Stop Motion Memories

Posted on March 4, 2013 by findingravity

“Do you have any good memories?” My mom delicately asked, in almost a whispered hush. I knew she wanted me to say yes. I knew she wanted me to spill my soul in the parking lot of the mall where she had just purchased my 25^th birthday present.

Without hesitating, I answered.

“What?”
“Do you have any good memories from your childhood?”

I understood what she was asking, and realized I had become that person who asks, “What?” when they heard the question the first time.

“Not really, Mom. I mean, I have memories! I have vibrant memories of random things. Little slivers that come and go. I remember my purple bedroom, and it didn’t have a door, so we hung that big woven blanket up at night. I remember picking out stickers for Josh at the doctor to put on his bed at the nursing home. And I remember making a dream catcher at the hospital when Josh was sick, and how much I loved that dream catcher…”

My voice trailed off as I replayed my stop motion memories in the passenger seat of my mom’s heated car.

There was sadness in my mom’s eyes.

“I still have that dream catcher.” Her voice cracked.

In 30 seconds I had detailed the first three memories of my childhood that came to mind, and none of them involved picking out Christmas trees, or tickle fights, or family breakfasts.

“Do you remember movie nights on the living room floor?”
“OF COURSE I DO!” I beamed.
“I hope you think of me as somebody who loved tradition. I hope you have happy memories.”
“I do, Mom.”

We sat in silence before I changed the subject to something about work. To something about my new busy life in Brooklyn. To big city dreams, and turning 25, and here’s to another year of making new memories to replace the ones you think I don’t remember.

When I was little, Mom used to drop me off to spend time with my Nana on Sundays. Maybe it was Saturdays. Either way, I would jump out of the navy blue minivan and run into the perfect white house with the perfect red shutters, but not before passing the apple tree in the front yard. I would pile as many apples as I could into my tiny arms and carry them inside to the counter where fresh loaves of bread always sat, waiting for me. The apples would roll off of the counter and onto the floor, and Nana would say something about not bruising the apples, but I had already skipped through the hallway into the living room.

Nana loved Wheel of Fortune, and I loved pretending to teach myself how to play piano while she was trying to watch Wheel of Fortune. During commercial breaks, Nana would tell me to pick a book out from the sturdy mahogany bookcases built into the wall across from the living room couch. I would always pick the same book, and I would sit on Nana’s lap as she read me “Three Little Pigs” from her blue sofa chair.

When “Wheel of Fortune” came back on, I would tip toe back to the piano. Nana would turn her hearing aid up, but she never could hear me banging on those keys, as I stretched my tiny legs to reach the foot pedals.

As I grew older, so did Nana, but our relationship remained the same. I went from bounding to barging through the front door, but not before handing Nana a handful of apples from the apple tree. We would sit at the kitchen table, and Nana would ask me how many sugars I wanted in my tea. I would only say one, because that’s how she liked it, but when she turned her back I would sneak a second spoonful of sugar into my cup of Red Rose.

“Nana, what was Mommy like when she was my age?”
“Oh little girly, she was beautiful, just like you.”
Her big blue eyes gleamed at me.
“But what was she like?” I asked.
“What do you mean, little girly?”
“Well, Mommy says she never spoke to you in the tone that I speak to her sometimes.”

Nana shook her head in amusement and dipped her black tea bag in and out of the water. The right corner of her mouth rose as she fluffed her perfect snow white hair.

“Well little girly, Mommy lied.”

I guess the memories we keep are the ones that mean the most to us. Movie nights, and Christmas trees, and family dinners are memories that most of my friends probably share with their families. They are pretty memories, and it’s not that these memories aren’t important, but I need my memories to feel human. I need my memories to not feel perfect, but real, and the memories I cherish most are the ones I tuck behind my ribs, and in my fingerprints, and behind my eyelids. They are the memories that I store in my deepest corners, and I don’t just recall them fondly, I feel them with my whole body. They are my roots, and my fibers, and every atom of my being.

These memories are like ripped out pages of my favorite story on that mahogany bookcase, stored safely in a shoebox beneath my bed.

These memories are not stop motion.

I Left My Heart In New England.

Posted on February 28, 2013 by findingravity

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 25^th 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 25^th 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!)

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

Something To Celebrate

Posted on May 7, 2012 by findingravity

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.

“I Need You So Much Closer…”

Posted on April 18, 2012 by findingravity

My parents divorced when I was five, or maybe four? Maybe I was six. Does it matter? I was young enough to still need somebody to hold my hand while crossing the street, yet old enough to remember crying out for Daddy when I realized he wasn’t coming home to kiss me goodnight. I was young enough to still need someone to tell me to eat my veggies, and I was old enough to…well…still need someone to tell me to eat my veggies.

I’m a paragraph into this post, and I’m already crying. I suppose that’s what this blog is all about, subjecting myself to ultimate public vulnerability so that somebody out there reading this will know they are not alone, but boy, is it hard sometimes. I’ll type a sentence, erase it thinking it makes me sound weak, and retype it exactly as it was, because being strong doesn’t mean trying to erase how you’re feeling in hopes that nobody will see you stumbling.

Life is full of slips and stumbles, but if you have the right mindset, it’s also about getting back up.

If you’ve been with me through 10 things I learned from my mom AND dad (they are two very different posts, and probably two of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written) you know that I am extremely fortunate to have had two loving parents, who may have had irreconcilable differences which made them unsuitable partners, but who were also able to put their differences aside when it came to raising their child.

Sometimes it was still messy, and painful, and confusing as all hell, because divorce goes against everything a child is supposed to understand. As functioning “adults” in society, we may not still emotionally grasp divorce, but to some degree, we can wrap out minds around the concept. In a child’s eyes watching their parents, the people that created them, explain that they just don’t love each other and that they just can’t forgive each other anymore, doesn’t register.

Blake and I have differences. For example, it drives me crazy when Blake leaves his clothes on the bathroom floor in the morning, and it drives Blake crazy when I leave the milk out. These are things that can be dealt with. In other words, they aren’t deal breakers. I have accepted that no matter how many laundry baskets I buy him, his clothes will probably still end up on the bathroom floor before he takes a shower, and no matter how close the fridge is to the counter, that very counter is probably where the milk is going to end up.

We also have deeper differences. I know it seems like Blake and I live in a Nicholas Sparks novel because we lived in different countries, traveled all over the world to be with each other when the odds were against us, and now this gorgeous Australian with an accent to die for has moved across oceans to be with me. It’s a beautiful story, but it can also be quite a struggle. We are talking two people who have grown up in completely different cultures. We are talking two people whose friends and families live in opposite hemispheres. Even though we are together, the distance always lingers, and figuring out which country we should be living and working in is far from easy. We made a promise that no matter what challenges life presented us with, we would never again go 10 months apart. Somebody is always making sacrifices. I spent a year and a half bouncing back and forth between Australia and America, studying abroad and then returning to teach. Blake has now spent a year and a half away from his loved ones. Finding long term balance is crucial and nearly impossible at the same time.

Blake is one of the most caring people I’ve ever met, raised by two parents who were clearly put on this earth to raise him and his two siblings, because from what I (along with everybody on this side of the world who has met Blake) can tell, he is gentle, kind, and everything that anybody would ever hope to find in the person they plan to spend the rest of their lives with. Blake is understanding, communicative, and at times even overly concerned with my well being, and that is probably the way he was raised. I wouldn’t change it for all the money in the world. If you had offered me that record breaking power ball ticket a few weeks ago in exchange for Blake’s thoughtfulness, without hesitation, I would say thanks but no thanks. Every time.

From a young age, when my parents were taking care of my sick brother, both working full time jobs, and were in the thick of their divorce, I learned how to negotiate my way around my own brain without interruption. I learned to think, feel, and figure things out for myself.

I had independence memorized before most children were learning to read.

I had letting go memorized before most children were learning to hold on.

Experiencing divorce and losing a sibling has taught me to be a self starter and a self solver. Sometimes, I just need solitude. I just need silence. I don’t want suggestions. I don’t want someone to force feed me answers, even if it appears that I’m searching for them. I want to figure things out inside my own head without any outside influence. This is the way that I learned to think. This is the way I sometimes STILL think. When I am hurting, I want to be left alone long enough to make peace with the struggle. Irrationally, I consider it patronizing when others try to help me, as if they don’t believe that I can work it out on my own, like some foolish algebraic equation.

When Blake is hurting or feeling lonely, I wrap my arms around him. I offer him encouraging words and together, we come up with a plan of attack to whatever challenge he’s facing. We map out pros and cons. We analyze the beast from every angle, and we find a solution.

This is where that whole balance thing I was talking about comes into play. The way I solve my problems is full of I’s and Me’s, and the way Blake solves his problems is full of we’s. Am I some selfish monster who hasn’t yet learned that being in a relationship means being one half of a whole? God, I hope not. I try to incorporate kindness and patience into every aspect of my life, from acknowledging the homeless and volunteering when I can, to practicing forgiveness and second chances. While I am sitting here circumnavigating my thoughts, Blake is trying to figure out all of the ways he can help, all the career solutions he can conjure, and all of the advice he can summon to end whatever hurt I’m feeling.

I pray every day, EVERY day, that I will never have to go through what my parents went through or what so many of my friends’ parents went through with divorce. Next to being trapped in a cage underwater with a great white shark dreaming of various ways to tear me apart, divorce is one of my biggest fears. Sometimes, Blake will hold me, and I’ll feel so complete that I can’t imagine not having this wholeness. I’m so lucky to have found that which so many people go their whole lives without. I catch myself looking at Blake when he’s sleeping, or concentrating on something, and I think oh my God, he’s actually perfect.

But here’s the thing, he’s not, and neither am I.

All I can do at the end of the day is hope that he understands that when I’m fighting his help, I need it the most.

Not Another Love Story PART II

Posted on March 21, 2012 by findingravity

Part II
If you’re new OR you missed part I, click here!

I returned home from Australia five months after arriving, torn, broken, and a mess. I don’t even mean an emotional mess. I mean I stepped off the plane and I looked like I had army crawled through a scene from Call of Duty.

That’s right, COD reference. I had a lot of guy friends in college, especially when I lived in the dorms. I was always the only girl playing COD. More importantly, everyone fought to go after me, because I was so bad at it, that my turn always ended the fastest.

I’m more of an original Nintendo, Paperboy and Mario kind of girl.

Oh, right. Back to the story.

I was a mess. That’s what a 24 hour flight will do to you, folks. I couldn’t wait to shower, and eat Reese’speanut butter cups. THAT’S RIGHT! They don’t have Reese’s in Australia! WHAAAT? When I realized that…instant catastrophe. It was the ONLY thing I didn’t like about Australia, but I was willing to look past it. Australia had other candy alternatives that I quickly became addicted to.

The first month home was more than difficult. I nearly had a mental break down in the cereal aisle at the supermarket. In Australia, they have five or six popular brands to choose from. This had slipped my mind upon returning, and the seven mile long cereal aisle was a bit overwhelming on my first day home. Reverse culture shock is nothing to play around with.

Mostly, I just felt like I didn’t belong in America anymore. It felt like I hopped on a plane and traveled 10,000 miles in the wrong direction. Beside the fact that I was used to being fourteen hours ahead in my sleeping schedule, America didn’t feel like home anymore. My first two months back at my New Hampshire college were a struggle. I alienated myself from my friends, I worked Monday through Saturday to avoid social gatherings, and my grades suffered. I couldn’t understand the depression I was going through, but something deep down was tugging at my heart strings, telling me every day that I had to go back to Australia.

I had to go home.

On October 12, 2009, I received a strange Facebook notification on a photo that was taken of me while still in Australia, holding an Australian drink.

"Blake has commented on one of your pictures..."

Not only was this type of backtalk completely random, but it was also beer-blaspheme. I quickly and wittily responded. Sure enough moments later, I had another cheeky comment from Blake on my photo. Our exchanges continued to ricochet through cyberspace, boomeranging between hemispheres, until we gave in and had an actual conversation on MSN.

You would think our conversation would be awkward, considering our first conversation, but it was like we’d known each other for years. We joked about beer preferences and discussed leaving Australia, and life back in America. He tried earnestly to convince me that Newcastle wasn’t a fun place to live, and I tried to equitably convince him that New Hampshire was a black hole, sucking me into a life of misery and isolation, until the inevitable would take place: I would become a self proclaimed bird lady.

Two hours later, Blake was telling me that it was past my bedtime. As a fellow traveler of the world, he was aware of the extreme time difference. I didn’t care. It was the first time in four months that I had honestly laughed. It was the first time in four months that I wanted to have a conversation with somebody. Talking to Blake made me feel closer to where I belonged.

For two hours, talking to Blake made me feel home.

Our conversations happened every night, and a wonderful friendship developed for the next eight months. On one side of the world, he was waking up and turning on his computer to see if I’d be online, and on the other side of the world, I was fidgeting at my computer hoping the boy with the blue eyes hadn’t slept through his alarm. The topics ranged anywhere from family and school to relationships and personal stories. Our favorite conversations seemed to revolve around music. Music always prevailed. To make things more interesting, we came up with the idea to go through the alphabet and send each other a few songs every day.

I’m even going to do you all a favor, and share some of our alphabet music with you. (I actually backtracked through our archived messages to find these, so you should all consider yourselves to be rock stars. It was quite time consuming.)

Carley: Day 1 A’s and B’s

The Almost – Awful Direction
Angus and Julia Stone – Bella
Backseat Goodbye – Technicolor Eyes
Sara Bareilles – Gravity
Belle and Sebastian – If She wants Me
Bernard Fanning – Songbird (I’m sure you have this)
Bloc Party – I still Remember

Blake: Day 1 A’s and B’s

Augustana – Boston & Twenty Years.
Athlete – black swan song.
Shane Alexander – feels like home.
William Fitzsimmons and Priscilla Ahn – i dont feel it anymore.
Aqualung – easier to lie.
Lou Barlow – Legendary
Bjorn Baille – Menace
Sarah Blasko – Perfect Now

*This was copied straight from our first conversations*

We trucked through the entire alphabet, rediscovering songs we’d forgotten about, and finding a whole new plethora of songs we’d never heard of. I hadn’t listened to the original Dashboard Confessional album in years, but I’d loved it since the age of 15. Blake and I spent an entire night reliving that album together across oceans, sharing stories relating to the songs. I remembered, almost too vividly, my first high school break up, and locking myself in my room with a Dashboard CD.

*Fun Flash Forward Fact: When Blake and I moved into our first apartment together, and I unpacked my old boom box, this CD was still sitting in the CD player.*

If I look back in the journal I kept during this time, I can actually find pages and notes about music that I wanted to share with Blake.

In January 2010, a new show aired. The Buried Life took to television sets around the country, and upon the first viewing of the show’s trailer, I sent the link to Blake. For those who haven’t seen it, TBL was a show about four guys traveling around the world, crossing off items on their bucket lists. A few of THEIR list items included, fall in love, learn to fly, and play basketball with Obama. We followed the show together, watching and discussing every episode. Usually, our discussions took place a few days after the actual episodes aired in the US, and I wasn’t allowed to spoil it for Blake. The Buried Life was an American show, so Blake had to stream the episodes days later.

After watching a few episodes together, we decided to create a combined list together. We each had a week to come up with fifty items, and after the week was over, we would reveal the lists to each other, and then combine them. Blake and I are both competitive by nature, so we also decided that the first person to finish the whole list of 100 items would be declared the winner.

I’m not going to post the bucket list, because it’s personal, and very special. Not to mention, it’s not a blog about bucket listing. Three years later, and Blake and I are still crossing things off and smack talking about who will be the true winner. However, a few relevant items will undoubtedly come up as the story unravels.

The week of February 25th, 2010, I received an E-mail notification from the mail department of my university. This was not at all surprising, because everybody gives me presents on my birthday. That’s not true at all, but I knew both of my parents planned on sending me birthday packages. I left my apartment and trotted down to the mail room to claim whatever prize the mail-lords would bestow upon me. After showing my student ID to the woman at the mail room, she handed me a package.

Something was different.
Very different.

The handwriting was unfamiliar, and there were about 10 stamps on the package, enough stamps to get it across the world. I looked in the top left corner and noticed the return address read Newcastle, Australia. At the very top of the address sat Blake’s name, staring me in the face. I moved from the mail area to the building’s lounge room to look for a place to sit. Once I was out of the way of the morning university bagel shop traffic, I made myself comfortable on a bench, and tore the package open.

This is what the package held:

This is not me

But this is.

“Timshel”

Posted on March 16, 2012 by findingravity

“This is something we don’t do very often, but we love the acoustics in this theater, but we’re going to need you all to be very quiet.”

Quiet? Yeah right.

“We are going to sing without our amps and microphones, just the four of us.”

Asking a theatre full of drunken Irishmen to be quiet was like asking a group of five year olds to be quiet, if the five year olds had each been given a liter of soda and sugar filled pixie stix. I’m sure you can figure out what to substitute in this scenario, a pint of Guinness or five.

Still, Marcus Mumford insisted. Blake and I stood together in disbelief. The crowd became loud with excitement, hollering over the balcony and pumping their fists wildly in the air. The four members of Mumford and Sons stood tall, side by side, completely unplugged. No amps, no microphones, just an acoustic guitar and four voices. The theatre began to still, and four voices melodically rose to the highest rafters of the small theatre in Dublin, Ireland.

Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
And death is at your doorstep
And it will steal your innocence
But it will not steal your substance

Blake grasped my hand. There were 900 people in the Olympia Theater. The show had completely sold out. 900 people, all of whom I did not know, and at that moment I felt we were all connected.

“But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand”

Glistening tears trickled down my face, off my chin, and splashed onto my collarbones. I thought of what this song might mean to the other 900 people swaying on their feet, hypnotized. Were they picturing their families, their lovers, someone far away from them? Were they picturing hardships, triumph, torment, loss?

Did they have faith in the simplest of things?
Did I?

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

And these are what make man great, his ladder to the stars; a quote from a wonderful book written by John Steinbeck…I was probably the only person in the theater thinking about literature.

We all had these choices, all 900 of us, crammed into the theater, standing shoulder to shoulder. We chose silence, and 900 dreams unraveled the moment Marcus Mumford tugged at that string. We all had the ability to overcome, to choose perseverance. We also had the ability to choose withdrawal. We could choose to abdicate. We could give in to the things that scare us, and give up all together.

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this

The theatre became a whisper as Marcus Mumford’s voice bellowed over our insecurities, overpowering the voices in our heads telling us to run away.

As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And we believed him. The noises grew louder, our voices timed with his. 900 people singing in perfect harmony. A mutual understanding charged through every person in the theater, as we sang the last lines of the song together. The silence was broken. I glanced over at Blake and studied his handsome face, eyebrows relaxed, focused on the stage. He mouthed the words to the song as if he’d written them himself.

But I will tell the night
And Whisper, “Lose your sight”
But I can’t move the mountains for you

As song ended and the theater erupted, the last of my tears fell on Blake’s hand. Gently, he squeezed his fingers around mine. I realized he had the same fears that I did, but together, we were making a choice. He couldn’t move the mountains for me, but we could move them together.

"Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience." -John Steinbeck

Ten Things I Learned From My Father

Posted on March 15, 2012 by findingravity

520

A few months ago, I featured a post titled “Ten Things I Learned From My Mom.” I’ve spent the last few weeks reflecting, and decided that I also wanted to feature a similar post dedicated to my father. I’m fortunate enough to have two loving parents that I am very close with, and I hope some day that I can take everything I’ve learned from them, and apply it to my own parenting techniques.

1. Kick ‘Em Where It Hurts

In first grade, I came off the school bus hysterically crying. My dad met me at the top of our driveway, tried to console the sobbing little human peeking timidly up at him from underneath her bangs, while clutching her ninja turtle lunch box. After he asked me what was wrong, I explained that another boy on the bus had been saying mean things to me. My dad told me to nicely ask the boy to leave me alone, and to tell the bus driver if he didn’t listen

The next day, Dad met me at the top of the driveway. Again, a sobbing little human stormed across the street and flew into his arms. When my dad asked me what happened this time, I told him that the boy on the bus had put his hands around my neck and squeezed really hard. Infuriated, Dad told me the next time the little boy touched me in a way that made me uncomfortable, I had his permission to drive my foot between his legs as hard as I could.

A few days later, my dad was sitting at his desk at work when the phone rang. It was the principal of my elementary school, calling to tell him that I had kicked a little boy between the legs on the playground. After confirming that it was, in fact, the boy from the bus, he told the principal that he had given me permission to do so, after the little boy had tried choking me.

My dad’s reasoning? In a world where strangers are constantly hurting and even abducting little girls, why should I teach my daughter to politely ask a boy trying to blatantly choke her, to leave her alone?

Needless to say, the principal and the little boy both understood the message loud and clear.

My dad hung up the phone and whispered, “That’s my girl.”

2. Take your time getting where you’re going

I graduated college when I was 22, and after four years of college I racked up enough student loans to keep me in debt until I’m 70. After returning to Australia to complete my student teaching, I came back to America, and did what most college graduates are forced to do upon entering “the real world”…I moved back home.

In what “real world” are we living in, where nobody is hiring, and college grads are sitting on top $80,000 dollars in student loans? Keep in mind that I wasn’t sitting around eating Cheetos, and watching reruns of Americas Next Top Model. I worked three jobs, paid my own bills, and on top of that, made student loan payments every month. I was fortunate to have a very understanding father, who was comfortable letting me live at home until I built up enough of a financial pin cushion, where I could afford my bills, my loans, AND rent. Rather than giving me the boot when it was convenient, he gave me time, encouragement, and understanding. Now I’m living the good life my own apartment, close to the center of town, and I consider myself to be very financially stable and independent for a 24 year old

3. There IS a man worthy of your attention…just not that one…OR that one…

Dating.
*Sigh*
Every father’s nightmare. I always joke that I am going to have a son, so I can teach him how to treat women. He’ll go out there and show all of his friends how to properly treat women, thus starting the domino effect of great future boyfriends and husbands. You’re welcome, world.

Huddle in close, I have a secret to share with you. I’ve had my fair share of relationship horror stories. I know this seems far fetched, but the truth is, I dated some doozies. I might be getting some phone calls after this, because I’m still good friends with MOST of my exes. Sorry, guys! But the GOOD news is that MOST of you have gotten your acts together since our dating days.

My dad referred to one of my relationships as “the thing that wouldn’t die,” because it just kept going, and going, and going. Every time my family thought it was over, I decided it was a good idea to forgive and forget.

Most of my male friends growing up were afraid of my dad, and I didn’t blame them. My dad must have a jerk radar, and he definitely emits a “mess with my daughter, I DARE YOU” vibe. I wouldn’t want to date me if I were a guy, and I’m glad I never had to go through the process of shaking my dad’s hand the first time.

4. Just keep digging.

My senior year of high school, I was chosen as the volleyball captain. You would think the captain would have it all together, right? Wrong. During a particularly important game, every ball that came my way hit the ground. I couldn’t blame it on anyone but myself. I just couldn’t get it together. My coach made the decision during the first game to sit me on the bench, something he hadn’t done all season. I wasn’t upset with him. I completely understood, and it’s what I would have done had I been in his position. However, I was devastated with my performance. A very large part of me wanted to run to the nearest locker room and hide inside one of the tallest lockers until the game was over, but instead, I watched the rest of the game from the bench.

The next day at school, I was called down to the main office midday. Sitting on the secretary’s desk was a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Our secretary giddily told me that my biggest fan had dropped the flowers off for me. I opened the note, and only once sentence was written on the inside:

“Just keep digging.”

I still have the note from that bouquet of flowers, and I look at it from time to time. It helps me remember that sometimes you’re not going to be able to pass every ball that life throws on you, but you HAVE to keep digging

The next game was my best game of my entire high school career, and it just so happened that two college scouts were visiting to watch me play.

5. Make your free throws.

Basketball was one of the first things my father and I really bonded over. Well, aside from playing NSYNC on repeat in his car for three weeks straight, those were real bonding moments as well. Growing up, we spent countless hours shooting a basketball around in the driveway. It was OUR thing. You know that game horse? You have to make the shot that the person before you made, and if you miss, you get a letter. The first person to spell H-O-R-S-E, loses. Well, Dad and I changed it to L-O-S-E-R, that way the winner could victoriously call the other person a loser. My father and I aren’t particularly good losers. We’re even worse winners. Before there was horse, and loser, there were free throws. I remember Dad meticulously explaining the importance of making your free throws. We stayed out in the driveway for hours, practicing concentration, holding the ball, lining up, and following through.

When you step up to the line to make a free throw that is YOUR moment. The gym hushes, everything stills, and it’s just you, the ball, and the hoop. It’s a lot like grasping once in a life time opportunities. It taught me to always focus on my dreams, to line myself up with what I want out of life.

It taught me to follow through.

6. Memories Are Greater Than Things:

My father has always been a man of simplicity and efficiency. He’s never needed the nicest car or the biggest house, or the smartest phone. Growing up I didn’t necessarily understand this. Why buy a smaller house, if you can afford to buy a bigger house? What’s interesting is at the ripe age of 24, if you ask me what my favorite parts of growing up were, I couldn’t even tell you what kind of car Dad drove. What I can tell you, is that he took me on the most AMAZING family trip to Hawaii when I was fifteen. It’s where I learned to surf, it’s where I saw my first beautiful sunset, and it’s where I first realized how emotionally and mentally connected to the ocean I was. When I was 17, Dad took me on a trip to Universal Studios. Aside from my traumatic experience on the Jaws ride, it was spectacular. It was just the two of us, best friends, exploring a park of make believe and movie magic. When I was 21, Dad flew to Australia for two weeks to visit me while I was living abroad. After a month and a half without my family, the excitement I felt when I walked out of my apartment and saw him walking toward me was so uplifting. We spent an incredible weekend in Sydney, where we actually climbed the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Three months later, broken hearted, I returned back home. I had not seen the rest of my family in five months, and I hadn’t seen my dad in three months, but I was crushed to be leaving Australia. Little did I know, that my father had flown out to surprise me in San Francisco. Instead of enduring a 5 hour lay over, he and I would spend the next three days exploring California together.

When all is said and done, I would rather have the memories of every single special moment with my father, than any materialistic item in the world. Things are often tossed aside. Things cause us to be wasteful. Things break.

The experiences we’ve had together are stored safely in the deepest spaces of my heart, not a moment was wasted, and they are truly unbreakable.

Fresh off the boat in San fran

7. The Value Of Money

I have always worked hard to earn the things I want in life, because I grew up watching my parents work hard. I have never allowed ANYONE to make me feel like I don’t deserve the things I have, because that would be directly insulting the people in my life who taught me how hard I would have to work to make them possible. At the age of 20, when most kids were spending their summer vacation on the beach or at house parties, I was working 70 hours a week to pay for the traveling I would be doing while studying in Australia. During my senior year, when most of my friends were out having fun, I spent every night Monday through Saturday waiting tables at a ski lodge to pay for my airfare and expenses, so I could return to Australia to teach. I pay my own rent, I pay my own bills, and every month I make student loan payments to pay for my education.

Is that to say my parents don’t help me when they feel it’s necessary? Of course not. I am so fortunate to have parents who recognize when I need a boost, and I also realize that is a privilege, not a right. However, I am also proud of how hard I’ve worked, and have never let anybody make me feel like I shouldn’t be.

8. Family will always be there to make you laugh

I have a huge family, and we’re all a bunch of pranksters. We all share the same sense of humor, which makes family gatherings a blast. There is never a dull moment at Christmas. Every year, we add new hilarious tales to our repertoire, and every year, we tell and retell these stories.

They never stop being funny.

-There’s the one with the colostomy bag
-There’s the one where my grandmother put vanilla pudding on her hamburger thinking it was mayonnaise.
-There’s the one where my cousin and I turned all of my aunts pictures upside down because we know how neat she likes to keep things.
-There’s the one where I called my dad a douchebag.
-There’s the one where my dad finally told his sister that he hates the chocolate covered cherries she always gives him at Christmas.
-And there’s the one where EVERYONE gave my dad a box of chocolate covered cherries for Christmas, because we now all know how much he hates them.

My dad has raised me with a great sense of humor, and as much as he dishes it out, he can definitely take it.

Giving each other a hard time post college graduation^

9. Give Back To The Community.

While working full time, my dad also managed to somehow be at every single one of my athletic fund raisers. In a sea of volleyball and basketball moms, there stood my dad in the middle of the pack, selling cookies to raise money for our volleyball gear. Some kids might have been embarrassed to see their dad at their high school with a bunch of moms selling baked goods, but I loved it! Every time that I saw him there selling cookies like the proceeds would be going toward his new big screen TV, I’d walk up to him and high five him. I was so proud to be able to point over to the table and say, “Look! That’s MY dad.”

After having raised a handicapped son, my dad volunteers every year for the Special Olympics. Last year, Blake, Dad, and I all volunteered together. Blake and I took turns keeping score, I photographed the event, and Dad kept the clock. His dedication to the community has inspired me to volunteer at multiple places, including the Special Olympics, and at a local homeless shelter making bagged lunches.

10. That’s life.

Sometimes, things happen in life that you just can’t change. It’s a hard pill to swallow when you’re seventeen and your boyfriend cheats on you, or you need a full brake replacement that ends up costing more than your rent. It’s easy to bury your head in your pillow and scream for two hours, but it doesn’t accomplish a whole lot. Things happen that we have no control over, and that’s part of life. You can sit around feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get out of bed in the morning knowing that there are people out there who are in worse situations than an ended relationship or a car repair. My parents have said to me thousands of times, “Your brother would have traded one of his good days for one of your bad days,” and sometimes I have to remind myself of that.

You have to take control over your own life, because if you don’t, your hardships will cause you to lose your mind all together.

^Left – My dad holding my brother
Right – Me & Dad dancing

How To Make It Through A Long Distance Relationship Without Wanting To Jab Your Eyes Out

Posted on March 2, 2012 by findingravity

[Photo Cred]

I recently had the opportunity to catch up with a friend of mine who had been in a long distance relationship that ended poorly. Many of my close friends always ask me how Blake and I made our relationship work across countries, and at times, in opposite hemispheres. I’m also often asked how we managed to do it without wanting to kill each other. There is no short answer for this, so I’ve decided to break it down into the ten things to keep in mind when you’re considering, or are already in a long distance relationship (also referred to as an LDR, not because I think it’s cool and trendy, but because sometimes I’m lazy).

#1) Trust

You might think this sounds like an obvious, lackluster way to start. Were you expecting me to say something friskier about long distance relationships, or were you merely romanticizing the idea of being hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of miles away from the person you love? Let me make one thing clear before you continue, if you get to the end of #1 and you already doubt your entire long distance relationship, take some time and reflect on your needs. Trust is the foundation of every relationship. Hacking into your significant other’s email account, reading all of their text messages, and interrogating them unremittingly doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend your time. I mean, you might as well be serving a subpoena. I’m not just talking to ladies here, this for men too. If you think trusting your significant other is hard when you’re in the same town, then you’re in for a real treat when you can’t see what they are doing all hours of the day. Save your sanity, and your wallet, and don’t hire a private investigator. Blake has so many female friends at home and they are all SERIOUSLY stunning. I don’t know what they put in the water in Australia, but I wouldn’t mind some of it in a Nalgene bottle. What’s important is that they are lovely girls, and they were in his life long before I was. I respect, and trust his friendships with his close friends, because he has never given me reason not to. Your distrust may be 100% justified based on past experiences with this person, but if that is the case, why are you still in this relationship? A long distance relationship will only become harder if you do not make a dedicated effort to trust each other.

#2) Be honest about your expectations with your significant other, and yourself.

This goes hand in hand with trust. You have to take care of your own needs, while concurrently respecting somebody else’s needs. Before you even begin a LDR, be honest with your significant other, and with yourself. Here are a few questions to think about:

-Is this really what I want?
-Do I have the time to make this commitment?
-Am I being fair to the person I’m dating if I’ve said no to either of those questions?
-If Ryan Reynolds or Megan Fox came to town would I be able to resist? No? Okay, well not many people would so I’ll let that slide.

#3) Have a sense of humor

Having a sense of humor totally makes the miles more bearable. There were times where Blake and I would Skype, and when the image came on the screen, he’d be making a goofy face. Sometimes if we were having a conversation, and he was trying to get my attention, I’d cross my eyes every time he started talking to me. He couldn’t help cracking up. Once, while he was in Ireland, I answered his Skype call to see him wearing a leprechaun hat with a beard attached. Actually, I think I have a picture of this.

Because I've posted this picture, by the time I get home from work, I'll probably be single. Sorry Blake.

Hilarious.

Keeping a sense of humor and a light heart about things puts a positive spin on what could be a boring, sad, conversation. Moping doesn’t change the circumstance, it only wastes the precious time you’ve set aside to see each other.

#4) Stay connected to each other’s passions

Two years ago, Blake and I were just friends. Both groups of our own friends will dispute this statement to the grave, but we swear on our lives that we just enjoyed each other’s company. For a year and a half we were completely platonic. One of the first things we talked about, long ago in the land of just friends, was music. After discovering that we both loved many of the same bands, we began sending each other songs every day. This trait of our friendship eventually carried over into our relationship. When we were faced with distance, we calculated the fourteen hour time difference, and made sure that the person waking up on the other side of the world would have a song in their inbox when they woke up. I’ll even be kind, and share with you a few of the songs we exchanged and collected, in case you’re into music also.

-James Morrison “If You Don’t Wanna Love Me”
-Jamie Cullum “All At Sea”
-The Weepies “Gotta Have You”
-Joshua Radin “I’d Rather Be With You”
-Rosi Golan feat. William Fitzsimmons “Hazy”—This one is a throwback all the way from 2009, when we were in the just friends zone. Crazy right? I know. Take that non-“justfriends”-believers.

Aside from music, Blake and I each have our own passions. They are very different passions, and sometimes we don’t understand the lingo, but at the time, we did what we could to support each other. Blake is a rugby player, and even travelled to Ireland for 6 months to play. I am a writer, and I can’t count the number of times I sent Blake rough drafts to read. The poor boy probably thought he was in high school again. During one of Blake’s rugby tournaments, I snuck into the basement of the restaurant I worked at and streamed his game on my phone.

Vote for me for Employee of the Year!

The point is, while we were far apart, we did as much as we could to stay connected and updated on what the other person felt passionate about.

#5) Communicate and coordinate

This is where making sure that you have the time for an LDR plays in. Long distance relationships take a lot of communication and coordination. Early on, you should both sit down and figure out a time frame that works for your schedules. Blake and I had an extreme time difference on our hands. Australia is 14 hours ahead of New Hampshire, which is cool if you’re traveling, because it feels like you’re going into the future. We had to coordinate times that we would both be home for, and even times that we would both be awake for. There were times that one of us had to wake up at 6am, or stay up until 1am, but having an hour to see each other uninterrupted was worth it. Try not to get in the habit of rescheduling. Understandably, things come up. Realize that if you start getting used to rescheduling Skype dates and phone calls, before you know it, you’re going on day five of no contact and you’re wondering if your significant other is in a ditch somewhere

6) Keep Living Your Life

Instead of sitting around the house in your pajamas all day (or your pajama jeans if you value comfort AND fashion…) watching reruns of Hawaii 5-0, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. Go for a run, grab a drink with friends after work, take some time to discover a new hobby, but for the love of all that is holy DO NOT sit by your phone. Not only will it make time crawl by at a speed which can only be related to watching Curling on the Olympics, but by the time your significant other calls, you will already be in a bored state of mind. I’m not telling you to be something you’re not. Don’t feel like you need to go bungee jumping just so you’ll have something to exciting to talk about. I’m telling you that the busier you keep yourself, the less time you’ll have to be sad.

#7) Learn to accept, reflect, and connect with your emotions
(Are you confused because I just made it sound like being sad is a bad thing? I’ll explain.)

I’m going to be completely vulnerable to a bunch of strangers in the blogosphere for a moment—during the nine months that Blake and I lived in different countries, we made trips to see each other three times. The stretch after the last visit before Blake moved here was the hardest, and there were times that I didn’t think I could handle it. Nobody could understand why I was frustrated with my “fairy tale” relationship. I travelled to a foreign land, fell in love, and lived happily ever after, so why was I complaining. The thing is, whether you are a hundred miles away, or 10,000 miles away like we were, exchanging face to face interaction and the chance to create real life memories, for computer screen and telephone conversations is not a fairy tale. It’s hard.

I had been holding it in for weeks, pretending that everything was breezy. One day, at work, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. After putting the girls I nanny for down for a nap, I went into the bathroom, buried my head in a pile of folded pillows, and cried for ten minutes. Does that sound like a healthy way of handling emotions? Of course not. The next night, Meg and I grabbed a drink and split a strawberry shortcake after work. Without judging me, she let me spill out all of my mixed up feelings until I had a solid grip on them. I felt SO much better.

Moral of the story: Locking yourself in your room, while wearing pajama jeans and crying for ten hours straight is bad for your health. It is equally detrimental to your health if you pretend like your emotions don’t exist. Find a healthy way to create balance between the times that it’s hard, because it WILL be hard, and the times that you feel great.

DISCLAIMER: Pajama Jeans are probably never a good thing.

#8) Send Mail!!!

This deserves three exclamation points. Living in a time where technology trumps a paper and pen, the value of sending packages is often forgotten. You can send an email in two minutes, but putting together a package takes time and careful consideration. It also keeps things exciting, because you have something to look forward to. Each week, Blake and I would put together a package, including a CD with new music, pictures, one or two little presents, and hand written letters. Even if you send just one of those items along, it is exciting to think about how the other person is going to react to what you’ve picked out. It is just as exciting receiving a package and discovering what the other person thought you would like, and it’s a hell of a lot more exciting than opening your mail box to find a pile of bills.

#9) Make Plans to See Each Other

Long Distance Relationships are always more bearable if you have a date set in mind of when you will see each other, because it gives you both something to count down to. If you’re close enough, find a way to set aside a weekend that works for both of you, and take a little trip. The street runs both ways, so make sure you take turns visiting. It’s not fair if you are always expecting them to come to you, or if you are the person who is always making the trip. To make things more exciting, find somewhere in the middle that is new to both of you and experience it together. Turn it into an adventure! Blake and I were so far away from each other, but we managed to take turns visiting each other over the course of the nine months. Blake came to visit me for Christmas, and he had never traveled to America! We experienced New York City together and I was able to witness Blake’s first time seeing snow. Three months later I visited Blake while he was abroad in Ireland.

#10) Come to a conclusion, and CELEBRATE when it’s over!

At some point, you have to decide how the distance will come to a close. For example, one person moving home after being away for school is simpler than the predicament that arises when one person has to leave their home and move across the country, or world. After discussing the pros and cons of both options, Blake came to the conclusion that he wanted to move to America on his own. Allow each other to take time deciding what the best fit for your relationship will be. The worst thing you can do is rush the decision.

Naturally, the BEST part of a LDR, after months of being apart, is celebrating your success. Long Distance Relationships are challenging, and they take an immense amount of trust and patience. If you’ve successfully managed to stay faithful and honest, it will only make your relationship stronger. When Blake and I look back on the nine months that we spent apart, we realize there really isn’t anything that we can’t accomplish together. I’ll never forget pulling up to the airport in June and seeing Blake standing there with his suitcases. The elation of knowing that he wouldn’t be leaving again, and that he wanted to be here, was overwhelming.