In my pajamas I logged in to facebook. Something made me click over to his profile, just in time to see the very first “RIP, my friend” pop up on his wall.
I thought it was a joke.
Then another one popped up.
And another.
I made a frantic phone call to his best friend.
“No,” he said. “It’s not a joke. I wish it was.”
His local news station covered the story.
I watched the footage of his charred car from 400 miles away.

Nausea sucker punched me and came in waves.
I slumped sat on the bathroom floor and cried.
I cried out of anger. I cried because my heart had broken.
I cried because I would never have a chance to be his friend.

Four years earlier I called him on a cold night in November.
“My house is on fire, “I said. “And I don’t know why, but I needed to call you. I think I need you here.”
He came. He said he realized he loved me that night.
We stood across the street and watched the flames.
He helped me build my life back from the ashes.

Three years earlier I had been wide awake in bed beside him, watching the moonlight filter through the window and staring at him.
I felt like I needed to memorize his face. I needed to memorize his voice.
I didn’t understand why.
 I kept everything. I printed out every facebook message and lovely email. I scrapbooked our adventures.
Something I couldn’t put my finger on made me memorialize the part I played in his life.

Two years earlier I had my cards read. I told her to focus on my relationship.
Tower card.
Fire. Ruin.
Sudden loss.

 We went our separate ways.
I thought that was the card’s significance.
We didn’t talk. It was easier. I always thought one day we’d be able to be friends.
A few years down the road when enough time had passed.
I didn’t expect such a literal translation.
I didn’t expect that he’d leave my life the same way he entered.
Surrounded in flames.

Today marks two years of the world spinning without him.

It still feels remarkably unfair.

It’s hard to remind ourselves that what we get from someone’s blog or twitter or flickr page isn’t the whole picture of their life. It’s only the part they want us to see. Everything is edited. Everything is staged. No one is going to take photos for a home tour when their house is a wreck. No one is going to show you their clogged sink drain or the sweatpants and top knot they rocked at a recent grocery store trip (Hi! That chick you saw yesterday was me! I hate real pants sometimes!) And the rational part of my brain understands this. I get that our online lives are not our “Real” lives, I understand that for every photo or story about a wonderfully romantic partner or impossibly smart child, there are tantrums and fights about who took the garbage out last. I understand that we’re never going to see the whole story, but sometimes I still wonder if we’re better off with all these pretty images of seemingly perfect lives at our finger tips.

 Do the positive connections we make outweigh the negative ones? Are the recipes and dyi successes worth the frustration of reading yet another “I had a fabulous party/day/outfit/ today!” post? Do you ever find yourself a little knocked down after a few minutes of Pinterest and Instagram browsing? How do you navigate a healthy internet relationship?

For your reading pleasure, here’s my 2012 list of resol-goals.
Keep a dinner diary and a memory jar
Create a weekly menu/budget
Eliminate clutter-find room in my closet and empty one drawer
More social, less hermit
Check in with my far flung friends once a month
More thrift stores, less mall
Host at least four parties/dinner parties (1 down)
Finish the play
Write 52 poems
More temperance, less hangovers
Stick to a vitamin and skin care routine for 30 days
Run one race a month (already signed up for January!)
Try one new fitness class/activity a month (first up, Crossfit)
More water, less diet coke
Read 75 books, 25 of them biographies
Do six things that scare me
More pavement, less treadmill

I am giddy with excitement. I have big plans for this year and I can’t wait to get started on becoming a slightly better version of myself.
But I’m also a realist. I’m staying away from the over-crowed area of gym for a while, because I know it makes me cranky. My freezer is packed full of wheat-free (something new, and something I’ll tell you about later), veggie-filled meals, but I have no guilt about the handful of soul-restoring hershey kisses I ate last night. I know some days I’ll be too tired to take the dog for the run I promised him. Sometimes I’ll fall asleep in my makeup. Sometimes I’ll spend too much at Target and not make my monthly savings goals.
And that will be OK.
 I may decide in three months that I no longer want to write a poem every week or run another 5k, and so my resolution list has an out clause. I will do all of these things until they no longer bring me joy.

Because this year, Joy is the word I’m focusing on.
I’m putting happiness at the top of my to-do list because, simply, I’m tired of not being the Joyful Girl my ipod inscription says I am.
I find it easier and easier to be an Eeyore. Some days envy and worry brow beat me into not wanting to leave the couch. Then I fall into this vicious cycle of being mad at myself for being unhappy and it gets harder and harder to pull myself out of that place. So, this year, I’m making a conscious effort to act joyful. To do things that I know make me happy and  to act the way I want to feel.

In 2012 I’m going to be throwing joy seeds all over the place, Snoopy dancing, and trying to be the person my dog thinks I am.

How about you?

This December, I am participating in a month-long writing challenge (#reverbbroads11), alongside a bunch of strong, inspiring women. Saturday’s prompt was Instead of a list of your favorite things, write a list of your least favorite things, e.g. Worst book you ever finished, the color you hate, bad songs, bad romances, bad recipes. This prompt was submitted by Amy.

This December, I am participating in a month-long writing challenge (#reverbbroads11), alongside a bunch of strong, inspiring women. Friday’s prompt was What are your biggest pet peeves?

Did you taste any new flavors this year? Did you love or hate them or something in between? Will you incorporate these new flavors into your life?

This year I discovered a love for sweet potatoes and caramelized onions. I became friendly with black beans and cooked spinach. I even ate sushi with actual fish in it. I cooked my first pieces of tilapia and cod. I dabbled with saffron and cinnamon.
 

When asked, I typically refrain from calling myself a cook. I feel more confident around sugar and flour than I do around vegetables and wine reductions. I’ve been banned from making sitr frys. I’ve learned, the hard way, not to broil anything in pryex. I follow recipes to the point of absurdity sometimes, making enough for a dozen people.

I am not yet a Kitchen Queen, but I’ve come a long way in the last year and I don’t intend on reverting back any time soon.

      I wish I could be that person who loves volunteer work, that person who is good at volunteer work. I’m simply not. I hate small talk. I don’t like getting in the way. I can’t pretend I agree with policies and rules when I don’t. Because of these aspects of myself, I’ve learned that I am not a good match for the traditional/well-known kind of volunteerism. If volunteering makes me miserable, and it’s obvious to my other volunteers and the people I’m supposed to be aiding, just who am I helping?

     Now, this doesn’t mean I don’t do any volunteer work or that I’m against volunteer work in any way. I just choose to do my volunteerism to the beat of my own drummer. I’ve been an assistant coach. I’ve run a theatre production. I’ve served at spaghetti dinners and made coloring books and folded brochures. And I’ve loved doing that stuff, but unfortunately I haven’t had any opportunities for my kind of volunteerism lately. Since moving to Virginia I’ve tried to get involved with a few organizations, but I’ve yet to find a good fit. I don’t find the sense in volunteering just to volunteer.  I want to enjoy what I do. I want to feel excited to show up. I want to be happy to be there.

Volunteering should be a joy, not a punishment.

Day 14′s prompt from Kassie at http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com/ :
Is volunteering something you do regularly? If yes where do you volunteer? If not, why not?

This December, I am participating in a month-long writing challenge (#reverbbroads11), alongside a bunch of strong, inspiring women. Today’s prompt is from Catie at http://catiecake.wordpress.com/ :

What are three things you are better at than most people?

I have a thing for old television.
You know those shows that were in their heyday ten or twenty years ago? The ones that you’d catch on tv once in a while, but never really pay attention to? Those are what I get excited about these days.

First I bought the Sex and the City complete series, I had seen a few episodes on TBS and I wanted to be able to follow the story line.  Little did I know that Carrie and the gang were the gateway to a guilty pleasure tv addiction. Soon I spotted the first season of Mad About You at the checkout lane of a super market—I now own every season that’s since been released. I watched the special released episodes of My So-Called Life when the network offered them online. I dabbled in Mad Men, season one—still undecided. I flew through season one of Downton Abbey (come on January, I’m so ready for season 2). I’ve watched every episode of Roseanne. I watched a few choice Dick Van Dyke episodes before they were pulled from Netflix instant. I just started The Wonder Years this past weekend. Friday Night Lights, The West Wing, The Sopranos, The Big Bang Theory, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are all on my to-watch list.

If I had to give up my guilty pleasure television for a year my world would not end, but it would be a little less joyful. Everyone deserves their guilty pleasures. Especially if those pleasures include critically acclaimed television series of days gone by.
It’s history! Basically I’m getting my Ph.D. in American Culture with a concentration in Television.

This December, I am participating in a month-long writing challenge (#reverbbroads11), alongside a bunch of strong, inspiring women. Monday’s prompt is from Neha at http://whereyouarehere.blogspot.com/: Name and explain the one guilty pleasure you can’t live without. ie: that cupcake shop you visit weekly, a book you repeatedly read to find solace in, etc). Then explore the idea of how you would feel if you gave that thing up for a year.

So, it’s no great shock that I tend to have a dozen different projects going at once and a list of a dozen more I’m trying to find time to complete. My mom and I have the same type of antsy need to be doing something. While my husband can sit on the couch for six hours, happily watching tv and only watching tv, I would be bored to tears. I watch tv and craft, or stretch, or reorganize shelves or fold laundry or bake or clean or SOMETHING. I can’t just sit there. Single-tasking in not something I do often or enjoy.  In short, when my husband asks me to lay on the couch with him and “watch” something I will usually fall asleep. I need to do something. I need to accomplish something. That’s what makes me happy.

I’m proud I inherited this trait from my mom, it’s not only taught me how to budget my time and how to identify my likes and dislikes, but it’s also provided me with a ton of experiences and opportunities. She never told me I couldn’t do something because I already had too much going on, I was never told to pick one activity over another. I could be involved in as many activities as possible as long as I kept my grades up, and surprisingly, the more activities I did, the higher my gpa. I thrive when my schedule is jam packed, just like my mom. And I hope one day my kids will see me the same way I see my mom, as the real life embodiment of SuperMom.

This December, I am participating in a month-long writing challenge (#reverbbroads11), alongside a bunch of strong, inspiring women. Sunday’s prompt is courtesy of Jess at http://profbanks.com/:
How are you like your mother? And if you’re a mother, how is/are your kid(s) like you?