Pow!Der Play

leisure, news, skiing

I did not go down a slide until I was three years old. Feeling out of control is a nightmare. Since bearing an itchy neon green arm cast for eight weeks after wiping out on an icy sidewalk in middle school, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with cold weather in its entirety. In accordance to my New Year’s resolution, I decided to try something new that scares me (which seems to be all the buzz on social media). What better way to combine the fear of sliding, feeling out of control, and ice then to ski!?

If you are anything like me, the few hours leading up to such an infamously dangerous activity, you look up fatality statistics, the recovery period for various bones to be broken, how many mph will I be hammering down this mountain, how to brace myself on the lift to avoid plummeting several feet into ice, and what to do in the event of frost bite. I do not advise this.

The worst-case scenario is rarely going to happen exactly as imagined. There is no point in guessing the play-by-play. All that can be done is to prepare to be the best you possible in order to surmount any obstacles or down hill plunging that you may face. Next time, I will prepare to be inspired by Lindsey Vonn.

Things like skiing, eating well, succeeding in school and training, or writing a blog post require confidence. While being an informed participant has its perks, there are some things that will only knock one off their rocker and are better just not to know. I know that when putting on skis and sliding down a mountain, there is a reasonably high chance that the first few times, I am going to fall on my bum. When I am trying to eat well, I should look into the kinds of foods that are good for my body, and a general idea of the foods that are not as good.

Preparing to fail becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. That first twenty minutes in my skis, I could hardly move, and I fell, a lot. It wasn’t until my instructor helped me unclench my white knuckles and take a deep breath that I decided to try unwind, have confidence in myself, and take the obstacles as they were presented to me.

Textrauma

Boys, chat, funny, help, humor, news, text, tips

Men are from Mars, and women are from Venus. Sometimes it seems that we speak completely separate languages. Below are a few of my favorite bad texts that I have actually received from the boys in my life, and ways that these texts could have been written to have been at least better received.

  1. “Don’t worry! I haven’t forgotten about ya!” Two weeks post-date and day after matching on Tinder. Can one think anything besides – playyerrrrr! when reading this?

How about, Sir Lady Slayer, “Sorry we haven’t been in touch, thinking about you, how about we get together for another date soon?” Because even if you are a lady killer, you can at least try to be a little charming about it.

  1. Sorry I missed your call earlier!” … Two days post-call. Late night on Christmas Eve. No other sentiments. If we weren’t arguing before, we are arguing now.

Alright, Mr. Grinch. Lets try, “Merry Christmas! Sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner. Will call ASAP. XO” A seemingly genuine XO thrown in there will always help to save the day.

  1. “Ok. Was with someone last night and unsure how to proceed given circumstances and recent experience with you.” From recent ex-boyfriend. I had to read this twice and pray it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Hey a$$hole! A simple “F@&K you, lady! I want you to eat sh*t and die” would have gotten the message across that you would like me to feel hurt without the deep emotional blow. What? You’d like dating advice? How about – try not to be such a pretentious d*ck. (There was no response to his text due to what felt like a de-habilitating brain hemorrhage post-reading… probably for the best).

To be continued… #TT

To Infinity And Beyond!

austin, Boys, graduation, help, new year, news, peace, strong, tough, travel

Starting over is tough. New normals are tough. Making decisions that are best for you is tough. Saying no to toxins that you voluntarily pursue are tough. Ultimate happiness requires you to be tough when it is much easier to quit or give in.

New years are infamous for resolutions and new beginnings. This new year has proven to be quite the doozey despite still being in the first month of the year. Having graduated in Austin, TX this past May, I made it my mission to spend until January to begin the career of my dreams (with no real specifics in mind.) Meanwhile, I worked as an administrative assistant at a local dermatology clinic, answering phones, fielding angry patient complaints and assisting in various odd end duties. Dream job?—not so much.

Back in May, this seemed like a reasonable goal. Then, the reality of friends graduating and moving their lives elsewhere or back home, taking on financial independence with the nearest family relative 1,575 miles away in Pennsyltucky, and clueless as to what I even want to do sunk in. I spent the next eight months spinning my wheels on websites like CareerBuilder and Indeed relentless searching for what my passion might become. I missed my best friends that all seemed on the fast track to success, my family, and devoted most of my free time to dating a too-old-wanna-be-rock-star-no-talent-balding-dumb-lying-sack-o-shitake-mushroom. I found myself, just before the new year, in a rut, panicked and desperate for clarity (or mere oxygen.) I had no real social life, no real sense of what I enjoyed and remained stuck in a job I hated, with a boyfriend, who, by the way, would make me sleep on his old-man-white-leather-uncomfortable couch with a food stained ripped bed cover when staying over, all the while, missing home was palpable. As an end-of-year inventory, my independent life of a mere eight months was registering as a massive fail.

After coming home for the holidays, I found myself in the taxi car ride back from the airport transfixed on the Austin skyline. I loved this place that I had called home for the last four and half years. I think of all the morning sunrises over these buildings I saw while rowing on the lake with my teammates, and the 3AM stumbles back to my apartment giggling with my girlfriends. An overwhelming visceral sense of belonging ran through my veins. I saw my reflection in the taxi cab window. This place was not good for me anymore. This boy was not good for me. Home is a place in my heart and my mind and I can have it anywhere. I was not finding it in Chapter Two of Austin, Texas. Then came a sweeping sensation of terror that quickly balanced out my idealistic romanticism. This frenzied tango sent me into a packing and personal item purging tailspin for the next three days.

Without skipping a beat I walked into my apartment and started throwing my clothes into bags, put all of my furniture on craigslist and called my landlord to tell them I would be out by Jan 1. I started to pack my car to make the 1,575 mile drive home. I needed a fresh start, I needed my family, I needed my childhood friends and my little old yellow lab, Percy. I had made an effort over the last eight months, and I learned that I just needed to stop equating being tough with being stupid. I needed to take a step back, return home in order to move forward again.

After a packing whirlwind, a ten-hour argument with my boyfriend (oh, wait, I am not permitted to call him that—too much pressure for him) that “didn’t want me anyways… but thought I should stay just in case his feelings change,” and a broken driver’s side mirror later, I was on the road headed home. My family couldn’t wait to have me back (they were not the biggest fan of the new life I had started to create for myself), my head was spinning, and my music blaring. Two days of driving and crying later, and I was home. Seventeen days later, and I am feeling good with what initially felt like an impulsive decision. I have my family back, I have my heart and brain re-centered and restored, and I am beginning to rediscover my ambitions and passions once again.

While I do not believe everyone should purge all of their belongings and move across the country when things are not going as planned, sometimes the toughest decisions are to give in to that nagging sense, that fight or flight intuition that for most, is pretty accurate. It has been tough to start over and return to who and what I am. These eight months of trying to impress my lousy boyfriend and unknown audience, and all the while slowly losing my sense of pride and authentic self, made clarity just beyond my reach.

It is a constant struggle with highs and lows. I need to remind myself to stay tough. No one else can do this for me. A year from now, I hope to look back and say, “I remember how hard that was and this makes this moment of joy, so much sweeter. But I am healed now. Never again.”