Priorities and Back Burners

It recently occurred to me that the last four years of my life resembled a swinging pendulum vacillating between a series of things that were priorities for a few months and then swinging on to others. There was never a time where I just rested right in the middle balancing life, work, and love.
I think it's important for the most part to realize -- chances are that's never going to happen. 
Hate to be Debbie Downer here, but some things take priority in your life and require your full focus for a few months and then something else that's been on the back burner catches flame and then you have to focus on that. Kind of runs parallel with the whole theory no one has it all at the same time.
It's hard for people to accept, myself included, but sometimes we can't do everything.

So I've devised a plan. I decided whenever I feel overwhelmed or feel like everything I'm trying to do is getting 80% of my energy; I'll focus on one and give it 100%.
I was telling a friend of mine the other day (when she as well was struggling with this idea that we can't have it all -- at the same time) and sometimes you have to put things on the back burner that you don't want to like your relationships. In her case it was her friendships - I told her listen, you have friends for a reason we're always going to be there and yes we need nurturing and attention as well so we can grow together and not apart, but maybe right now isn't the time you're meant to focus on that aspect in your life. I'm learning you have to appreciate the graces that life gives you - like the really good friends that will speak to you like they miss you, but also talk to you like the time missed didn't change a thing. Or if your job is going really well, let it be! Focus that energy elsewhere. Now I'm not saying don't be a rockstar at your job, I'm saying you can always sense when you can breathe for a minute and take a look at something in your life that isn't going that well.

Take for example, when I first moved to the city my priority was survival - no joke. I had just been scammed trying to sell my bed on craigslist (so I was in the red) and I was moving to a city to start my first job where I didn't know anyone, and was also attempting to foster a new relationship. So yes, it was one of those times where everything was up for grabs and I was praying nothing would fall through. At the top of everything I just wanted to survive, eat and have a place to call home - and that's what I did. I put everything into understanding my new job so I could excel and I tried hard to keep my cat from running around the tiny apartment chasing the bugs... There were things that fell. I ran a marathon that year and didn't train as hard - ran my worst time so far and almost got picked up by the slow truck.
And that was then. But what I have now out of that 'season: priority just make it to tomorrow,' is the ability to know what it's like to be comfortable. Comfortable is the feeling you get when you can relax in a moment, you can be yourself and not that scared, anxious person; and that my friend is the goal.
I know when I write things like this it makes it seem like it's so easy or that I have it figured out, but let's be honest 1.) I don't and 2.) This kind of acceptance will be hard and it also might not always work. Life isn't a rhythm it's more of an undefined span of time with highs, lows, moments of acceleration and pause. But at least if you appreciate and accept, that you have a lot of things that matter to you and that you are only one person; then this small token of advice might help you ride the wave, pick your moment, focus, get comfortable then move on to the next thing.
Don't hate on priorities and don't stress when you have too many that need attention all at once. You have priorities to make you choose what will make you feel balanced if you attend to it in that moment. And when you feel like you're coasting take a look at something you might have set on the back burner a long time ago, maybe it's time that became a priority.

The Strength to Endure: Boston

News is breaking about the suspects in the Boston Marathon bombing. I can't even imagine what that day was like for those runners. I've run four marathons and preparing for my fifth this summer. Let me tell you running 26.2 miles is tough, like really hard - not to mention at Boston when you have to keep a certain pace to finish within your qualifying time. I'm not saying that to brag (ps haven't run Boston), I'm giving you some perspective. These people are probably sprinting 26.2 miles. People say the stress of running a marathon is equivalent to the stress of giving birth. People talk about endurance - withstanding hardship - a marathon is that and you're tired. It's like you get to mile 20 and you think "I'm almost there," but your legs feel like cement and your body is in this constant motion begging yo
u to stop and keep going at the same time. After mile 22 if you pause at all your body doesn't want to start back up. You start to think irrational things like your arm might fall off or you'll fall over a crack in the road because you're not lifting your knees as high. Then you see the finish line - the end in sight...
And for some that moment was stolen. For more than 30,000 people running will never be the same. The relief of finishing an exhilarating race such as the Boston marathon is forever marred by a selfish act. You take a race that makes you feel invincible and tarnish it with destruction.
After Monday's news broke, I had friends and family members asking me if I was okay -- me -- I wasn't even there, I was thought to myself. Their sentiment was "well you're a runner..." and that was it. My family and friends revealed a small piece of evidence that has now permanently connected me to possibly millions of people in this world. And I did feel sad, devastated even for them, but I still can't imagine what that was like. As runners, we can only fathom the level of heartbreak something like this could create. It's kind of like when people say, "I feel you." I could literally feel the hurt of all those runners and people there to support them, but I can't know what that actually feels like.
As a runner I understand the physical exhaustion that probably set in as those runners neared the finish line and they were so tired they probably couldn't even cry; or more so I know there were some that cried hours later once there bodies finally slowed to a resting rhythm and their breath evened. I know that for some running will be a triumph shouldering the adversity of those that can't run anymore. Then there will be others who will fear running because on that day the spirit of endurance was stolen from them.
Running has always been the showcase of strength and character paired with determination and will power. This combination of features created by the heart propels you forward and ignores rules of impossibility and weakness. While, what running means might be similar for most, the reason to run will be different for everyone. But isn't it something to think that for one day, April 15th, everyone who runs will be running for the same reason? It's hard to see it now, but maybe this day in the future will create something that brings us closer together - as runners, a stereotypical steadfast community in practice who push forward through adversity and hurt and pain and we will make it out to run that day. If for nothing else to show you how good we are at enduring a challenge and to keep a promise that we will run again.

Turning to the Decision Makers

Courtesy of Glamour.com

I used to think my bf was being silly when he would say this, but girls really do give bad advice to their friends. It's like a weird version of peer pressure that can mess up your relationships, kill dreams, or make you miss opportunities. There's something about this age where we think we know just enough to advise our friends, yet we forget to encourage them, or we encourage them too much and don't let them make their own choices. Take for example one story I heard about a girl who kind of liked this guy. He made her laugh, they had fun together, there wasn't much to complain about, except one thing. The guy was a little more shall we say "alternative" than what she's use to dating (on paper) or what she imagined she'd date. So basically, he didn't check off the boxes of these arbitrary qualifications of pedigree. But in her mind because he was so off paper, dating this guy would've been a risk. On one hand it could turn out great, on another she could permanently decide to never date guys that fall in that alternative category and go back to her list. When she asked her friends about giving this guy a chance, they shot him down. They presented her with a myriad of differences, painting the uphill battle as something that would definitely happen versus a possibility.
So the girl never dates him. And of course, he turns out to actually be exactly the kind of guy she'd want to date - even possibly marry. But, she'll never know... stupid peer pressure.
Now in retrospect, is taking a risk and seeing it fail in a minor category like dating such a bad idea? I'm going with no, unless this guy was a criminal, dangerous, had bad hygiene -- why not take a chance?
 I have a theory that when girls turn to their friends for advice on these risky (but not that big of a risk) type of life's questions, they look for validation for the small voice in her head saying "don't do it." The girl is looking for her friends to say "listen, it's not worth it, go with what you know." Once the co-sign is there she never takes the risk. And chances are the girls will console her and spare the heart, but spoil the girl. I don't think this has anything to do with being a bad friend. It's a weird way girls process situations and field questions to their friends for support in the fall out or praise in the success. But when you never take that chance ... you just keep a peanut gallery of friends feeding you negative Nancy lines.
Taking a chance on whatever it might be allows you to grow; it allows you to find out what's right for you and what's not. And sometimes you are the only person that can really make that decision. I'm also learning my Dad is a good sounding board because he's known me ... oh my whole life. So when there's something on the line, and you worry that you might fail the only way to definitively know what will happen next is to try. And I know it's easier said than done, but even if you fail there's always something that can be learned from it.
Let's face it none of us are fortunetellers, but maybe encouraging people to follow their hearts is the best answer -- versus picking one way over another.

Naturally creative?

Ugh, I can't even believe I've neglected my blog for three + weeks. Well people, I'm back full force. Promise. This week's topic: Hair.
I rarely can pass a black girl on the street without asking her if her hair is natural, what her regime entails and if she has any idea how I can get hair down my back (without weave). I'm recently so obsessed with my hair because I'm noticing it's not 'retaining length' (that could be a whole other blog). Also I had a stunning revelation at a networking event the other week.
Picture it (yes I've been watching too much golden girls): two weeks ago yours truly was at an ad agency meeting new people. I was introduced to someone else in the creative department who was stunned that I was a copywriter because ... wait for it... I had straight hair and it was relaxed. Apparently the curl in one's tendrils also harbors creative juices. This person mentioned and I quote "well you know, most people that are black copywriters or art directors are natural and show off their curly hair."
Could it be that as diverse talent we've also become typecast into a natural curly hair-loving silhouette? Does my straight hair say straight-laced? Not crazy enough for creativity?
I find it interesting that before anyone even asks me about my experience I'm handed over for a litmus test to determine when I had my last relaxer.

Guess my faux-beach hair doesn't count either... huh?

Here's my theory -- creative people are judged by their ability to exude organized chaos. This goes hand in hand with the idea that creative people are also bad organizers (guess I'm 0-2). And not just black women -- you're supposed to dress down, sacrifice personal composition to fit in and appear as if you're living for the work - style optional. Odd, isn't? But back to black women and the need to declare natural on their resume, do you know why this amazes me so much? Because, natural hair is the second most calculated appearance altering tactic next to makeup. For those of you who do not know the definition of natural hair is un-relaxed (non-chemically processed) hair. It's the original state of your hair, the one you were born with unscathed and ideally undamaged. Now, to get to this original state of your hair there's a journey you must take, which brings me to the conclusion that this natural look is actually completely contrived. I mean it takes me an hour to watch hair tutorials on YouTube and people speed those up! 
The process takes time and the styles are adorable (on most) and because it's so "different" automatically gives you a check on the creative checklist. So, I'm being typecast for having straight hair (SMH). So I'm thinking about having an anti-journey and maybe starting a group for people like me ... if there are any more out there?

Personally, half baked

Ha! Bet you were hoping there's a chocolate chip cookie recipe here. Well ...

I know I tend to write about "figuring it out" and giving sometimes half-baked advice, but that's what's going on right now in my life. I'm 26 for goodness sakes; I'm allowed to be fickle. I think of it this way, life at 26 is like eating partially baked cookies, enjoying the gooey-ness, but worried about the salmonella.
It's like a constant worry that you should've done something differently, but can't worry about it until something bad actually happens.

Lately, on several unrelated accounts, I've been getting a lot of questions about identity - things like who are you? Summarize your life experience. So I thought, if some people are asking me to help figure out who they are and I'm doing the same, why not post about it!
I've read personal statements and profiles and as a writer I'm slightly embarrassed to say it's so hard to write mine!
How do you eloquently and succinctly say:  Listen, I want to make people laugh when I write, but I'm not super funny - witty sometimes, silly even, I like to think I'm the right amount of funny that can be taken seriously, later. I want to be the relief in a tense room, not the source of anxiety. I want to make people understand through my writing, like really get it, you know lump in your throat like your swallowing back pride understand. I want to make people appreciate my ideas and say things like "I wish I thought of that" or "whoever came up with that idea was creative!" But then I get nervous when I have to write something interesting/meaningful/etc. in a birthday card, ugh. I'm the type of person that picks a slow song for their love song then realizes it's about breaking up (circa 2005). I'm also scared of failure, and I hate disappointing people. I like traditions and I'm awful at picking a restaurant.
Some people are just good at those things. Some people are just built that way. So the way I was built, the way you were built when do you get to know what that means?
You know, I spend my day thinking, reading, learning and creating brands and I get home and have no idea what historical elements have shaped and established me! Perpetually figuring it out. Oh, how ironically not funny life can be.
I guess I can appreciate that I learned the things I am not. I am not a math person, I will absolutely give you an incorrect answer if you ask me to do math in my head. I'm not someone who will have a natural hair journey because I'm determined to rally together my relaxed strains into an interesting coiffe (the fight rages on).
So I know a few things about who I am and even more about who I am not, but am I done, fully cooked? Crisp and ready to be paired with a glass of milk? Doubtful. See, it's not about figuring it out right now, it's about believing there's more out there for you, and being (borderline) selfishly-determined. It's like at 26 you know you can bake these cookies all the way and they will be good, or you might burn them -- who knows. But maybe it's best to enjoy them in their gooey-semi-raw stage. A transition that can feel close to the real thing, but definitely not finished. Perhaps, there's something awesomely delicious about half-baked.
Maybe, that's just what we need (minus the salmonella of course)!

Apt 45 Part 2: The reality of Washington Heights

As the much needed fail of the MTV Washington Heights reality show moves into its next week of pointless drama, I give you part 2 of Apt 45.

One thing about this year is that the resolution gym rush occurred in February. All the people who promised to be gym rats starting January 1 are delivering on that promise in February; delayed start, but can't hate the intention. In the spirit of embodying the New Year Spirit in February, I'd like to tell you about the best of the worst New Year's Eve/Day stories ever experienced by this here writer -- in apt 45.
Remember 2009? It was a big one for me. It was the year I finished college, moved to New York and moved in with a crazy person. For almost four months I had to play a challenging game of let the hood rat run around until she evicts herself. The game goes something like this: hood rat does something crazy, Ohio girl attempts to let it go and documents the occurrence -- and repeat. My goal was to gather enough altercations (unprovoked) to convince the remaining tenants that life would really be much better without her. Well, this proved to be so much easier once I discovered the rat was a squatting one -- she wasn't paying rent. Determined with the lack of work ethic to not settle for a job and therefore not have any money for rent, my roommate squatted, but like a sitting duck she had to be nice to me and she had to be smart about her actions; the latter was something I certainly had an upper hand on. So as a self-declared master of passive aggressive activity, I began to sting small arguments with the venom of, "well I'm paying rent so ..." The veracity of my statement and the amazing teeter of the power structure let me sleep better at night (even with the ridiculous radio playing).
Now that you have a sense of the tension that broached the apartment, picture: December 31, 2009 a joyous night that celebrates the past and designates positivity for the future. My sane roommate and my bf are getting ready for a night out together. The crazy one comes by to let us know that she's having a party tonight and that it should be over by like 2. Annoyed of the idea that the apartment might be infected with her hood rat friends, we reside to agreeing that being back by 3am will give people plenty of time to leave and we'll be back without having to experience it ...

Boy were we wrong.

Enter 3:15am New Year's Day 2010.
As I walk out the elevator towards our apartment I hear music blaring, but an empty apartment! I'm thinking great we missed them, now off to bed. As I was quickly corrected, her party wasn't starting until 3:30. The level of anger cannot be explained in this post, but just think about narrowing escaping a really bad situation only to find out that you were still in the wrong place at the wrong time, in fact it was your living quarters. Seething, I return to bed hoping for the party to be over as soon as humanely possible.
7:30am ... Party is still going, music, drunk people, running up and down the hallway, knocking on doors while we pretend to sleep, and the kicker: my roommate was nowhere to be found...  I hadn't slept, the cat was hungry and I was beyond done. I go outside to feed him and am accosted by someone I could only describe as a misdirected Tim Burton character.

That I believe is what they call the straw that broke the camel's back, I succumbed to calling the police on my own apartment.

I mean, who has to disguise their voice as a scared neighbor to get the police to come to their apartment and break up the party ...? This lady. In apt 45.


Don't worry it can't get worse than this, right?
Stay tuned for more ...

Apt 45: The reality of Washington Heights

When I heard there was a reality show about Washington Heights, I began to search my papers to make sure I hadn't agreed to be filmed and was secretly recorded the two years I lived there -- because that would explain the level of drama I was forced to live with. I mean really, this living situation was devoid of producers and unpaid talent - MTV's dream production I would think.
So, when we examine the former against the rules of a reality show, this post will serve as a convincing proposal to either my house was bugged and an audition tape for the Washington Heights reality show, or I was lucky craigslist responder number 439 to reply to a cheap room in Manhattan's upper living quarters. Either way, I'm going to publish a series here -- a literary rival of reality show vs. real life. Now, the essential principle to create a successful reality show rests in the ability to create a situation that is bound to bring out the worst in others: Apt 45 on Saint Nicholas is a contender. And now, what will be the first episode:

Part 1: Real Life Hot Mess
It started out with a reply to an ideal craigslist post (if there is one):

Friendly girls looking for young professional female roommate -- own room, cheap rent, clean roommates!

It was summer in the city, I spent the last three months living off raviolis and take home meals in an apartment that was robbing me blind, sucks being naive and from Ohio. So, I'm at the end of my rope living in a summer sublet, I reply to this post and tell the girl I can come by with a check if all is as it turns out to be. As I walk in to visit this shotgun apartment one early summer morning ready and happy to meet my roommates, one is sleeping and one answers the door half naked, exclaiming how comfortable everyone is with each other! I peek into the kitchen to confirm the "clean" part of the posting ... it's borderline rotting with dirty dishes and scum (no really, actual scum). My host and tour guide tells me "and this is the kitchen, oh we were cooking last night no worries it's normally really clean."
The room is small, but what room isn't in NYC. It had a closet and would be my own. I continue to rationalize each red flag thinking: well even if no one seems to be going to work except for me surely they are doing something to pay rent here; and the kitchen can't always be like that I mean no one would want to live like that. In desperation and with hope for change I tell her I'll take it and will move in next week...
When I showed up tired from moving all day and a little nervous about what this next chapter would bring, I finally sit down after I finish unpacking at about 1 in the morning on a Thursday night. As I'm getting ready for bed my roommate comes home (the one that was sleeping when I initially stopped by)...
Without pleasantries she looks at me and says abhorrently, "ummm, you have a cat..??" You would have thought my cat marked his territory across her door, when instead he sat there per usual like a bump on a log. Hatred towards my cat was a strike... her attitude was a strike, her faint scent of hot mess was a strike ... within moments my dreams are crushed of a blossoming friendship with my roommate and instead it's replaced by a nightmare punctured with misplaced piercings a noticeable weave and a muffin top.
And so the drama began ...
We exchanged angry words as I declared she must turn down her music as some people needed to get up and work in the morning. I mean when my walls are shaking ... really ... really ... ?
She wanted me to keep my cat in my room, when I threw back at her that I was paying rent and he was part of the package she stood down ever so slightly (little did I know how poignant my sticking point was).
The mediating roommate and resident owner of the apartment finally comes home and attempts to make a deal between the two of us. I'll just say it was a short-lived truce.
Like any typical reality show, we've established the conflict at the beginning: a clash of two worlds with an infinite possibility of aggression, arguments and situations that could be scripted but in reality, are not. A girl from Ohio learning her way in the city sharing a space with a girl who's future will consist of living off the money she made agreeing to marry an illegal immigrant.

Stay tuned for more posts as you get to relive with me the best of the worst of my two years in Washington Heights.

Attainable Ideals

Alright, so maybe I've said it before -- but really, what's with all the TV shows that are horribly realistic? I mean I can't be the only one that looks to Hollywood and says, "thank goodness they get paid to be perfect, otherwise where would all my pinspiration (and the traditional kind) come from?" Listen, I like my tv idols just as well as the next girl: skinny, a dose of scripted wit and the ability to never over or under dress. Last night as I succumbed to the group decision to watch Girls, admittedly, there were some parts where I chuckled, but overwhelmingly the awkward dialogue and unfortunate style choices were distracting! If entertainment is suppose to suggest a vicarious life, or an escape route with aspiration, then what's with this new genre? On one hand I get it -- people are looking for a novel in a television show and shows like Girls offer multidimensional characters that people can relate to and give a voice to the "common girl," oh and we also don't have to read and comprehend, just watch and listen. On the other hand, you don't need a television show to remind you how nondescript and vulnerable you actually are, at least I don't. I'd much prefer to watch a show that keeps me thinking and dreaming versus "oh man someone out there really gets me, unfortunately she's making all the dough, and the only thing more I have is a girl that can't be described as pretty acting out scenes that could easily be from my weekend." I mean really.
Another thing, I must say to male readers that adore this show: just because there are moments you might have recently experienced with a girl when she offers tangential line of reasoning and you see it again in this show this does not mean the show is a window into the girl psyche, therefore you should not assume she would also agree to get a horrible tattoo or wear a bra in public, or any other egregious attribute that might be assigned should you hold this show as bible when it comes to girls. In fact, all this show really summed up is that life and girls don't make sense - and you can't make even make a show that's going to appeal to all of us. Because we're so complicated and yet oversimplified in our ideals that nothing and everything satisfies us. Makes so much sense, right?

Resolutions That Matter

Happy New Year!! Right in time for 2013 and the shameless appeals to do better next year, I finished the book "Cold Tangerines" by Shauna Niequist. The book is a series of short stories celebrating the everyday-ness of things. So for example, appreciating the way your hand warms up when you grip a hot cup of coffee, or celebrating the rock in your life - the person who always is there to hold you up even if they are the one to make your knees weak. It's one of those books that will make you think with each word, each sentence and each chapter. I'm telling you about this book because it inspired my New Year's resolution. It made me realize that I've been having a hard time the last year being comfortable, you know feeling content and enjoying the every day. Worrying about if I have enough friends, if enough people like my writing, what will my life look like in five years, do I need a bigger couch, etc. I do things like this and I also do things like qualifying the best and worst of things without appreciating the just plain ol' good. And when I initially thought about my resolutions I was thinking I should resolve be less nervous, or be more spontaneous. But, quite frankly, when I was being honest with myself, these are traits of my personality, not a lifestyle change.
I wanted to do something that would help me feel better about the coming year, and then I finished this book and thought "ah ha!" what better way to start the year than by resolving to start appreciating what I have. So, that's what I'm doing today and hopefully the rest of the year and onward- planning and executing a way to appreciate the good.
I know it's going to be challenging -- it's going to take some work to start seeing and celebrating the hidden gems in mundane activity or completely terrible situations. And the catch of the book and this resolution - is that you can't do it retrospectively, you have to let yourself be open to the goodness of something when no one else can see it, in that moment. That's what it's about. Now, how does one do this you might ask?
Well for starters when I stop thinking about something better, something worse, something that's not right now... I can start living and stop waiting for things and hopefully, they will just happen.

So, readers wish me luck. Hope you don't think this is a cop-out, I'll be working just as hard as those trying to swear off cookies (which would be equally challenging for me). I wish you all the best in 2013, and no matter what your resolution is I hope it makes your ever day a little better than it was last year - because that's all that matters, right?

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.