The New Pursuit

Four days ago, I set out to write a creative piece every day of the year. And, granted, it’s only been four days, and I’m honestly not looking forward to tomorrow’s project (Write a letter to someone you went to elementary school with. How in the world am I supposed to make that interesting?). But I’m loving it. And producing some very terrible writing and, I’m sure, a hundred typos a day.

But loving it!

I start thinking about the next topic and how to attack it as soon as I post the last one. I ponder it all day and all night long. It makes my dead-end job just a little more delightful and my day seem a bit productive. I get a huge sense of accomplishment when I’ve finished a piece, read it over, and slapped it on the webpage. I’m sure very few people actually read the darn thing, but I don’t care. It’s for me, not for them.

My only worry is that I won’t be this gung-ho about it in a week. Or in two. Or a month. I’ve never finished a year-long commitment in my life. Or that I’ll go on vacation and come back and never catch up again. Or never even start again after I’m out of town. That’s what happened with my wonderful workout regiment. Went wheelin’, came home, never ran again, gained 20 pounds. Oops.

This one feels different, though. Just a little. I’ve always loved to write, but the biggest challenge is never having anything to write about. With my grand list of topics (crossing them off one by one, just like Earl), I’m more than armed for the task.

2010

Here we are again, ringing in a new year, and along with that come the tradition of making a resolution that you’re 98% sure you’re not going to keep anyway. Or proclamations of “this is the year. This is MY year…”

I don’t think I’m going to do that this year. I did that last year, and to be honest, 2009 didn’t end up nearly as glorious as I had planned. True, I wrapped up my degree, something I thought I’d never do, paid off my Jeep and cleared up all my debt, which just feels good, and kept myself surrounded by amazing people who love me.

What I didn’t do was land that job of my dreams. And, I’ll admit, the search is making me weary. I refuse to believe I am stuck in a job that makes me wonder what the point of existance is everytime I walk in the office door. I flat out refuse to stay at a job just for the paycheck. There’s gotta be something out there that makes me feel like a productive member of society and less like a glorified answering machine.

I didn’t buy a house. This is something I really want for myself. My own house. A place where I can paint the walls, I can tear out a wall if I want, I can pound whatever nails in the walls I want. My own place. How would it be to have need of a lawn mower? The American Dream. I want it.

I also didn’t get married. I know, so pathetic and cliched, and I’ll admit, I hate it myself. And if someone else said those words to me, I’d rip their head off and give them a massive lecture about how there’s much more to life than getting married, that the key to success in anything is to be happy as an individual, and satisfied with yourself as a person. And I am. I’m happy. I have a good life. I just need to change my outlook, plan, expectations. Ten years ago, I had a different plan. Married by 25, have my 2.3 children by 30, be a stay-at-home writer with a brilliant online career, and live happily ever after. I guess I built these expectations based on my mom’s path. She was married by 21, had Kid#1 at 25, and Kid#2 at 29. (29 years and 279 days. I figured this out because on June 5th, 2010, I will be exactly half of my mother’s age. I think we’ll have a party of some sort. Seems like an occasion to celebrate something.) So, I guess it’s natural to feel disappointed.

2010 will be the year I turn 30. And I don’t have my children. I don’t have the job to support them if I did. I don’t own a home. I don’t have that husband that loves me no matter how infuriating I am. I have a cat. I rent (albeit a freaking cool apartment). I have a passion for words that I can’t use. But, that’s fine. It’s not a time for a resolution, or a promise that this is the year to make drastic changes. Change will come as it’s meant to. This is the year for different expectations. Nothing more.

My Lil Nativity!

Isn't it cool?! I just love it!

I tend to get a wee bit too crafty for my own good. (Currently, I'm trying to crochet my own gloves, but they are proving difficult.) I made it almost entirely out of pages from magazines. It took longer than I thought to create it, but it was worth it. Now, I'm working on one for Mom. She might not get it in time for Christmas, though.

Anyway, just showing off my latest creation!

Skirt Girl

So, I wrote this one a while ago and never got around to posting it.....but I like it. So, I'll post it now. Hee hee.

Skirt Girl

Have you ever experienced a deep dislike for someone you don’t know a thing about? Their face annoys you, you hate the way they smile, they have a crooked teeth, they dress dumb, something totally superficial makes you unable to stand the person before they even open their mouth.

Such a girl attends classes in the English department at Utah State. Something about her just gets on my nerves. It may be her hair that it seems she tried to style, but it’s still a bit ratty and strange. Or the skirts she wears that end just above the knee and poof out around her. Or the heels. Who wears heels when hiking across campus to classes? And because I’ve never actually met her, never learned her name, I don’t know one single thing about her other than her hair is weird and she wears out-of-fashion poofy skirts, I call her Skirt-Girl.

Her mouth is small, too. She’s got itty-bitty lips and tiny teeth. I know this because she’s always smiling. There’s not one ounce of cynicism, sarcasm, or grumpiness in her. She’s the quintessential happy-person. Which also annoys me.

Just my luck, I landed in a class with Skirt-Girl. After weeks of avoiding her, of dodging out of sitting anywhere near her, I arrived to class a few minutes late. The only seat was right behind her. I couldn’t help but listen in to her conversation with another girl in the class.

Skirt-Girl was describing her woes about a roommate who didn’t seem to like her. Immediately, I felt kinship with the roommate. The poor thing. Had to live with Skirt-Girl and see her every single day. Sigh.

After that, I had a whole new reason to be annoyed at Skirt-Girl. She actually believed that every single person on this planet needed to like her.

I’m sure Skirt-Girl is an outstanding member of society. She’s probably active in volunteer organizations, probably paints houses for the poor, makes quilts for the homeless, donates books to third-world countries, recycles, composts, rides her bike on red-air days, whatever.

I simply don’t like her.

Yeah, I may be the most shallow person on the planet, that I could dislike a person simply based on their looks. Truth is, I am shallow, but, I think everyone makes decisions like that every time they see a person. Of course, we’re not going to admit it, even to ourselves, most of the time, and try hard to treat everyone equal.

That’s the right thing to do, obviously.

Well, I’ve got news for you, Skirt-Girl….

Happy Veteran's Day

Here's a big thank you to all you who serve. Thanks for everything you do, everything you've done and everything you've given all of us.

If you don't stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them.

Veteran’s Day approaches again, and every year I like to write my thanks, some speech about my appreciation for the troops that give me so much. And this year, I’ve been thinking about what to say in my Veteran’s Rant for about a month and a half. And I just don’t know where to begin. I don’t have anything new to say about my freedom and how awesome it is to have. And I don’t know how many times I can say ‘Thanks’ before it becomes a cliché and means little.

I can’t help but think, though, about all the people who support our troops. As a girl who’s sat at home, with several friends serving in various places around the globe, I have a very slight idea what it’s like. It got to a point where I couldn’t watch the news anymore.

I’d hear the words, “A U.S. solider has died in Iraq today…” My gut jumped to my throat. The mantra started in my head. “Please don’t be my soldier. Please don’t be mine. Don’t be one that I know…” And then that bittersweet wave of relief follows, when my brain registers that it’s no one I know. After that, the awful guilt. An American soldier died for my freedom, and I sit here grateful that it wasn’t the one I happen to know. It was someone’s soldier. Someone was waiting for him to come home, sending letters and postcards and praying every single day that it wouldn’t be their soldier who died today.

So, this Veteran’s Day, I’m not only going to thank the soldiers, but those who stand behind them. Those who send them cookies, and postcards, and fill their mailboxes with junk that all says the same thing.

“You’re the bravest person I know, thanks, and I love you.”

Lotoja!!!

It’s Lotoja tomorrow!! Yaaaaaaay!

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the strange term, Lotoja (pronounced “low-toe-juh”) is the bike race from Logan, Utah to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Get it? LO(gan)TO JA(ckson). It’s the (this is my favorite) LONGEST one-day bike race in North America. It’s 206 miles long, over Snake River Pass and two other mountain passes, through three states, 1000 cyclists, and all their support teams. (http://www.lotojaclassic.com)

It’s more exciting than Christmas.

And my little brother will be racing in his 13th Lotoja this year. (I say 'little', even though he's 4 years older than me, because he's at least 50 pounds lighter than me. Ha ha! That scrawny kid.)

I’ll never, ever forget his first year. He recruited me to be his feed zone support. I thought it would be cool, standing in a block-long feed zone, handing water bottles and feed bags off to Joel as he scooted on past. I had no idea it would be the most nerve-wracking experience of my life. Of course, that first year, Joel was nervous, with the prospect of racing over 200 miles, but I had no idea how hard those nerves would hit me. The first feed zone was in Grace. I remember standing by the side of the road, feed bag in hand, shoulder-to-shoulder with a hundred other nervous support crew members, fighting for real estate on the curb of the street. And the groups of cyclists would race by, going soooo fast, each rider looking exactly the same as every other, snatching bags and bottles as they whizzed past.

What I if I missed him? What if he missed me? It was another 30 miles to the next feed and the zones are the only places he can get water. I don’t know what rider he is. I don’t know what pack he’s in. I can't remember his race number. How will I know if he sees me? Feeding a cyclist is pretty much a ‘leap of faith’ operation. You stick your arm out of the crowd of supporters and into the fray of cyclists and pray that your rider grabs your bag. Then, you taste sweet relief for about 15 minutes, until you realize you get to do it all over again at the next feed zone.

It makes for a very long day.

And that’s not even counting the hours spent watching these cyclists fight, and work, and push, and struggle over the passes, through the wind, sometimes the rain, the one year it snowed, the crashes, the attacks, the chases, the sweat, the tears, the pain, the triumphs, the whole shebang.

And THEN, the thought hits: my brother, my scrawny, adorable brother is in the middle of all that. Every time we’d pass his pack in the support car, it’s hard to even breathe, impossible to talk or cheer him on out the window. I forget how proud I am of that boy until I see him on his bike. Lotoja is a yearly reminder of all the amazing things that skinny guy does and is. I have no idea how Mom handles it. He’s not my kid and I can’t even put into words how awesome he is. It’s physically impossible to form the phrase, “That’s MY boy,” when he’s racing.

What an emotional ride.

Then, Joel married Megan, and blessedly, she does the support now. Lotoja has turned into a fun day for me. I’m not nervous and anxious for days beforehand. I’m excited this go ‘round. I look forward to seeing the kids and playing with them while Megan waits in the feed zone, elbowing for position, participating in the organized chaos. It’s not that I hated being in the feed zones; it’s just a much more relaxed experience these days.

So, here’s my hats-off to this year’s riders! Hope it’s a great day, the weather cooperates, there are no casualties, flat tires, or crashes. Ride hard, be safe, and have FUN! I know I will.