Category: All Posts

From Fourth Grade to Future: Learning to Love the Ladies

posted 2nd September 2010 Written by: Marian CATEGORY: All Posts, Love/Relationships, Marian, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, Travel

appreciation, childhood bffs, female friendships, Friends, friends and the quarterlife crisis, making friends, middle school relationships. bffs, Quarterlife Crisis

When I was in fourth grade my group of friends cornered me in Mr. Aiken’s classroom closet to tell me that they didn’t want to be friends anymore. I can’t for the life of me remember why but somewhere in my pile of childhood journals is a transcript of the conversation.

I’m a deflector. Meaning if I get caught in a deep and meaningful conversation I’ll usually crack a joke to lighten the mood. I rarely cry. So when my elementary school friends ganged up on me I busted out my notebook and wrote down every word. It was “research” apparently. It also helped me forget that my only friends decided they didn’t like me.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve read over my childhood journals, but now that I’m writing this post I realize I probably should. Too bad it’s 3,000 miles away or else I’d give you a sneak peek into the mind of 9-year-old Marian.

Because I don’t have the journal I can’t tell you exactly what they said or what happened afterwards. I remember having friends in elementary school, but I don’t know how I made the transition from big group of girls (who later turned into the popular kids in high school) to one of three. I can tell you, however, that it was over ten years before I belonged to another group of girls.

My friendships after fourth grade fell into one of two categories:

The first was a threesome that would ebb and flow. Chelsea, Thana and I did everything together. We even formed a band and wrote some kick ass songs (if I do say so myself). Thana eventually moved to Croatia. She is still one of my closest friends.

Chelsea and I also bonded with Giulia, a gorgeous Italian who eventually left us for Paris. Giulia now lives in London and am crazy lucky to still have her in my life.

Chelsea and I were ditched for far-away places, but we stayed friends. Sometimes we spoke on the phone every day. Sometimes we wouldn’t speak for a year. To be perfectly honest though, in our little threesomes I always felt like the odd one out. I’ve decided that three is not a good number for friendships.

The second category revolved around guys. Maybe it was because I have three brothers, maybe it was because of my new found hatred for girl groups, but I always got along better with guys. They said what they meant, were easy to be around, and always had interesting things to do.

I obviously got over the whole fourth-grade-friends-ditching-me-thing – kids can be cruel sometimes – but I do think it’s affected the friends I’ve had over the years.

My jealous boyfriend and severe lack of confidence prevented being anywhere even remotely popular in high school. I’ve never been comfortable in groups so always had one or two very close friends who had their own groups but I never really had my own place at lunch. Let’s just say I was bit of a loner.

Then came college. Davidson has the most amazing roommate system and I was paired with a girl who within a week would become my soul mate. Because of psycho-jealous-boyfriend I was pretty much only friends with her, but it didn’t matter. We were attached at the hip and it was okay.

Then I broke up with psycho-jealous-boyfriend and moved to England. I didn’t know a soul when entering the study abroad program, but here were people who didn’t know about my completely anti-social past, didn’t know me as the girl who had no friends, didn’t have any preconceptions about who I was. That was the first time since fourth grade I ever let myself have a group of girlfriends.

And it was fucking wonderful. In my entire life I will never forget those girls. They were adventurous, fun, full of life and stories and open minds. I felt awesome around them.

That November I took a weekend trip to Paris to meet up with some Davidson friends. Girls I was close with at school, but never considered “my group”. Maybe it was because of the new friends I had made in London or the fact that I was free of Asshole Boyfriend, but I connected with them in a way we never had back at school. A weekend full of lingerie shopping, cooking, Rodin and girl chat in the one bed we all shared solidified the closest friends I’ve ever had.

The friendships I made and the friendships I strengthened while living in London changed my views towards groups of women. I learned to trust them. I learned to trust myself.

I thought the fourth-grade drama meant I was a difficult person to get along with. I worried that one event meant disaster for the rest of my friendships. Turns out fourth-grade girls just aren’t very nice and that one experience held no bearing on my future friendships.

In terms of how my friends have affected my Quarterlife Crisis, let’s just say I couldn’t have a better group of girls rallying for me.

So dear Desi, Kelsey and Alea: You are the reason I am capable of doing anything. You are the best cheerleaders, the most beautiful women, the most incredible friends. You remind me every day that I’m awesome. You remind me every day that you’re awesome. Because of this, I love you more than you will ever know.

The Line Between Independence and Aloneness

posted 29th August 2010 Written by: Lindsey CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Lindsey, Love/Relationships, Travel, What I've Learned

aloneness, Freedom, independence, interdependence, love, Travel

There is this really hilarious picture, lost in the electronic abyss of my dead external hard drive, taken at a picnic a few years back. It is the perfect picture of me and the ‘rents.

My parents are calmly standing over their paper plates of picnic fare. Their eyes are on the verge of rolling, but not quite. And in the forefront is me: taking a pause from my stride, striking a ridiculous pose and making a more ridiculous face.

I’m out there, in a way that is quite foreign to my very-normal-American family. I talk loudly, and act louder. I take risks in a way that people don’t, often. I push boundaries that will potentially lead me to failure because it brings a fullness to my life. I’ve claimed my personal freedom to live life for myself.

But I also am drawn by the power of my family. Living at home this summer, I’ve found incredible support and love that I had been distanced from, living out on my own. Being surrounded by my parents, my brother, even my dog, I realize this incredible unit of people, joined by blood and genetics and years of experience and love, is an important key to my personal grounding.

I can’t explain where my free spirit came from, but I know I can’t help but dream big and live with my head in the clouds of possibility. My roots, connecting me to something stable, that is my family.

Here is my million dollar question: how do I find a balance?

Interdependence is a higher state than Independence

When I am alone I miss: Connectedness. Deep conversation. Human contact. Sometimes, when I’m on my own for a really long time and then get a real hug its like fireworks explode. Human contact is an oh-so-beautiful luxury, and something I’ve learned to cherish, more than ever before.

Independence is an art that allows openness to new experience and ideas. Being comfortable, surrounded by the love and support of my family is good. But ripping that away in the raw emotion of aloneness, that is a crazy new game of self-discovery. It leads to personal introspection, development, productivity.

However, alone this track of being alone, I’ve also found myself being more impulsive in my relationships. Seeking deep bonds that emulate those of my family. Depending on newfound friends to hold me down in the way that family does.

Remember my story of how I got back to Michigan this summer? There were several affairs of the heart, that moved me across this country, and each time I was just SURE that this was the answer, that here was someone who’d love me and ground me and support my crazy ideas and be a mobile and modern version of my family.

But impulses are gnarly, dude. They make me an expert in heartbreak, a girl whose hardly been in any relationships long enough to warrant heartbreak possible. And I tend to be overwhelmed by my weak (or possibly far too strong) heart, crushed. Feeling alone.

Hit the Road, Jack, But Always Come Back

There is a moral to this story of heartbreak and aloneness and knowing, if anything, my family will always love me: one-way plane tickets, baby. (After defining and writing out my Joy Equation goals and one good conversation with a friend, there I was at 3 am on Kayak.com.)

Am I running away? Believe me, everyone I’ve told about my impulse decision has accused me of this. I’ll even admit it: I AM running away. Away from the idea of settling and of putting my BIG DREAMS on hold to “be responsible” and start my career. Away from the scary prospect of not changing, not expanding my mind with the great glory of humanity and their beautiful voices and opinions.

Don’t think me a coward, I’m definitely running towards something too: my big dreams. Dedicating myself fully to my actual goals, rather than making them my after-work fare as they’ve become this summer. Surrounding myself with friends who are living the lifestyle I have become preachy and non-actionable about. Towards a conviction that I can be truly independent, and fully in charge of my life. Towards filling my life with experience, and a further developed worldview, a clarity only achieved with the action that global motion brings.

Again, I will be alone.

It takes away the buffer of friendships and romance and family. It gives raw realness to everything. It teaches me something every day. I have new perspective since I paused my nomadic lifestyle to come home this summer. I am clear with my goals. I have recalibrated and I am ready to keep going.

There is something else you should know about me: I have this really frustrating belief that I am meant to be alone, stemming from some bitch palm reader at my high school prom. (WTF, right?!) I am trying to change this. But I have never really admitted it to anyone besides random boyfriends that fizzle out soon after.

I am holding myself publicly accountable on this next stage of life, that no matter what, I am not destined to be alone. I have family that loves me. I have friends that love me. And, what really matters in all of this, I have myself. I must love myself.

{photo credit : α is for äpΩL †}

Money Worry: It’s a Family Thing

posted 26th August 2010 Written by: Marian CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Job/Career/Work, Marian, Money, Season 3

budgeting, money, money can't buy happiness, penny-pinches, saving money

A recurring argument in my family is that my dad will go to the grocery store and buy things we don’t need. Now, my family is big. There are six of us total and when everyone is home we’ll go through something like three gallons of milk per week. The weekly shop is epic, but my mother has now taken to accompanying my father to Costco so he doesn’t go overboard. Not because he’s an over spender, but because he is so crazed about sales. He’ll drive miles out of the way to save a few pennies on gas. He’ll buy a pound of shredded cheese that will go bad in a week because even three boys can’t eat that many quesadillas.

My grandfather was also a hardcore coupon cutter. He bought things he didn’t need. He hoarded. He bargained. He penny-pinched. He passed those traits on to my father.

In terms of my own spending habits, I’ve always worried about money. I haven’t always saved or budgeted, but the worry has always been there. Even if I have enough, I worry. For this I blame my paternal side.

To be fair to my parents, I was one of the few people at college who had worked all through high school; who had my own bank account with my own money; who understood the concept of a credit card. To be honest, I always felt a little smug because of this. For this I thank my parents.

However, much to my family’s horror, I didn’t take the traditional career route. I quit my safe job in favor of freelancing. I have yet to be properly insured, have no idea where the next check will come from and my boyfriend’s the one that forked out the cash for our crazy expensive flight to New Zealand.

My father was surprisingly supportive when I quit my PR job, saying I should always follow my dreams. Despite his support, however, there was a undertone of doubt. “Hey, you’re young and can make mistakes and be poor now before you have a family to support and bills to pay.” Basically meaning he didn’t expect me to make it big on my own. Frankly, I think both parents are holding their breath for the day I’ll finally throw in the towel on this whole self-employment thing.

Maybe because neither grew up particularly wealthy but are incredibly successful now, they feel the only way to actually make a living is the traditional way. That in terms of money the only way to make it is the way they made it. And since I’ve only been freelancing for a year I’m still not rolling in dough so I have yet to prove them wrong.

The thing is, I have a surprisingly awesome relationship with my parents. They are smart and supportive and raised me to be independent and strong-willed. I am proud of how they raised my brothers and me. That said, I harbor a small amount of resentment towards them because money is always on my mind. I figure 50% of that is The Curse of the Entrepreneur. That other 50% though is due to the fact that every phone call I have with my parents they bring up money. My dad tells me how much he made in overtime or my mom will say how little some newspaper is paying her. But I figure it’s rude of me to say “Hey! I don’t want to know this! My own money issues stress me out, I don’t want in on yours.”

Because then I feel guilty. I feel guilty for the amount of money my parents have spent on me in my 23 years. I look back on the $160,000 college education that I’m not really using, my hospital bills from a bout of surgeries my sophomore year. My trip abroad. My prom dress. I worry about money because they talk about it. I worry about it because I don’t have any. I worry about it because I worry about it and I still don’t really do anything to fix it.

That’s the thing. I stress about money all the time. I woke my boyfriend up at 3 in the morning a few weeks ago sobbing because I had no idea how I was going to pay him back for that plane ticket. A few days later I got emails from three potential clients and stopped worrying for a bit, but now I’m at it again because I don’t know what will happen when these projects are over.

I hate worrying. It consumes a huge chunk of my life, but what are my options? Take a “real” job? Go back to the 9 to 5 I hated so much? Play by somebody else rules? Give up on my idea of what I want my life – my freedom – to look like?

No. I think I’d rather worry.

Dreaming in the City of Angels

posted 25th August 2010 Written by: Nikki CATEGORY: All Posts, Inspiration, Job/Career/Work, Nikki, Season 3

Acting Dream, actress, big dreams, big goals, dreams, Los Angeles, Traveling

I gotta be honest with y’all, I’m having a really hard time writing this post. Even though I’ve been incredibly open in my last three posts, this, somehow, makes me feel more naked. I have to tell you my dreams – dreams I’ve wanted since I knew how to dream, dreams I’d thought were dead and then were rekindled, dreams I’ve recently discovered I have. I find myself gauging your reactions – will you think my dreams silly? Stupid? Selfish? Boring? Generic? I’m showing you a little hidden piece of my heart, so please, be kind. Here goes…

I dream of being onstage, with an audience’s adoration roaring in my ears and lights glinting off my eyelashes. Of standing ovations and acceptance speeches. I dream of sitting in a dark theatre and forgetting it’s my face onscreen, sharing a cathartic moment with a group of strangers. I dream of collaboration; long, long days on set or in the wings, knowing we’re making something amazing and working through that giddy sense of exhaustion to an explosion of creativity.

I dream of creating everyday. Of the freedom and discipline in sitting down and writing, every day. I dream of the perfect words to describe a feeling or a place, and the perfect reading of a line. I dream of a book jacket with my name on it. I dream of a paycheck earned in ways that make me feel more alive instead of less than human.

I dream of a home that is mine in a city I love. A home that is cozy and colorful and full of sunshine. One that welcomes laughter, music, and comfortable silence. I dream of an ever-blooming garden with twinkly lights in the trees and cocktail parties in the grass. Of soft puppies and snuggly blankets.

I dream of a big big love. A man who thrills me beyond reason but has all the reasons to justify that thrill. My partner in every sense; balanced in respect, love, trust, and passion. I dream of knowing it’s right beyond all my doubts and fears and stubborn independence. I dream of an ability to communicate honestly and a shared view of life as much more than the white picket fence. Of a marriage where we choose to be together while both retaining our sense of self. I dream of a loving healthy little family that explores together and is not limited by money, location, or outside expectations. I dream of best friends and family being much closer than a plane ride away.

I dream of adventure. Of traveling the world and stepping foot on every continent, in every ocean. I dream of eating with locals and learning languages, of getting lost and proving to myself I can find my way again. I dream of scuba diving caves and wrecks, of stomping grapes and exploring pyramids, of total immersion bringing me totally present in the moment.

I dream of the self-awareness, clarity and balance to pull me through whatever lies ahead, and keep me grateful for the joys in my life. Of self-confidence and complete comfort in my own skin. I dream of eliminating “should” and “settle” from my vocabulary. Of re-cultivating my inner 5-year-old and her imagination. I dream of costume parties and cartwheels through sprinklers on hot days. I dream of goofy grins and laughing till my sides hurt, and then laughing more. I dream of sweet tea and hammocks and watching for shooting stars. I want bubbling, tear-inducing, uncontainable joy.

“Nothing happens unless first we dream.” -Carl Sandburg

[photo source]

Life Lessons Learned While Traveling

posted 22nd August 2010 Written by: Lindsey CATEGORY: All Posts, Life Lesson, Lindsey, Season 3, Travel

international travel, lessons learned, lessons learned from traveling, Quarterlife Crisis, quarterlife crisis travel, Travel

The lessons I’ve learned, and the experiences I’ve had in places I’ve lived are absorbed into my soul. Rather than living to travel, I travel to live. I had a “permanent” life in college until I had my first extended travel-living experience in Istanbul. There I defined my personal travel style: I prefer to integrate into a place, for a month or longer, to gain the full experience, and really just vibe with the culture.

For someone who lived in the same house until age 18, I have called quite a few places “home” in the last 6 years. Currently, I have a California driver’s license but I live at home in Michigan. Even I have a hard time explaining this!

Since each locale is a chapter in the humor-adventure-drama-saga that is my life, it’s only proper to tell my story in sequence.

South Haven, Michigan. How to Feel Disconnected.

I am a big dreamer from a small rural tourist town. A beautiful place, but at 17 it is my prison.

Ann Arbor, Michigan. How to Build a Resume While Bonging a Beer.

(It really is quite a skill. Especially when you have a shot of tequila in the other hand.)

I learn a lot in college, especially about the trajectory of my life towards a cubicle. The true value is in the friends I meet. My heart isn’t fully in the whole Engineering thing, but I am determined to prove myself, and also, to be done with the responsibility of school that has dominated my life thus far. I find hope in an internship, and discover Green Building and Sustainable Development are what I really care about out of this whole engineering game.

In this same summer, I compile my life list and realize I have a lot to do besides work.

Istanbul, Turkey. How to Use “Ditzy American Girl” as an Advantage.

You want a crazy experience? Travel alone. You may be ditzy, and you may be so white than a random Turkish person on the bus will look you straight in the face and say “YOU are one hundred percent American.” But you will still learn a lot of things. Do not take my advice if you are afraid of insane shenanigans, random people with guns busting in your hotel room, police officers stalking you, or figuring out how to get an abortion in the Middle East (NOT mine, FYI).

Life gets real when you really displace yourself. I get addicted to the adrenaline of displacement.

Big Sky, Montana. How to Not Be In School.

After graduation, I get a waitressing job at Big Sky Resort and an apartment with an old friend. I ski, snowboard, party, and finally catch up on all the sleep lost in the past four and half years of engineering school all-nighters. I am running from a job offer in my field: managing an oil rig, making insane amounts of money and probably dying in an explosion on April 20, 2010.

I think I made the right choice. I know I made the right choice.

Hawaii. How to Live Consciously.

While browsing the internet over the most amazing vegetarian biscuits and gravy in Big Sky, I found a plane ticket from San Francisco to Hawaii for a reasonable price. Since I had no clue what else I was going to do with myself after the snow stopped falling, and had told myself that in 2009 I was not allowed to think about engineering or jobs, I went to Hawaii to WWOOF.

I wanted to learn about yoga. And hang out in Hawaii. And eat some pineapples. What I got was so much more. It is not even possible to summarize Hawaii in a short space. Just know that when I went to Hawaii, I lived in a fog of disconnect between who I was and who I wanted to be. And by the time I landed on the mainland 5 months later, I was conscious.

Oklahoma. How to Be a Yogini.

I meet a boy in Hawaii and fall head over heels for his world experience, yogic nature and French-Canadian accent. So I bail on Hawaii, fly to his home in Montreal to begin a road trip without a destination.

End up in Oklahoma with his yoga friends, practicing Ashtanga yoga every day, eating a vegan, gluten-free, soy-free, peanut-free diet and living the healthiest life ever. Spent all remaining money on quinoa and vegetables. Went into credit card debt over health food. (I laugh hysterically – at myself! – when people say they’d like to eat healthier but simply ‘can’t afford it.’)

Plan to go to Montana to pick up Everything-I-Own (which was left behind when I left for Hawaii with a backpack) with intentions to sell it to temporarily finance my life. One crazy long drive later, find out that all my possessions evaporated when the person storing my boxes went to prison and her daughter turned the house into a meth lab. (Seriously, I could NOT make this shit up.)

Lake Tahoe, California. How to Be Independent.

End up here completely on accident. End up nearly marrying the boyfriend on a whim. Freak out, send him off to Canada with promises to follow soon. Question everything. Stay in Tahoe instead of moving to Canada.

Start thinking about how to live free for real. Snowboard every day. Meet amazing new friends. Start setting real goals that don’t involve boring engineering jobs ever, but making good things happen on my own terms. Consider staying for good in California. Settling down. Having a home. Starting a business.

Meet another boy. (Sigh… boys!) Make dinners. And plans.

But then I wake up in the middle of the night this May, realizing that home is anywhere and everywhere I want it to be. But also realizing, despite all the amazing friends I have and know, everyone in my Tahoe life at this point has only known me for 2 months. No one knows me. Freak out that South Haven is the only place where I have any semblance of home but I am completely resistant to going back. I love my freedom.

Recognize the resistance as something I need to be brave about and deal with. I have to love where I come from. I have to make peace with the only place I have ever left on bad terms. I can’t hold these negative emotions towards my home, or I will never be truly free. Also, I need to figure out how to not live in complete waitress poverty. (Mental stability wanes dealing with people who treat you like a slave.)

Decide to cancel life in Tahoe. Back out of living situations, life plans, shitty jobs, etc to come home to small town Michigan for the first time in 6 years.

South Haven, Michigan. How to Love What Matters.

Freak out. Question everything. Lie on the floor of my childhood bedroom crying in the agony that I’d left everything to move to a place where no one “gets it.” Break down when I have to do my grocery shopping in WalMart. Break down multiple times in WalMart because it represents everything I can’t stand about the rural midwest. Break down completely and emotionally drive away friends who are already physically distant.

Finally, completely, totally alone but with South Haven. Forced to face it. Embrace the place for what it is, and embrace how I fit into it with what I have become. Become “that girl on a skateboard” and “that girl with a camera” and start to jive with the fact that I am me, and I will always be, and this is good.

Suddenly, find friends in the strangest places. Get multiple opportunities that fit my missions in life – working with green initiatives online, entrepreneurship and sustainable community building. Blogging for Stratejoy. Blogging for myself.

Feel hope.

{photo credit : me }