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I was doing a freelancing shift today at my local CBS affiliate (I get called in about once every week or two, which is perfect for me - not too much work, but keeps my foot in the door should I ever decide to return to TV) and I found out one of the producers is leaving to be an EP in South Carolina. No - I don’t want his job (that thought didn’t even cross my mind until now). Instead - I’m totally jealous of him. No again - I don’t want to live anywhere in South Carolina. What I mean is that I’m jealous of his life change - and I realized that I’m starting to feel like it’s time for a change of scenery for me. Don’t get me wrong, I still love where I am and what I do and what types of opportunities my lifestyle affords me, but I’m totally getting the itch.

 Ryan and I actually have been talking about what the next step in our lives will be and I’m getting excited for whatever is next. We don’t really have a specific plan, but it’s exciting for me to think that at this time next year I could be somewhere totally different, doing something totally different. While we’d love to go to another huge city, we’ve talked about going to a more medium-sized place (still hip and fun, of course - no colorado or kansas for us, natch!). Somewhere we could keep our standard of living - or upgrade! - and be able to save and invest a sh*t ton of money. (All part of our “financially free by 3o” plan!)

The beauty for us is that, since we’re self-employed and all our clients are virtual, our incomes won’t adjust to whatever area we move to. So if we move somewhere with a lower cost of living, we’ll be making the same we are now, and spending a LOT less! Not too bad, considering that I’d say we’re living pretty comfortably even with a super-high cost of living!

Like I said, I’d ideally want to live in another really big city, but I don’t want to downgrade my lifestyle at this point - and our dream places are all more expensive than where we are now.  We decided our dream cities are the places we’d like to end up one day, after we’ve established ourselves, maybe gone to grad school, have a larger investment empire, and are financially free.

In the meantime, we’re going to Asia for three months, so I guess that will have to serve as diversion enough :-D 

ps- i found this adorable (dog friendly!) apartment in downtown Austin. I’m ready to upgrade!

i wrote this almost three years ago, as i was preparing to move from Italy back to the states. i came across it as i was cleaning out files on my computer and surprisingly found it somewhat good after all these years.  so i’m positing it with out any editing and re-writing. who knows, it may be a good place to use as a spring board for the stories that have followed …

If I’d known a year ago, that looking at my planner from my last year in college would make me cry, I probably would have laughed.  I’ve always been one to yes, carry my happy memories fondly with me, but to move on.  To accept what’s in front of me and work through it.  But in the last nine months there had been a lot to accept.  I came across my day timer from college as I was cleaning my new apartment out, getting ready to move again.  I had hardly used it since I graduated.  Brought it with me when I got married, but stashed it in a drawer.  Each date on every page was, to me, filled with who I used to be.  Meetings with professors, homework assignments, lunches with friends, outings with roommates.  Even meaningless things like “pay rent,” or , “do laundry,” or “meet kelli to work out” brought tears to my eyes.  They reminded me of the person I was, the person I felt like I still wanted to be, but had left behind.  I saw names I’d forgotten, events that had freeze-framed in my mind, outings that had all but faded from my memory.  Torrey conference, midnight madenss, pumpkin carving party, girls’ dinner.  They didn’t really mean anything to any one else, but to me they were footprints of myself.  I reached out to the pages of the stupid, thin notebook as if I reached back to my own personality.  It was a weird, surreal feeling.  Like I was looking through someone else’s life, but having the memories and experiences to back up what I was seeing. 

I don’t know if I would say I’d changed so much since that last year that I was a totally different person—I didn’t feel like a different person.  I felt like the same girl, but she had experienced, sometimes endured, a thousand circumstances to bring her so far from where she was that it was crazy to really look back on what had been.  Each day, pieces of the memories I now held in their tangible form had come back to me.  I thought frequently of my old roommates, fun parties we went to, crazy class schedules.  I had many fond, and probably an equal number of painful, memories.  But somehow, nine months later, standing there beside the kitchen table in my Italian apartment, flipping through a ten dollar calendar, I got a weird rush of emotion.  I was at a completely different stage in my life now, *and* I was getting ready to move on from*that* stage into something else!  I hadn’t even had a chance to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t the day-timer girl anymore.  Somehow, over the course of almost a year, I *had* become a different person—things going on around me had forced me into it.  Sure, I’d obviously chosen to get married, but I didn’t choose the events that came with it … I had no way of seeing those events from where I was standing when I said, “I do.”  So here I was all those months later, holding day-timer girl in my hands, waiting to be finally-has-a-job-and-lives-in-the-states-again girl.  But who was I now, who had I been up until now? 

You know, I don’t know.  I don’t know where “college me” became “married me;” I don’t know where or how “married me” will become “career me.”  I figure it’s quite possible that it’s not so much a thing of becoming one thing or another, but more a thing of being.  I was and I am and I will be me—a year ago that “me” hadn’t experienced marriage, and in a year I’ll have yet another set of accomplishments under my belt.  I didn’t leave day timer girl, or “college me” behind … I grew *from* them.  Not necessarily *away* from or even *out* of them.  They are still a part of me.  A part that makes me happy, and sad, and nostalgic.  But I’m learning not to regret growing from them, but seeing that growth as another stage in life.

It’s like one of my favorite bands says:

You left before I had a chance to say goodbye

But that’s the way life usually is, it just passes you by

But you can’t hold on to regrets and you can’t look back

So I’ll just be thankful for the times that I had with you

i hesitated writing this for a couple reasons. for one, i guess it’ll show i’m a little sentimental and not 100% cynical, and i’m not completely ok with showing that (small) side of me. it took hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars spent on therapy for me to even admit i *have* that side. also, i’m going to quote song lyrics, and i’m not a 14 year old highschool girl. plus those lyrics are by the dixie chicks. but what the hell, i am what i am.

i’ve listened to this song more than i care to admit because it really strikes something within me. oddly, several of the songs on the dixie chicks’ new album have had that affect on me, but i’ll save those for later.

this particular one made me think of my relationship with ryan:

Busses, cars, and airplanes leaving
Burning fumes of gasoline
And everyone is running
And I come to find a refuge in the

Easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay

i kind of pride myself on being the a-typical girl, and in some ways i think i am. “feelings” make me uncomfortable, i hate valentine’s day and forced sentiment, i don’t like to cuddle, i need my own time - and for the most part ryan and i do our own thing during the week, and set aside specific time on the weekends to spend together. it’s taken us awhile to figure out what works for us - not what we WANT to work for us, but what REALLY works. and it’s an evolving work in process.

but on the flip-side, i’m kind of a walking girl-cliche. i want to be taken care of. for all my show of independence, career-oriented-mentality, and woman power, i still want someone i can fall back on. i thank my dad for that, since - although i’m married and in my 20’s - i still consider myself a daddy’s girl. he was always willing to go out of his way to make life a little easier for his girls - my mom included.

i probably sound crazy, spoiled, and naive. but in some ways, i’m ok with that. and that’s why the song brings me back to my sentimental side. ryan and i have an intense, and at times volitile, relationship. part of it is immaturity at times, and part of it is just who we are as people and as a couple. but he’s my haven because he always has my back. he understands that i’m i’m crazy, spoiled and naive. he knows that i’ll work a 12 hour day to get ahead (well, ok, because i have to), but still expect him to do our taxes and deal with the finances. i know he works hard - in part because he does enjoy it - to assure we can live the quality of life we want to live - now, AND in 20 years. and really, i don’t know the half of the time and effort he invests into investments, side projects, work and more. it’s part of how he keeps the world at bay for me. it’s hard for me to verbalize how i feel about that - which is why i’ll just let the dixie chicks do it for me.

my parents are moving - where, i can’t say (military rules), but suffice it to say, they’re not going to be super-close by. don’t get me wrong, i’m SO excited for them and for this next step in our family’s life, since eventhough i’m on my own, i’m still affected by my family, of course. but the impending change got me thinking about my family’s dynamic.

as i’ve gotten older, i think i’ve become more attached to my family. when i graduated highschool i was more than ready to cut the apron strings, and happily went out-of-state to college. it only took one summer spent at home before i made college my new home, and was happily living in that vicinity year-round (minus holidays, of course). military life has made our family relationship extremely strong, but also further forged our independent personalities. i really never thought i’d care about spending lots of time with my parents. being together at holidays has always been important to us, since german and swedish tradition is still heavily incorprated into our lives. i knew we’d always be a close family, but that we wouldn’t be close, geographically, and that didn’t really bother me. until a couple years ago.

now, i don’t want to live next door to my parents, or even necesarily in the same town, or even state, although there would be something to be said for being able to go visit over the weekend. or see a ballet with my mom. or take my sister to the quirky places in my city i know she’d love. i just like having the ability to see them often. every few months would be nice, though not really do-able, but i definately want to be around them more than once a year.

this is something ryan always has given me a hard time for. i talk to my family at least once a week, i see them on a semi-regular basis, yet, i’d love to see them more. he doesn’t really “get” that. his family has a much different dynamic, and he relates to them differently for a lot of reasons - a big one, i think, is that he went away and lived in italy for three years right out of highschool. but something ryan articulated for me last night, after thinking about this move and what it means for me, is that my family is my sanctuary. besides ryan, they’re the only people i feel really GET me. i can be my true self around them because they know all my weird quirks and inside jokes. we have the same sense of humor and we share all those things you “get from your parents” - good and bad. in general, they are the only people i completely count on.

that’s not the case for ryan, for a number of reasons. not to say his family doesn’t have a good relationship, it’s just … different. and i’m not sure many people would say they have a family dynamic like i do - i know for many people it’s the opposite, and family is a big cause of strife. i’m FAR from saying my family is perfect, but they’re the best family for me - although it took me 20-some years to realize that. what i am saying is, eventhough i’m grown up, i don’t think it’s a bad thing to want to be close (geographically) to my family, or see them often.

ryan says he’s noticed that people who grow up and still live in the same place, close to family, have a harder time growing as a person because they’re still in their comfort zone, and you know what they say about growing and comfort zones. i say that’s probably true. i think, even if you LOVE where you grew up and really want to stay there, it couldn’t hurt to set a year or two or three aside and go somewhere completely different. just to try something new. but that’s just me - i have a thing for change.

so back to my family … i’ve been away from them for a while now, i’ve definitely done some growing, and i couldn’t really live near them even if i wanted to - since they still move every year or two. i think it’s all that, that’s led to my current sentiments about them. i am obsessed with change, but maybe i can be that way because i have a family that is rock steady.

people always comment on how weird it is that i’m married - because i’m so commitment-phobic. it’s true. i hate deciding to wear a hat, because i hate the thought that once i put it on, my hair will be messed up, and i’ll be committed to wearing that hat all day. it’s also true that i’m a little crazy. but my fear of commitment spans beyond my choice of head-wear.

one of my greatest fears is that i’ll get comfortable somewhere - in a job, a city, a lifestyle - and wake up one day, 20 years later, not having done all the things i wanted to do. so i have a HARD time commiting to a job, or a place i’m living, even if i REALLY love everything about my life circumstances. this is the case now. we’ve been here for almost a year and i’m already thinking about where i want to go next - not because i’m not happy here (i AM!!), but because i want there to be a “next.” i don’t plan on staying here forever. as far as my job goes, i’m six months in and it’s the first job where i haven’t actively been seeking out something else within the first few months.

i blame this, largely, on my military upbringing. i’ve never lived anywhere longer than three years, and that’s on the high end. the average was more like two years. i can’t imagine what it’s like to have grown up in the same place with the same friends and the same schools. sometimes, i start looking around (to move, switch jobs, careers, whatever) because i think there’s something better out there. but usually, it’s just because i know there’s something *else* out there. this can be good, because i’m always pushing myself to find that next step and to continue to grow. it can also be bad. i don’t want to live a life where i’m never content, not fully able to enjoy what i’ve been given. somehow, i have to find a balance between the two.

the combination of being a military brat and a commitment-phobe has meant something else, too. i don’t really have roots, i definitely don’t have a place i call home, and i only have a few “childhood” friends - and even they are technically from highschool and not “childhood.” surprisingly, this doesn’t bother me. i used to freak out at the thought that there would come a day when i’ll have to decide where i want to live FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. then i realized, my parents are in their 50’s and they still haven’t “settled down” - there’s nothing that says i have to. and right now i’m not planning to. of course there might be that perfect circumstance where something clicks and i change my mind. but the way i look at it now, there’s no way i can see and do everything i want, live everywhere i want, accomplish everything i want, if one day i have to “settle down.”

so when people comment on the irony that i have such a problem with commitment and yet am married, i tell them i used up all my commitment-making ability on that one decision, and now i’m out. probably for the rest of my life.

(Jan. 30, 2007)

Do it now, clean up later.
That’s my new mantra. I know, it can sound a tad self-serving: yah, that guy you’re flirting with? Go ahead and just sleep with him. Deal with the fact that you’re married later.

That’s not what I mean.

Here’s the story. I recently started journaling again – something I haven’t done on a regular basis pretty much since I got married. Until then, it had been an almost religious thing for me, since my dad bought me my first journal when I was like, 8? Or was it 10? Either way, for a very, very long time.

My entries kind of morphed as I grew up. First they were the childish – here’s what happened today, down to the very conversation I had with my best friend. I could afford to be detailed as I wrote almost every single day. Then I wrote a lot (a lot, lot, lot) about boys – a litany of my crushes, my friends crushes, who said what to whom.

When I got into high school I got more philosophical. I started to examine my life more. I looked at my friendships and relationships and asked questions. I tried to figure out why I did what I did, why I interacted with people a certain way, why I was friends with the people I was friends with. Of course I documented occurrences, too. My three serious guy relationships – and a bunch that weren’t so serious … - are there in detail (sorry guys). Drama with my best friend is spelled out.

From these different ways of writing and interacting with myself, I learned a lot about, well, myself. So I made a pact with myself to start writing again on a regular basis. Hey, it’s cheaper than therapy. Although let’s face it, I still need therapy too. Well, my therapist will have something to read anyway.

So today, I was writing about writing. Yes, you read that right. Writing ABOUT writing. See, also back when I journaled more, I wrote in other types of medium, too. Wrote a lot of poetry, even made some decent headway into some “novels” (short stories?) I started working on. This kind of tapered off, and by college it completely stopped. I attribute that to a lot of things – busy-ness for one. Also, a lot of my writing was to work out those crazy feelings I had bottled up inside when I was a teenager and life was WAY more dramatic. Things got a little less (a LITTLE, I say) confusing as I got older, and maybe I didn’t need a way to work things out as much. (Although that’s not entirely true. Just ask my husband – or me – about the first two years of our marriage. Maybe I still NEEDED a way, I just didn’t take it).

So for whatever reason, I haven’t really written anything non-journal related in years and years. I haven’t really had a desire to. And today, as I was pouring this out to my journal, I came to the realization that I think fear is holding me back from being passionate. Maybe. Although I would automatically say the opposite: Psh – I’m way to mature to let my insecurities keep me from going after something I might love. How juvenile.

So the thought process started. As I was getting to know myself through writing this all out, it dawned on me that every time I think about getting back into non-journal writing, I automatically think of how much work it’ll be – all the research I’ll have to do (depending on the subject), the organizing (kind of like writing a REALLY long term paper – ick), the agonizing. And god forbid I try to find a publisher. Work, work, WORK!!! It’s like I’d somehow subconsciously associated something that was once my complete passion (I’d write a chapter of my “book” before I’d do my homework!) with doing a lot of work.

Then I thought about people I know who have complete passion – my friends who are documentary filmmakers, my husband who loves (and has tied up hundreds of thousands of dollars in) real estate, my dad who is in the air force and is consumed (in a good way) with space and secret spy-type stuff (how glam). All those passions require lots of work. So it shouldn’t be a deterrent that a passion would require work.

(of course I’m not saying you should force it – if it’s a lot of work and you don’t absolutely love it, it doesn’t matter. You won’t stick with it. I should know. I have a problem with this, but that’s really another subject.)

so maybe, I thought, it’s not the work requirement so much as I don’t really know how I’ll handle all the work, I don’t know that it’s worth all those things I’ve mentioned, which I associated with my passion (still with me?). maybe, I’m afraid of the work. Not in the way a lazy person is “afraid” of work, but in a way that I’ve translated the work to fear, then associated THAT with writing. Fear in some form is kind of a theme in my life, so it really makes perfect sense.

I enjoy writing, and I think I have a talent for it. I don’t want it to be something that just falls by the wayside in my life. I always thought your passion should just be something you did by default. But maybe sometimes it’s work. Maybe, when you know deep down you love something, but have fallen out of love with it for a season, maybe you have to make a conscious effort to resurrect that love into your life. And be committed to just see what happens.

So that’s my mantra. Do it now. I’m just going to start writing. Maybe little (and by little, I mean epic) blogs like this. maybe I’ll revisit a story I started in high school. And I’ll answer the questions about “how” as they come – I’ll re-learn how to put my words down on paper. I’ll do the research I need if it comes to that point. That’s the “clean up later” part.

Bottom line – I’m going to give it a try. Maybe it’ll end up a casualty of my short attention span, like PR, or social work. I think I’m ok with that though.