Easter baskets that smell like home.

When the mail came around yesterday and a decent sized box was brought to my desk, I felt overwhelmed. I'm taking a new accounting class for my job and when I first saw the box, I assumed it was filled with books and materials for this class I'll be taking (which I have absolutely no time for at the moment).

But when I flipped it over to examine it more closely, I noticed the familiar handwriting that spelled out my name and the return address: it was from home.

My mom told me she was sending me something for Easter a while back (yes, World, I am twenty-three and I still get an Easter basket).

I called home and whispered to my mother that I had gotten the box and dug in to open it. Inside, I found a couple sweet things that brought a smile to my face.

I thanked her and hung up, putting the box away and went on to work on some projects that I needed to have finished by the end of the day.

Six o'clock rolled around and I grabbed my box to head to my car. I sat in traffic for almost an hour and rushed in the door, ready for dinner, a shower and the comfort of my bed. As I was shoveling a bite of dinner in my mouth, I saw the box on the foot of my bed and decided to go through it again and put away the things I had gotten and throw the blouse into my laundry basket.

As I pulled the blouse out of the box, a scent caught my attention.

I can't explain the scent--I've never been able to explain it but it's always been there. It's like a strange mix of vanilla and cleanliness? It just smells...fresh. It's the scent that hits me every time I walk into my house in Florida.

It just hit me.

Instead of putting that blouse in my laundry basket, I found myself putting it on and crawling into bed to watch a movie and eventually falling asleep in that blouse.

I love Easter baskets; especially the ones that smell like home.

The Art of Being an Individual

Growing up, I faced the challenge every kid (or person) faces: how to make my own opinions and decisions, and when it's appropriate to express them.

It was absolutely something I struggled with on a daily basis growing up, but it's something I've learned to appreciate and understand today as an adult.

It's been brought to my attention that there are some people in my life who have pointed out either to myself or mutual friends that it's their belief that I'm incapable of making my own decisions, or that the decisions I'm making are a result of trying to impress someone.

While I thoroughly respect these thoughts and judgments on who I am as a person (because everyone's entitled to their own opinion), I'm here to defend myself.

While yes, I do tend to avoid confrontation and I don't enjoy "stirring the pot", if you will, I one hundred percent am my own person and if I need to face confrontation or express my thoughts that will most likely "stir the pot", then I will.

I'd say I'm pretty easy going and I also love trying new things. I like taking risks and I love finding new places that I enjoy--whether that be a new hiking trail, a new bar or club to go to at night, or a new restaurant I've never been to before. I'm almost ALWAYS open to new things. Unfortunately, maybe some people view that as me being a "follower" because a friend initially suggested it. Or maybe people think my willingness is a sign of being complacent in a negative light. I can assure you that if I don't want to do something or try something or go somewhere--I'm not going to do it, try it or go. (Ask my friends who have literally been trying to get me to eat seafood/sushi for my entire life.)

Thankfully, the people who I consider my true friends understand this. They know who I am, they respect who I am and they're kindhearted people. They don't judge me because of what I will or will not do, try, or experience; they accept me for who I am. Being new-ish to the West coast, there's a lot I haven't done. I'm thankful for the people in my life who allow me to experience these new sounds, cultures and activities.

So if you're one of the people who believe I'm not capable of making my own choices, decisions or that I try to impress the people in my life--I hope that what I've written explains a little better that your judgments are not accurate. But honestly? I really could not care any less what you think as you walk away from after reading this. (Side note: the people who probably need to read this never will, but the words needed to be said anyway).

People are always so quick to throw stones. Be careful throwing those stones when you live in a glass house.

xo.

Welcome to LA, Sarah with an "h" in apartment number 3.

I was frustrated while coming home from work tonight. I just accepted a promotion at work in a field I never saw myself working in. I should have left the office at 6, and I ended up leaving much later having me park my car at my apartment at 7.

I was hungry, I was tired and I was cold.

While waiting for the gate to open so I could park my car in the garage, I noticed a car right on my tail--hurried to park behind me. I sighed and muttered (as if they could hear me) to "get off my butt" and took my time pulling in. The car sped down and I noticed it's the bright red car that always parks next to me. It hasn't been parking there long, maybe a month or so.

The girl waved feverishly with a big smile as I shifted into park. I tried to manage a smile but groaned, this girl was way too happy to be excitedly waving to a complete stranger parking next to her.

I prepared myself for an overly joyous conversation that I figured was about to take place.

I took my time gathering my stuff and I noticed she slowly closed her door and practically waited for me to get out of my car.

Sure enough, she smiled again and said hello. I decided to put all my crap from the day behind me and smiled back.

"I'm Sarah," she put her hand out in front of me.

I partially laughed. "I'm Sarah, too, actually." She laughed and shook my hand, informing me she was Sarah with an "h" (a very common conversation I have with pretty much every Sara(h) I meet) from apartment number three.

I said I spelled my name the same way and we started the walk from the underground parking to our apartments above.

She just moved to Southern California one hundred percent by herself. She's looking for a change because she didn't like what she was doing back home in Alabama and decided it was now or never. She loves to write and has a passion for good music and positive people. She misses her family like crazy (her mailbox is overflowing with letters from home asking how she likes California and reminding her she can always retrace her steps) but she loves it. She loves it because it's different and crazy and adventurous and it makes her feel free.

Listening to her story I kept thinking, "God, she just sounds so familiar."

This girl is me, circa 2011. And listening to her story and hearing what she had to say was the reminder I completely needed today.

Had you knocked on the door of apartment 106 on Gramercy and 7th in Koreatown two summers ago, you would have found a girl with wide eyes and a smile for days. She was probably eating a cup of Ramen noodles and you would have found a stack of applications strewn across the desk. She was sleeping on the floor that belonged to some other girl and earned her stay by taking out the stranger's dog and paying a mere portion of the rent.

She would have told you she didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew she wanted change and she knew she wanted to be happy (just like this Sarah with an "h" explained to me earlier).

Putting aside the feelings of pure frustration I felt today, I can honestly say I've found that. No, I'm not in the field of work I always thought I would be--but it's new and it's change; all things new are a little bit scary at first.

Looking at the big picture? California has been everything I thought it'd be--it's different, crazy and adventurous and I know every second that I'm here I have never been more free before in my life.

So thanks, Sarah with an "h" from apartment number three. And welcome to Los Angeles, kid.

When the world said I couldn't, I went and did it anyway.

Many times in my life, I've been told I couldn't do something. Not necessarily because someone wanted to discourage me; mostly they wanted to save me the trouble of the hurt or the consequences of failure.

So, generally, when I was told I couldn't do something--I typically didn't do it. Instead, I'd make up excuses as to why I had changed my mind. I never truly fought for anything that I wanted, which was one hundred percent my fault. I never gave myself the chance to do something.

Not until I moved to California.

I've never been told I couldn't do something more times in my entire life. Friends of family, friends of myself, people I grew up going to church with--everyone had something to say about how bad of a decision moving to California would be. I definitely understand why.

I had a job I had maintained all throughout college; one in which they were willing to offer me a management position where I would most likely work for the rest of my life. I was living in Orlando, a booming but affordable city in the middle of Florida. I had friends, family--the university I had graduated from. A world of comfort and familiarity was set before me.

But I chose to blindly take a flying leap.

Besides the hope I had in my heart, I had nothing. I hoped every single day that I would land on my feet. I've definitely had my rough patches, but I'd like to say I landed pretty steadily. Maybe I wobbled a little bit here and there, but mostly I landed and I started moving.

I've gotten comfortable again. I know what to expect when I come to work. I know what's expected of me. And now the time has come for this amazing company I work for to offer me a promotion.

Even though it might not sound as scary (or maybe scary at all), it's terrifying. It's a huge leap in a direction I never saw myself taking. But just because I didn't see it before doesn't mean it's not going to be great. Or maybe it won't be great, that's always a possibility too.

For the last two weeks I've been stressing out over how this was never part of my plan. I wasn't supposed to start a career in finance (though I've never really known what career path I really want to take). I'm not nearly as qualified for this position as someone they would hire off the street would be, but they've assured me they know I will learn and grow and evolve to fit the position--and they're willing to give me time to do that.

Two years ago, I would have said no, but thank you for the opportunity.

Today I am reminded of the scared girl who was always so used to saying no, but thank you when the world advised her she couldn't. Today, I'm politely telling her to hold on; because today I know I'm capable of saying yes.

Fight for what you want; fight for who you are. It might just be worth it in the end.

(Home)sick.

Being homesick and sick should just be one in the same. Let's face it; who likes to be sick away from their mom? My awesome nutritionist has informed me the answer to this is: no one.

When I was a kid, my mom was all over me--especially when I was sick. She'd bring me toast and Sprite, checking on me every hour or so. She'd let me watch my favorite movies and bring me a cold wash cloth when I had a fever.

I never really knew how important all those things were until I was sick and had to do them all by myself.

It might not sound all that bad, but take it from the girl who has been unsuccessfully trying to cough up a lung for the last week or so--it's not fun.

It has finally been brought to my attention that I have walking pneumonia. Today was my first day back at work, though I unfortunately was unable to make it the entire day (missed it by an hour). That's okay; I'm thankful for my incredible employers for recognizing today was slow and I was obviously not well and letting me go home early.

But that's not the point.

The point is: I'm a big baby and I hate taking care of myself when I'm sick. I really don't know how my mother put up with me for seventeen years. I am no fun whatsoever.

Being home for five days and not being able to do much but lay in bed and watch whatever I could find on Netflix (considering I already made it through my Boy Meets World DVD set) brought me to ALIAS.

I remember watching this with my mom when I was a kid. I can't remember how old I was, exactly. Somehow I stumbled in on her watching it in the living room one night and asked if I could watch too. I fell in love with it and that was our show; we'd watch episodes together and sit on the edge of our seats as Sydney Bristow managed to lead a triple life--grad student, CIA agent and SD-6 agent.

I realized the show still intrigues me today as I sat down to watch an episode--but mostly it reminds me of those nights in the living room with my mom.

Maybe this walking pneumonia is making me more nostalgic than usual.
...yeah, let's blame the pneumonia.

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.