tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19886596460636694642024-02-19T06:34:04.442-05:00An Ashleigh RenaissanceAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.comBlogger180125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-61387193847608559952012-12-22T15:54:00.000-05:002012-12-22T15:54:02.503-05:00A Thousand WordsI could write (and have written) a thousand words about my post-hurricane experience. But nothing I could write would be equal to this picture, which for me speaks at least a thousand words about my experience. These are the boots that got me through those (literal and figuratively) dark days. The boots that kept my feet dry and safe whilst wading through sea water and sewage and tearing down drywall with my bare hands. I can't bring myself to throw them away, even though I know I can never wear them again (they are beyond damaged). So for now, they live in my room, an odd totem to my Sandy experience. And every time I see them, I give thanks for the protection they offered and the stroke of luck that kept me and my home safe during the storm. Thanks, boots.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cYyjHMf5yYSrDXje2062gK3gqwwCIuPeLuRkVVFgvJZ3Ch9okvfAOAhhAR8YU0HhtOz9ocOYmkWy08IN-blRGRSXq8IRa7JzfWyfd1-iucuv8Fb8P39ti0r3Eqma6McVdtMMGUdmPGWF/s1600/Boots+B&W+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cYyjHMf5yYSrDXje2062gK3gqwwCIuPeLuRkVVFgvJZ3Ch9okvfAOAhhAR8YU0HhtOz9ocOYmkWy08IN-blRGRSXq8IRa7JzfWyfd1-iucuv8Fb8P39ti0r3Eqma6McVdtMMGUdmPGWF/s640/Boots+B&W+2.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-85164092640737358092012-12-09T10:00:00.000-05:002012-12-09T10:00:07.590-05:00Poem<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"><b>Desiderata, by Max Erhmann, 1927</b></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Strive to be happy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">(thanks to <a href="http://keepbreathingky.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Kyle</a> for turning me on to this incredible piece of poetry. I'm totally obsessed.)</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-28048535519616958642012-12-09T01:21:00.000-05:002012-12-09T01:21:29.612-05:00quote<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', Century, Georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 12px;"><q class="medium" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: url(http://static.tumblr.com/cc4ocei/Y5Mkzk5s7/quote.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 0px 10px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 1.4; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 18px; padding-left: 32px; padding-right: 18px; padding-top: 16px; quotes: '', ''; vertical-align: baseline;">"I would like to be known as an intelligent woman, a courageous woman, a loving woman, a woman who teaches by being."</q></span><br />
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Maya Angelou </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-84017830871900118262012-11-30T16:26:00.000-05:002012-11-30T16:26:27.792-05:00Tiny FeelingsI am having <i>so many</i> tiny feelings today. SO MANY. And they are distracting and they are non-motivating and I feel like I'm sinking into non-creativity, which makes me all the more distracted and unmotivated and non-creative.<br />
<br />
I don't want to do <i>anything</i> but there are so many things that I <i>have </i>to do.<br />
<br />
I don't want to go anywhere but I hate staying home.<br />
<br />
I don't want to write but I know that I <i>need </i>to.<br />
<br />
Singing and playing the guitar feels like a chore but I know it will make me feel so much better if I can just get all of these tiny thoughts out into the universe.<br />
<br />
Meditating feels like inaction but, again, I don't want to do <i>anything</i>.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I'm in the definition of a rut.<br />
<br />
Got some bad job news yesterday, which was and is disappointing and makes me feel sort of useless. I feel like I'm failing at everything, even the tiny things like taking my laundry to the laundromat. Every time I make progress in one place, something else seems to go all to hell. What is that?!<br />
<br />
Ugh. I feel frustrated and trapped. I feel like a child but I have the responsibilities of an adult, which I'm having a hard time taking care of. I don't recognize my own self. When did I become <i>this person</i>? This person who is unenthusiastic about writing or anything creative? This person who is unmotivated? This person who doesn't fight for things? This person who is afraid to say what she really means? This person who is afraid of asking for the things she wants? Who are you, bizarro Ashleigh?<br />
<br />
I don't like any of this. Not one bit.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-57459615444482777872012-11-30T01:02:00.001-05:002012-11-30T01:02:26.361-05:00PerfectThis is just perfect.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1jTJkohH9b0" width="560"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-48176131687910646832012-11-16T20:24:00.000-05:002012-11-16T20:24:17.141-05:00Back to Normal?The power finally came on Tuesday night. We were sitting in the living room with some friends surrounded by blankets and candles and wine and suddenly, miraculously, the power came on. And I didn't know what to do with myself. Because the time after the hurricane seemed like a thousand years. It was all encompassing. It was life defining.<br />
<br />
Now that that time is over, now that things are finally back to normal...I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm...bored. With everything. with my apartment, with my work, with the way I spend my days. I'm just...bored. And I don't exactly know what to do next. The world spins forward and everything keeps moving and I just simply don't know what I'm doing or what's next.<br />
<br />
The storm made me, I don't know, brave? I wasn't afraid to do things because I didn't have a choice, I just<i> had</i> to do them. Things I needed I asked for--showers, meals, a shoulder to cry on, everything. I didn't think, I just acted. It was...invigorating. It was also completely exhausting and not at all sustainable. And I know this. But I keep feeling myself, I don't know, mourning over the last few weeks? Does that make sense? Is that the worst, most selfish thing ever? I don't know, maybe I just need something new--a new project, a new friend, a new relationship, a new book, a new TV show to obsess over.<br />
<br />
What I really need, what I really <i>want</i>, is direction. A new course to chart. New goals. New experiences. Because if this storm has taught me anything, it is that new things aren't scary if you look at them not as the unknown but as new things you get to experience. You have the privilege of experiencing all these new things, even if these new things involve you scooping out rotten food from a damaged basement or cleaning a thousand wine bottles. It is your privilege because you <i>can</i> experience them. You aren't hurt or hindered or limited in any way. You <i>have</i> the ability to <i>do things</i>. What a gift that is, the ability to do. To help. To change. To make. To be.<br />
<br />
So maybe I'm not in mourning, maybe I'm not pining, maybe I'm just finally <i>getting</i> the lesson of this damn hurricane. And here it is--<i><b>go do things</b></i>. Because you can. Don't waste time over thinking or under thinking, just trust and do.<br />
<br />
I think I can do that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-36044198640472008422012-11-16T17:02:00.001-05:002012-11-16T17:02:17.313-05:00quote<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #424242; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-size: 1.5em;"><span style="font-weight: bold; text-transform: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do."</i></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #424242; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #424242; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #424242; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px;"> — Eleanor Roosevelt</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-32882021825115596022012-11-03T06:00:00.000-04:002012-11-03T06:00:00.962-04:00Oh, Sandy.I live in a little hamlet in Brooklyn called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Hook,_Brooklyn" target="_blank">Red Hook</a>. I don't really know the reason why it's called that, probably because 100 years ago a sailor with a giant red hook-hand lived there, I don't know. For all intents and purposes it is just a name (though a good one at that). It is a small, isolated part of Brooklyn right at the mouth of the East River, with spectacular views of Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. There is no train that runs to Red Hook, for reasons I didn't fully understand until now. but that's ok because a lack of transportation has made for a vibrant and tight-knit community of artists and artisans, killer restaurants and tremendous dive bars. I have been fortunate enough to call Red Hook my home for the past year.<br />
<br />
When the news of the impending Hurricane Sandy came to us, I generally wasn't that worried. Yes, Red Hook is a neighborhood below sea level and, yes, Red Hook is an area that tends to flood if enough rain falls, but Red Hook had also weathered Hurricane Irene without too much damage (though I wasn't here to experience it) so most people weren't worried. When the severity of the coming hurricane was reported, my roommate and I, despite living on the border of evacuation zones A and B, decided that our apartment was far away enough from the water (a solid 5 minute walk) that we'd be fine and that there was no need to leave. Even when Bloomberg announced mandatory evacuations for all of Zone A, most people we knew in Red Hook decided to stay and weather the storm close in and around the neighborhood.<br />
<br />
We had no idea what we were in for.<br />
<br />
Because you can't prepare for a 14 foot wall of water. You just <i>can't</i>.<br />
<br />
Most places were braced for flooding (again, we are below sea level so it isn't unprecedented). Absolutely no one was braced for 8 feet of flooding. And what Kyla and I were the most unprepared for was that the water would come all the way up to our street and, by some extreme stroke of luck, stop there as it filled all the homes and businesses behind it with icy, cold, briny water. We got extremely lucky but there was an hour where I was pretty terrified. I'm glad I ended up staying, especially in the aftermath with the transportation debacle, but there was a chunk of time where I (and my mother) wished I had made a different choice.*<br />
<br />
What happened to Red Hook (and other parts of New York City and the outer boroughs) was astounding and awesome in the truest sense of the word. What happened to this beloved city I call home is beyond the scope of what I have the ability to really conceptualize at this moment. What happened to surrounding states, especially New Jersey, completely boggles the mind and hurts the heart. But what is really incredible to me has been the response.<br />
<br />
Oh, the response.<br />
<br />
Because, while Red Hook has been somewhat overlooked in the post-storm media coverage, that hasn't stopped the clean up effort. The amount of clean up to be done in Red Hook is <i>immense</i>. Most businesses won't be back up and running for a month at least. The lucky ones will be closed for at least a week or two as they reset. Many, many, <i>many</i> people lost almost indescribable amounts of personal property. It is overwhelming.<br />
<br />
And in the wake of all of this, with no power and no heat and no hot water and everyone hurting, in the days since the hurricane (or Superstorm, should I say), most people in this isolated hamlet in Brooklyn have laced up their boots and rolled up their sleeves and turned to their neighbors and said, "You are hurting and so am I, but please let me help you so we can heal our neighborhood together." It has been astounding, the way people in the neighborhood have responded to the relief effort. Every day, people are walking down Van Brunt Street, looking what's really needed, whether that's a hand emptying out a basement or carrying bags or offering a place to charge a cell phone, all without question or hesitation or want/desire for reciprocation. People from other neighborhoods in Brooklyn and Manhattan, people who do business in Red Hook, and people have never been down there are showing up and stepping up, with helping hands and bottles of water and up-beat spirits and a desire to <i>help</i>. Being able to look around me and see people I've never met and people who are fixtures in the neighborhood working together (in, it should be mentioned, physically exhausting, gross work situations) is the most comforting thing of all. It makes me believe in Red Hook and its future.<br />
<br />
The days ahead for many neighborhoods in New York and dozens of towns in New Jersey are going to be long and grim and exhausting. Entire lives and ecosystems have been altered by this one storm. But in other ways, in other deeply important ways, this storm has shown us on the East Coast who we really are and where we really live. And I've got to say, I'm liking what I see.**<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*It should be mentioned that our apartment building sustained no water damage, nor did our apartment sustain any damage from the Superstorm. We have been without power since Monday night and don't expect to gain power back until next Friday at the earliest. While this is inconvenient, my roommates and I know we got incredibly lucky. We are all very appreciative of the work that the FDNY and NYPD are doing to help smooth things along, as well as ConEd and National Grid. The work these guys do is absolutely thankless and essential and I, for one, feel a little bad for being so cranky when they are doing the best they can. Keep up the good work, guys.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">It also is important to mention that my roommates and I have found ourselves, since the storm hit, constantly surrounded by the kindest, most caring people in the entire world who have offered hot showers and cell phone charging and hot meals without asking for anything in return. These people are true heros and angels in this uncomfortable, inconvenient time and are making the whole thing bearable. Thanks to them can not be said enough. You guys are the best.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">**If you are looking for was to help out, check out the Red Hook Initiative's <a href="http://www.rhicenter.org/" target="_blank">website</a> and <a href="http://twitter.com/rhookinitiative" target="_blank">twitter</a> for updates about volunteering with clean up. You can also follow <a href="http://twitter.com/xcountry4sandy" target="_blank">@XCountry4Sandy</a> to donate to the cause as some friends of ours travel across the country back to Red Hook.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-20784598112095750262012-10-26T08:00:00.000-04:002012-10-26T08:00:07.421-04:00Some of the Best Advice I've Ever ReceivedMy mom has this phrase that she uses all the time--they use it when things are confusing, when things are up in the air, when things are exciting but also maybe too exciting--and it is some of the best advice I've ever gotten:<br />
<br />
Let it be hot.<br />
<br />
Think about it like a hot, delicious coffee you are just dying to enjoy. You know it is too hot, the coffee itself knows it too hot, but you drink it anyway and you end up singeing your tongue and regretting that choice all day long. Instead, what you should do is just <i>let it be hot</i>.<br />
<br />
In other words, let the situation be what it <i>is</i> for a while before you go rushing into changing it or dealing with it and end up with a burned tongue. Sometimes there are things that you just <i>can't</i> fix or alter so you just have to <i>let them be for a while</i>. It is an incredibly hard lesson to learn and one that I've been grappling with for a while, but I'm working on it day by day.<br />
<br />
Just let the situation be hot. It'll cool down when it's time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-87744816532457183872012-10-24T13:23:00.000-04:002012-10-24T13:23:00.587-04:00TeamsThere is a part of my personality, part of my thought processes, that is...obsessive. Once I get hooked on an idea I tend to replay it over and over again until I've seen it from every angle, until I've experienced the entire range of emotions that could be associated with it. Maybe it is more of an inquisitive mind thing, that I really want to fully understand something, even if that something can't be rationalized or fully understood. Either way, I'm sure it makes me a less fun roommate/friend because I just won't stop talking about something until I really get it. And that's when the people on my team step in, because they are the best.<br />
<br />
I have to process things out loud. I have to hear other opinions and talk about my opinions, even if I am forming them in the split second before I voice them. My saintly mother knows all about this--I tend to call her multiple times over a series of days to talk through a problem or to make a plan. There is something about not only turning things over in my head but also testing them out on another person that helps me come to understand them.<br />
<br />
My roommates (who are the best, you guys. THE BEST) have been dealing with this for the past day and a half (sorry, ladies). I've been obsessing about new information gleamed from the internet (which is, admittedly, not always a reliable source), examining it from every cringe-worthy angle, gaging advice and my own feelings by talking about it non-stop with them (and Kyla isn't even home, I've been texting her <i>long</i> tomes on the subject like a crazy person). They are two of the most intelligent, kick-ass gals I know and their advice is not only spot on but incredibly kind and <i>super</i> helpful. They listen to my ranting, spinning thought process with patience and then delicately (or not, which is the mark of a true friend I think) point out things I would have never seen on my own. I feel incredibly grateful to call them my friends and to have them in my corner, even if my corner sometimes feels a little Howard Hughes obsessive compulsive (minus the bottles of pee, I promise).<br />
<br />
I hope everyone has people on their team, on their side, like the ones I have--ones that are kind and direct and intelligent and funny and caring and sage and ass kickers from way back. People who will tell you things you don't want to hear, and listen when you need to rant, and laugh at you for being crazy, and tell you it's going to be fine when you can't process anything else. It is truly a stroke of luck that the people on my team are as tremendous as they are. So, to my people, you know who you are. And you are the best. Thanks for keeping my head on straight and telling me when I'm obsessing like a crazy person. You don't know how much I depend on your thoughts and opinions. I would be nowhere without you. I promise to do my best to be as good a team member for you as you are to me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-62077650406710036272012-10-19T16:12:00.002-04:002012-10-19T16:12:54.481-04:00I've Got the Music in Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0mjdQP4LpfcB_N7QhgofoTiPjo5n1e6ZvZ8iZ96Jo7OFInB6GghVKvYz4TTT25r1ngCzGDLMWvIgQDMKlIAk5Iq9Cxfxz9kBmkH7WJQWKygv6wEWvX5mmrCvfqj_rsc9Zsn8AoDs2BAH/s1600/IMG_0394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0mjdQP4LpfcB_N7QhgofoTiPjo5n1e6ZvZ8iZ96Jo7OFInB6GghVKvYz4TTT25r1ngCzGDLMWvIgQDMKlIAk5Iq9Cxfxz9kBmkH7WJQWKygv6wEWvX5mmrCvfqj_rsc9Zsn8AoDs2BAH/s1600/IMG_0394.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQrp7kK2bMAwtWxeeubEnjV3b1xTmhLag3Xik_2k8-xuvC42liiQhR8zQ62_D290aYukG0RGXpwBGFhk65eaVNtFJ2tfmUyEcr65jZ6C8Ilbbv81qebOpjcMteGxqnrlBGxe1LKBmmuB_/s1600/IMG_0395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQrp7kK2bMAwtWxeeubEnjV3b1xTmhLag3Xik_2k8-xuvC42liiQhR8zQ62_D290aYukG0RGXpwBGFhk65eaVNtFJ2tfmUyEcr65jZ6C8Ilbbv81qebOpjcMteGxqnrlBGxe1LKBmmuB_/s1600/IMG_0395.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
The dog* we're house sitting for doesn't really like it when I play the guitar.<br />
<br />
He weighs 6 pounds and has a silly mustache so I don't really care what he thinks. (he's also a dog)<br />
<br />
While he's in our house, I have to wait until he is completely distracted chewing on something to play the guitar. And while I know this is just because he is a tiny jerk (he's not), it does seem like the perfect metaphor for my singing/guitar playing--there always is a tiny jerk keeping me from doing it.<br />
<br />
And most of the time that tiny jerk is me.<br />
<br />
Because just like everyone, I am the one who gets in my way most of the time about most things. Especially music. Because there is nothing like the way I feel when I'm singing and playing the guitar, even if all I am doing is a ham-fisted cover of a song I love. For the two minutes or so that I'm wrapped up in a song I am<i> wrapped up in it</i>. Like a big comfy blanket, the music and the feelings envelop me. There is nothing else like it in the whole world.<br />
<br />
I don't know where my fear comes from about singing/playing in front of people or with people but it is there and it is <i>palpable</i>. Maybe fear is the wrong word, maybe it is just hesitation. I <i>hesitate</i> before I play in front of someone (the singing isn't such a big deal to me, not quite sure why. Maybe it is because I've done it forever). It is like a physical barrier that I've got to leap over before I start playing. Once I'm over the barrier I'm totally fine but <i>man, </i>standing in front of it? It looks <i>huge</i> and <i>insurmountable</i>.<br />
<br />
This is one of the lessons of my 25th year--to leap over the barrier. Especially for something that I really, REALLY like doing. Because on the other side, everything is just fine, even if I don't believe that pre-jump.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*to be clear, that is not the dog in these photos. The dog in these photos is my parent's dog, Matilda.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-65483923187219295692012-10-18T11:36:00.002-04:002012-10-18T11:47:39.252-04:00Opinions, Having and SharingYesterday, on the Facebook, someone I know (who happens to be a Republican) posted something that I just couldn't <i>not</i> comment on. Now, I am usually not one to comment on things that rile me on the internet (possibly because it happens too often), but this one had specifically to do with women in the media and I just could NOT sit by and not comment. My comment, I thought, was benign enough but, as these things usually do, it spiraled into something so frustrating that I have written 100 unpublished comments trying to express myself. None of them do justice to the way I feel or to the larger discussion that really needs to be had, but they felt good to write, even though they went unpublished.<br />
<br />
After stating my views in response to this person's post, they came back with that, while they respect my opinion, they would rather hear from me in a "more positive and blissful manner" from now on. xoxo.<br />
<br />
And here's where my tiny brain just simply couldn't handle it any more.<br />
<br />
Because what I wanted to say, hyper-emotionally and in extreme frustration, is that freedom of speech means that not only do you get to express your (bullshit, borderline offensive) position on the internet but that I also can comment on how I feel, <i>even if that feeling is opposite from yours</i>. You put it on the internet, on a public forum, so please don't come at me about commenting on it in a way that you didn't like. Expressing opinions (in an articulate manner) is a good thing. Dissonance is a good thing. Debate is a good thing. We don't have to agree on everything. We don't even have to agree on most things. We just have to accept that there is more than one opinion out there and that, even if they make us uncomfortable to hear, they are worth listening to and they are worth stating. Saying you respect my opinion and then limiting the kinds of opinions I'm allowed to express to you is pretty condescending and the opposite of the point of talking about things.<br />
<br />
There are reasons that I don't respond to things on Facebook, there are reasons that I don't talk about politics on the internet, and I was reminded of these yesterday. I wish that these reasons didn't exist, I wish that in all of my relationships, whether they be with family, friends, or acquaintances, expressing differing opinions weren't a taboo and instead were an inspiration for discussion. I truly believe that if more people were open to really <i>having</i> a discussion about where opinions and beliefs differ, we'd find that we don't actually disagree as much as we think we do. This is my hope for the future. But for now, I'll just continue to write but not publish comments on the internet and save my debating for face-to-face conversations, even if what I have to say isn't pretty.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-4050230055123155812012-10-18T08:00:00.000-04:002012-10-18T08:00:03.080-04:00On Choices and What I've Learned at 25Lately I've been thinking a lot about choices. What sorts of choices, you ask? I've been thinking about the little choices we make every day that point us in a certain direction. These decisions are, perhaps, the most important choices we ever make and often times we make them without thinking. We just move towards what feels right and then reflect on it later. At least this is how I've tried to moved through the world.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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I don't know that when I left college I had a plan. Oh, wait, yes I did. My plan had two main points on it, "Pay off Student Loans" and "Don't Be a Burden." With these "goals" in mind I moved forward, seizing opportunities as they arose and letting other things move past me. To say there was a lot of choice in the things I decided to do is...generous. I was asked to return to my same summer gig after college. I pursued and then took the only internship I was interested in in the Bay Area. When the opportunity to work for money at the internship I said "hell yes." When the opportunity to join the company full time came up, I simply nodded my head and signed my name. Even the promotion I got 6 months in was more of a "Ashleigh isn't a crazy person and she's heard of this job before" thing than a "she's completely qualified" thing. YES, I could have said no at any point and SURE, if I hadn't pursued the position I wouldn't have ended up here but still, all of these decisions, at the time, felt like no brainers. I don't think I even took the necessary mental time to make a pro/con list. I just said yes. And in no time, it seems, my plan was moving me towards something, something I couldn't truly conceive of (and still can't, to be honest).<br />
<br />
When the opportunity came up to move to New York, I think I literally said to my mom, "I kind of have to do this, right?" "Duh," she said to me. So I let myself be open, be free to allow for any possibility and free to say yes. And when I did that, a wide sea of things I never even imagined appeared before me. Jobs and adventures and friendship and a myriad of exciting, hard, lovely, terrifying things.<br />
<br />
On a recent episode short of RadioLab, my <i>favorite</i> podcast, they were talking about the "Slinky Theory" which is basically this (from the RadioLab website):<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"1) Dangle a Slinky above the ground as though you were holding a fish by the tip of its tail.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2) Let it extend to its full length.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">3) Let go.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For a fraction of a second, something amazing happens: the bottom of the slinky hovers midair, seeming to defy the laws of physics, while the top collapses toward it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The reason the bottom just floats there, according to Steve Strogatz, is simple: it hasn't gotten the memo yet."</span><br />
<br />
There is so much more to this theory that I'm probably going to do it a disservice by simplifying it here, but basically the slinky theory says that when you let go and the bottom floats there it is because, for a split second, it doesn't <i>know</i> that you let go of the top. And when I say know I mean <i>know</i>. The cells in the slinky literally haven't gotten that information yet. Crazy, right? But awesome. Totally awesome, in the truest sense of the word.<br />
<br />
When it comes to choices and paths, <i>we are the slinky</i>. We don't know what we don't know because we haven't learned it yet, because we <i>can't</i> know it until we know it (what a sentence). So why stress about the future? Whatever is coming for you, whether it is positive or negative, exciting or boring, whatever is out there is coming towards you no matter what you do. Therefore, you can only worry about the choices you make in the present because those are the only things you have control over. You can't know how they are going to effect the future because you can't see the future. You only know that you are the end of the slinky at rest. You have no idea that your ass is literally about to be handed to you.<br />
<br />
Even now, just a few months into my 25th year, I already know that this is the most important thing I'm going to learn this year. Because it is about living in the moment, being present, and embracing your own intelligence regarding your own life. It's about trust. Trusting yourself and trusting the universe. Because the universe always has your back, even when you don't think it does. You just have to be open to seeing what it has to offer.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-37422902838032583732012-10-17T14:29:00.002-04:002012-10-18T01:19:33.981-04:00Just Call Me Sodium PetothalIt's been quite a while since I last posted here. Like, QUITE a while. And I'm not exactly sure why, because it isn't like I haven't been a) using the internet in the last 6 months or b) writing. I've been writing a lot. Ok, maybe not a lot. But I've been writing.<br />
<br />
But not really.<br />
<br />
I always feel silly posting on this blog and I don't quite know why. Maybe it is that I am uncomfortable with blog culture, that I feel like there are <i>so</i> many 20 something girls out there with blogs that me writing her makes the whole thing cliche, maybe it is because of people I once worked with in the blogging world and how I feel uncomfortable that I can't talk about what went down for fear of starting some sort of strange, not at all relevant, internet fight where mean things are said (though what could be more hurtful than being totally ignored and cut out of a person's life unceremoniously, I don't know). Maybe. A sea of maybes. A long string of never ending maybes.<br />
<br />
So here's the deal: I've decided to say fuck it.<br />
<br />
Fuck it to the entire thing, to all my hang ups about blogging to "Oh you can't swear here" and "Oh, don't talk about that here" and on and on and on. The biggest thing I've learned since turning 25 is that you just have to do you. Do what is best for you. My incredibly smart roommate put it to me this way--this is a time to be selfish. It is the only time in your life when you are allowed (and even expected) to be selfish.<br />
<br />
My 20s are a gift. And I don't intend on wasting any more of it.<br />
<br />
I'm going to speak my truth, even if that truth makes me uncomfortable or unpopular. At 25 years and 4 months, isn't it time to be truthful?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-44167690519414348752012-03-06T01:21:00.000-05:002012-03-06T01:21:04.713-05:00Dispatches From Inside the Whale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01nQh1wVlxrzH7fpfY3v8EqW8_ZtoVwnUiWHlaAOogLYQim2PqPhrafiy0KaQPGs7j88bkg3vRFrCOAwqt1LxnVwEFZyZF5YOxicPnqhF5g9nFcKIeamtuy0VhXeScYpy7BlbowMBwIo_/s1600/e7959e80633611e19896123138142014_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01nQh1wVlxrzH7fpfY3v8EqW8_ZtoVwnUiWHlaAOogLYQim2PqPhrafiy0KaQPGs7j88bkg3vRFrCOAwqt1LxnVwEFZyZF5YOxicPnqhF5g9nFcKIeamtuy0VhXeScYpy7BlbowMBwIo_/s400/e7959e80633611e19896123138142014_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm not dead, I promise, I've just let New York swallow me up. And I've got to tell you, it has been pretty great. I'm finally beginning to feel like a grown up, like everything is finally sinking in. I'm moving into a grown up apartment at the end of the month, and I'm working and paying bills like a grown up, and I'm finding new ways to enjoy my life, and I'm working to cherish my friends and the opportunities that come along. I can't believe it is March already, I feel like I've been here forever, not just 6 months. SIX months (six on Sunday, in fact). I am happy and I have no idea what's going to come next. And that is just about the most exciting thing I could think of.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-1124638049571696092012-01-04T17:30:00.002-05:002012-01-04T17:30:29.776-05:00The 1st (well, 2nd) Day of the Rest of My Life<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DpzXrXlUANnc4PmbgypTFNLCLzeeETDSXduC8Y-4VP_RnUhdY9XzAp0693stcheW-Gdr2ndDgxjJ5sRWlAHZGiUOr3yqFpZt4Kq8OQasxDvNWxfpjofdYlatV5IYROA6nUt4tlwLl0CB/s1600/statue+of+liberty+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DpzXrXlUANnc4PmbgypTFNLCLzeeETDSXduC8Y-4VP_RnUhdY9XzAp0693stcheW-Gdr2ndDgxjJ5sRWlAHZGiUOr3yqFpZt4Kq8OQasxDvNWxfpjofdYlatV5IYROA6nUt4tlwLl0CB/s640/statue+of+liberty+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I had this moment walking home yesterday from my first day at my new job, this moment where I actually stepped away from my physical body and hovered over myself, taking the entire scene in and feeling completely astonished. Because at 24 (and a half, but who's counting), yesterday was the first day of my adult life or, to be more specific, my life as an adult on my own. I am 3000 miles away from my dear parents and beginning to do things totally (mostly) on my own for the first time. Yesterday was <i>literally</i> the first day of the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
I can't say that I've dreamt of this moment my whole life because really, I didn't ever think of this moment specifically before last night, but it seems like something one should dream about--the day when you are on your own for reals, the day when you become responsible for you entirely. Don't misunderstand me, my parents haven't tossed me off completely, they are still helping me until my first paycheck comes in (ok, maybe until the 2nd comes in. They are the best). But once that happens, it is Ashleigh responsibility time. And you know what? Even though that is completely terrifying, it is also super exciting. I've sort of been waiting for this time in my life for a while, ever since graduating from college in fact. And even though right now it feels a little bit like I'm just visiting New York for funsies, I know that feeling is going to go away soon (or at least diminish). Things are finally starting to take shape for me in this city that I love and I sort of can't believe it. I get to do so many lovely and fun things here in New York, which include but aren't limited to-: 1) live in my favorite city, 2) work in my field doing something I actually believe in and enjoy, 3) play guitar for tiny people on a regular basis (starting next week!), 4) see my beautiful college friends whenever I can/want, 5) eat all the yummy food New York City has to offer. My dear friend Kyle said it best: what an amazing time to be alive and living in New York City.<br />
<br />
I've mentioned it before (at least twice), but during college I would walk around the city and be stopped dead in my tracks because I realized, "I <i>live</i> here. I <i>can't</i> believe it." It still happens and every time I get the same tingle down my spine and smile across my face. I feel constantly elated that I get to live my life in the place of my dreams every single day. How many people get to say that? And sometimes when I feel that familiar smile start to cross my face I fast forward 20 or 30 years into the future and I look back at this time on my life and I feel incredibly blessed and grateful, saying to myself (and my future family), "How lucky was I that I got to be young and alive in New York City at such a time? Isn't that amazing?! Let me tell you, future as-yet-unnamed-child-of-mine, it was amazing to me even then." (this is totally true and a totally unweird conversation to imagine, by the way). <br />
<br />
Being able to consult with my future self is sort of a new thing and I assume comes from getting older. I swear, I just had this <i>moment</i> about a year ago while, I believe, I was watching an episode Bones that I suddenly became aware of how fragile and imminent the end is. Now, I know that this sounds a) like something some sort of paranoid hypochondriac would say and b) a little overly dramatic, but it is true. For some reason, on this day, sitting on the couch alone in my parents living room, I realized that, at some point, I will no longer exist. And while the crushing weight of this terrifying realization washed over me, I was met with what is probably the most comforting image that has ever come to my mind. It was of me, a very old and crimpy and completely content grey-haired lady, laying in a bed at the end, surrounded by my family. And I concede that this image is likely something I've constructed out of scenes from movies and television shows, but I none the less was calmed by it. Because it seemed to mean that there was something out there for me, something I was and have always been driving towards--a <i>life. </i>A full, beautiful, exciting life. And every choice that I make is leading me towards that moment and all the moments before it. What a fantastic and transcendent thought, ay? I am learning to accepted that every step of my journey to that image is taking me exactly where I need to go and teaching me what I need to learn, even if I often have no idea what I'm going or where I am going. The not knowing is half the fun, right? Truthfully, I don't know if I completely agree with that statement but I am learning to be ok with it and allow for the possibility that it might be true.<br />
<br />
So here I am, on the 2nd day of the rest of my life, journey yet to be written, but knowing a beautiful and satisfying destination lies just beyond it. Not too shabby for a Wednesday, I'd say. Not too shabby at all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-84647782755459764202012-01-02T21:20:00.000-05:002012-01-02T21:20:21.419-05:00Back in New York<div style="text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY-4xvNuTjvWfmds24V45wnVv-itDWnDxk_akFNUuVC2LYd7U4u8Fq-vPrzlCN8L7d2mzsuRBv1PD2LfhCPB_sK-ixzcFgWuwKMdqO1E25ho-wuaVoj5RChfHthNO6w7IDUw0TwdKyKEU/s1600/a3d1dba8357511e180c9123138016265_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY-4xvNuTjvWfmds24V45wnVv-itDWnDxk_akFNUuVC2LYd7U4u8Fq-vPrzlCN8L7d2mzsuRBv1PD2LfhCPB_sK-ixzcFgWuwKMdqO1E25ho-wuaVoj5RChfHthNO6w7IDUw0TwdKyKEU/s400/a3d1dba8357511e180c9123138016265_6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a picture from my cab ride home early this morning.</td></tr>
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I'm back home in NYC after a quick trip to my homeland of California. I love the holidays and being able to go home to beautiful California "winter" (it was like 60 degrees the entire time) was lovely. I had WAAAAAAAY to much fun and have returned to New York a content lady who is ready to start the new chapter in her life. That new chapter starts tomorrow, when I start my new job. WAHOOO! I'm super excited. I've got more posts brewing so keep an eye out. If the past two days are any indication, 2012 is going to be a great year, full of happiness, laughter, friends, and family. And I can't wait.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-59503782368306150912011-12-14T15:19:00.000-05:002011-12-14T15:19:13.542-05:00Little Holiday Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiiwXtDC8OPgXMVCrO9CfBBCKADvU1azzrOcBbKjqEAARbMKlhhc-UP8uu7FZNZ-L_C2Q7hbwyTrqAUvrNJrP1JShZEXjPtsMW0f-7IQNxxEeRxghB-swWfE8rKCPOINWSGmnQM2pPdV_/s1600/8783e64e252111e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiiwXtDC8OPgXMVCrO9CfBBCKADvU1azzrOcBbKjqEAARbMKlhhc-UP8uu7FZNZ-L_C2Q7hbwyTrqAUvrNJrP1JShZEXjPtsMW0f-7IQNxxEeRxghB-swWfE8rKCPOINWSGmnQM2pPdV_/s400/8783e64e252111e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Eggnog,<br />
<br />
I always thought you were gross but guess what? Adding brandy makes all the difference. Thanks for being delicious.<br />
<br />
your new friend,<br />
Ashleigh<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aI-08wmM6KPC3LMwOqOjuiQ2Dbs0SHHgYFHIXJAs3RPoKpSr58EmhxHjODNruvNPny0D7qkFr7vT6k9Z2MJZtULCW6KsmLYYe2oTbH-89Hxgk4lkufzkqzF-6Mf8jo4BQ5PqgzvDTHwg/s1600/1a640752206111e19896123138142014_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aI-08wmM6KPC3LMwOqOjuiQ2Dbs0SHHgYFHIXJAs3RPoKpSr58EmhxHjODNruvNPny0D7qkFr7vT6k9Z2MJZtULCW6KsmLYYe2oTbH-89Hxgk4lkufzkqzF-6Mf8jo4BQ5PqgzvDTHwg/s400/1a640752206111e19896123138142014_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Dear Giant Christmas Tree,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Even though part of me gets a little sad that a big tree like you was chopped down, I think you are super pretty and fantastic. Keep up the good work.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
in gratitude, </div>
Ashleigh<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Dear New York Holiday Tourists,</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I just....you just....with the walking in a huge line across the sidewalk and the stopping for pictures and the.......vhghjlhdsetdfkyi;ilhjffertffaadsgj</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Just remember, even though you are just visiting, LOTS of people LIVE in New York City. And they're all sorry they're mad at you but, seriously guys? Some of us have appointments to get to and it takes time to walk around you and your 16 elderly relatives. Just.... exercise some common sense and decency and we'll do the same, agreed?</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sincerely,</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ashleigh</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-50115278760752138782011-12-10T17:12:00.001-05:002011-12-10T18:51:23.447-05:00Breathing Easy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4H48Y-ZSQBUYnlXf7QMHL_WP4bTJ1X4fbiuyE_eE27r93yRO0AxZYl3Ezt5CnEgEldHkjHpM9rdE3dUaBoYb3dYGAC1SKGu7zhTs_DSrWv0zbsL5v5BQL75aIgUo9SU0HuctJidLJYKU/s1600/0543f462237d11e1abb01231381b65e3_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4H48Y-ZSQBUYnlXf7QMHL_WP4bTJ1X4fbiuyE_eE27r93yRO0AxZYl3Ezt5CnEgEldHkjHpM9rdE3dUaBoYb3dYGAC1SKGu7zhTs_DSrWv0zbsL5v5BQL75aIgUo9SU0HuctJidLJYKU/s320/0543f462237d11e1abb01231381b65e3_6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The itty bitty Statue of Liberty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKdknla37js" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">play me</span></a><br />
The weather in New York has taken a merciful turn for the chilly (I love winter) and I couldn't be happier. In fact, I'm all smiles today. I feel like there is a ball of light radiating from the core of me. I haven't felt this way in a while. After spending a quiet day at home, padding around in stocking feet, I looked outside and saw the beginnings of a perfect sunset. I quickly threw some shoes on, grabbed my coat and my camera, and went for a walk around my neighborhood. I live just two blocks from the water with the most magical view of the Statue of Liberty and Lower Manhattan and walking along the water and taking pictures at sunset is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do. Today as I walked in the chilly, wintry air, staring out at the sunset over the Atlantic I was completely overcome with happiness. It bubbled up from deep inside me and settled in my chest. I couldn't help but smile and snap away with my camera. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvqXAY2e119GRGKdSKQKPgKlp6uA-df2CPUsnm_A5ohYlP8StjAO7X5G6hdXxSlfSTknMJjoC_giTMMEHXtHWIrPhsVnsAS70YwBOL_eD3CntTfVcA25ANAjJ-4n8I-_gFlCE5ABPFImY/s1600/bc61cbd0237b11e180c9123138016265_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvqXAY2e119GRGKdSKQKPgKlp6uA-df2CPUsnm_A5ohYlP8StjAO7X5G6hdXxSlfSTknMJjoC_giTMMEHXtHWIrPhsVnsAS70YwBOL_eD3CntTfVcA25ANAjJ-4n8I-_gFlCE5ABPFImY/s320/bc61cbd0237b11e180c9123138016265_6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along the pier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Why do I feel this way? Because I no longer have to worry about moving back to California in January (which for a time was something I was wrestling with given my employment status) because I found a job with a company that I am completely stoked about (!). I feel....lighter, like the weight of stress and worry that I've been carrying around with me since I decided to take a leap of faith and move across the country has finally been lifted. Miraculously, everything is working out. I almost can't believe it. And yet, at the same time, I can. Because it is what my mother has been saying to me for the past 6 months (ok, let's be honest, for the past 24 years)--if you have faith, and put positive energy out into the universe, good things will come your way. I haven't breathed this easy in a long time, and it feels SO good to be able to. As I walked around the pier and along the water, I took long, deep breaths of the cold, crisp air, enjoying every moment. Because I live here. Finally.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-69368743468867954172011-12-06T17:04:00.001-05:002011-12-06T17:39:07.616-05:00Today I laughed Until I Cried.At a video of an MIT professor drawing lines on a chalkboard. My GOD do I wish I was kidding. Alas, I am not. It appears I have cabin fever and it is going to my head. My bedroom in Brooklyn lacks a window, which usually wouldn't be a problem but when you spend the majority of your time at home, the walls start to close in and everything begins to get very...intense. Sounds become louder, lights become brighter, and silliness becomes even sillier. Normally I would combat this with some good ol' fashioned walking around, but it is pouring outside so my options are limited. Until the rains let up I'm confined to the house, looking at pictures from my walk a few days ago and dreamin' of clear skies.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFRV87OXz9UA_IlJQb31w8fdww6uwbLK4D2iGG2glNqy8qoGPvj4WWhR_ryl9uGf0NWm4W74U7Q4cJahwYgjjWf4zr3X4U7kZczVjpS-E_iEIRwEpk5nomDohJbnIpcz0U-NVk3kLKpSk/s1600/IMG_0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFRV87OXz9UA_IlJQb31w8fdww6uwbLK4D2iGG2glNqy8qoGPvj4WWhR_ryl9uGf0NWm4W74U7Q4cJahwYgjjWf4zr3X4U7kZczVjpS-E_iEIRwEpk5nomDohJbnIpcz0U-NVk3kLKpSk/s400/IMG_0268.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously though, how crazy is this view? This is two blocks from my apartment. Magical.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-23378629167627383812011-11-28T14:35:00.001-05:002011-11-28T16:22:48.179-05:00My Thanksgiving or A Strange Day to be a VegetarianThanksgiving is a favorite holiday of mine. I love the nostalgia it invokes, I love the smells of the meal cooking, I love sitting with my siblings in our pajamas, eating carrot bread and watching the parade. This year we decided to do it a little differently. As I just moved to the East Coast 2 weeks before the holiday it seemed silly for me to fly all the way home again to eat a meal with my parents. Instead, on Wednesday I took the train down (over?) to Boston to spend the holiday with my little sister and dearest friend Marissa and her family. This was my first Thanksgiving not spent at home in California, and it was full of joy and laughter and delicious food. You may be wondering, "Ashleigh, if you have forsaken the eating of meat, what, pray tell, did you nosh on this most gastro-focused of days?" (sorry, I watched a lot of <i>Deadwood</i> over the weekend). An excellent question, certainly--Marissa's all to kind parents made salmon just for me so I could partake in the beautiful feast they prepared. And even though I was eying the turkey and mashed potatoes the entire time, salivating like an idiot, my own food was so delicious that I was easily distracted. Thanksgiving is a strange day to be a vegetarian, to be sure, but I made it through with hardly any trouble and a very full stomach.<br />
<br />
I, like an idiot, left my camera at home so had to rely on my iPhone to capture the weekend, a mistake I won't likely make again. Being without my SLR in a beautiful place like New England was pretty agonizing; I kept kicking myself all weekend. Alas, here are some lovely shots from my cellular device. Hope your holiday weekend was as magical as mine!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXj_0vlm-vZMpZPUCcmRVNiaSG4RoYHF7eve4Baf5z2eWOzU2cFDio2f4_0lP0_mHxdslDdWAtgTO24QREMtLFFwbNcJDoff2_tvjsPhDo_dOzHQ50NRxz2_8U9p9uIO9MbkaCQu7nlwT1/s1600/thanksgiving+instagrams+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXj_0vlm-vZMpZPUCcmRVNiaSG4RoYHF7eve4Baf5z2eWOzU2cFDio2f4_0lP0_mHxdslDdWAtgTO24QREMtLFFwbNcJDoff2_tvjsPhDo_dOzHQ50NRxz2_8U9p9uIO9MbkaCQu7nlwT1/s1600/thanksgiving+instagrams+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
p.s. As you can see by the last row of photos, my sister and I made a sojourn to Hingham, MA with Marissa's family to Wahlburgers which is exactly what you think it is: the new burger joint owned and operated by Mark, Donnie and Paul Wahlberg. It was a great time--I had yummy grilled cheese (they don't have vegetarian options yet), Steve Carrell was there (literally), and Hingham is right on the beautiful water. Such a lovely day. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-61091457304087339482011-11-21T13:04:00.001-05:002011-11-21T14:52:04.356-05:00New York City is a Beautiful Place<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYBGk1PAz0XDE0TBcnU7U8q6lZgblJNj7YxxZ2_wux8g5SpR9Q5AWpT56eyKACQBNrI5UmBRMCRWqTddvqBVjK5bqccfY_bkXuRzRTHcsOjHMIJ6awcFavHIByUYO8XKKSa718rRD8KV9/s1600/6373327599_e205693062_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYBGk1PAz0XDE0TBcnU7U8q6lZgblJNj7YxxZ2_wux8g5SpR9Q5AWpT56eyKACQBNrI5UmBRMCRWqTddvqBVjK5bqccfY_bkXuRzRTHcsOjHMIJ6awcFavHIByUYO8XKKSa718rRD8KV9/s640/6373327599_e205693062_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Central Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes I am just floored by how absolutely beautiful New York City is. There were lots of times during college (ok, let's not lie to ourselves, it still happens) that I would be walking around and I would be completely overwhelmed by the things I was seeing. I think that I've dreamt about New York for so long and so often that at some point between me knowing that it was a place (we're talking 2nd or 3rd grade) and living here (and now moving here!) it became this mythical place in my mind. Like you'd have to cross a rainbow bridge or battle a troll to get to it. And yet somewhere in my dreaming I ended up here. And that is something I am grateful for every day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-48067834692434362912011-11-14T08:00:00.000-05:002011-11-14T10:50:40.775-05:00An Ashleigh Grows in Brooklyn<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhzyYQkuk3q3EV-4CVPNspmREZtzIec0hhpUdLkadfs6Pak2-0nD-wDzy1g-TmtlYDgVIkG3SowToN5GQX7wCxPj0ARzW9Ks7KMSKLMd5QfbKWmSC0gzXEGAfTOZ7JpuV0LWOP14zp1_H/s1600/67a3b0a80e1411e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhzyYQkuk3q3EV-4CVPNspmREZtzIec0hhpUdLkadfs6Pak2-0nD-wDzy1g-TmtlYDgVIkG3SowToN5GQX7wCxPj0ARzW9Ks7KMSKLMd5QfbKWmSC0gzXEGAfTOZ7JpuV0LWOP14zp1_H/s320/67a3b0a80e1411e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of the sunset from Ikea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s official. After
2 and a half years of waiting and longing and bitching and moaning I, Ashleigh
Hill, am a New Yorker once more. Or
should I say a Brooklynite? Or a Red Hookian?
No matter how you slice it, I am back and ready for adventure. Truthfully, Saturday was a scary day. A month ago when I decided to move back to
New York my mom decided that it was something I had to do alone; for the first
time in my life, she wouldn’t be there when I moved. I didn’t realize just how fucking big of a
deal this was until Saturday morning, as I drove around Brooklyn with a lost cab driver,
Googling directions to the apartment and praying to see a glimpse of something
familiar. It was scary as hell, having
no idea what I was walking into, that fear that grabs your insides and makes
you stop in your tracks. As I stared at
my stark room at 8 am Saturday morning, running on probably 2 hours of sleep, all I
could think was, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!? I CANT DO THIS!” I stood there for probably 5 minutes, just
looking around the room and mumbling, “oh shit oh shit oh shit” under my
breath. Some tiny part of my brain,
thankfully, had planned for this exact situation in the days before
moving. As soon as my bed and bedding
was delivered a few days ahead of my arrival I began to run through my plan for
settling in. Item #1 was to make my bed
so I could crawl into it and sleep. In
the midst of my freak out, that tiny pre-planning part of my brain started
shouting, “ASHLEIGH: make. the. bed. MAKE. THE. BED.” Pretty soon my “oh shit” chorus became a round,
melding with “make the bed” and before I knew it, the bed was made, I had
retrieved pjs from my enormous suitcase and was in bed.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4RyzDQi_WKcwTgjAcit2GGqxytPK1YhcEIvmquDt_P1Emh2uN8Zjb-52VNihbraFc9VrShNnVuIh0JesMdX93nzDQ-OBePa_3Y0XP1Mqirg0p3rHanhmHtK0xAyixHWJ28cUKu3fl1VZ/s1600/ee2f268a0e1311e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4RyzDQi_WKcwTgjAcit2GGqxytPK1YhcEIvmquDt_P1Emh2uN8Zjb-52VNihbraFc9VrShNnVuIh0JesMdX93nzDQ-OBePa_3Y0XP1Mqirg0p3rHanhmHtK0xAyixHWJ28cUKu3fl1VZ/s320/ee2f268a0e1311e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top: Dean and Kyle, Bottom: sights of Ikea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up a few hours later with a plan. I had spent the winding down to sleep time
planning what I wanted to do with my room.
I made a list in my head. I went
over it as I slept. When I woke up I
wrote the list in my phone and set about preparing for my darlings, Dean and
Kyle, to arrive for lunch and an Ikea trip.
There is no need to go into a ton of detail about this part of the day
as most of it consisted of browsing the Ikea show room and laughing until my
sides nearly split but needless to say we found 90% of the things on my list
and brought them back to my apartment.
Here is what I will say about Dean and Kyle: <i>these</i> are they people you
want as friends—the people who will haul their asses on a bus out to Brooklyn
and spend 3 hours in Ikea with you, planning and mentally decorating your room
and THEN return and set everything up.
These are the guys, the ones who stay until it is done. The ones who, even though they are clearly
tired, carefully move through the set up to make sure that everything is done
correctly. The ones who, after all is
said and done, still want to go out and celebrate and don’t even get mad when
you get everyone lost walking to the train. These
are the guys you want to have with you.
I am BEYOND grateful to them for all they did today (and to my new
roommate, Kyla, as well, who has kept me sane the past week by working around
weird mattress delivery schedules and giving me huge pieces of furniture). I know that without these three I would have
spent most of the day in my room, crying over a seemingly terrible
decision. These three, with their
confidence and their caring, gave me the strength to be brave on a day
when I missed my mom and dad more than anything. And it is because of these three that I know
that everything is going to be ok.
Because I know I have people in my corner, even if I’m not 100% sure
where that corner is or what bus I need to take to get there. And knowing this is half the battle. Looking back on today, the best thing I did
was to make a plan and then set out to execute it, detail by detail. And the absolute best thing I did was chose
to surround myself with people who wanted to help make that possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things that are difficult might not always be fun, but they
certainly help us learn in a way that nothing else can. And sometimes these are the experiences we
need, the ones that make us take a step back and make a detailed list, the ones
that make us feel hyper aware, the ones that force us to take a risk.<o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-48530803304894731532011-11-11T11:00:00.000-05:002011-11-11T11:00:14.352-05:00Moving On Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpSY6-96kxtVd5h7k9J0m3bg9AUISiz52QahggGIKC7oqV384c7bDJbmLk_2zqff9D8RtrdU1mFPxpixb8Xx20YnfQMvm3Ejh3T1h_eol5bNgKtDuGjK_oNmJ_As08TFT569Ovas5joRl/s1600/9fe9b1320bef11e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpSY6-96kxtVd5h7k9J0m3bg9AUISiz52QahggGIKC7oqV384c7bDJbmLk_2zqff9D8RtrdU1mFPxpixb8Xx20YnfQMvm3Ejh3T1h_eol5bNgKtDuGjK_oNmJ_As08TFT569Ovas5joRl/s400/9fe9b1320bef11e1a87612313804ec91_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
11.11.11. Truthfully, I didn't plan for this to be the day for me to make such a huge step. I guess fate stepped in and started steering the ship (or fate was steering the ship the whole time and I am just surfing along the waves it creates for me). Either way, today will forever be an important day for me. It is the day I started a new adventure. It is the day I realized just exactly how many articles of clothing I had (I had a 3 box pipe dream that was quickly dashed when I discovered a long lost bag of sweaters). It is the day that I finally pushed myself out of the nest. It is the day I began my real renaissance.<br />
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It is strange, days like this don't often come up and introduce themselves. Important days like the day you start on your own path seem to happen more spontaneously. You usually don't get 6 weeks to roll every detail over in your mind. They are usually only fully realized in hind sight. And to be honest, I don't know if the extra time has made me any better prepared. It is still going to be a scramble right up until the end (and beyond really, since banks aren't opened tomorrow). But today I know that everything is going to be ok. Today I actually feel calm and level headed. Today I feel ready, even if my suitcase is not.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1988659646063669464.post-34545478219183605102011-11-09T11:00:00.000-05:002011-11-09T11:00:05.468-05:00It's here.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqr7PXqLvuW8V2GNSP_H5PD1eTV0Zdu1_nJ60bsa_62T9wezdN4PruNQEoPJ085QOA7i43wauLmyqcn2CTkDeNJzvfIj-Bn-7dxTP78kOAu_Wg02Y74NFQlQ1X4bMpIlJKphy2FRho_F8C/s1600/3f426f660aa711e19896123138142014_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqr7PXqLvuW8V2GNSP_H5PD1eTV0Zdu1_nJ60bsa_62T9wezdN4PruNQEoPJ085QOA7i43wauLmyqcn2CTkDeNJzvfIj-Bn-7dxTP78kOAu_Wg02Y74NFQlQ1X4bMpIlJKphy2FRho_F8C/s400/3f426f660aa711e19896123138142014_7.jpg" width="400" /></a>The day I've waited for is finally here. I know what you are thinking, "Silly Ashleigh, it isn't Friday yet! You still have two days until you move!" Alas, dear reader, Moving Day isn't the day I'm talking about. The day I'm talking about is the day that I start freaking out about Moving Day. To save time, we shall call this day "Freak the Fuck Out Wednesday." FtFOW, as it is colloquially known, is the day when all of the realizations that you've been putting on hold for the past, say, month or so come crashing into you and your brain begins to slowly melt out of your ears. Symptoms might also include but are not limited to: getting misty eyed at a peer editing assignment from the 6th grade you found buried in the back of your closet, sitting surrounded by a pile of books and other odds and ends chewing on your hair and staring into space, and being a total inconsiderate asshole to the people around you because leaving is hard and you are trying really hard not to think about it.<br />
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Ok, so I might have made up the part about chewing on your hair but the rest is completely real. My dad came into my room last night and I was sitting on my bed, surrounded by piles of books and sheet protectors (I found a secret stash of them in my closet) and packing tape and papers to be recycled. "Ash....what are you doing?" he asked. "Um...I don't know. I just got....stuck," I responded. Because sitting there, trying to shove my life into three 16x16x16 boxes everything just became so REAL. Like REALLY real. Because even though I've moved away from home before, this time is different. Because this time I am going away with no plans of returning...ever (except to visit, of course). And honestly, I like it at home. I never thought I would but I like living here. I like having my parents close and I like being able to hang with my dog and I just like it. And I know it is time for me to move out, I know it is, but there's a part of me that is pretty sad about going. My whole life, everything, is here. And it is hard to let some of that go. I know that not everything will change and that my parents are just a phone call and a plane ride away but I can't help missing them already. I like that I can sit here and hear them watching Parenthood and chatting in their room. I like that no matter what time of day it is or what she is doing, if I ask my mom for a hug she gives me one (and a really good one at that). I like that my dad plays stupid games in the house, like Marco Polo because he is testing my hearing. I like that in about 20 minutes my dog is going to push my door open like she owns the place and make herself a little nest on the pillow next to me. I guess I didn't realize that over the past two years while I've been bitching and moaning about how I hate living in California and how I want to go back to New York that I've actually been enjoying living here. Who would have ever thought it?<br />
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And of course this part was always going to be hard, leaving your home to make a new one someplace else is never easy, it is always complex and a little fraught. And it is also exciting and magical and fantastic. FtFOW taught me that. And tomorrow my boxes will be packed and a plan will be made and everything will be ok, I know that too. But for today I'm going to keep doing a nutty and see how that goes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03510674495417129662noreply@blogger.com1