Finally Falling

Despite what you may think, I attempt to enjoy every season in its turn. There's majesty and beauty in all of them. But deep down, I'm secretly wishing and waiting for fall to arrive. The countdown usually beings in January. I wish I were kidding but it's true. There's something more dramatic about the shift between summer and fall and I'm sure the months of anticipation only make the change that more apparent but it really is the most magical time of year.

For all of my life, Christmas has been my favorite holiday. And I imagine it will continue to be, especially since it's my birthday as well. But I have to admit, Halloween is really growing on me. I look forward to decorating for Halloween just as much as I do Christmas and the theatrical part of me relishes in the artistic liberties that Halloween allows one to take. I feel like it challenges me to be more creative and go beyond merely "decoration" to create a truly impressive atmosphere. While I'm not one for blood and gore, it's at Halloween that I appreciate what the power of suggestion can do to illicite an eerie sense of wonder with the world and the chance to look at it from a somewhat darker perspective.

While Halloween continues to rise in the ranks of my favor, it matters little whether it wins out or not. What matters most at this time of year is that it's all ahead of me. For me, the holiday season begins now and everything associated with it is a happy forethought. When one holiday is over, we simply move on to the next and the next and so on until the fateful dawn of January. But now, January seems so far away. Now is just the beginning.

This week was the beginning of many seasonal firsts:

The first time I wore a sweater.
The first urge to turn on the heater.
The first time I've closed my bedroom windows.
The first time I've worn socks.
The first pumpkin purchase.
The first bout of homesickness for Boston.
The first sighting of fallen leaves.

I hope for many more to come. Some of my favorite fall traditions are already planned and I anxiously look forward to them. But I do not wish for time to speed up. This time of year I have patience. Because before I know it, the leaves will be swept, the pies eaten and the gifts unwrapped and I will be faced with the woeful maladies of January yet again. For now, I want to savor each and every fall-filled moment.

A Week With TMP

What a crazy week it's been. On Tuesday the Trey McIntyre Project began their week-long residency at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. For four days, this incredible dance company did pretty much everything under the sun that we could get them to from master classes to bus-ins to impromptu "spurban" performances throughout Orange County. We would show up unannounced at university campuses, shopping malls and outdoor markets where we would throw up a couple banners, press play on a boom box and the dancers would surprise passersby with a three-minute performance and then we would disappear. It was truly remarkable to see people's reactions and to be a part of something so unique.

The week ended with two incredible performances on the Center's mainstage. I was absolutely blown away by what I saw. Scarcely have I seen the work of a choreographer that has such depth and breadth and vision as Trey. I am convinced he can do most anything. He brings with him a wealth of artistry, a sense of humor, a profound intellect and an understanding of our generation that makes him unavoidably appealing. And his dancers were equal to every task he put before them, each with their own unique gift and personality. The TMP dancers have filled the ranks of our country's finest ballet troupes but their desire to be part of something new and innovative lead them to Trey. And I am grateful for their courage. They bring to life some of the most creative work I've seen in a very long time. I will never forget what I experienced this weekend.

I think what impresses me most though was the energy, drive, demeanor and creative vision of every member of this young troupe. It is what I want so badly to be a part of and what I hope can take root in my own workplace someday. Our short time with them was truly inspiring. And despite the long hours and overwhelming schedule, it's weeks like these that remind me how much I truly love my job.

A Trying Season

They say there's a season for everything and this has certainly been a sad one.

I've spent many days of this past month sitting in a courtroom just yards away from the young man that hit Jason. Through trial arguments and photographs and witness testimony, I've relived Jason's death all over again. In more gruesome detail than I did the first time. I've seen a family wrestle with a depth of grief that is truly unimaginable. And I've watched another family lose their son for the next 15 years of his life.

It's a humbling thing to be witness to a moment that will change someone's life forever. And even more terrifying to be a part of it.

I have to say that nothing could have prepared me for this. And I'm not sure I'm happy about the role I played.

As much as I loved Jason and as devastated as I am by his absence, this trial offered little consolation to me. If anything, it made it worse. Jason's death was truly a tragedy. And the events of this past month haven't made his death any less tragic. Whether they sentenced this man for three years or eighty-five years, Jason is still gone and any sense of justice or restitution doesn't make me feel any better.

I know there has to be consequences for reckless behavior but I thought it was supposed to bring reason and healing to a situation. I feel like my heart has been hollowed out even further. I don't really know what I expected of all this but whatever it was, I didn't get it.

I've watched other, new tragedies unfold over the last few weeks and I have to wonder when it will end. These bastions of certainty that I've taken for granted for so many years are beginning to crumble around me and all I can do is watch.

I know that all this can be molded into something good but boy what a mess we're in right now. But seasons change. And that's the beauty of them.

Growing Weary

When we're physically tired we rest. When we're emotionally tired we seek an escape. We can run from our jobs, our obligations and our relationships to find respite and return with new hope and commitment.

But what do you do when you grow weary of doing good? Where can you escape the call to virtue? Is there a moral vacation we are entitled to somewhere along the road?

Some claim such opportunities exist. Many seem to think you get a free pass during your college years to plummet into a moral tailspin in the name of "exploration and independence" aka "the search for oneself." Places like Vegas act as an ethical black hole that promises, however falsely, confidentiality and absolution as you leave. Are we allowed to make occasional visits to these debaucherous playgrounds when propriety is a weight we can longer bear?

I'm sure there are many who would disagree with me but I have to believe the answer is no. There have been so many times when I wished I felt otherwise but I can't escape the gnawing sense that the call to virtue is a consistent one.

I have watched friends go through some really heartbreaking phases of life lately and my own black and white world has become alarmingly gray. When your heart is so broken you wonder if it still exists or what once was so clear is now so cloudy it's easy to give up hope and take the path of least resistance. But I've found that it rarely serves us well. We usually end up in more trouble or deeper despair and our moral compass becomes weak and misleading.

As much as I may wish for a destination free of consequence, it does not exist. Our call to do good has no exemption or loophole. We will never rise to the occasion perfectly but we must not grow weary. It is an obligation judged not by the practicality of our success but the purity of our effort.

A Higher Perspective

It's amazing how different the world seems when you're wearing high heels. I can't quite put my finger on it but it seems like they change everything - from the way I carry myself to the way people treat me. I walk out of the house ready to take on the world, feeling confident and more astute to other's reactions to my presence. When walking into work I feel like I'm taken more seriously. When in a store or coffee shop, I'm given quicker and more friendly service. I am consistently baffled at how much a pair of shoes can change the game. But whose perspective is really changed? Is it mine or everyone else's? I don't know if I'll ever be sure but I love how exhiliarting it is to add a little height to your day. It makes me wonder why I don't wear them everyday. I guess if I were consistently four inches higher I would appreciate the perspective a little less. For now, I'll keep me ego in check and my feet in less distress by bringing them out only when I need to up the ante.

Rules of Life

I know it's been awhile. I don't know if it's just that I've been busy or incapable or out of ideas. But I'm back with a renewed commitment and new inspiration thanks to a new friend.

Gigi's Rules of Life Draft 1.0

1) Eat chocolate every day.
2) Give people the opportunity to surprise you. Every once in awhile they will.
3) Repay debts quickly.
4) Whatever you choose to do, do it well.
5) We are called to share God's love but He does the saving.
6) Find romance in the everyday stuff. It's the small moments that matter most.
7) Baked goods can heal almost any wound. For those they can't, learn to ask forgiveness.
8) Sensitivity and humility are great strengths not weaknesses.
9) Don't settle.
10) Never assume you're entitled to anything. Earn it.
11) When in doubt make a list.
12) Never trust a guy named Paco.
13) 80% of success is showing up.
14) Resist growing up. You have your whole life to be an adult.

I enjoy theme parks but I'm done with this rollercoaster.

What a crazy couple months it's been. I've heard it said that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. I'm always busy. I'm not sure I was making "other" plans. But life definitely happened. And I'm ready for things to calm down a bit.

Here's a quick recap for those that are interested:

Jason's accident. Followed by grief and sadness and month of ridiculous stress.
Beginning of great relationship. Enter hope and butterflies.
Managed to have a Christmas without the Nutcracker. Hooray!
Barely mangaed to celebrate in the midst of funerals and memorial services.
Decent New Year's. Decent = good in my book. Not a fan of New Year's.
Month of awkwardness at work.
Hate mail. Many nights of tears.
Recognition and praise at work.
Enter friend from the past. Now one of my very favorite people.
Salary cut and more co-workers pink slipped.
Beginning of craziest time of year at work.
Completion of catalog. Gold star!
Beginning of serious Showcase planning. Enter fear of recurrence of stress condition.
End of relationship. Yet another person not speaking to me.
Sleepless nights due to both extreme stress and sadness.
Friend in auto accident. Enter panic and crazy nightmares.
Dad gets a pink slip after 15 years.
Successful Showcase. Enter relief at work.
Now in desparate need of vacation. Scared to take one in case I find myself without a job.

It's been quite a rollercoaster over the last few months. And I'm ready to exit the vehicle. Generally I love to be in constant motion and hate not having anything to do, but I'd be quite happy to be bored for a little while.

Meet my financial advisor - Mr. Goodbar

One of the many reasons I love candy. Thanks Beth!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/24/nyregion/24candy.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

The Perfect Storm

So much is in the air - so much change, so much responsibility, so much uncertainty, so much promise - that you almost have to be in awe of the beauty behind the chaos. I feel like I'm juggling more balls than I can handle but I haven't actually dropped one yet so I'm fooled into thinking I might actually be successful. Or at least foolish enough to not give up.

But I fear that I'm on the brink of failure. And for the first time in a long time, I'm really scared. My life right now is like a perfect storm of potential and overwhelming responsibility. At the moment, I feel like I'm on the verge of silently drowning and the people on the sidelines have mistaken my flailing arms as waves instead of a cry for help. I have every hope that I will see the other side of this and be the stronger and wiser for it. But I'm praying for a lifeline in the time being.

25 Random Facts

I don't do these often but the mood was right so here you go.

1. I've been in two beauty pageants. One actually was a scholarship competition. I didn't feel beautiful enough to be in either of them.

2. I met my very best friend in Kindergarten. I miss her every day.

3. I fell in love with dance at the age of four. It has been the most difficult relationship I have ever been in.

4. I tell people that I didn't actually have an eating disorder but I think I did.

5. I have a scar on my stomach that saved my life. I'm scared my future husband will think it's gross.

6. I can't remember the last day I didn't eat chocolate.

7. When I see elderly men in the grocery store, I always want to talk to them or ask them if I can help them. I never have.

8. I hate drinking anything with calories in it.

9. I eat Skittles and M&Ms in specific color combinations.

10. I secretly dream of being a fantastic drummer.

11. Most days I think I fit in better in Boston.

12. I will always regret not getting to attend my fourth year of college.

13. On my first birthday I threw up on my cake.

14. I'm almost never honest with people when I'm mad at them. I'm too afraid to hurt their feelings.

15. I've been a Christian my whole life. God is still one of the most mysterious things I have ever encountered. I hate not knowing the whys. Although I hope everyone experiences that kind of love at least once in their life.

16. I refused to eat breakfast until about high school.

17. My dad was injured and unemployed for two years when I was in Junior High. It was the greatest thing he ever did for me.

18. I work very hard but I don't always know what I'm working toward.

19. I've always wished that I had lived with my sisters when we were growing up. I would cry if they missed one of their weekends with us.

20. Fall is my very favorite time of year.

21. My roommate from college is one of my very favorite people in the whole world. Judging by my freshman year, I would've never guessed we would be friends. When I realized that she knew the choreography to Newsies, I knew I couldn't live without her.

22. I still sleep with a stuffed animal.

23. I usually go to a store at least three times before I buy something.

24. I want to be a writer someday. I'm afraid that I won't have anything important to say should the opportunity present itself.

25. I love my job even though it is overwhelming for me right now. I hope it is merely one of many careers I get to experience in my lifetime. I hope one of them is to own a candy store, bakery or ice cream parlor.

Candy Hearts

As you are well aware, I'm a huge fan of pretty much anything with sugar in it, but I must admit, the candy hearts just don't do it for me. They're chalky, they're trite, they don't taste very good and they represent everything I hate about Valentine's Day. Yes, I know it's over but I'm running late to pretty much everything anymore so please forgive my tardiness.

There's always been something about Valentine's Day that really bothers me and I dread it almost every year. Am I supposed to buy a gift? If we're going out, what do I wear? Do I get a card? What do I say? There's a lot of pressure. And I usually crack under it. I feel awkward and clumsy and usually terribly unlike myself.

But I think what I resent most of all is that it's calendared. There seems to be this sense of obligation to feel a particular way or say a particular thing on that day of all days and it really stresses me out. The heart has no calendar and it isn't more or less inclined towards anything just because it's Valentines Day. Fancy gifts and fine dining have no meaning unless there's true sentiment behind them. If you love someone you should tell them when it's on your heart, not when cupids are hanging in store windows and candles are on the table. The most romantic moments are the most spontaneous and honest ones. It's saying the things that make you vulnerable because you just have to say them. It's saying too much too soon and putting all your cards on the table with no guarantees that your gamble will pay off. It's saying what you really mean exactly when you really mean it.

I spent Valentine's Day in the most ordinary of ways this year. I spent the afternoon working and the evening eating pizza and watching a very unromantic movie. But I spent it with the right guy. A guy that I could totally be myself with. A guy that I could be quiet with, laugh with and be completely lazy with. And that made it perfect. Last time I checked, that didn't come on a candy heart.

Deja Vu

My relationship with dance over the last few years has been tenuous to say the least. I struggle to make it to class two times a week and I usually leave depressed and dejected. I can't make my body do what it used to and I feel like I disappoint myself every time I enter the studio. I sometimes wonder why I still go. I certainly am happy to not perform for awhile but there's this part of me that just can't walk away from it altogether. It's at those times that I realize my alternative is the gym and I just can't handle that.

Tonight, I'm not sure what happened, but for a few brief moments, I remembered why I loved dancing. For some reason, my body seemed to obey my brain and the pain subsided long enough for me to feel like I could fly and float again. It probably didn't look like much but it felt incredible.

I know I claim to hate dance sometimes, but it's really because I love it so much. No matter what side of the spectrum I may be on, I'm always passionate about it. They say the opposite of love isn't hate but indifference. I guess that goes to show that it still has a strong hold on my heart. As much as dance frustrates me sometimes, I love knowing that it still means something to me.

Letting Go

When we were going through Jason's things, I was grateful that I got to hang on to one of his shirts. It's not one I have a particular memory of, but I can still smell him on it. I don't want to stick it in a drawer where it will be forgotten but I'm afraid if I wear it, I won't ever smell him again. Am I crazy to think that I could possibly hold on to that? Do I just wash it and move on and keep his memory around me as I wear it? I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this but everytime I look at it, I'm paralyzed.

In some ways, I feel like I'm just beginning to realize the finality of it all. There's a certain amount of time that you can convince yourself that he's just on a really long vacation. Work is busy enough and I make a point to keep away from his desk and old photos. But then I come home and there's his shirt, begging me to consider which part of him I will hold on to...the smell or the sense of being close to him when wearing it. It's funny what things really strike you in grief. I wish the choice would be made for me. There's something really unnerving about being an active part of that process. It starts to take away the sense that you are a victim in all this and that you are participating in the tragedy.

Girl Genes

On the outside, I’m pretty much as girly as they come. I love to wear pink and occasionally don a bow in my hair. I can quote from an extensive library of romantic comedies at the drop of a hat and getting a new dress is pretty much one of the most exciting things that can happen to me…aside from maybe a kiss from a cute boy. But yesterday was one of those days that seriously made me question if I was missing some sort of vital girl gene that every other girl on the planet seems to have in spades.

Here’s how it started.

A couple weeks ago I got a haircut from this fabulous new hairdresser and self-proclaimed new BFF named Cece. She was patient with me as I poorly described what kind of cut I would like and she made a noble attempt at interpreting my instructions while praising me for my virgin hair. We were fast friends. The cut she gave me was fantastic – the perfect blend of what I wanted combined with a few executive decisions of her own because, let's be honest, she knows what my hair can do much better than I.

Then came the overwhelming part. After she was finished, I was told that I could never use hairspray again. Cue dramatic music. Hairspray - an item that has been a staple in my life since before I entered Kindergarten. I tried not to panic. But really?!?! How is one supposed to live without hairspray? Thankfully she had other suggestions - a lot of them. I decided I needed to table my skepticism and accept that she was more educated on the matter than I would ever care to be.

So, with a sense of adventure and the humble realization that I know nothing about styling my own hair, I dragged my mom to Ulta in search of these holy grails of hair care products. The sheer volume of merchandise inside this store is enough to discourage even the valiant, but I was committed and thus an hour-long journey began. I searched through aisles and aisles of bottles and jars in every shape, size and color you can imagine. At one point, I even found my own mother pacing in a corner mumbling to herself. But rest assured, we emerged victorious with Cece-approved products in hand and an eagerness to explore a hairspray-free world.

Enter yesterday morning.
The moment of truth.
The hour of reckoning.
The point at which my girlhood was laid on the line.
A day that will live in infamy.

Need I elaborate on my lack of success? It was awful. There were bottles and cans and jars of product everywhere. My hair was curling in ways that I didn’t ask it to. Attempts to make it behave made it even more unruly. It looked wet even though it had been dried. And there was the frightening aroma of burnt feathers in the air. I looked like a sad, 80s rock star wannabe with hair so limp it kept me from making even the one hit wonder list.

I seriously considered jumping in the shower and starting all over. Then I looked at the clock. I was supposed to be on my way to work already but exiting the house looking like I did was not an option. I didn’t do justice to myself or the members of Flock of Seagulls. So I stuck my head under the sink in a final attempt at salvaging my dignity. With Pureology on my right and forbidden hair spray on my left, I was able to rescue myself from what very well could have been the worst hair day ever. I didn’t look perfect. But at least I looked like myself and that’s all I could’ve asked for in that moment.

Needless to say, I was a little late to work but that’s the silver lining of having a Mo for a boss. A bad hair day not only constitutes a personal emergency but a national crisis. If I had come in looking like I did just ten minutes earlier, he would have sent me home or asked me to wear a bag over my head. God bless him!

In the end, all was well. My hair looked decent and my tardiness was forgiven. But I think what frightened me most was my inability to work the simple tools that every girl seems to wield on a regular basis. When it comes to hair, I feel like a disgrace to the female gender. I have a repertoire of 2.5 hairstyles (the .5 is for one I know how to do but don’t really like that much) which I fear the universe is beyond tired of seeing. What’s wrong with me? Most women seem to have this innate ability to mold and shape their hair according to the occasion or the weather. Me? I’ve got two options. Neither of which excite me all that much. I panic in the event of special occasions. Special hairdo? Not so much. It's just not in my genetic coding.

So although I may appear to have the girl thing down, please know that the pink shirt and ballet lessons are merely overcompensating for the fact that I can barely do my own hair and makeup. I hope it's a recessive trait that my daughter gets. I fear for her if she has to learn this stuff from me.