Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

Growing up, I was never afraid to fly. I loved flying...and when the plane sped up for take off, that was my favorite part, because it gave me such a rush. In college, I had a friend who was a pilot, and we caught a ride on a Leer Jet from Dulles Airport to Ocean City for the afternoon. Because my friend knew the pilots of the privately owned Leer Jet, they told us that we could stand up while the plane was taking off rather than being safely buckled into our seats. At the time, it was a total blast because the Jet was so FAST at take off. Looking back, I think, 'I wouldn't do that now'...

And then one day I was on a flight from Palm Springs to Washington, DC. I was eating my awful plane meal, that included bread that tasted like the packaging it had lived in for weeks no doubt, and watching my movie with my headphones on, and the plane...dropped. And my food almost fell off my tray table. And to my right a girl in her late teens, early twenties started screaming. Like bloody murder. Which really helps. It was just really bad turbulence, but it went on for a few hours and it managed to give me a splitting headache and officially took away my fearless attitude when it comes to air travel. I sat there and prayed...which sounds really silly now, but I was scared I wouldn't make it home, because I had never been on a plane that experienced that kind of violent turbulence.

I took that trip 3 months before my dad passed away.

I think of my life in terms similar to BC and AD, in regards to losing my dad, because when I look back at now what is almost 3 years, I realize that my life was headed into an extremely turbulent time, that would last quite a long time. Everybody talks about the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm just now starting to see that light, and to enter, what I hope, is a calm and peaceful time for me, at least for a little while.

And then I got married, which has been wonderful, but set into motion other major life changing events. My husband and I decided we were going to move from the DC area over wine at a Middleburg, VA, winery. And so we moved to North Carolina. We loved being close to my brothers and made some amazing friends, but it wasn't the place for us, so we moved to Charleston. And as much as I loved it in Charleston the second we moved here, at first I was very, very lonely. We couldn't afford to fly back to DC to see family and friends. The reason? My husband has been, for the most part, looking for a steady job since May 2010. Living on one income for almost a year has not been easy, and I know I'm not alone, especially in this economy, but financial difficulty can break even the strongest person and relationship.

But somehow, we have managed to make it through. And, by the grace of God, we have met some amazing friends since we moved to Charleston, and reconnected with some old ones, and for that I am so grateful. These friends have helped me to gain the peace I now feel. I have heard recently that everyone is a work in progress, and you just 'have to make it through' the hard times. I fully subscribe to a saying that my dad used to say: never complain...never explain. I hope I haven't complained that much over the past few years, despite how difficult of a time we have been having. I hope most people didn't even know how hard of a time we have had. And that's why I'm ready to be honest now, as we are very close to being out of the weeds, and the light at the end of the tunnel continues to get brighter and brighter.

And a few weeks ago I was on a plane from Charlotte to Charleston. It wasn't a long flight, and it was about 10:30pm so the lights were all out unless someone was reading, but most people were sleeping through it. And the plane dropped and steadied itself, over and over again, barrelling through the night sky. And this time, I wasn't scared. Giving up control and having faith that everything will be okay is not easy, but sometimes it's what needs to happen to make it through the darkest times. And sometimes people need to know they are not alone, even when all of the lights are turned off.

I dedicate this post to my wonderful, talented friend Darcy, whose father passed away two days ago of cancer, and who stood next to me in the ICU when I found out that my dad died, and hugged me when I cried. I love you and will be here for you when you need me. XOXO.

It's Not the Destination, But the Journey That's Important

Just about everyone I know has had their life planned out from a young age. Number of kids identified, names of children all picked out, and what kind of house they wanted to live in pictured, complete with the white picket fence.

For example, when I was in college, I worked with a girl who had recently graduated with her undergrad degree, and she said she 'had very little time' to find her Mr. Right, because she had to be married by the time she was 22, to have her first kid at 24. She seemed very unwilling to budge with her time line, and to this day, I wonder if she ever really kept to it.

If you would have asked me when I was 17 how my life would go, I would have told you that I would get married as soon as I graduated from college, with my first child at 24 or so. And if the same question was asked when I was 22, I would have said, married by 26, first kid by 28...and so on.

My point is, it doesn't matter how much you try to put your type A spin on your life, because it will never turn out exactly (or even close to) how you planned. And that's not all bad.

I have a record number of friends that will have their first babies in 2011, and I'm so excited for them. I'll be turning 33 this year, and the more time goes by, the more I wonder when that will happen for me. The more years that go by, the more anal my husband becomes, and I'm not trailing that far behind, to the point where I wonder how much a baby would disrupt our lives and could we even handle it? I saw this after my husband blew a gasket over the recent realization that our dogs were scratching up the hardwood floors. I mean, don't kids draw on walls with crayons (and with worse things? ick). I wonder how my husband would react to that.

I used to be frustrated with waiting it out for the right time to start a family. We have been waiting for the right time...and sometimes I wonder if the right time will actually come. So I have re-focused my energies thinking about when we would not only have the family we want, but the house we want, that in my dreams seems to be getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

To put some perspective on things, as I've said before, I was very close with my father, and I feel like I've been passed some of his traits. He always aspired for more, and he worked and he worked and he worked to get it. He always had this restlessness of not being 'quite content' with what he had. I remember going to open house after open house with him saying 'which room would you pick if I had this house?'. And they were always the most beautiful houses. And huge. With wine cellars and big backyards, and built in hot tubs, and stables nearby where I could keep my horse. If I had one, that is.

Well guess what? I'm the exact same way. Every new neighborhood I drive through that I like has me pulling up Zillow on my iPhone, dreaming about how long it would take to make enough money to live in THAT neighborhood. And the silly thing is, I've gone from a 500 square foot condo in the DC area to a nice, new sizable townhouse. But has that been enough for me? Well...let's just say I'm always thinking about what's next. And I'm still dreaming of that perfect house.

My father was the same way. And then one day he had enough money and decided to build his dream house. All 16,000 square feet of it. And boy was it gorgeous. People would stop in front of it in Oakton, Virginia, when they were driving by because of its sheer mass and beauty, white limestone imported from Italy. I got married in that house.

But here's what I learned from all of that. Unless you have $2,000 every month to spend on utility bills alone, without blinking an eye, don't dream of that 16,000 square foot house.

But what does this all mean? I mean, seriously, what is the point? The point, my friends, is that it's good to dream, but if you are only living in your dreams of 'what you may have some day', you will never be enjoying the present, because the present moment will never be quite good enough, and your house won't ever be big enough, and you'll always be trying to get there, not ever really knowing where 'there' is. That's where I've lived for the past several years.

A friend said to me this week that things happen when they are supposed to, and to stop worrying about things, because you tend to realize later that things always work themselves out for the best, although you may not think so at the time, because we want things to happen when it's convenient for us. Because we always seem to think we know best, but in reality, we really don't know at all.

So, maybe I'll be the 36 year old 'new' mom, because that's when it will happen for me. And maybe I'll live in my modest townhouse until I'm 70. And I do think that would be okay, if that's what is supposed to happen. I'm ready to start focusing my energy on what I have now in my life, rather than what I want to have at some point in my life. I'll still dream big, but I won't let my dreams overtake me and bankrupt me. Because in the end, it's all just stuff, right?

And really, living in a townhouse in Charleston is 'living the dream' as my husband likes to say. So I'm gonna enjoy it. And I will wait patiently for my train to come.

What's Worthy of Being Thankful For

For the past two years, the holidays have been bittersweet for me.

I am a very mushy person, and where I am happiest is surrounded by family and friends. I get that from my dad...well, in the later part of his life when he realized what was most important was family and friends (and not his business), and though for 2/3rds of his life he forgot that part, I think he realized it when it was most important, which gave his kids fond memories as adults, and I forgave him for the years he forgot.

As long as the drive back to DC was (8 1/2 hours) for Thanksgiving, I didn't mind it. Not because my husband drove most of the way because for some reason my driving scares him (I'm an excellent driver...no I'm NOT rain man), but because I really enjoy listening to cheesy holiday music (and am listening right now) and I love catching up with everyone.

I love drinking wine on Thanksgiving...or champagne (which I also can't get enough of...because EVERY day should be a celebration...and every day is worthy of a little champagne), and yes, I love sitting in the 'sewing circle' catching up with the ladies in my family and having them give me crap about my cooking because I'm a horrible cook. The only thing I've ever been really good at is showing up with the booze. Isn't that really the most important thing? ;) Just kidding, but wine IS healthy for the memory and heart, and everyone needs a little boost, in my opinion. So this Thanksgiving was no different, when my mom, who is an amazing cook and who makes pies that cause people to give up their diets, strongly 'hinted' my deviled eggs looked like turds. That's cool. They were delicious. And guess what...she still ate those turds, and at the end of the day, only THREE were left out of TWENTY-FOUR. Best turds you ever had.

But I digress... Why are the holidays bittersweet? Well...when my dad passed away, now two and half years ago, I realized how amazing my friends and family are. And here's where I get mushy and tell you what I'm thankful for. My friends and family. I absolutely love them. All of them. I have never felt so loved and blessed than when they were there for me throughout the hardest time in my life, losing one of my best friends: my father. And the holidays remind me of how special the people in my life truly are because the holidays are when you stop and actually have time to reflect and think about how your life has changed, for better or worse, and to really count your blessings (hopefully) that you have such amazing people that you love and love you.

I'm thankful that I've been welcomed into my husband's family with open arms. I'm thankful that I have friends and family I can call when I'm sad or doubting, because I've always been the kind of person that needs a little reassurance, in every part of my life.

And I may just drive my husband crazy with the following Christmas song because I blast it whenever it comes on and won't let him change the channel, but to be honest, I don't care, because it reminds me of such a wonderful memory: of sitting in a Catholic Church in Jupiter, Florida, with my dad and stepmother on Christmas Eve in 2004, and the voices of what seemed like angels sang 'O Holy Night', and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, and such a wonderful memory that I can always cherish. I hope everyone else was as lucky as me on Thanksgiving, and was surrounded by people they love. XOXO (that's me getting mushy)