{& then} you look back

This time last year I was sleeping in a moldy house, getting ready to be a backup bridesmaid in Intercourse, Pennsylvania. From the story-like, Gilmore Girls-esque town that I arrived to by train, to the large amish population (who had special reserved buggy parking at the grocery store!), to the fact that I travelled to said story town from my all too temporary home in the city that never sleeps --

life could not be any different now that it was exactly 365 days ago.

[DISCLAIMERS: we stayed in the moldy house for free thanks to some very sweet hosts so thank you; I'm probably going to get in trouble at some point for this, but what is the fun of writing if you don't take some risks and tell the actual story; okay fine the actual wedding may not have been in Intercourse, PA, but that's the only town name in the area that stuck (duh) so I'm going with it; the Big Apple reference was honest; and I'm not sure if this is a leap year or not so I could be off on the exact number of days that have passed)

One person who has remained consistent in some form or fashion since then is a loving and loyal friend who has seen me at my worst/best/obnoxious in-betweens. We seem to end up at each other's side in almost all of the most important moments - I just can't get rid of her, geez. Real talk though - we've grown in different directions at varying speeds, but she will always be my geek-out, heat of the moment, I may snap at you real crazy like but we're fine, hey are you awake do you want to braid my bangs friend.

Speaking of geek-outs:

after taking pictures of each other all around story town (the train station, that cool old-timey mailbox, this tree, omg these old houses are gorgeous) with said friend, we happened upon an absolutely adorable shop/diner. We arrived smack-dab in the middle of the morning rush which consisted of the shop owner, Carol, a couple of old guys, some youngins who were clearly just visiting the old guys, and a trickle of regulars who assumed their normal routines around us obvious passers-by. 

After concluding that most of the old men were there because the women that used to cook breakfast for them everyday were no longer in this world, we tried to stop eavesdropping but failed because it's too fun. Carol happily greeted customers by name and predictably knew their orders by heart.

I told you - adorable. 

We ended up chatting with Carol about her shop and how she ended up in middle-of-nowhere Cutesville. She shared her story of spending years in a corporate setting - accounting, I think - and the chain of events that led to her being able to purchase the shop and pursue a lifelong dream she never knew she had. Carol was making the jump and taking a risk to pursue what she knew was right for her at that time in her life. 

I thought I was, too. And depending how you look at it, I may have been. But here I am a year later about to take another jump. This one seems a bit more legit (just kidding a LOT), and there seems to be just the right amount of definites to balance out the I-don't-knows. For these reasons, I, along with those closest to me, feel significantly more secure in the idea of this leap. 

Despite the looming nervousness and waves of anxiety that arrive when I remember how unsure I am of what life will look like roughly 365 days from now, I'm ready. It'll be hard and scary and blah blah blah, but without the leaps what would I have to look back on and write about at all hours of the night? Maybe it's not the best logic, but the amish-town-moldy-house story remains not only a great conversation piece, but clearly a convenient launchpad for reflection. 

Here's to many more.

{& then} :: dinner with the 'rents

Here is brief overview of this post if you'd like to skip all of the gushy details:

one time I moved out of my parents's house. Then I moved back in, then out again (a little farther this time), then back (yea it didn't last very long), and now I'm preparing to move out again for an extended period of time to a land far, far away and I'm elated but also I get a little choked up every time I think about it because I love my mom and dad.

Now if you love me if you feel like it, you may read on:

Freshman year of college was one of the scariest times of my life. I know, I know - that is the worst sentence ever and how is that supposed to make you want to keep reading? But it's true. Coming from the kid who couldn't make it through a (one night) sleepover without calling her mom to pick her up and take her home until the age of oh we'll say 10 (#noshame), IT REALLY WAS SCARY.

Staying true to myself, I put dorm room planning, prep and packing off until the last possible minute. Which (as it always does) resulted in a bit of unease as I stepped into (what some refer to as) an exciting new stage of life. Move-in day went well: my parents helped me get everything situated, bought lunch for all my friends who helped, and then had the audacity to get in their car and drive away. It was like a real-life version of those movies where someone takes their dog out in the forest and has to leave them there and yells at the dog to not follow them home because this is how it has to be. 

Moving away from home and facing life on your own is overwhelming, even if it is just 45 minutes down the highway.

It does help though when you and your BFF accidentally decide to go to the same university... and in some ways it actually saves your life because she encompasses a level of outgoingness one can only dream of and 18-year-old-Courtney was rather opposed to new things and was not the best at making new friends because: FEAR.

Upon returning from a freshman retreat that one can only be retrospectively grateful for having been forced to attend (because a couple of people I met there are some of the best friends I had in college, blah blah blah), my desire to call my mother to come pick me up and take me home was at an all time high.

Except I was 18 and had a car so I just drove myself.

When I got home I went straight into my parent's room and laid down on the bed next to my dad and cried, and he pretended like I wasn't crying because alghough my parents have always enouraged me to express my emotions they were nice enough to let me pretend like I was acting strong for the three of us.

Am I an only child, you ask? Ha, no. I am the youngest of 5 -- yes 5. And we're not even mormon! (But if you are it's okay I don't discriminate.) I have 4 very different and very similar all older siblings who have had their share of moving away and back, but all four years of my high school career it was just me and the 'rents at home. The three of us had our daily/nightly/weekly routines and schedules and dinners and chats and fights and encouraging moments. I say it all the time - my parents are my best friends. For as long as I can I will incessantly call my mother throughout the day, and sneak fun little extras onto my dad's grocery store shopping list (it gets easier when you start making the store runs for them). 

Yes, moving out seemed excruciating at the time, but turned out the be the best thing (like they said it would, psh). I learned more than I may have wanted to about myself and the world and just life man. 

And then when it was time I moved back home. And then I cooked up a plan that didn't go so well so I ended up moving away and back again in the span of about 2 months. THAT was fun.

This time back at home has been, ohhhh - interesting, fun, depressing, frustrating, messy, stupid (okay maybe some of these adjectives are just ME) -- but most of all it's been necessary. The post grad shlump is a funky one, and yes I'll ride that bandwagon until I enter into the next socially acceptable stage of life that merits complaint (which if you're good at it is forever).

Being home has been just what I needed. This time around I'm a few years older and wiser (shut up I am too), with a few more life experiences under my belt that have taught me to appreciate the here and now while I can.

Mom, Dad and I have had dinner together almost every weeknight, give or take a few, for about a year now. I've grown to look forward to meeting them back at home after long days at work to unwind together. We catch up on the news, each other's days, drama (because no matter how old you get there's plenty of that to go around), and thoughts. And even when my views differ from theirs and we disagree about people and principles, we are still able to respect each other and offer advice.

Yea believe it or not sometimes I have good things to say and believe it or not sometimes they acknowledge it - borderline grown up status right here (except I think it goes away when you say it out loud). I'm sure someday I'll figure it out, but for now I'm pretty impressed at the way my parent's give me distance and let me set my own boundaries and then give the most poignant advice at the most perfect moments.

And now I'm getting ready to leave again. Very soon. For a dream that I still can hardly believe is becoming a reality.

The fear of leaving is still there, but for a different reason. This time could very well be the last time (and all the moms said amen!) that I move out. As I embark on a journey that no one really knows the second or third chapters of, I can't help but be preemptively nostalgic of the special time I've had at home with my Mom and Dad.

Because this is a time we'll never get back. And I feel like this has been my chance to make up for and improve upon all the ways I wasn't a stellar granddaughter or didn't take the time to invest in people I loved while they were in my life. 

The most important realization to come from all of this is that home isn't just the place or even the people in the moment. It's that feeling deep within that has been created through the bonds and memories you share with the ones you love the most. And I will create a new home of life and love wherever I go, carrying the ones I cherish with me and incorporating new loves along the way. 

And I know that whenever I get lonely or homesick on this new journey of mine, I can pick up the phone or just escape to a place in my mind that brings joy and comfort:

dinner with the 'rents.      

{& then} I'm proud to be an American

"...where at least I know I'm freeeeeee..."

Okay sorry I'll stop. 

But I won't stop smiling/tearing up/giggling. I just won't. Because so much history has been made this week!

SO. MUCH.

(And coming from a girl who dates literally everything she writes on in the hopes that someday historians will find her writing and be grateful that she was so thoughtful in helping them piece together an accurate timeline, um YEA, I'm super pumped.)

First, Wendy Davis filibustered for 13 HOURS last night (almost all for naught thanks to opposing senate members whose biggest weapon was to call her out on tiny technicalities but we won't go into that because UGH). Except for when all hope seemed to be lost, Texas rallied. And ultimately SB5 was killed - a victory not only for reproductive rights, but also for the provision of health care to women all over this great state.

Check out all the love:

#standwithwendy

AND THEN (!):

This morning my sweet friend/coworker and I sat with our eyes glued to to SCOTUS blog. We watched as the Supreme Court ruled DOMA unconstitutional and dismissed Prop 8. Once we were sure we read the findings right (because I went to college not law school, folks), we hugged and laughed and cried a little knowing that we are now BOTH seen as equal under the law.  <3

No matter your stance, the role of our government is to defend the Constitution and not personal beliefs, and certainly not to discriminate against a minority. 

Justice Scalia put it best I think:

"It is enough to say that the Constitution neither requires nor forbids our society to approve of same-sex marriage, much as it  neither requires nor forbids us to approve of no-fault divorce, polygamy, or the consumption of alcohol."

In the past two days, law and order have succeeded in their intended purpose. Maybe not in every way that people had hoped (e.g. the voting rights act and now the NSA knows what you just Googled) but we have witnessed at least a few victories that area a part of larger struggles, and that is reason to celebrate.

"Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable...Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals."

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

{& then} you get writer's block

...and like not even in the fun way that's frustrating but still exciting because there are a bunch of other ideas floating around in your head but you can't focus on/move forward with a certain thought/idea/purpose.

It's very inconvenient.

You spend more time psychoanalyzing yourself or conveniently "letting" others distract the shit out of you and before you know it you sit back down to face the music and your anxiety levels are at an all time high.

Just do this. Stop being stupid about it. You're being lazy. What's so hard about it? Will you ever stop procrastinating? Do you really want to miss out on this opportunity?

It's more than that though. And just below the surface you can feel your brain/heart/soul start to get into it, but for God's sake just don't because ain't nobody got time for a melt down or an immobilizing self realization.

Just take some more shallow breaths, pour another diet coke and go listen to that one song you love to dance to in the car.

And then when you've convinced yourself that you're sufficiently distracted (in the right way this time), turn on some Bill Evans and try again.

Because if there's one thing that will take you to that perfect mental state of hopeful dreaming of the future and relaxed introspection about everything that's wrong with the world and how we should fix it (besides wine which just makes you sleepy so NO), it's jazz music.

You set this mood with a little Miles Davis, some Coltrane, Ellington, etc. But you always turn on the same tune to calm your nerves and get in the zone.

Hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. 

{& then} you get a history lesson/find a hero

Oh my sweet, conservative Texas, where have you been hiding this amazing woman all my life?!

I was browsing one of my faves today and happened upon Amy Poehler's interview with Holland Taylor (aka Professor Stromwell in Legally Blonde 2) about her latest project.

so. much. drooling! 

From Holland's seriously cool accomplishment of writing and starring in a killer original production, to Amy's exciting opportunity to interview Holland about it, to my discovery of the kick-ass former Governor Ann Richards - a fiery, honest, passionate, pioneer of a politician who broke through barriers and left a truly amazing legacy - and she's from Texas, y'all! 

This Monday just went from headache (because we know how to party hard on Father's Day, lemme tell ya) to happy dance! 

For your viewing/listening pleasure:

 (I may or may not have been listening to Ann's  1988 Democratic Convention speech and giggling quietly to myself the entire time I wrote this post.)

{& then} you wake up

...you wake up.

It's a random weekday around 3pm and you can feel yourself climbing out of the seemingly comfortable yet not the least bit supportive bean bag chair in your brain (actually you're in a cubicle and you should be entering a bunch of nonsense into excel but you're just so bored you can't take it anymore and don't tell my boss okay). 

You stand up, have a good stretch, peak through the blinds (the blinds in your brain, because there's no way in hell a wittle intern like yourself has a window view) and remember the enormous world out there. The world that has been living, breathing, laughing, crying hurting and healing the entire time that you decided to take a mental snooze.

You're not sure exactly when it started or how you got where you are today, but somewhere between major life achievement number 4/5, heartbreak number 328469512, your gazillionth failed attempt and some speed bumps/pot holes we'll call funemloyment and disillusionment, you checked out. Your heart grew cold towards seemingly hopeful yet fundamentally shallow and ineffective causes and campaigns. 

In fact, "hope" has become the most detestable four letter word in your vocabulary, and happy people are just  

t o o  m u c h. 

Some definite post-grad/post-whatever cynicism has set in so deep its roots have begun to choke out every foundation and lifeline you've ever known. Your family keeps asking where is the old you/ohmygosh that's a terrible thing to say/you haven't cried since when?? Not even those awful, Sarah Mclachlan, puppies are dying here's how you can help commercials work on you anymore.

Somewhere along the way you succumbed to the weight of uncertainty, dissatisfaction (both with yourself and your inability to DO something about anything that actually matters) and the constant conflict between your heart and your brain and things that people say and things that people do and just ALL of it.

But you just woke up.

And the same way you can't describe when exactly it was that you decided to take a lengthy, slightly depressed siesta,  in this moment your eyes feel a little fresher, your shoulders a little lighter, and your heart a little softer (read: total Grinch moment).

Your mom will say it's because of prayer, your bff will tell you life experiences have made you more confident, and your dog will be so confused when you finally start cleaning your room that she'll bark as if something is terribly wrong -- but you're still not 100% sure.

You just go with it though. 

It's a good feeling with a slightly unrecognizable yet somewhat life-giving vibe...

yep, just go with it.

As you tie your shoe laces you remind yourself, "I'm no one's savior, but damn it, this world will not be the same by the time I leave as it was when I arrived."

You take another look out the window (the one in your brain) before mustering up just enough determination to open the door and step outside. One breath of that musty city air is all it takes to remind you of the people and things that make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you think it might jump out of your chest. A stroll under the trees takes you to a place you haven't been in a while - a place of inspiration, a place of life. 

And then Classic "You" chimes in and reminds you that this happiness you're reveling in is a little on the cheesy side and just because you feel good right now doesn't make the world a better place and life still sucks sometimes and people are still the worst.

New(er) You politely just as sassily reminds Classic You that this won't be easy, that if it was it probably wouldn't be worth it, and you're probably going to have to stop and catch your breath and fight the urge to just go home and pull the blanket back over your head.

See, it's not so much that you ever became immediately apathetic, rather, there was so much to care about and so little to do about it (or so you thought) and over time you realized how much easier (at least at first) it was to hide away and ignore it all.

Under the guise of apathy, of course.

Instead of a convincing yourself that this is all one big happy ending, you keep walking down the sidewalk under the trees breathing in that musty city air and you convince yourself that it's so much better out here than in it is in there. That no matter how hard it becomes or how heavy it all is or how much worse people get, your place is right in the middle of it all.

Exactly where doesn't matter at this point, you resolve, but one thing is for sure ---

You can't go back.

You won't.