here's the thing Christmas is a little reminder that patience has a pinnacle, and ebb and flow exists in more than just an ocean. It's like when someone is going through a hard time and you can't find the right words to say, "hang in there" or when you want someone to believe that it just takes time for something to pass over, like heartbreak or getting to acceptance. Sometimes, it's hard to see or feel where the waiting game of life will take you, but in its own joyous way, Christmas is the example of a season where hope and "on pins and needles" gives you an exhausting ride, but eventually comes to a close and leaves most people with the inspiration to make new promises (oh hello, new year).
So, M/Mrs. Grinch, what say you now? The holiday season that just culminated in the last day (with remnants that will delicately extend through week's end) is just a bittersweet reminder - this too shall pass.

The Escape.

Apparently there's a mass exodus from New York. It can affect those in their mid-twenties, through the early thirties. Reader, beware.
Symptoms include: restlessness and a sudden impulse to see what else is outside of New York.
Yes. This is epidemic is true, in the last two weeks I have either experienced or heard approximately seven people in search of pastures (greener or not) gather their U-HAUL and hit the road, Jack.
And, yes these folks are friends so in some respects my fear of this epidemic slowly infiltrating my inner circle is like a animal-lover with arachnophobia cornering a spider; terrified, but compassionate that they need to live to.

It's hard to digest the idea that your dream of New York and the reason why people come here doesn't satisfy the appetite of others. I can't think of a time when I didn't want to live in New York, I mean from movies always staged in this city that seemed to stem love and endless promotions, who wouldn't want to live here?
I remember in high school; when I went through my contrary period (aka hanging out with bad influences) and I had this archenemy, let's call her Esheda. Now, Esheda was what someone could call pretty, but her attitude was so ugly. She used to prank call my house, threaten to start a fight with me at school so my record was scarred, oh and my favorite she use to taunt that no matter what "I couldn't be her." Little did this girl know I knew the kind of person she was and her status at school and empty threats were the last thing I wanted. That year, I decided - I'm moving to a place where insecurity isn't the motivator, but ambition is - I'm going to New York. And once I had that in my mind, her yelling at me in the hallway, or teasing me I just heard those Charlie Brown teachers "womp, womp, womp womp womp..."I had to stay focus, a pit stop in Charlottesville for some down south education and I was in the home stretch.
So I guess like any pseudo-small town girl, New York was a city to experience everything that wasn't my normal. I just knew I was going to be the displaced Shaker Heights girl that kept her 216-number, but saddled up with an attitude and coffee permanently in her hands walking through New York streets. I had to believe that the anxiety, better known as high school drama, wouldn't pull me down. But, you know, that's just my story on why I came here - I can't speak for anyone else and clearly my experience was unique. So, for the friends that do choose to move along and find their normal, discover what their everyday will look like, I can't be mad, I can't be terrified. I just have to hope my everyday matches what you see yours as being - happy, successful and exactly what you'd want to escape to.

Makeup or Bust ...

I’m going to be 26 soon… Give me a little more than a month and I will be 26. See ya later 25. Suddenly, all those things I wanted to do this year are creeping up on me and you know the one that sticks out the most, right now? The promise I made to myself: 

“Before you are 26 you’ll learn to put on makeup.”
Like real application, you know, the kind that looks just like your face only slightly enhanced for the perfect photo and candid pic people seem to be endlessly taking. Oh to dream...Right now, I'm makeup illiterate.
Here's what happened: Before my 25th birthday my roommate at the time pointed out a giant faux pas of my makeup routine: I was doing it all wrong. I only wear eyeliner on my lower lid and mascara. It was easy to apply, an inexpensive routine, and it seemed to satisfy my quell of wearing makeup and walking into the world with “my face on.”
 So as I'm getting dressed for my party, my roommate tells me “you know, you’re suppose to wear eyeliner on your top lid…helps bring out your eyes. You only use the bottom lid for smoky eye and going out, not for daytime natural…” Hello, earth-shattering news.
I was proud of myself for making this very grown up thing happen all on my own– but when she mentioned the error of my makeup ways, might as well jam the mascara brush in my eye! She spent like an hour putting on makeup and all I had to do was smooth on a little bit of my eyewear… I waited in her room admiring the technique and then I got the awkward question “didn’t your mom ever teach you?”
"Nope" I replied, “oh, she died when I was little.”
It's not that I'm shy about my history, but it's one of those things about my life that I try to keep covered so the blemishes don't show through. Since I was so young when my mom passed, it became one of those things that as I got older I had that pang of missing her less and less, until nights like this one when I asked myself what if… Case and point...what if she would’ve taught me how to wear makeup?

So I sat there, feeling slightly robbed of a feminine rite of passage and embarrassed about showing a scar that's normally covered. I can't change what happened oh, so many years ago, but I can change what I do with it, thus the promise... 
The absence of a mom is to me my natural foundation, it's there on my face for the world to see - a glimpse at someone who once was. I just want to make sure I learn enough about this to pass it along...so that if I ever have a daughter she gets a chance to remember me every day, when she goes to put on her makeup.

Memories for Today; A Shaker Story

I want to tell you guys a story about my hometown. It's one of those places that became the beacon of diversity in Ohio. Race-sensitive groups popping up left and right and parties that are a diverse as a handful of trail mix. Shaker was a traditional public school with the best teachers, participatory parents, and students that dream and succeed each year.
It's a community that creates friends based off of interests and friendships that feel like family.
Although it's a great town some alumni leave, but others stay and start their own families in the place that they grew up. And without fail, each Wednesday before Thanksgiving former Shaker students gather together at the neighborhood watering hole to exchange old stories and make promises on meeting up in their new cities they call home.
Each year, this is pretty true -- until this year.
This year a different reunion happened just three days before the "typical one" - it was a service held in memory of one of our classmates who passed away just a week before Thanksgiving.
Since I was home for the holiday the weekend before, I also was able to attend the services where our friend Brian was laid to rest. Brian was a friend with EVERYONE -- you could tell by the smorgasbord of people that congregated at the synagogue on a crisp Sunday afternoon. Even as we were driving to the service we were trying to think of anyone that ever had a issue with him - he really was a friend to all and a happy reminder of what carefree and positivity can look like in a person. So we gathered to say goodbye on Sunday and likely to see each other again in a few days.
As anticipated this year's reunion Wednesday-pre-Thanksgiving story was different - hugs were longer, old friends declare to turn over a new leaf because for once in the town we all called home, we found our Shaker memories have an expiration date.
It was more than being happy to see people, although that might be, it made me appreciate this jumbled combination of memories and friends and connections we spent 18 years making. It made me understand how the loss of one can have this domino effect 600 miles away. But it also made me notice that the tears of sadness were also mourning the loss of innocence in Shaker.  When we would all sit around talking about things we did in high school (driving the oval, pajama parties, mocking teachers, counting how many times "Be the Best" came up in our years) that reminiscing gave us a feeling of presence. A memory is no more than a tickle of history in a present day that gives you hope that you'll make more memories tomorrow. I don't need to tell you why this Thanksgiving changed that idea, but what I will say is that this Thanksgiving gave me a new way to look at being grateful and it made me promise to make memories for today and not wait for tomorrow to remember.

Brother can you spare a dime for your thoughts?

Do you ever feel bad about something, like something you said that hurt someone or did something that's slightly embarrassing, but everyone just shrugs it off for the sake of your feelings? The whole "don't worry about it." or "I've done that before, happens all the time..." But, you know they are just embarrassed for you and don't want you to feel worse. So you replay this embarrassment over and over in your head and even sometimes when you aren't thinking about it, it'll sneak up on you and you start thinking about it again. This happens to me all the time.
I think I have this thing that can sense idleness in my thoughts and then one of those pitiful moments pops up, like "hey, remember me? Whatever you do don't do that again..."
So, why am I telling you this? Because I saw it happen to someone else today. For once it wasn't me!
I volunteered at a homeless banquet to help hand out food to the annual Thanksgiving feast that my church throws. Spending the extra hour from daylight savings on a run today, I showed up a little after the groups were divided and I was lumped into the team that serves the food. I was partnered with someone who would carry the tray as I handed out the plates. I haven't volunteered for something like this since girl scouts when we volunteered at an elderly home -- there a senile old lady showed me her boobs.
Anyway, our pastor asked that we be kind to these people that were coming in as they were mostly lonely and enjoyed talking to people. So, being friendly (hoping to avoid any indecent exposure) I was handing out meals to my section, a man calls me over reads my nametag and says, "Danielle, how are you?" I reply ask him how he's doing and then he asks me "what do you do?" I answer him and come up short of what to say next so I ramble off I need to deliver more plates and he can let me know if he needs anything else.
Later I hear him ask the same question to someone else "what do you do?" And the girl replies with her occupation and then asks him what he does for a living...Now, before I tell you his response, I'm thinking "why did she ask that, isn't that rude?"

Sure enough, he says "girl, if I made a living would I be here getting food from you?"
There it was - what I was afraid of - she gave an instinctual response for a conversation starter, but it backfired and now she had egg on her face.
So, if she's anything like me I know she'll replay this in her head and think, "Why did I say that?" Or she'll think, "why did he ask me that!??!"
Because I wondered the same thing, not only that, but it made me feel shameful, which is the LAST thing I wanted to get out of doing this. As a volunteer I didn't feel a need to divulge whom I was outside of that space, I was here to help that was my job for the day. My real job was a divider in the room, which I wanted to leave at the door so I could help these people get a meal today, a simple task we all need, but unfortunately not widely available. So when this man introduced work into the space and ultimately economic stature it made me feel awkwardly different than him. Maybe I'm naive to think this, but for a short while when I was handing out meals in that space we were all one community. I guess that was the point of this experience, huh?
But then as I was leaving I started to think again what if the goal of that question wasn't to make anyone feel any type of way, but to remind us that we have certain blessings that we check at the door when we enter into these spaces to help create an equalizer, but it's those same blessings that allow us to create hope for the people in the room. Just something to keep in mind, when you're in your next situation and asked "brother can you spare a dime."

A Story About Sandy

A natural disaster -- not something I thought I would experience. I mean, Ohio had its snowstorms, but Shaker Schools almost NEVER closed. I mean never. So let me try to summarize for you the four days of preparing, experiencing and recovering from Sandy.

Day One: I'll label this as Sunday. I woke up early to a gloomy overcast day to run a 5 miler in central park. Successfully guilt-tripping my boyfriend into joining the cold masses of spectators at 8:30am we headed to the park at 72nd street. I stood among thousands of people as they prepared for a countdown to marathon Sunday exactly one week from that day (myself excluded). A promise from the announcer bellowed through the crowds that they have never postponed the marathon and they won't do it this year even with Sandy on the way. An encouraged crowd takes off -- I finished in a little under 43 minutes and headed to bed and then further prepare for the Sandy takeover.

Day One (evening): The bf comes over with his stash of Sandy survival tools. We cook as much food as we can with hopes of power (and microwave use) but worse case we can heat things on a gas stove (a pseudo-luxury I never knew about in Ohio, gas stoves, who knew). We spent the evening watching scary movies and eating the candy I bought for the trick or treaters. My state of mind was anticipatory, desperately checking facebook and Twitter for Sandy updates; entertaining myself with tongue in cheek remarks from friends all over the city about being prepared with candy and two bottles of water. And reading endless articles about how not to prepare for a hurricane and some of my friends doing just those very things. 7:00pm rolls around and the subways and public transportation have been shut down citywide. People were evacuated in lower Manhattan.

Day Two: I wake up to check email to see if work is still on, offices are closed pretty much all over in preparation for the storm. So I cook more...contemplate getting a pizza around 5:00pm just as the storm is picking up (unconvinced by a poll of friends and an adamant boyfriend) we move on to a prepared dinner and more scary movies. I start to feel like I'm just waiting for the next meal - what to have? Will we have power? How much weight am I gaining by being this sedentary!?
Then the wind really starts...
Granted I probably shouldn't have watched all those scary movies, but this wind had me spooked! It literally made sounds I thought only a sound machine could -- leaves being ripped from trees, air whipping around corners in a race to the next block. Crazy!
Now the events of the following days I can only attest to being witness to via social media. Fortunately, Harlem was spared and I was able to keep abreast with the situation from afar.

Day Two (evening):
Flooding started in lower Manhattan, reports online people started to lose power.

Credit LiveWire

The front of a building down the street from where I worked completely came off.

Credit: DailyNews

A power plant exploded...

The epicenter of the east coast and a considerable amount of people were left without power.

Day Three: The jokes on facebook about ill-preparedness ceased, due to lack of cell phone power and stuff got real. People without roofs, cars floating in the street, no water, no power, walking miles to charge their phones... you get it. I can't imagine what those in lower Manhattan went through, I admit I was among the lucky part of upper Manhattan, but the beating the city took was something that at the very least made you feel the ripple effect. You were stuck wherever you were -- couldn't even help those in the lower parts, since public transportation was still out.

Day Four: Present Day. Bus service started, power below 34th street still out. Things beginning to take shape. Announced limited service on subway lines! Posts on FB look more like "let me know if you need a place to shower." And updates to friends and family inquiring about their well-being.

I know natural disasters happen all over the place, and this probably won't be our last with climate change, etc., but the thought that Sandy was still 400 miles away and did the damage it did to the city is unreal. Companies, heck industries are out for days. It's not like I'm worried we won't rebound, we will; besides this city is built on a solution-oriented spirit. Know how I can tell? The marathon is still on... As day one started, the announcer called it and months of training for over 47,000 people will be tested on Sunday without postponing or plan Bs to be introduced. You can bet the run through the city will be even more precious this weekend. They'll once again see a city rebounding and millions of people forfeiting the idea of giving up -- because it's New York -- and that's what we do, we find solutions, be creative and keep making things happen. Keep your heads up everyone; we're almost there!

You're So Cray

I've confessed to this readership before I'm a little anxious - a list making, worry wart, that analyzes a situation to death with the best of them. And I know I'm not alone, in fact I can name eight kinds of crazy that I've been exposed to on a daily basis. Here's what I don't understand - I succumb to the craziness of my friends because we're similar; the whole pot calling the kettle black thing, but what I don't understand is why guys put up with crazy girls!
I mean red flags galore! Guys just don't know when enough is enough...
When a girl shows up at your door to show her new tattoo of your name in Chinese letters... she's cray.
When a girl yells at you in front of her friends and then breaks down crying asking why you're so mean...that girl is cray.
When a girl gets mad when you want to get off the phone to watch a game, or show ... and then proceeds to call your phone nineteen times because she sees you tweeting so you must not be fully engrossed with the show...she's cray.
When a girl wants to know your income before she knows your last name ... must I say it? She's cray.
When a girl calls you drunk to tell you she's drunk and around guys for no reason at all but to make you mad...that's just cray!

I could go on and on -- there are numerous and infinite examples of the craziness of girls can bestow on boys and the list continues to grow - because guys put up with it.
Here's my idea, guys put up with the crazy because they like the idea of the taming of the shrew and playing the hero. First - the shrew. The taming or "domesticating" the crazy means you've conquered it. The man has successfully passed the bar and into normalcy a place only found on the border of sane and rational relationships.  Secondly, the hero; this one is obvious, men secretly (or not so secretly) believe women need to be saved, protected and cared for. The crazy that exudes is a sign of the level of how hurt she is from a relationship prior. So, by staying the course and discovering the interworking of what makes her crazy, he'll know the secret on how she can be saved.
Crazy right? Stupid? Or the making of love?
Who knows, but after looking at this do you feel so bad about being cray?
Nope.

Happy, Slash

I've been in an information-gathering mood of late. Talking to people about their experiences, learning about different ways to live and dream, and taking advice that inspire how I can achieve my goals. And then, I stumbled across an article the other day in AdAge - an interview with Nancy Hill, that spoke about my generation's talent pool and how we present ourselves and self identify with occupations. The article calls us the "slash" generation... meaning when you ask someone today what they do for a living, you get an answer similar to "well I am ___ slash I do ____ slash also ____" a long list of qualifications. No longer do titles and nondescript credentials satisfy this generation.

It's like, if our personal stories and qualifications exceed the standard answer then it leaves us with no choice but to over-divulge information. The article calls this a "collective experience" essentially we identify ourselves not only as one thing or occupation, but as multiple experiences that add up together to make one complete picture.  But is this schizophrenic passion to be great at different things revealing my generation's inability to commit? Or is it a result of a bumpy path triggered by a less than desirable job market?

I can only say that in my experience, I have only wanted to do and be one thing -- a great writer. Now, if someone asks me what I do today -- am I a slash participant? Initially, yes, because part of my job now might be writing, but it's also managing projects. Until one day, I met someone and I gave them the slash schpeal and they told me I should stop watering down who I am with other attributes that hardly describe my interests and dreams. So, that's a piece of advice I took.
I sometimes feel like our generation over-compensates for their current positions because they are not doing what they dream of and therefore add specialties and skill sets to a seemingly straightforward answer.
It's one of those things, if you are living your dream -- then what else is there to reveal? This is all a part of that trite saying when you start to do what you're passionate about it stops feeling like work.

So instead of people in my generation being happy, they are happy slash ...

So I'm going to leave you with words of wisdom from another friend of mine. He said to me, decide today what you want to be the greatest at and make a declaration, for example, "I will be the greatest female creative writer of my generation." Now, whenever you're thinking about a decision or what to do, think, "what would the greatest female creative writer of her generation do?" And then act. So, slash generation -- pick your greatness today and lose the slash anything that looks like a division sign has to be divvying up your passion.

13 Things You Should Know The 13.1

Last weekend I ran my first half marathon the Philly Rock n' Roll Half. I can't believe I waited this long to run a half. It's a great distance, something I encourage all of my dear readers to try or at least support someone who is.
So, I wanted to put together a running list of things that runners, wanna-try runners and interested parties can learn about running races in general and some things specific to this distance. One thing marathon running makes you forget is you could run half as far and feel just as great finishing. But, now that I've run a half, I realized some things about running races that are true across the board (and not just added torture to a marathon course).

Key Running Lessons From a 13.1:

1. You can always run two times as far as your furthest run. Trust your training. I'm a believer when it comes to races less than or equal to 13.1 miles, your training should carry you through the finish line. However if you have doubts because you've never run the full distance, just remember if you can run half of a half, you can push the rest of the way through (thank goodness for adrenaline and fans).
2. You will always end a race on an uphill. They say runners are the only people that think optimistically about hills because we know, what goes up must come down. Well now you can add this joy to your hill-loving, once you run uphill at then end, chances are the finish line is REALLY close. Why? You might ask, courses end on an uphill to force you to slow down slightly so your sprint finish doesn't result in injury.
3. You will always have fans cheering. The thing about a marathon is no one is going to wait around 4+ hours until you finish, finding you every 3 miles. But, in a half marathon there are fans throughout the course! This just means you have a constant pulse of motivation to push you along.
4. Bring your watch. The avid runner wouldn't even second-guess this, but what I didn't know is a corral system will sometimes result in a staggered start. This means each corral gets its own count down before the gun. Now, runners beware of stagger starts without a watch because it will leave you doing math the whole time to know what your time is. While it might keep your mind busy, it'll drive you nuts and you'll forget to focus on your plan for the race.
5. Don't stop to pee unless you really must. No matter what your planned time is, most half courses cut off at four hours, HOLD IT. You can make it. You'll thank me later when your time is 6 minutes faster.
6. Know what your body needs for hydration. I'm a strong believer in no artificial hydration (Gatorade, Gu, food etc) before mile 7. Studies show if you are properly hydrated your body doesn't need electrolyte restoration until after 1 hour of running. Every runner to each its own, but just know if your training didn't include you stopping for Gatorade at mile 3.2, you probably don't need it now (unless you weren't properly pre-hydrated).
7. Have a reward. Yes, you ran a half marathon you deserve something - anything you want. Even if it's disco fries, because you essentially burned 1300 calories, so go ahead, enjoy. But seriously, rewards help you see the end through tough spots in the race and can only make you go faster!
8. Don't look in the porta-potties. Self-explanatory. 
9. Don't do anything new on race day. This even means the amount of stretching you do, what you eat for breakfast, or tying your shoes a different way. DON'T DO IT.
10. Have a plan. For me, race plans are critical, you have to know when it's going to be okay to slow down and speed up, this is something you should practice in your training or be able to gauge from your tempo runs.
11. If you don't have a fan there, make a friend. At the end all you want to do is high-five someone, well if you didn't make a friend in the two or three hours you were running your runner's high will drop before it should. Besides, it's easy, you already have something in common :)
12. Have a go to mantra. Something that's sing-songy that you can repeat in your head to make it through "I hate my life" moments in the race. (This is where you can repeat to yourself "disco fries, disco fries")
13. Run for everyone who cannot.  You will become a part of a select group of individuals that finish a half marathon, but unfortunately there are people with the gumption, but not the ability to do what you are doing. So, run for them AND run for yourself.  If you let their hope guide you along, you'll never run out of inspiration.

AND FINALLY .1 There's just a little more once you hit the 13 mile marker (and yes they show you) before you're done, so don't slow down too soon!

Oh, What's Your Name Again?

No, this post is not about my pet peeve (people who reintroduce themselves 1,000,0000 times, no matter how many times you meet).
This post is about the select group of people in America that have difficult names and must assume an alias at Starbucks. You know, the Tarkinsh'a(s) and Eglantine(s) of the world, the kind of name spell check never recognizes. Well instead of enduring the mass embarrassment of irritable morning coffee drinkers while they spell their name - they simply pick a new one!

My favorite story is one of my friend, we'll call her Dominicah. Each morning she chooses to go by Darla when ordering her venti specialty coffee. Well, one morning she's waiting for her coffee in the busy hustle of morning workers and the barista calls her name "DARLA, VENTI WHITE MOCHA." Like normal she grabs her cup and assumes her regular identity as she walks towards work. Halfway down the block she hears someone screaming "Darla, Darla!" Confused and concerned she just hijacked a drink she turns around to notice a boy running towards her. The boy introduces himself, says he sees her every morning and asks for Darla's number (very rom-com of him) ... when she gives it to him, she returns to her walk and realizes that this boy doesn't know her real name!
So, Dominicah is patiently waiting for this boy to call and is wondering how do you gracefully tell someone you just met that you lied about your name? You could continue using the alias if he was a dud, but what happens if he's your future bf? After a poll of friends and several exchanged flirtatious texts with him it was deemed too late to come clean and she chooses not to reveal her real identity. Besides, for her it was kind of a thrill to be incognito and reinvent herself simply because her name is chronically hard to spell and comprehend (and she just turned 25...I empathize it was a major identity crisis year for yours truly). So, my friend went on two dates with this guy under her alias, but of course it didn't work out after she was forced to jokingly confess, when he casually mentioned she was impossible to find on Facebook.
Oh, the shame of a name and the challenge of personalized drink orders at Starbucks makes for a failed place to pick up anyone. Just goes to show, the only good examples of an alias are writers that create new names because they are trying to write in a different gender and hope to avoid stereotyping -- and superheroes.