it's the freakin weekend

I have good news! And not just that it's Friday. Prepare yourself, because it is crazy and sort of laughable and a bit like a wink from God. It's been my sunshine lately, but I can't keep hoarding it from all you wintered-out people. I have been officially commissioned to write 4 books for Flower Pot Press Publishing Company in Nashville, TN. I am going to be an author. My books are all based on Rudyard Kipling's "Just So" stories. They'll be board books, bound and branded with "Stephanie P Gilman" on the cover with illustrations by someone legit named Tom.

How did this happen? I have an awesome sister in law who is an editor at a publishing co and called out for writers just before Christmas; so I submitted a story. What does this mean for me? It really just means that 5 year old Stephanie Parker is getting one of her prayers answered. It's funny how a dream you have as a little kid can become a reality when you don't even realize it's a dream anymore. You realize it's a dream again when someone calls you to say "they liked your story. Want to write for us?" and your heart swells like it did when you were little and imagined being published. If I somehow get my other dream to be a meteorologist, I'll know God was listening. wink.

While most of life is this series of "wait...why?", it's an incredible gift to occasionally see the other side. I'm not really sure why I got a degree in sign language interpreting besides that sign language is cool. But in a lot of ways, it forced me to look beyond my major at what I wanted to do. I knew during my internship that while I love the deaf community, I was not cut out for interpreting - it was a job where I essentially had no voice, no opinion. I was someone else's voice. But if anyone knows me for about 2 minutes, they realize that I can't not have an opinion about something. Thus, writing. I get to do something where I am using my words and expressing my thoughts. Even if this is the only time in my life I am published, I am so excited to have my ridiculous brain written down on real PAGES. I'll keep you updated on where this takes me down the road, because I officially do not have any foresight into what is next. But, if you would be so kind as to direct me to a field where I can do everything I love all at once - writing, deaf advocacy, editing, the homeless community, communications, and coffee, that would be great. Thanks.

Ooh! Here's a fun read if you're interested in trains and writing and enjoying both for free.

happy january

photo courtesy of Hope Stanley

A new year. This year I'll finish the sweater I started knitting in 2012. This year I'll lose some weight. This year I'll spend more time with Jesus. This year I'll sleep less. This year I'll spend less time on my computer and my phone. This year I'll drink less (as she sips her wine and keeps typing). This year I'll be more careful with the way I spend my (sigh, our) money. This year I'll love my husband well. This year I'll focus less on the things I don't like about myself.

So there's the list. Good thing it's still January, and I can say I made my resolutions. It's interesting, because I look at that list and feel pretty ok with it because those aren't bad things. They're noble, worthy goals that I and a billion other people make and congratulate ourselves about because admitting is a step in the right direction, right?

the best brussels

Fall sometimes reminds me of getting into a bath tub to soak in lovely hot water that very quickly turns cold. Why do people make small water heaters? That's the big question. And with regard to Fall, why does it have to be so short lived? Just when you get used to all the gourd decorations and leaves with their sassy red and yellow garb and have enjoyed a pumpkin spice latte or two, suddenly it's salted caramel hot chocolates and commercials with Santa buying toys at Petsmart. I do love Christmas, but winter gets this long kick of being from December-around April, and Fall gets like two months of glory. Maaaaaybe some of September, definitely October, and definitely November.

Somehow it's already November 8th, and yesterday the leaves were just beginning to turn. My resolve is to make Fall last longer by putting pumpkin in everything. And by making lots of sauteed brussels sprouts. Here's a thought about brussels sprouts. Is it possessive? Brussels' sprouts? Do these sprouts belong to Brussels? As in Belgium? Or are we talking about a totally different thing...Regardless, brussels sprouts have the potential to be amazing or awful. The key is cutting off the butts that tend to be bitter and then sauteing the rest.

The Best Brussels

You'll Need:

Fresh brussels sprouts (the farmer's market has them by the tubs here in DC)

Olive oil

Sea salt

Pepper

A smattering of bacon bits

Cut off all the butts to these little cabbages and toss them into a pan with some a small smattering of bacon bits (just enough to give them flavor), about a tbsp of olive oil, salt and pepper, and (optional) one clove of fresh garlic or a sprinkling of garlic powder.

Cook for about 6 minutes on low and place cover on the pan, shaking the pan every minute or so. As soon as these guys have browned undersides, they are ready. Try one and if it's tender on the inside, it's good to go. 

When I made some the other night, we ate them with roasted rosemary potatoes. Delish. You should definitely do it. P.s. - the truth about brussels sprouts. Because Wikipedia knows everything I don't. Happy weekend, everyone. Oh, and for your Friday enjoyment, these are pretty giggle worthy.

i apologize...

...because I do not have children, and I cannot fill my blog with their latest isms, cutest sayings ever, recipes for making the best baby food, or how saggy my breasts are after nursing....and because stories about my dog fill the blog holes that should probably be filled with baby stuff at this point in my life as a woman.

because I am 25% crafty instead of 99%, so I cannot fill my blog with the things I D-I-Y every single day. Only the DIYs I'm inspired by once every couple months.

because I do not care about politics, and I cannot tell you what opinions you should have about such things.

because I am no longer "there", and my "here" stories must suffice, despite how seemingly boring America is (clearly...or else why would people only start blogs once they start traveling?...cough-me-cough.)

because I do not know have blog give aways...let's be real here...no one knows who i am right now.

because I post videos of taylor swift covers that I happen to be covering.

And so for now, enjoy my chatter of good music, good food, good people, and the good life. And sometimes - the not so good life. It's almost Friday, and that is very exciting.

A song for today:

as summer ends...

The past few weeks have been lonely. Not in an "awwwww" sort of way. It's creates a time of some reflection and lots of thinking. It also allows for enjoyment of simple things like pulling out sweatshirts again, the last few fresh tomatoes of summer, watching my broccoli babies become adolescents, cooler mornings, having options for what to do with my weekend afternoons but feeling very little pressure to start the day before I really want to. As I wait for my husband to come home from school, work, or DC Habitat, I get a chance to consider the following things:

• cooking full meals can be over rated.
• it makes so much more sense to get almost everything you own at yard sales
• if I had a bottomless supply of underwear, I might be completely happy.
• I will miss summer, but sights like these at the grocery store are still heart warming:

I've got soul but I'm not a soldier

If you and I take a car trip together, you'll either be horrified or electrified by my musical choices. I don't even know that I'd call what I jam to "music" so much as...loud words. Either way I have an addiction to these loud words no matter how obnoxious. I've been doing a lot of traveling lately to places, but this past weekend was the first where I got free reign to play whatever I wanted as loud as I wanted. Naturally, here were my top picks. Enjoy my attempt to reinvigorate this most reputably miserable day of the week. Happy Monday!

I'm only providing the link, so click at your own risk, because - let's be real - if you're actually going to view them (ok, even if you're just listening), they're pretty ridiculous. Some of these are some serious throwbacks to the early 2000s.

"Get Back": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37aG0c23Gx4

"Something Like That": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSThNgur0m4 

"Memories": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lSB4NT5JVA

"Show Goes On": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rmp6zIr5y4U

"Money Maker": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9Op2YQ7yyU

And, finally, if you really want to know what it's like to rock out with me...

cheers to seniors and all that is to come

I thought I would have moved on by now. Well, to be honest, I have moved on. I don't curl up on my marriage bed and weep like I did circa May 2011 after abruptly graduating from college, getting married, and moving out of the Xie house (pronounced "she"...it was our landlord's last name and way too punny not to use for the name of a house full of girls). But there was something remarkable that happened between 2007-2011...I became me. I'm by no means complete or polished or even tactful yet, and I still look at those years with some rolls of the eyes, some blushing, some tsk-ing...But it's amazing what happens to you when you allow change to occur. The older I get, the less spontaneous I am and the more stuck I feel in the daily grind. It's a fight to constantly look at the world with arms and eyes wide open (cue Creed...thus cue groaning), using every opportunity to wonder and doubt and be shocked and learn.

College was filled with wondering, doubting, being shocked, learning, crying, laughing...But sometimes I felt the pressure to constantly be soaking up new experiences, particularly while abroad, which was sometimes exhausting (remember my post about being an introvert?). There is something comforting in routine, something great about simplicity, and Friday nights when you can always expect homemade pizza or sushi and good drink. I tend to look at college with a complete fondness for every single year and friend and moment. It was Utopian in my memory. How could anything be better than a house full of 9 girls, laying out in the front yard to study in April, World's Fair Park runs and Ultimate Frisbee, watching super depressing movies like Fargo and There Will Be Blood (also...Teeth...Ashleigh?) and laughing hysterically so as not to cry, friendship bread nearly every day of the week, room mate chatter around a single baking pan of cake, girl arms intertwining as forks shovel the [usually] Caitlin-made deliciousness into our mouths? I mean, there is nothing like it. At all.

However, college wasn't perfect. There was brokenness (but also redemption), lots of confusion, so many papers and stress and too much estrogen in one house. And on this other side of the fence where the grass seemed like it would be shriveled and dead and boring, it isn't. I haven't stopped learning. I haven't stopped relishing good music and sleeping late and planning random trips. I haven't stopped being friends with my loves. Two years out, and I remember freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior years like they were yesterday. I am still getting to travel and be spontaneous (and BONUS - I get to do it with my very best friend..."it" being traveling...duh). I can finally afford home cooked meals and even buy the materials to mess up a recipe here and there. I don't have to think about studying when I get home. I keep meeting these amazing people no matter where I go...they weren't just confined to UT. I'm even realizing that as terrifying as 30 may seem, 30 is sort of the new 20. Which I never thought I would say.

So seniors, cry your eyes out. Eat an extra slice of graduation cake. Have a few more nights at Sassy's. But then stop crying and smile, because it's not over. You are on the brink - even though it sometimes feels like life is ending. You've been alive for 22 years, and four of them - FOUR - hold your heart. It just gets better. Yes, you'll still go dancing; yes, you'll still get to have girl sleepovers even if you're married (I do); yes, you'll get to eat too much cake; and yes, you'll keep being friends with the ones who stole your heart 4 years ago (but you have to make it happen). There's even a new sweetness to these relationships that I know I took for granted, because A. we're so far apart, B. there's always a greater fondness for the ones who saw you naked all the time both emotionally and physically and loved you anyway, and C. the old friends are the ones you can call and will appreciate every new story you have to tell about this brave new world and the place you have in it.

My challenge to you is to make 30 your 20. Don't kill yourself, but have goals, particularly with exercise, because otherwise you'll be too tired after work to think about that. I made it my goal to be in better shape in my 20's than I was when I was 20. Think about things like refined sugars and high fructose corn syrup like all the cool crunchy people you know, but don't stop eating chocolate chip cookies. My suggestion would only be to not pound 25 all at once like you did in college because you will start feeling the effects of late nights out, too much alcohol, and high sugar intake way worse than you used to, starting at around age 24 and a half (ugh). Also eat more fruits and weird vegetables like kale. They're so good for you, and you can even trick yourself into loving them in smoothies without realizing they're there. It's great.

Finally - a toast to my girls near and far away and across oceans and who I haven't seen since a Canadian wedding nearly two years ago: you all made college what it was, and you are continuing to make my life what it is today. I'll drink to that.

me and Kelsey, Meredith's 21st birthday, Fall 2009

UT Game, Fall 2009

RUF Halloween party where all my roomies wanted to be the colors of the rainbow,
and I insisted on being a sheep.

Me and Sweet Melanie in Florence, Study Abroad, 2010

Leah and Michael's wedding, Fall 2010

Freshman year dorm room birthday party, Fall 2007

Freshmen hayride, Fall 2007

Halloween party, Fall 2007

Snow day with the Xies with Caitlin's cheesy biscuits in  Spring 2011

RUF Barn Dance, Fall 2008

Rhossili Bay, Wales, 2010

Bath, England, 2010, after a long day of being lost

Winter conference, spring 2008

One last hoorah with the old roomies, Spring 2011

Study Abroad 2010 in Swansea at either Oceana, Play, or Revs.

Meredith's wedding, 2011

Xies on Max Patch, Fall 2009

Ministry Team Retreat, Fall 2010

RUF Ministry Team

When Leah became a McCall, Fall 2010

RUF Christmas party with the roomies, 2008

Max Patch with Hopey, Fall 2010

That time when the Xies had a pig named Franklin (a few days after I got engaged - 2010)

U2 Concert - Fall 2009

Last  Barn Dance, Fall 2010 

Happy Graduation, guys!

I have this friend

I got this book from the library yesterday, and so far it's proven to be super intriguing. I didn't really know you could write a narrative about running. Or even that there is a story that goes with running. I also didn't really know I would ever talk about running affectionately or think of it and myself as friends. I made peace with the horrible idea of more-than-walking when I signed up for a 5k in the 10th grade because one of my best friends said she wondered if we could do it. I began to train a bit reluctantly and sort of got the hang of it, but Running and I we were in this really unhealthy relationship. A little bit of attraction, but a lot of hate. I loved the way I felt afterwards but hated the way I felt during. I devoted myself to training for this one race, but beyond that, I was not going to adopt it as my form of exercise. Running was one of those things I hated talking about because I felt like a poser. Sort of like when people put North Face/Chaco/Patagonia/I Heart Mountains stickers all over their cars (don't look at my car) or buy something from Rei and call themselves outdoorsy, I didn't feel like I could sign up for a 5k and call myself a runner. It wasn't until about 2 years ago that I would ever even think of myself remotely as a runner, and I think the only reason I do now is because it's not this intimidating, completely defeating thing that it used to be. It's not something I beat myself up over anymore like I did when I didn't run as far or as fast as other girls. It sort of became a stress relieving habit, and then it became familiar, and now we're sort of just casual friends. That's not to say that Running and I don't always get along, but we always make up. Mostly for the following reasons.

I run...
...because I can.

...because I couldn't before.

...because the moments of clarity, ambition, and motivation I get post running keep me productive

...because of the sweat, especially when it runs down your face...the abandon you feel when you aren't concerned about smelling bad.

...because of the innate need to move and to see the world with my feet

...so that I can spend time with my dog.

...in defiance against disease, illness, laziness, pain, inability, insecurity

...because it's hard
...because I can feel my heart and lungs and blood vessels and endorphins smiling
...because I can go to bed exhausted afterwards
...because I can do it anywhere in the world and in almost any weather...in the rain, in the snow, in Hurricane Sandys, on the beach, in Europe, in South Africa, and in those new experiences, I make memories.
...because it gives me a sense of direction when I'm in a new city
...it accepts me as I am even when I don't
...because with it, I engage all of my senses and experience real human feelings like: delight, satisfaction, "I don't think I can do this", relief, exhaustion, frustration, etc.

tell me about your exercise...

spring chicken

After awhile I just have to go outside. Sometimes I feel like a chicken sitting on my eggs in my little coop, and I can't move or else the things under my supervision will explode. In other words, I wish I could spend 75% of my entire life outdoors. Funny, because about 85% of my life is spent indoors. I wish for spring 75% of the year, fading into a few weeks of fall and then a few weeks of winter. I wish for the immediate peace you feel when the sun smooths out the goosebumps on your arms. I wish to be a free range chicken, doing all of my duties in the comfort of a big yard. Spring makes me want to slip into a pair of shorts, go outside and garden (you know...in my concrete back yard), drink lemonade diluted with water, ride a horse as fast as I can (this isn't just a fantasy...I once had a horse and could do this), ride my bike for miles and miles and miles, get sweaty and gross, eat tomatoes right off a nearby vine like an apple, hike someplace a lot of people don't frequent on Saturdays, listen to embarrassing music very loud with my car windows down, drink iced coffee, spin around in circles in a meadow with "lucy in the sky with diamonds" playing in the background like in my own movie, and eventually go to bed exhausted with Philip and Mina snuggled very close by.

Happy April 11th, everyone.

just call me flake.

I don't like to call myself a flake. Nobody wants to be the girl nobody calls because she never comes. In fact I think I make an incredibly concerted effort to make it look like I am the least flakey person ever. Especially since I got an iPhone. iPhones are revolutionary in their ability to make someone uninteresting look cultured, multifaceted...sepia-ed. And with a blog title like "here and there", I feel it's necessary to accurately depict some heres and some theres. But when you aren't traveling and aren't having a good day and your hair is too greasy and you're tired and it's dreary outside, it's hard to muster up the will to want to do anything that would make a blog entry worth reading. Monday I had the opportunity to see Martin Scorsese speak at the Kennedy Center for free, and I didn't go. I had tickets. I even showered to go. But I didn't. Thankfully no friendships were on the line in light of my failure to show up, which is probably the biggest reason I didn't go. But lots of times an event arises that would require me leaving my apartment or little neighborhood to venture out and perhaps ENJOY myself, and I sometimes just sort of flake out. This is funny, because at the same time I absolutely love to travel and see new things and places and meet new people and try new food.

Honestly though, as dearly as my heart aches for travel, my heart also longs for solitude. We can keep contributing my flakiness to being boring, but I like to think of it as being introverted. The older I get, the more I realize how difficult it is for me to posture myself in such a way to be available at anyone's beck & call. The times I spend in solitude are times where I find my energy to go on. Henri Nouwen says things very appropriately, and one of his comments about solitude is poetry:

Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our lives are in danger. Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure. Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our actions quickly become empty gestures.

I wonder if all the times as a kid that my mom would tell me "I think you might be just talking to fill the air" or my teachers would comment on my report card "Stephanie is a sweet student - she just needs to learn to talk to her neighbor less" would have been easily remedied by this Henri Nouwen quote. I feel like even as a 4-10 year old, I would have somewhat understood his words to make so much sense. Maybe not. 

The moments I have to myself are redemptive. It doesn't have to be at home on my living room couch. Some of my most enjoyable solitary moments have been traveling alone, hiking alone, running alone.

However, Philip just left for Knoxville for the weekend. I don't leave till Thursday night, so I'm not particularly needing alone time. I made chocolate chip banana scones. Come join me in devouring. I already had two. My door is always open...except when it's not. 

Here is my weekend in pictures. The cherry blossoms are just starting to open up their little buds. The cherry blossom kite festival was on the National Mall, so Mina and I ran down there (she got in the fountain at the Museum of the American Indian), and we met with Philip's school friends later. Sunday was Easter, and Philip and I had an amazing brunch with our upstairs neighbors, Kat and Erol. Have I ever mentioned that Kat is a gourmet chef? Any meal they invite us to is impossible to pass up. But hey. I made the fruit salad:

what makes you different...makes you beautiful - backstreet boys

What makes someone an expert? Something about spending over 10,000 hours on something. Yeah, I mean I'm pretty sure if you invest that much time in something, you're an expert. I might also argue that having the ability to teach something back to someone in lots of different ways also makes you an expert. I'm surrounded all the time with these people who are SUCH experts, and it's sort of overwhelming. I feel like a baby in my corporate life, studying everyone around me with wide eyes, wondering "how did you learn such BIG words, and how did you arrange them in such a way as to make whatever you're saying as absurdly confusing as possible?".

I mean, it's really great to realize you're in process, constantly moving toward whoever You are, while constantly maintaining a You that can be identified by people who know you. Isn't it weird? That the same You today is your You tomorrow> Which is funny, because my mind changes on a minute by minute basis. Tangent. Anyway - as you start to think about what everyone else seems to know and you do not, you inevitably begin to think about what you DO know. What makes you intelligent?

Let me just tell you. Y'all. I'm an expert at some things. I've probably worn out this topic with some of my friends, but it's so fun to think about and makes you feel so special that I feel as if the internet would also like to think about it. I am an expert at the following VERY important things:

• Biting my nails. I've even gotten good at hiding it from the people who constantly tell me to stop.
• Finding letters on my phone to text when I'm not looking at it.
• Parallel parking. No - for real. Ask anyone. We won't talk about the number of cars I've "tapped".
• Being honest.
• Consuming more food than most other females.
• Falling asleep anywhere. Anywhere. ANYWHERE.
• Correcting comma errors.
• Drinking coffee as slowly as possible. It's 3:38 pm. I'm still on my morning cup. It's cold - so what.
• Breaking into houses with credit cards**
• Not throwing up. 6 years and counting.
• Getting to work 15 minutes after waking up with hair fixed, face make-uped, breakfast digested, and teeth licked enough times to convince anyone that I actually brushed my teeth. The key is doing all of those things at once.
• Doing the Sit and Reach better than anyone else (you should have seen the jealous stares I got on Fitness Day in elementary school...as if chin ups are cooler...this is not an out of date skill, btw. Let's go sometime.)
• Recalling so so so so many things in my long term memory.
• Asking questions and appearing just curious enough to [sometimes] get away with just being ditsy and not completely ignorant and naive.
• Laughing at my own jokes.
• Laughing at jokes that people have to repeat because I didn't hear them and still thinking they're hilarious.

I mean, yes, I just dug pretty deep, but confidence in oneself has to start someplace. I can't pretend I'm so excellent that I'm going to change the world. In the end I may not really make a dent in history...Let's face it, once I die and everyone I once knew has died, there will be no one to say "remember that expert, Stephanie? Damn, could she parallel park." But I do like to think about this moment in time that I have this purpose - eternal purpose of course, but more so the purpose of now..of deepening my roots in this broken earth, creating bonds with people who are needy like me, pouring the "syrup" of love onto humanity (Away We Go movie scene anyone?) - the mortar that holds these crumbling bricks called people together. At the end of the day, I feel like most experts sort of become as such without realizing it. Investment in something is about time and energy and loving something so much that it becomes second nature. (You may more appropriately call my list of greatness "habits", but that's a tad too cynical for me.) Honestly, experts are awesome and all, but it's those wise people I respect, because wisdom implies some sort of humility juxtaposed with expertise...Anyway, what's your expertise?

**It only works if the door handle is the only part locked

Hoppipolla

Happy Birthday three days ago, Hopey! Great people are hard to come by, but it's kind of amazing when one of them agrees to be your friend. Hope perfectly displays her name's truth in the way she lives. I should say imperfectly. Far from perfect, she shows me what it means to be a beautiful work in progress. She brings hope to the table of our friendship in so many aspects, including - but not limited to - laughter, anticipation of the future, wistful ambition, desire for Right in this world, challenge, guidance, growth, love.

I got to hang out with this one on the 24th anniversary of her birth (on the 24th day of the month - golden!). She and one of her Swiss friends from Nepal, Pierre, came to DC for a couple nights to hang out and to see Sigur Ros. Sunday morning we celebrated with mimosas, homemade cinnamon rolls, and fried eggs, and then lazied about our day (I don't know that lazy is ever a verb, but it is today), watching Macklemore and SNL videos until the concert that night.

Sigur Ros was incredible - although I don't recommend the venue. It was a bit like eating a gourmet meal in a fast food restaurant. The Patriot Center should be reserved for basketball games; epic performances like these deserve a theater. I might have wept a bit during Hoppipolla, and I was covered during the whole performance with goose bumps.

On Monday Pierre left to go home to Geneva, and Hope hung with me until Megabus took her away. We talked and drank wine and made homemade pizza and listened to good music and fell back into our rhythm before she went on her way. It was a fabulous weekend. Pierre was a perfect Swiss gentleman who reawakened my desire to learn French, and Hope was Hope.

This week is full of preparation for finals (Philip) and same ol' same ol' for me. Which is totally fine. I'm comfortable with a routine on which I can depend for awhile. Philip expressed an interesting idea on Monday that I feel I should share. We love our work. But we seem to go through all of the stages of grief on Mondays: Denial that it's no longer the weekend, then sadness, then anger at how behind we feel on work and how unmotivated we are to catch up, and finally acceptance. Acceptance for me usually comes on Tuesday morning. Tuesday is a day where I wake up glad for coffee, eager to see my coworkers' faces, and happy it's no longer Monday. By hump day, it's mid week, and the pressure lessens at work, people begin to relax, and weekend plans are made.

I wonder what it would be like to just enjoy every day for whatever it has to offer...

I leave you with a small taste of our concert on Sunday. Enjoy your Wednesday! And y'all. Despite the weather's recent defiance, it's Spring. Get excited.

don't you wish your boyfriend was andy dwyer?

Does anyone actually encapsulate the phrase "their own person"? I mean, is there anyone who actually doesn't care and is content with who they are and who they will become whether or not it takes a long time? If I did find this person (or think I had), I would never want to peg that person because how incredibly presumptuous of me to assume that anyone could possibly have it figured out...and how, by me simply peeking into that person's life, can I possibly have a clue what is going on in their lives?

I have this idea that everyone belongs to someone or something. Not that they are totally defined by something or someone, but I think everyone has a place in their souls that gets filled up by certain things and feels empty when those things aren't not there. I used to think that kids were pretty good examples of "own persons". But in reality, even as a kid I tried to stay in the haven of my parent's approval.

Moving on to something less human. Animals take pride in belonging. My dog will do anything as long as I love her forever and ever and never yell. It's true. She maintains her need for attention but only to the most dire of her needs; if she knows I am in the least dissatisfied, she immediately comes over to see how she can fix me. Why are we so in tune to what people want? Why can't we be content with who we are no matter how it affects us?

We can't. I honestly don't think we were created as creatures of solitude, either in physical presence or within our own thoughts. We are imperfect thinkers and doers and be-ers, and bouncing ideas and perspectives off other people brings us closer to the way it's supposed to be. And let's face it. It's not the way it's supposed to be. Nothing is.

But oh the glimpses of beauty! Before my husband and I got married, he gave me the book "Into the Wild", which I quickly devoured to find something even more precious on the back cover. Philip had written the words "experiencing beauty" at the top; the remainder of the page was covered in words we can only associate with "the way things are supposed to be". Some included "forgiveness. tears. truth. sunsets. sunrises. realizing how much you care." And it went on and on until I was in a puddle of tears, wrapped in the emotion of the terribly redemptive story I'd just read and the truth that had been showered over me. Chris McCandless did a lot of searching for a place to belong and even though he didn't discover the truth until he was nearly dead, he reached a culmination of finally getting it in the form of these words scrawled on a piece of paper: "happiness is only real when shared".

Thank God there are other people in the world. To keep me in check, to humble me, to whittle me down to my core, to pray for me, to excuse me, to give me all these millions of chances, to listen, to reorient me, to yell at me, to cry with me, to be mad at me, to laugh with me, to embark with me. So I'm here in the city with a few friends that are just as busy as me, and I'm here to tell them: I want to share happiness with you. There are so many things that make me happy, and I want to enjoy them with new friends and old friends. Thanks for accepting me, District of Columbia. You're growing on me.

In honor of my sweet home...

I would like to end today's post by making a case that Andy Drywer from Parks and Rec, is the most "his own person" ever. And let's be real. He's not real. Enjoy a buzz feed moment...

http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/examples-of-why-you-should-wish-that-your-best-friend-was-an

let's have another go

The one thing I've learned about creating something pretty is that I can't take myself too seriously. When whatever I'm doing tailspins into fuming frustration, throwing things, disposing of whatever creation I've begun, and tears, I might be taking myself too seriously. This can rear its ugly head in so many forms, but the ones I've experienced the most are when I'm cooking, painting, doing almost any math problem, navigating around PhotoShop, sewing with a machine...really just attempting creativity. I'm not saying you should chuck whatever logic you try to insert into the project...that would be careless. I'm saying it's important to drink a glass of wine before you do these things or else you get lost in the outcome and can't experience the learning, the moments of inspiration during your work, the laughter, the enjoyment of the activity. If you can't drink a glass of wine, I suggest listening to great music or doing these activities with someone who is just as bad at them as you are - see below:

My good friend and I attempting to paint while we watch the horrific season finale of Downton Abbey

In reference to this need to not take myself too seriously and my tendency to do so, I've been revamping my blog. It's been existing in the cyber void, but existing is the pretty bleak extent of it. Writing every few months isn't good for my ability to be consistent or for my creative outlet. I want to talk about things. Things that matter and are important and are written down and can be rooted in the soil of my continually growing mind. This isn't supposed to be a journal, or else there would be even less tact than the bit I can sometimes muster in public. But I do want to record the goings on and the beauty and the realizations that occur to a writer on a regular basis. With that - I would like to say I've missed you, and I promise to offer more for anyone that has the slightest interest.

So let's talk for a hot second about the latest. My job is going well. I'm learning new things all the time. Philip is applying for Fulbright in London, so we could potentially end up there after grad school (Fall 2014). Be still my heart. Could it be? I swoon at the thought of ending up there even if it's just for a year. The dog has become my favorite running partner, and I even got her up to 6 miles today. She usually decides she's had enough at about 3. I am doing well, but I continue to have emotional issues that need to be addressed, and I try very hard to avoid them. It would probably help if I opened the door a bit wider spiritually. The struggle continues in my ability to love well, my determination to push past complacency, and my resolve to be less self focused.

Finally, I have very dear friends coming into town next weekend to watch the most glorious concert on the planet - Sigur Ros. I will cry, and it will be a good soaking cry, much like the kind you have when you see someone you love get married or at the end of Homeward Bound. Delight. And something else. It's not sadness, but it's sort of that wistful feeling that accompanies happy tears. With the arrival of our Icelandic friends will be my Hope, and we will cry together - at how beautiful God makes the world and people and music and how very little we understand it all.

Here is the last two-ish weeks in pictures.

Grandma, I wear Grandpa's shirt all the time. In honor of his birthday tomorrow, here is what happens when you put Grandpa's flannel on a girl.

Philip made the best sushi ever, and it was even good the second day.

Peregrine Espresso -  a classic Eastern Market shop that isn't just confined to Eastern Market anymore. There are now 3 opportunities to partake of this delicious art in DC. Then you too can be the lame Instagramer of a latte. 

Mina and I have daily adventures to various parks to play with her new "Chuck It". It is the laziest way to throw a ball super far and make your dog exhausted for the rest of the day.

This is the friendly face that will greet you when you come to visit us. Come soon.