Yahtzee

I don't have a lot of memories of my mom's mom, because she passed away when I was twelve and we never really lived very close to her. We'd go up north for holidays and sometimes a birthday or two, or whenever my great grandma would have one of her big family reunions at the lake. But for the most part, it was Christmas cards and phone calls with an occasional weekend visit.

I do, however, remember a few things about her that stick with me from over the years. One being that she was the one who taught me how to play games--mostly Yahtzee.

I have a very clear memory from when I was about eight or nine and we were at her house in Ohio. I think my great Aunt Pat was there, and maybe a few of my uncles. They were playing some loud game and I could hear the dice echo off the wooden kitchen table from the living room.

I wandered into the kitchen to see what in the world was going on. I was a fairly quiet kid, but my grandma was not so quiet. She had the funniest laugh that would make everyone else laugh, and she always wore glasses but they had a tint on them from when she was outside in the sun. They always stayed a little bit tinted, even in the darkness of the kitchen.

There was cigarette smoke and ash trays, but as I wandered over my grandma pulled me up onto her lap.

"Have you ever played Yahtzee?"

I think I might have played with my mom once or twice, but we were more of a Go Fish kind of family.

I shook my head 'no' and I vaguely remember her gasping and shaking her head at my mother for not teaching me the glorious game of Yahtzee sooner.

She explained the game, and I remember her dropping the dice in my tiny nine-year-old hands and wrapping her bony fingers around mine. She whispered the rules in my ear as we let the dice splatter across the table. She explained the ways of the game and I watched as her and Aunt Pat laughed and laughed, yelling and hollering about who was winning and so forth.

I loved it.

But I didn't love it because of the game. I loved it because in that moment I was seeing my grandma. Looking back, it's one of my favorite memories of her.

Bringing me to today. My grandpa (my mom's dad) comes down to Florida every year around Christmas time and spends three to four weeks at my parents' house.

His favorite game is "Cut Throat" (better known as Aggravation). I had never played with him--this is a tradition they've acquired while I've been living away from home.

So I sat down to play this game I'm quite familiar with (my family has always loved to play) and quickly realized why he calls it Cut Throat. It is brutal!

Nevertheless, I laughed harder in that hour playing with my family than I had in a long time--and most of that came from watching my grandfather. He laughed and smiled and hollered loud enough for the neighbors to hear. I hadn't seen him that happy probably ever.

And in that moment, I felt like I was at my grandma's kitchen table all over again. I felt like she was there.

In my heart, I know that she was.

"If your dreams don't scare you, they aren't big enough."

This past weekend marked a year and a half that I've been living in Los Angeles.

Part of me feels like I've been here for years and years now, but the other part distinctly remembers everything I've gone through to get to this point.

This weekend I was out in downtown LA and drove right by the first place I lived when I moved to SoCal. It was in Koreatown with a girl I barely knew who was looking for someone to chip in with rent. I paid a portion and bought a twin sized air mattress (because my queen sized air mattress was far too big for this studio apartment) and shared the floor with a stranger and her sweet rescue dog (who almost immediately became my best friend).

From Koreatown, to Westwood, to North Hollywood and now to the center of it all--West Hollywood.

Driving through Koreatown this weekend (seeing as I'm rarely out that way) kind of felt like everything has come "full circle".

A year and a half ago: a girl who had no idea where she was headed or what was ahead, but she wanted to do it anyway. She packed up her car and drove three thousand miles to one of the biggest cities in the US.

A year ago: a girl who had established friendships and gotten a job working in the hospitality industry, trying her hand at just "getting there". Still uncertain as to where the path was leading, but chose to follow it anyway.

Today: I'm more brave, independent and aware of who I am than ever before. I live somewhere I literally dreamed of living years ago and I'm working for a company who honors and respects who I am on a daily basis. I have friends who have inevitably become family; I don't ever feel alone. This year I bought my first brand new car, moved to one of the hottest spots in Hollywood and "climbed the ladder" to an office job.

I am young, I am alive and I am free. And I am so, so happy.

People used to say things like: "Follow your heart, you never know where it might lead."

My heart has taken me places I never thought I'd see. Has the path been everything I expected it to be? Absolutely not. In some cases, it's been better. In other cases, I've had to learn how to adjust my plans. Nevertheless, the place I am in today is wholeheartedly because of the events and experiences from my many yesterdays and gives me hope for all my tomorrows.

Here's to living life to the absolute fullest.

My mother.

When I was growing up, my parents decided my mom would stay at home with me and my brothers and my dad would go to work. I'm fortunate, because I remember my mom always being there. I knew kids who had house keys by the age of seven. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but there was something about running up the front porch steps from the bus stop to mom being there with a snack, asking us how our day was and how much homework we had that just made life more comfortable.

If you know my mother at all, you know she's always dancing, singing and smiling. Always. Sometimes I roll my eyes and laugh as she pulls me across the kitchen floor trying desperately to get me to dance with her. But there was a time when I was six, she'd put on Madonna's, "The Immaculate Collection" and I'd stand on the coffee table in our family room and dance and sing my heart out.

My mom always wanted to surprise me when I was little. When I was turning ten, she sent me to the roller rink with a friend and her mom. When we came back, there was a surprise party waiting for me in our house with all my friends and family.

When I was twelve, I decided to go to camp for the first time. It was really my first time away from home without being surrounded by someone familiar (a grandparent, a friend, etc.) and I was terrified. My mom wrote me via fax once a day for the entire week I was there, and when I came home, she had surprised me and painted my room purple--my favorite color.

I remember when my grandmother passed away, my mom just hugged me and cried. I didn't know my grandmother incredibly well; we had always lived about 500 miles away from her. But that moment made me realize the bond that I had with my mother. I stood on my bed early that February morning so I was just a little bit taller than my mom. I don't think I fully understood why my mom was so sad, but I remember thinking that if it were her that was gone, I would be devastated. That, alone, made me understand the situation and realize I never wanted to lose my mother.

When I played soccer as a kid (or any sport for that matter), my mom never quite understood exactly what was going on but you could put money on the fact that she'd be at every game. Her and my brothers would sit on the side line and even though she was the smallest lady out there, she was, by far, the loudest. Her screams and cheers could be heard clear across the field.

Baking at the holidays was always a family affair. My mom would blast Christmas music and put on festive earrings and sweaters. She'd dance and sing and rotate from one child to the next and help us with our holiday cookies. Again, we'd roll our eyes (but we were unable to hide the big smiles on our faces) as we'd add the various ingredients to our cookie bowls.

My mom has this way of literally making almost everything okay. A simple hug from her could fix a bruised knee on the playground at age five and today, there are days when the office is hectic and the phone is ringing off the hook when I think to myself it'd be nice to just get a hug from my mom.

I'm thankful for my mom's quirky, goofy dancing and singing; for the way she was always home and how her hugs could heal anything. For she has made me into who I am today.

I recently visited Amoeba in LA and found a copy of "The Immaculate Collection". I recognized that pale blue cover from aisles away. Sometimes I'll pop that in my CD player and sing and dance a little like I used to on that coffee table or with mom in the kitchen. Even from three thousand miles away, I can still see her bopping her head from side to side and snapping her fingers along to "Cherish"; it always seems to make everything okay.

Sorry this is so late, Mom! I blame the salmonella! Miss you every day. Happy (belated) birthday.

My father.

I was the first born kid in my family.

My mom grew up as the oldest with three brothers and sisters whom she helped raise, but my dad on the other hand had been an only child and never really interacted with any small children in his life.

Apparently when I was born, my dad cried. I assumed it was because his social life was officially over, however my mom informs me he was really happy to see me ;).

Mom tells me all the time that for the first few weeks, he was determined he was going to break me. He'd look at the baby clothes and then at my tiny frame and try to contemplate how in the world he was supposed to get my arm through the sleeves in the onesie.

But that was just the beginning.

Growing up, my dad was obsessed with Halloween. I was always okay trick-or-treating because I always knew my house would be the scariest one on the block, so I had nothing to worry about. Every year he built this massive spider out of garbage bags and PVC pipe in the front yard. He'd always rent a fog machine (I'm pretty sure after a few years he finally just bought one), we had a skeleton who's jaw would move while hooked up to a microphone. My dad would hide behind the curtains just inside the window and make creepy noises and sounds, imitating eerie zombies and monsters. Kids ran away screaming and we'd all roll around on the floor and laugh hysterically at how crazy (but awesome) my dad was.

I didn't love a lot of sports, but soccer was just my thing. I played for years and years on a rec team and every year, my dad was my assistant coach. He traveled for work during the week, but always tried to make my soccer practices and games. He introduced me to the various sounds of ACDC, Goo Goo Dolls and Third Eye Blind. We'd drive through the business park where broken sprinkler heads sprayed into the street. He'd roll down the windows and drive through the streams, making me giggle as the cool water droplets landed on my skin.

We butted heads a little as I got older, but he was always looking out for me.

He bought me my first car when I was seventeen. I went away to camp for a week and when I came back, he opened the garage door and there it was--my Honda Civic. Mom said he searched and searched and searched for that car--making sure it was safe and perfect.

He was the one I called when I got my first (and only, knock on wood!) speeding ticket. I prepared myself that I was going to get in serious trouble. I was already crying from the stress of getting pulled over, and was fully prepared for my dad to yell at me. I deserved it. Instead, he calmly said we'd talk about it when I got home from work that night and he made sure I knew he had gotten plenty of speeding tickets in his day. Telling me it happened to everyone and not to stress over it.

When I failed economics in college, I called my dad--again, fully prepared to get lectured. College was expensive and he was footing the bill; I deserved it. Instead, my dad chuckled and told me the story of how he had failed economics in college himself--it was a tough class. He told me how he got through it and that I could try again next semester.

When I sat my parents down and told them I was packing up my car and moving to California, I could see the hesitation on both of their faces. Again, I was fully prepared for them to disagree with me and not understand. While they were certainly sad to see me leave, my dad nodded and told me he'd drive with me if I wanted. When I told him I really wanted to do this by myself--he swallowed it and pulled out an atlas. He brought it to me with each and every state I would be driving through tabbed. He told me the nicer areas to stop along the way, and the not-so-nice stopping areas.

He told me one more thing. He told me if I ever needed to come home, he'd book the first flight he could and we'd drive back together. He assured me he would always be there, and I'd always have a home.

We don't always see eye to eye, but I appreciate him now more than ever as an adult. I hope he knows he's given me my wings and prepared me for this epic journey I've found myself traveling on.

Thanks for everything, Dad. I love you. Happy birthday.

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."

Mondays.

I've never really liked the stereotype of Monday. I think it's unfair and undeserved. I wholeheartedly believe we should give every Monday a chance. Like really, what did Monday ever do to you?

Well, today. Today I tried to give Monday a chance, and it just chewed me up and spat me out.

I've gotten to this point where I'm concerned with the "directions I'm taking". This happens to me every so often. In college, I usually evaluated a change in study every three to six months. I went into the whole: "who am I? What am I doing? Who am I supposed to be?!" panic mode.

This usually ended with me in tears with my mother on the phone; her trying to reassure me that while yes, every decision I made counted, did not in turn mean that every decision I made was forever. I would dry my tears and mope to the student union where I'd vent to friends over buffalo chicken wraps and Starbucks coffee. Our vent sessions turned into laughing sessions and we usually ended the night lounging in Memory Mall watching the stars.

And then it came to college graduation--where I was pretty sure my world was ending. What was I supposed to do with my life now? How was I supposed to just wake up one day and be a grown-up? How was I supposed to start my career?! Again, this ended with my mother telling me that none of these decisions had to be forever; they just had to be for right now. And if I thought with my heart and my head, I would make the right decision.

So here I am, almost two years post undergrad graduation, and it's Monday. This morning I overslept giving myself a mere twenty minutes to pull myself together. I realized I had a fairly ginormous tear in my favorite pair of tights. I hurried out the door into the lovely West Hollywood/Beverly Hills/West LA traffic. I cursed myself the whole way there over why in the WORLD I chose to live in a city where driving a simple 6 miles takes me almost 45 minutes. The man at the coffee shop in my building was neither friendly nor attentive and completely screwed up my order. I twisted my ankle (again) and it's now the size of a baseball.

For a quick minute, I let today get the best of me. In fact, up until posting this I was letting today get the best of me. I found Negative Nancy knocking with thoughts like, "Ugh, typical Monday. The rest of today is going to suck--just accept it now and move on. Everything's failing! What are you doing with your life?!"

And then I really took a look at my life, but specifically the last two years.

The direction I took in college surely guided me, as did the choices I made after college graduation. But none of my decisions or "bad days" or experiences defined who I am. And I'm honestly surprised by and proud of the girl I am today.

So, take that, Monday. Lucky for me, you're almost just another sunset under my belt.

Trust. Friends. Life.

I think one of the hardest parts of growing up is learning how to trust yourself; especially for those of us who grew up with parents who wanted to be there for us in the best way possible, which turned out with them making a lot of our decisions for us. Hence, why I trust my mom and dad more than anyone else in this world (myself sometimes included).

Everyone is born and raised differently; that's the way life works. There's no right or wrong answer, and I appreciate the way I was brought up because I love who I am and I know I wouldn't be this way without my parents raising me the way they did.

We make mistakes--this is life. Everyone in the world makes mistakes (big and small) and I'm the kind of person who wholeheartedly believes that if someone makes a mistake and returns to mend what's been broken, they deserve a second chance. With that being said, I'm also a person who does not believe in third, fourth, fifth or sixth chances. I believe in the whole: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." I comprehend and accept that statement--I know if things go sour twice, it's on me.

I believe in seeing the good in people, because let's face it: we all have pasts that contain laundry lists of mistakes and errors and judgments. We'd be hypocrites if we walked around looking for the perfect person. We'd also be lonely, because that person doesn't exist.

Positive influences exist. I believe that it's important to have positive influences in our lives but in return, it's important to be a positive influence for someone else. Sometimes the people on these lists are one in the same. Sometimes they are not. That doesn't bother me. What's important is that you know who YOU are and what YOU believe and allow that to be your truth.

Over the last two months I've grown up--a lot. I always thought that there was no way in the world I could grow up as much as I did when I moved to Los Angeles in the first place, but I've proved that to be incorrect over the course of the last sixty days.

The great thing about this post is that I came out and said what I believe to be my truth. The great thing about life is that you don't have to agree with me on any of it. But the important thing is that you accept me anyway.

So if you can see past the things that we view differently, then I am so excited for you to be a part of my life.
If you can't see past the things that we disagree on, then I'm sorry you feel that way.

Trust is earned, and I feel with the people who are in my life right now that I've earned that, as they have with me. If there is no trust, it's impossible to have a healthy relationship.

I'm proud to finally be able to defend myself.
I don't know how else to defend myself besides the words that I've written above.
Take me or leave me, this is who I am.

Home.

I wrote this on the plane journey back to Los Angeles this weekend but never made it to posting it...

-----

I'm blogging from a plane right now, believe it or not. My clock says it's 8:47 but my body is still confused straddling that evil three hour time difference that lies between Los Angeles and Tampa.

I went home for the weekend.

Home being Florida.

It's tricky for me. When people ask me where I'm going when I make this trip to Florida, I always say, "Oh, I'm going home." But I also tend to refer to Huntersville, North Carolina as "home", too. And even when I'm in one of these places and people ask me when I'm going back to LA, I tend to say, "I'm heading home in a few days."

My brain is so confused!

What is home? Where is home? Which place feels like home??!

I finally decided to start asking myself a different question.

Who says we can't have more than one home?

I love each place for different reasons. This trip back to Florida was especially tough, mostly because my reality in Los Angeles has changed greatly since the last time I was back east. I found myself silently wondering every other minute if maybe I should move back--maybe I should go "home".

In Florida I have my family--my "rocks". These are the people who I can call wherever and whenever I need them. They're the ones I come back for--the people who support me and love me unconditionally. They are the ones I know I will forever have--they are the ones who define my future.

In North Carolina I have everything I grew up with. It's familiar, it feels free and reminds me what it was like to be a kid. I have the memories and the people I grew up around, the places that taught me about adventure and happiness. This home will always be a part of who I am--this is my past.

Then I have California. I've been asking myself a lot lately what in the world I was thinking moving here. People usually look at me with crazy eyes when I tell them my story. But somehow, I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do and I won't back down from that. I have friends, I have a stable job, I have learned my way around. I am motivated by the events and people I see around me, I am moved by the stories of hope and success. This? Right now, this is my present.

Each place takes me to a different part of myself.

North Carolina will always remind me where I came from and who I wanted to be. Florida will always take me to the people who ground me the most. California, for now, will be the place that inspires me to learn and to grow.

Each place brings such a different dynamic to my life and it's too huge to pass up.

So from now on, when people ask me where I'm going or where I'm coming from--I'm not going to hesitate to say "home".

It's very easy to get so worked up on finding the right answer, we completely miss the fact that we're asking the wrong questions.

Speechless.

I'm completely and utterly speechless.

I met a guest at our hotel months ago while I was going through a tough time. Missing home, not sure what direction to take, blah, blah, blah. It seems to be a cycle I find every once and a while.

Anyway, this guest was just overwhelmingly motivational and just kept telling me, "I see something in you; you've got this. You can do it!"

Well, she gave me her business card and told me if I ever needed anything, to please send her a note.

At the beginning of summer, I e-mailed her. I knew she was traveling a lot for work but figured she'd get back to me when it was good for her. I just thanked her for what she had told me and left it at that. I had forgotten about the e-mail to be honest. And I was a little surprised to see a response from her in my inbox just now.

The words she wrote left me speechless. If you know me, you'll know how close her words hit to home.

Thank you Sarah – and sorry for my delay in getting back to you! I have been buried at work and keep seeing your email and wanting to get back to you!

How are you doing? Have you made progress on your book? It was such a pleasure to meet you. I hope your summer is going well  and that you are still enjoying your time in So Cal.  You are going to be GREAT! It is always hard to start over in a new city but you have courage and strength and I know you will be successful. Take it one day at a time – don’t make decisions late at night as it always seems more scary/harder/more intense and morning always brings a new perspective. Stay safe, eat right and make good friends who will bring you chicken soup when you feel crummy away from home. Be intrepid – you have nothing to lose. Take chances now – even if you fall off of your bike (this is my Dad speaking) you can get back on and no one who is successful makes it with a few band aids and bruises along their path. You never win without trying – and it’s the losing that makes you stronger and better at what you do and who you are.

Go home for the holiday’s if you can to get a recharge or spend time with the “family you make” in your community. Be kind to yourself and patient.

Good luck and keep in touch – you are special and you will do wonderful things in life!

Susan  

Sometimes we need a complete stranger to see something in us that we weren't able to see before we believe it's true. Sometimes there are words that we know we need to hear, but don't have the strength to say them or face them ourselves.

Today I feel blessed.

He chose me.

After spending last Thanksgiving pretty much alone because my family was so far away and I couldn't get away from work, I decided I wanted to adopt a dog--I wanted a pet so I wouldn't feel so alone during the holidays or ever, really. I had always grown up with dogs and really missed having one in my life.

My roommate and I went to the local animal shelter. I really wasn't expecting to adopt a dog that day, I just wanted to see how many dogs were there and if any stood out. It was a heart-breaking experience. I had never gone with my family to "pick out a dog"; my parents had always gone on their own and brought whatever puppy they found back home. 

There were dogs everywhere--big dogs and little dogs, puppies and full grown dogs. The barking was deafening and the smell was nauseating, but we walked the hall. My ears were ringing and I looked from one dog to the next. All of them were a mix of some sort, and I knew I wanted one that wasn't too loud--especially since I lived in an apartment.

As we walked, this little curly-haired dog laid on the cement behind the bars of a cage with his head nestled on his front paws. Only his eyes moved with us as we passed; otherwise, he didn't budge.

He looked kind of rugged to me--his fur was all over the place, he had a lot of white surrounding his face and he had a stump for a tail. One ear flopped over while the other stood up and according to his fact sheet, his name was Puffy and he was a three-year-old cairn terrier mix.

I knew immediately he wasn't three and he sure didn't look like a "Puffy" to me.

We kept walking, looking over every poor dog who just wanted a little attention. I assured my roommate I was no where near ready to bring a dog home in that moment, we were just there to look.

As we walked back through to head out, I noticed "Puffy" had moved and now stood at the fence, watching me intently. I couldn't get over how quiet he was; not once had he barked.

I knelt down in front of the gate and tentatively put my fingers through the squares. Immediately, he began to lick my hands. My roommate got down on the ground with him and she, too, was warmly received by the little monster.

We decided we wanted to play with him. Didn't want to take him home, just play for a little while. So the man at the shelter brought him out with us into this play pen. I really despised the name "Puffy", but I knew some dogs were hard to re-train with a new name and so I called out to him.

He didn't even budge at the sound of his name as he walked around and sniffed at Lauren's feet. I looked at Lauren, who knew I wanted to name my dog Dodger if he was a boy, and smiled. "Dodger!"

He perked up, looked right at me and one ear flopped to the front while the other stood straight. It was fate.

The animal control man smiled at me and asked if I wanted him to get a leash and if Dodger would be coming home with us.

How could I say no?

Over the course of the last ten months, this dog has gotten on my last nerve, he's attacked the ankles of every person I've had in the house and he's refused to eat unless I mush everything together for his poor little teeth. He's been allergic to two foods I've gotten him and he's suffered from a couple of pretty intense seizures.

But he also kept me company on Christmas. And even though it annoyed me at first, when I sleep somewhere else I miss the way he burrows under my comforter and curls up against my legs (even though he is a living heat blanket). He's excited to see me each and every time I come home and he's made me feel safe and protected always.

I didn't choose him. To me, he was a scruffy old dog with a weird name and I didn't think he belonged in my life, but I was so incredibly wrong. I feel like he's been in my life forever, and it's hard to imagine being in my apartment without him.

Thanks for making me feel a little less alone, Dodge. Thanks for choosing me. Love you with all of my heart, even if you're an ankle-biter. 

xoxo

Things that I know.

There’s a lot that I don’t know. I don’t know if California is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of my life. I don’t know what I want to do for a living. I don’t know if I’ll ever get married or have a family. I couldn’t even tell you what I’ll be doing tomorrow.

So instead of overwhelming myself with the things I don’t know, I decided to focus today on the things that I do.

I know that every time I find a new hiking trail in Brentwood or Santa Monica or LA, I’m completely overwhelmed by the beauty—I’m always surprised by what I see. What I imagine in my head or photos I see online; nothing could ever replace the feeling of seeing it in person.

I know that when I’m driving in Hollywood and come up to Fairfax and see the Hollywood sign out of the corner of my eye, my breath gets caught in the back of my throat and my heart skips a beat. I’ve almost lived here a year and that sign still makes me feel this giddiness that brings a smile to my face.

I know that driving to California was, ironically, the surest decision I had made—probably, ever. Which probably sounds crazy. But it’s true. There were no doubts in my mind about moving to California until I got to San Diego and panic started to set in.

I, also, know that I’m encouraged and inspired by the people around me. I’m motivated, I’m loved. I know that I depend way too much on the people that surround me but that I’m also learning every day on how to depend on myself.

So, yes. There is a lot that I don’t know; a lot that I don’t understand. But I’m learning. Every day here I’m learning something new, meeting someone I never knew yesterday or seeing a place I could only imagine in photographs. Before moving to California I defined happiness as an emotion; something you could feel.

Today? Today I see happiness in the sunset over Malibu off the Santa Monica shore. I taste happiness in the fresh, sweet wine shared with friends at the family-owned vineyard in Malibu. I finally feel happiness, and I hadn’t really been able to say that before I moved here.

Is California forever? I have absolutely no idea. But I know that right now it makes me feel free. And it makes me smile. And I think that’s all that matters in this moment. So right now, California is exactly where I need and want to be. This is who I am. California brings out the adventure and fear and inspiration and love in me. This is who I am.

And that is what I know.