I Left My Heart In New England.

Hi. Remember me? No, that’s okay. I’m not offended. I barely remember me, also.  It’s like I stepped into a UHAUL, which was actually a portal to another dimension called New York City. This other dimension was a strange mix of excitement, heartbreak, stress, and opportunity. It was also home to strange, pungent, terminals called subways, where large foreign creatures scurried between its tracks. These creatures, which could only be described as something between a hamster and a cat, secretly ruled the city and plotted to take over this other dimension when it’s native beings were not paying attention

They were called Rats. HUGE rats that I still can’t deal with. Every time I see one  scampering  between the subway tracks, it’s an internal struggle of amusement, intrigue, and complete disgust. I think most of my amusement and intrigue comes from deep down hoping they are running off to fight a bunch of  talking turtles.

This weekend, I decided to get out of the city for a few days, with hopes of defragging my mind, catching up with my friends, and OH YEAH, celebrating my 25th birthday. Go ahead, crack your over the hill jokes. Come at me bro. I’m in my prime! I had a lot of time to reflect this weekend about all of the cool opportunities life has given me, and all of the challenges I’ve faced.

Somehow, in the midst of my mid twenty adventures, my blog also turned 1 year old. That sounds lame, doesn’t it? I cannot believe I have been blogging on Findingravity (I admit, some weeks more actively than others) for a year. Wasn’t I just sitting in a coffee shop last week trying to get my life together? Why yes, yes I was, but it was a different coffee shop, and I’ve sort of accepted the fact that even with the successful career that I was so desperately searching for a year ago, nobody my age REALLY has their life together.

This weekend, I also had a lot of time to reflect on how long it’s been since I’ve blogged,  and how much I miss writing. I always promised myself never to be that person who let work consume her, but when your hairdresser tells you that you have no life, you have no other choice but to step back and reevaluate.

That, AND, I’ve missed all of you so very much.

I’d love nothing more than spend the next few weeks really cracking down on my blog and getting it back into Tough Mudder shape.  So I’m going to kick this off by showing you a little slice of my New England reunion, and how I spent my 25th birthday.

(Side note: I have a few girlfriends that I caught up with this weekend who explained Tough Mudder to me. I now think they are clinically insane. Have any of you done it? It sounds terrifying!)

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Also, I cut my hair. Enter….BANGS! Ch-ch-changes.

Photo on 2-26-13 at 12.45 PM #2
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Something To Celebrate

I’ve always been the bomb at giving presents to my family.

Let’s see…

There was the year, around age twelve, that my dad gave me twenty five dollars to go Christmas shopping with, and I bought EVERYBODY candles. Mom? Overbearing pink rose scented candle. Dad? Layered blue “sea breeze” candle. Aunt? White candle that smells nothing like clean cotton, but is labeled as so.

You may know by now that I’m PRETTY health conscious. I was too busy eating pop rocks and rapidly consuming Dunkaroos when I was a kid, (oh my GOSH remember Dunkaroos?), to worry about sugar content.These weren’t even cotton wicked soy candles. They were most likely lead wicked, artificially dyed, poisonous pots of wax that I bought for $1.99 in the clearance section of Kmart.

Hey Family, YOUUUU AREEEE WELCOMEEEE.



There was the year that I was six and the concept of money did not yet exist to me, so I cut out pictures of animals from magazines, glued them on colored construction paper, and wrapped each one individually.

There was the year I gave my father five DVDs (that he asked for) and once he opened the first one, it was pretty apparent what the other five gifts shaped identically were going to be…(Since it wasn’t already apparent that he asked for five DVDs to begin with? What can I say? I deliver).

There was the year that I gave my high school boyfriend a very expensive box set of his favorite series, “That 70′s Show” and he gave me fuzzy socks…

But this is about my gift giving skills, not his. (Ahemm…Thanks for the socks?)

I have fine tuned my gift giving skills over the years, and obviously once I moved past the age of 14 and started working and making my own money, I was able to afford normal gifts. Um, I still give my dad DVDs every year. The man loves movies. This year it was Invictus and the last Bourne movie. I don’t even remember the name of the last one. Identity? Supremacy? Ultimatum? Democracy? Parliamentary?

There SHOULD be a movie called The Bourne Anarchy. I CALLED IT. Copyright. ©Findingravity. It’s official.

This year I decided to do something special for my mom because I wanted her to feel, well…special! I wanted her to not only know how loved, appreciated, and wonderful she is, but I wanted her to hear it from the masses. I won’t disclose the age my mom turned, but let’s just say it was definitely a milestone. For her ____th birthday, I contacted everybody that I could think of, who played a significant role in my mother’s life, and asked them to write a personal letter to her about their time and experiences knowing her. For months, I started conversations with my mother and waited patiently, hopeful that she would disclose information that would make it easier to contact these people. In some cases, a name was all that I needed to track these people down, but in other cases, it became more difficult to get in contact with people, some of which I have never met. My mom’s husband was a great help to me. He put me in contact with people whose email addresses I did not have or could not track down.

For the last two months, emails have strolled through my inbox, or have appeared in my mail box. It was exciting to see that even the busiest of people, who may have lost touch with my mom over the years, were willing to take ten minutes out of their busy lives to sit down and write to my mother for her birthday. My mom is such a lovely soul, and has given so much to so many. The letters were written by people of all ages, and varied in when they were significant in my mother’s life.

My mother was in a tragic car accident when she was pregnant with my brother, and in the years she has retold the story to me, she has always recollected one firefighter who she credits with saving her life. The man held her hand through the entire experience. After finding out the firefighter’s name and discovering that he was at one point the chief, I buckled down with some heavy duty Google action and found out he had retired. I sent an email to my town’s fire department  and asked that they forward it along.

For weeks I heard nothing, and had given up hope of contacting this one unique individual. For all I knew, he was busy with family, relaxing in retirement, or simply did not want to discuss the accident. The last thing I wanted to do was inconvenience anybody, so I did not send a follow up email.

Weeks later, I saw his name appear in my inbox, and found out that the fire department had forwarded along the email. He was going to write the letter.

My eyes filled with tears. I did not even know this man, and I was not even alive when the accident that was responsible for my brother passing away twelve years later, occurred. Still, I felt very connected to this person.

Last night, I spent about an hour stuffing the beautifully written letters into envelopes that aunts, cousins, and friends had written. Blake and I drove over to my mom and her husband’s house at 7:30. My letter, explaining the project, was the first letter she read. Watching her face go from confused, to ecstatic, to completely emotional was better than any store bought gift I could have purchased.

Here are a few of the letters that were sent to me, all packaged and ready for reading!

She read each personal letter out loud, and we sat patiently in awe as she remembered all of the memories that came with each letter. I felt extremely lucky to have the opportunity to not only be able to do this for her, but to also sit and hear all of the kind words that others had to say about my mom. Her reaction to the firefighter’s letter is one I will never forget. Some of the letters were pages long, recounting very specific events. Some of the letters were only a paragraph, but each one extremely special in its own way.

*Thank you to anybody reading who participated in making my mom’s birthday so memorable. I am so glad that she means as much to all of you, as she does to me. I was truly honored to be able to find a way to unite all of the people that love my mom into one gift I know she will cherish for the rest of her life.

“And I’m Feeling Good…”

Today was a feel good day.

Yesterday was a, “work from home and accomplish more in one day than I have in the entire year,” day. I woke up at 8:00 for a 9:00am conference call, and spent the following seven hours at my computer. I have some seriously amazing projects, publications, and posts on queue for April, which makes the space I’ve been floating in lately more bearable.

Today, you can check out my guest post over at Bloomize. I wrote about five things that I travel with as part of the “What Travels With You” series.

On Friday one of my pieces over at AimingLow will be published titled, “No Really, Braces Make You Cooler.” I’m super excited for this publication. Remember having braces? Oh my. I’m going to have to dig up and scan a few pictures this week of what I looked like with braces. Be on the lookout Friday for said pictures and the article. You can do that thing where you point and laugh, while staying silent about the fact that your mother also has a zillion embarrassing photos of you looking like a beaver trapped in a telephone wire. It’s okay, we’re still cool. You and I both know that picket fence smile didn’t come from Santa.

If you were born with a perfect smile, I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOU! Blake is one of those people. You can sit with him and chat about having great genetics, while I sift through photos of prepubescent limbo.

So yesterday was a day of progress and productivity, but I needed a day to just feel good…I needed to feel good about myself, my relationship, my friends, and all of the intricacies that make up my life.

Sometimes we become so tuned into our work, our social medias, and our deadlines, that we forget that the real world exists. Even when I realize that I’ve been staring at my computer screen for so long that my eyes are starting to burn, and one pupil is morphing into the shape of the Twitter symbol, while the other is morphing into the little envelope symbol on my Gmail account, it’s hard to put things down.

After a day of madness filled with cranking out articles and meeting deadlines, I needed a feel good day. I needed a day with no technology, where I could acknowledge all of my backlogged thoughts as they came along, and send them on their way after I’d resolved them.

Today, little G turned three. If you’re new here, Little G is one of the two children that I’ve been nannying for the last year. The wonderful people I nanny for have become close friends and extended family. It was a day of good company, good coffee, celebration, birthday cake, mimosas, wrapping paper, and fun pictures. I woke up and didn’t turn on my computer. I didn’t answer any emails or write anything. Once Blake and I arrived at the party, I left my phone in my purse, and left my purse on wooden chest in the corner of a room. For the entire day, from the moment I woke up until we left the party, I just wanted to focus on celebrating the day Little G was born, without technological static.



I hope everyone has been able to find feel good moments this weekend, and if you’ve been crazy busy, there is always Sunday! If you simply can’t afford an entire day of feeling good, at least allow yourself the simplicity of a few positive moments.

Soak them in, uninterrupted.

[Photos shot with a NikonD3000]
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Introducing Instagram Sunday! Wait, what? It’s Tuesday? Daaaang.

DISCLAIMER: I’m pretty low key when it comes to announcing my birthday, however, it’s relevant to the post. I’ve actually had this post saved in my drafts since LAST Monday, and have been adding photos all week. I confess, it was ready to post on Sunday. Due to post birthday exhaustion, my Special Olympics photography project, and a lingering weekend cold, my efforts toward my new “Instagram Sunday” were delayed. Blake reminded me last night that I hadn’t posted about it yet, but curling up with a cup of tea and “The Voice” was more appealing at the time.

Plus, Adam Levine totally reads my blog, so I am forgiven.
(OKAY, he doesn’t, but he should).

I had so much fun filtering through my memory cards the other day, while putting together my Ireland Photography pieces. Choosing which photos to display was comparable to going into Barnes and Noble’s, and trying to choose a book in 10 minutes. This analogy doesn’t work if you know that you’re going into Barnes and Noble’s to buy The Hunger Games, easy decision. Boom. Most of the time when I go into B&N, it’s completely spontaneous, and I’m in there for hours. I could actually spend forty-five minutes just looking at the journals. THE JOURNALS! There is nothing in them, they are completely blank. I get it. So I have a weird obsession with journals. I write a lot, can you tell?

Choosing pictures was hard. I love my NikonD3000 like I love a small child. Again, I’m sure this analogy will change once I’ve had children, and quick shutter response is no longer the focal point of my affection.

My analogies are a little off today.

Lately, I find myself introspecting. Every day I make a solid attempt to examine my thoughts, feelings, and decisions, in hopes of connecting further with where I am in my life. I started thinking last night, while reading some of the comments on my travel photography post, that it would be cool to start documenting everyday life.

Wait, isn’t that sort of what you’re already doing on this blog?
Yes, reader, that is sort of what I’m doing on this blog, BUT, I’d like to incorporate photography, as it’s a HUGE part of my life. I didn’t sneak into photography classes for nothing when I was in high school, I knew it would later serve a purpose. Either that or I’m a badass.

As humans, I believe we become so accustomed to accepting that day to day life is mundane. When I stop and take the time to examine the details, the mundane becomes pretty spectacular. As much as I would like to have my Nikon permanently attached to my wrist in place of my hand, like some kind of autofocus transformer, I’m also aware that humans are not born with mechanical parts. When this is possible, I hope to join Optimus Prime and the rest of the Autobot Transformers, in hopes of saving the world from a robot alien invasion.

Until then, I have Instagram on my iPhone. I thought it would be a great way to wrap the week up, and it would also give me an excuse to pay closer attention to details throughout the week, when my NikonD3000 is at rest in its case. Today, I introduce to you, Instagram Sundays! (They will be on SUNDAYS from now on, apologies!)

My mornings usually start out with a cup of coffee, an organic mango, and laundry.
This all takes place around 7:30 am, when I’m getting ready for work.
PS, how ADORABLE is the coaster under my coffee? 2 year old art, no big deal.

Being a full time nanny can be hard work, BUT, it has its perks.
Arts and crafts with Quinn (age 6)
Silly couch picture time with Greta (age 2)

Blake AND my family both made me delicious birthday breakfasts.
Blake tapped into my health conscious side, with organic mango, strawberries, and oranges
My family tapped into my sweet tooth with a waffle breakfast with all the fixings

top left: Blake and I together on my birthday. *NOTE* We did not wear matching shirts on purpose. Nerd Alert!
top right: Birthday sushi dinner with in ice cream dessert.
bottom left: The DARLING bracelet my good friend Cali gave me.
bottom right: Surprise birthday dinner with some of my closest (and sneakiest) friends.

The week ended with getting locked out of our apartment.
Yes, those are Blake’s legs you see dangling out of our window.

Hope you enjoyed my instagram recap.
Stay tuned again next Sunday!

Learning To Share

On November fifth, Blake and I threw a housewarming party to celebrate our new apartment in New Hampshire. We spent the morning in the kitchen, Blake worked on a potato bake, while I whipped together homemade apple crisp. Red, orange, and yellow New England foliage cast autumnal flames across the ground. The bare tress only served as a reminder that winter was right around the corner. Guests started arriving around 7pm. Soon our apartment was filled with music, food, and alcohol. While my friends, their significant others, family, and Blake all indulged in dinner, dessert, and drinks, I stepped outside onto the small side porch for some air. Even with an apartment full of people, I felt familiarly alone. It was the same alone I felt every year. I was celebrating another birthday: “The big two-six.”

A lot of things are supposed to happen when you’re twenty six. People get married when they are twenty six. People start families, have successful jobs, mortgages, and car payments. There is a protocol for your twenties, and I was coming up short, because here’s the catch: I’m twenty three. I was celebrating this protocol that I had not yet experienced, for somebody, who will also never experience it. Mom met me on the porch with a balloon, flung her arm around me, and pulled me close. She gripped the blue ribbon of a balloon and held it in front of me, not yet letting it go. Without saying a word, I placed my hand on top of hers. We counted down together, and let the balloon go. Cheers to twenty-six.
(I know, I know, it’s not good for the planet.)

* * *


I’ll never forget sitting on my brother’s bed the week after he died, packing his life into boxes. It’s so strange how someone’s life can be reduced to a few boxes and duct tape. I remember being so small, and wondering if my life could also fit into cardboard boxes labelled with words like, “stuffed animals”, and “shirts”. What about “future”, and “possibilities”, do those things go in boxes also? I couldn’t let these things become packed away in some storage bin in our basement. I ripped through the sealed boxes, unpacking them and touching each thing one last time.

Something happened when Josh died. Without addressing my own jagged edges, I tried to pick up everyone’s broken pieces. I tried to stuff them into the parts of myself that disappeared, just to feel whole again. I spent my entire life trying to be both of us, the daughter, and the lost son. I hoped every day that if I could somehow make up for the loss, my parents would feel better, I’d feel better. I played every sport I thought he would have wanted to play. I wanted him to have a life, or at least, to live the life he missed out on.

It took a really long time for me to accept my brother’s death. Actually, that sentence was excruciating to type, even now. Every time someone asked me if I was an only child, I lied. I said yes. I tried to accept it, with clenched fists, every time they responded with, “you’re SO lucky, you never had to share anything.” How can anyone just accept losing somebody? It’s not like a scholarship. I never stood on a podium and proudly accepted this. Nobody offered it to me; I never shook anyone’s hand. I didn’t lose him in a game of rock, paper, scissors. I didn’t go to a casino, put everything in the middle of the table, and lose. Though, if I had the chance to put everything in the middle of the table for one more day with him, I’d risk it. I’d go all in. I’d lose everything. I’d give my life, but I can’t.

SO, I’ll reword that whole accepting thing: It took a really long time for me to make peace with my brother dying. When I say a really long time, I mean fifteen years. It took me fifteen years to stop playing both parts. It took me fifteen years to realize I am only one person. It took me fifteen years to answer honestly when someone asks me if I am an only child. Now that I’ve learned to be at peace with things, I have more of my brother than I ever have before. I see him in everything I do, every risk I take, everything I create. I am able to do it now, to go all in. Fearlessly, I push everything I have right in the middle of that table, and stare the dealer in the eye.

Guess what? I win. Every time.