*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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I was sitting on the metro headed into D.C. thinking about this essay, when it hit me: my
life is like a passenger on a train.

For years I’ve been comfortable in my seat, content to enjoy the scenery as it passes. I’ve
watched friends come and go, I’ve gotten off a time or two to welcome new stages of my
life; I’ve made room on the seat next to me for joy and even sorrow, and most of the time
I knew my destination before I even left the station. But I always come back to the train –
knowing it’s there to take me where I need to go is comforting.

I’m a confident person. One of the qualities I love most about myself is that I call people
out on things – sometimes nicely, sometimes not – but with me what you see is what you
get. I don’t have the time or patience for passive-aggressiveness or being indecisive – I
make a decision and stick with it.

As I was having this “train” epiphany, I was shocked at what I’d been doing. I realized I
was so busy “enjoying the journey,” that it had been years since I’d taken a detour. Since
when did I become so afraid of the changes my dreams could bring, that I slowly stopped
having them? Since when was it all right to leave life decisions in the hands of my boss
or friends?

I’ve become the person too timid to get off at a new stop because all I can think about is
getting lost and not being able to find my way back. Enjoying an experience without a
plan didn’t sound fun – it actually made my stomach clench in fear.

No more.

I’ve been pushing myself a lot in the past couple of months and answering some hard
questions. I’ve explored everything from it being okay to put down a book I don’t enjoy
(I was an English major in college – I was trained to finish!), and evaluating how I spend
my down time (I really am done with reality TV), to asking myself why I’m not happy in
my career, and what I’m going to do about it.

I’m standing on the platform of the train station, and this time? I’m not getting back on.

I’m walking in the opposite direction, not sure where I’m headed. It makes me nervous
– scratch that. It makes me so uneasy a lot of the time I feel like I might throw up, but I
also think I’m on the cusp of something great. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to
keep pushing myself until I’m so engulfed in the possibilities this path brings that they
become my new normal.

So how do I live life on my own terms? The short answer is I love long and hard. I laugh
a lot. I embrace moods, I read books, I spend time with friends, and I daydream about
traveling the world. I have an incredible husband by my side and a community of family
and friends who provide more support then I ever thought I’d need.

The long answer is I don’t know. I’ve let myself chug along, and now it’s time to choose
a different path. Admitting that makes it real. I’m telling the world I don’t have it all
together, that I’m uncomfortable and vulnerable. But I’m also telling the world that I
value myself, my life, enough to invest the time and change it.

And that train? I know when I’m ready…truly, over-the-moon-crazy-about-every-tiny-
aspect-of-my-life ready…I can make my way back to it, a more complete version of
me; no longer a passenger, but rather the conductor, secure, and in charge of where I’m
headed.
A redhead with a love for books, food, and the perfect shade of nail polish.

Married to her best friend. She’d rather take pictures than buy souvenirs, and is out to prove

Etsy always trumps the mall.

Becky is at her happiest when she has a pen in her hand, a story in her heart, and a cup of tea by her side. Living with simplicity and intention inspires her, and she is a firm believer in finding joy in life’s little moments. You can follow her on twitter @loveverydaylife or find her blogging at Love Everyday Life

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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Let’s start with the terms I’d use to describe the way I lived life before my quarterlife liberation shake
down:

Drained (emotionally, physically, and spiritually). Anxious (tight chest, racing heart stuff). Risk averse
(safe seemed simpler). Numb (unfortunately, no romantic stud can fix that one). Itchy (hives). Sleepy
(insomnia).

Then I committed to a total life overhaul – due in large part to some serious health issues cramping my
style. But sick or not, I also understood that the grown-up, corporate world sandbox I was playing in was
robbing me of the life I wanted. And I was the only one holding myself back. No more pointing fingers.
No more victim *ish*. All that juicy, life is so.darn.amazing stuff I wanted was mine for the taking. I
simply had to want it bad enough.

Instead of living my life on busted, worn out, and broken down terms, I took the bull by the horns –
holy scary – and made the commitment to actually start LIVING again. Not reacting. Not wallowing. Not
worrying. There I went, baby stepping back into my power. Warning: This was not always pretty. There
were breakdowns, bad days, and plenty of times when I had to let the hard stuff come up in order to
face it and forgive it.

With a dynamic combo of homeopathy + organic veggies + meditation + monks + yoga + sunshine +
nature + ALONE time and much more, I redefined myself. And goodness gracious, it feels every bit as
unbelievable as I had imagined it would. Worth every teardrop and sacrifice, hands down.

Today, my words are more like radiant, hopeful, grounded, inspired, JOYful (and the one I worked the
hardest for, the one that I still can’t believe I get to own) HEALTHY. Yummy. {goodbye to you doctor’s
office waiting rooms}.

Along the way during this jazzy journey, I realized that there were two particular types of speed bumps
that kept popping up in multiple areas of my life, tempting me to veer off course and lose myself. These
bad boys were standing in between me and the life I wanted. Hold up?

First, I was still invested in other people’s opinions of me. Remedy: I’d think of that wowza Wayne Dyer
quote, “What you think of me is none of my business.” Then, I’d force myself to remember the feeling
I have when I’m in the presence of a powerful, confident and spiritually centered woman. She’s got IT
{the calm, living in the flow, abundance is mine, watch me shine stuff}. To a woman living her truth,
negativity, doubt and condescension make the tiniest ripple in the ocean of her life. She’s too busy
riding the waves of all the good stuff showing up.

Second, a part of me still wanted other people to tell me what to do. For a very long time I had
been in the habit of handing important decisions in my life over to other people. I took my parents
advice…because I trusted them. I followed through with the “rational” courses of actions my friends
suggested. I forgot what it was like to feel my way to an answer. Remedy: I stopped asking for advice,

and I started meditating. I learned that the still, small voice in my heart trumps all. I know that I already
know all the answers, and by constantly seeking them from others I’m less likely to get to know
myself.

Closing time…

It has been a long and windy road for me to truly embody the concept of living life on my own terms,
and it’s something that I am conscious of daily. ‘Tis true what they say: Old habits die hard. But new
habits help us all come alive again.

A VIP P.S. Don’t assume anyone thinks you’re crazy, foolish, or a dreamer for living life on your own
terms. You are inspiring far, far more people than you realize by simply recognizing that it’s time to
shake things up and out your authentic self.
Katie Lamie is a copywriter, social media enthusiast and soon-to-be hatha yoga teacher.

She’s a happily reformed worrier, fresh air fan and gluten-free vixen.

To hear more about her favorite things, like The Daily Love, kale salad and energy medicine, follow her on Twitter at Katyz15. She also blogs here!

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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“How do you feel about the care you received?” she asked.

After a week of having tubes stuffed down my nose and into my esophagus, pumping chalky
paste into my gut, I’d been released from hospital with a diagnosis of a chronic illness.
I reckoned that it might be a good idea to keep my weekly session with my therapist. After all, I
wanted to talk about the boy stuff that had happened before I landed up in the ER. She had other
plans; all she wanted to talk about was healing.

I humored her. “It was fine. The doctors were fine. The hospital was fine. I guess I wasn’t
comfortable with the nurses but, whatever, they were fine too.”

“Why didn’t you feel comfortable with them?”

“Because, hello? They were my age! How can someone my age take care of me? I kept waiting
for them to screw something up.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Not really.”

“What do you think would have made you less scared? What do you think is the opposite of
fear?”

“That’s easy. It’s courage.”

“That’s interesting.” she repeated, and I shivered even though it was a hot summer’s day.

I’ve have felt those same shivers of fear a few times in my life. When I was twelve years old, the
phone rang one evening. My sister answered it. I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end telling
her that our father was dead, but I could see her face.

Have you ever seen a face go from carefree to heart-broken in a blink? That is terrifying.

When I was twenty, my boyfriend of two years turned over in bed one night and casually
said, “Oh, I’m leaving the country. I don’t want you to come with me because I’ve never loved
you.”

Have you ever seen warm, loving eyes turn into icy marbles in a blink? That’s terrifying.

When I was twenty-seven, I was so smitten with a man that I thought it would be the last
beginning I’d ever have. One night we met for dinner. I’d dolled myself up for the occasion.
He took one look at me and said, “You should wear lipstick with colour. You don’t look like a
woman with that sparkly gloss on.”

Have you ever seen the end coming before you’ve had the middle? That’s a little terrifying.

How could those moments compare with my therapist saying: “That’s interesting.”? Why was I
scared while cocooned in the safety of a healer?

It was this. Those words meant I’d just revealed a truth that only she could see. It was the kind of
truth that wouldn’t necessarily change me, but that would unlock the shackles around my ankles.
I knew I had to see it too, but it was like a blind spot. As hard as I tried moving my head in the
direction of this truth, there were too many obstacles in my way.

A few years passed and I experienced more terrifying times. I watched flames light up and
almost smother the happiest person I know. I have never felt more helpless than I did then, when
all I could do was throw my ‘half-empty’ glass of water in the direction of her burning torso.

Several months later, I developed agoraphobia and my life became so small I could fit it all in
the palm of my hand. I would plead with my brain to stop being scared of living. I would plead
with it to set me free.

How can a person taken hostage by fear ever live life on her own terms?

I could show you the day I went to my father’s tomb (fifteen years late) and forgave him for
dying on me. I could show you the doors, wide open, that I thought would never budge. I could
show you the way my life is getting bigger, when I stopped walking in other people’s shoes,
when I started taking small steps in my own instead.

I could show you all of that and say: There, and there, and there. I am a person who is finally
living life on her own terms. But the way it looks on the outside isn’t nearly as important as the
way it happened on the inside.

Isn’t that what you really want to know? How I healed? How I beat fear?

I didn’t.

Living life on my own terms hasn’t been a roar or a whimper. It hasn’t been a definitive
declaration of independence. It’s been ongoing. It is ongoing. Sometimes, it’s brutal soul-editing.
Other times, it’s quiet self-realization. It’s smacking my forehead four years later and seeing my
truth.

“The opposite of fear isn’t courage. It’s trust.”

I trust myself now.

I trust that I know myself better than anyone else. I trust to know my limitations. And because
I trust myself, I don’t allow my limitations to limit me. I trust I’ll find a way around them. And
sometimes, I’ll have to go through them. I will push far and I will push hard, but it will be at my
pace and in my shoes. With whatever shade of lipstick I want.

I trust to know when I need to ask for help. And yes, I even trust nurses. I trust my No’s and I
trust my Absolutely’s. I even trust my I’ll See’s (because sometimes, I just need some time.)

I trust that I’ll let go of the person I’m not and I’ll fully trust the person I am. As long as I keep
showing up, day after day -trust walking two steps ahead of fear- I’ll be free.

I am free.

Eleni Zoe is a hopefully-romantic writer and professional soul-editor.

She writes about her self-examined life on her blog Hope Dies Last to inspire others to examine their own lives. Her dating memoir Hope Dies Last:Lessons in Love was published in 2011.

Eleni lives quietly in Athens, Greece where she’s currently working on her next book. Her favourite shoes are a pair of black ballerinas. She can’t walk in heels. You should follow her on Twitter here.

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

I remember the day my hamstrings loosened. I have kind of a terrible memory, so naturally I don’t recall the exact date. But oh, the feeling. I was in a yoga class last summer, about five or six months after my teacher training began. As I moved into parsvottanasana – a forward bend that makes me want to punch things challenges me – I noticed that something felt different. That day, my hamstrings didn’t scream quite so much as they had been for months prior. That day, there was space to go a little deeper. I inhaled, straightening and lengthening my spine. I exhaled, folding forward just a little more than I ever had before. It might only have been one-quarter or one-half of an inch, but there it was. Something had shifted, and I was present, breathing, noticing.

Now I have a confession: I didn’t accomplish any of the goals I set for myself way back when in my third post.

In my first few drafts of this post, I wrote an explanation here about why I didn’t complete them. But you know what?

It doesn’t matter.

I wasn’t ready.

Am I now? I think so.

Five months after the beginning of my Stratejoy journey, I’m getting that same feeling in my life as I did with my hamstrings last summer. There’s space now. Things are shifting.

* * * * *

Five months. 15 countries (including the United States and Canada). 37 beds, couches, futons, armchairs, air mattresses, and uncomfortable, questionably clean train seats. Thousands of photographs.

Have I changed? Good lord, yes.

How have I changed? That’s…more involved.

There are the obvious things, of course. I’m no longer working a 9-5 job. I no longer live in Brooklyn; my residence is still transient. I’ve put on weight. I drink coffee now, and I don’t spend as much time on the internet. I no longer hit snooze ten times when Joan Jett yells, “I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation!” in my ear.

The more subtle stuff is harder to nail. Some days, I still feel stuck in the same patterns in which I’ve found myself for years. Other days, I feel like a new person. I frequently find myself feeling so fucking grateful for people, places, and moments that I want to explode with joy. I’m more at peace; I’ve shaken that stressed-out-hurry-hurry-frequently-annoyed attitude that I picked up during my six years in NYC. And overall, I’m feeling truly empowered and happy. I’m sure that there are other things, but those are the ones that I’ve figured out how to verbalize so far.

It seems that the nomadic lifestyle mostly works for me.

* * * * *

While preparing to write this, I took a look at my values from The Joy Equation, which I mentioned in my second post.

Connection. Bliss. Abundance. Trust. Adventure. Courage. Magic. Strength. Without even planning it, I’ve ended up posting about each of those over the past five months. I love when it’s suddenly clear that I’m on the right track, even when I hadn’t been planning every detail.

Seeing in concrete terms that I’m now living my core values feels really fucking amazing.

* * * * *

Though my time writing in this space ends with this post, my journey will continue. Today I’m on a flight back to New York. That was definitely not part of the original plan – but then again, neither was staying in Europe until February. I wanted time for yoga, tattoos, my favorite foods, and friends and family.

And then: Australia. I’m sad to leave Europe, and at the same time, I’m ready to develop a routine again. I’m excited to meet Kate and other new friends, and pumped to start teaching yoga again. I’m gearing up for summer, kickboxing classes, and maybe learning how to surf!

I hope you’ll continue following my adventure:

twitter: shinyredtype
facebook: pierced hearts and true love
blog: piercedheartsandtruelove.com
yoga teaching schedule: katselvocki.com

Thank you all for being a part of my QLC! And as Edward Abbey wrote, “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”

[photo credit: my friend and travel buddy, Jenni]

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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There’s a little string-bean girl with corn silk hair in her bedroom. She has these almost-black eyes that would be precocious if they weren’t so wise. She holds her head high with pride and struts as well as four-year-old legs will allow. It’s her first day of pre-school and she’s dressed herself.

Her mother stifles a laugh. Her eldest child has just emerged wearing floral-print leggings with a multi-colored striped t-shirt. It may be the 80s, but regardless: her daughter looks absolutely ridiculous.

Gently – and doing her best to squash the smile her lips so desperately want to form - the mother asks her daughter if she knows that her outfit doesn’t match.

The reply comes with an exasperated, defiant tone and predictable stubbornness:

“Mom, who says I always have to match?”

***

A few years later, the same girl is reading chapter books on her own. She identifies with the protagonist in Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s Answer-Backer Cure; rather than instill the intended lesson of courtesy, the story lends itself to her first verbal rebellions.

Akin to her eclectic outfit selections, which will continue through puberty, this string-bean girl wonders why she is expected to obey anyone other than herself.

Her questions and curiosity lead to frustration and unintended rudeness. She is often chastised for her Attitude with a Capital A.

***

In middle school, a teacher once told the class to always question authority. It had never occurred to me not to.

At the ripe(er) age of 27, I no longer fit the string-bean description. My hair has turned the color of dark honey and I have developed a decidedly better fashion sense.

Luckily, I’ve kept the same inquisitive nature – only now when I ask, “Who says?” it’s to myself.

I don’t have anyone telling me what to do anymore, so that rebellious spirit ends up boomeranging right back at me. I have to – I get to – call my own shots.

I got laid off a week after Thanksgiving and while I’ve never actually been punched in the stomach, it’s easy to imagine what that feels like now. But more than that, it was jarring. I mean, literally, I was jerked awake out of some sleep I didn’t know I was in.

Suddenly I found myself wobbling uncontrollably and it wasn’t on my own terms this time. My greatest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to get that back. That ability to call my own shots.

And then I remembered that I haven’t always gotten to call my own shots. I remembered that little string-bean girl rejecting her own circumstances and
choosing her path. Whether it was a terribly mismatched outfit or making new friends at a new school, she always turned the terms into her own.

See, it had been a while since I’d had to react to change, rather than initiating it. As soon as I caught my balance, which always comes with a heavy dose of perspective, I knew I would succeed. I knew without a doubt that I could still live my life on my own terms, even if those terms were a little unexpected.

Who says you can’t turn this around? Who says you’re not still in charge of your life? That’s right, she said. No one says that but you.

I think, for a while, I’d lost sight of the string-bean girl with corn silk hair. I let her disappear into a corner of my mind; I guess maybe I thought I didn’t need her anymore.

If it took losing my job to rediscover her, then nothing better could have happened.

She reappeared right when I needed her because really, she’s me.

(By the way, I have a new job.)

I’m Sara. I don’t have a nickname or any freckles, though I’ve always wanted both.

I really love singing but not in the shower, pretending I’m on a catwalk when I walk in heels, my six younger siblings, my hair, the beach, pickled beets, getting lost in new cities, natural history museums, writing, and making funny faces.

I don’t really love being lactose intolerant, tripping on the sidewalk when I walk in heels, water slides and big waves, people with no self- awareness, humidity, being late, managing my finances, or anything grape-flavored.

I tweet at @sarafrita and write at www.guidetobeingawesome.wordpress.com.

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

I can’t say I’m surprised these past five months writing for Stratejoy went by so quickly. In between writing every week was a whirlwind of activities and new things to experience, so time ran forward at an inexhaustible pace. We were asked to ponder how we’ve all changed in the last 5 months, and at first, I thought, “That is too short a time to change, so I haven’t!” But, I started looking deeper and realizing that the small progressions I’ve made in multiple areas of my life have indeed been changing me. When I set my goals the third week of this blogging season, I talked about my fears of setting goals, and how I would be happy if I even managed to stick with one. Let’s take a final tally and see how I did, shall we?

#1 Stick with ONE of these goals. (I did!)

#2 Further explore the concept of minimalism. (What is minimalism? Joshua and Ryan do a great job of explaining this concept here.) (I downsized most of the stuff in my apartment and just last week removed a few final loads of stuff to Goodwill. The apartment is more open, and I feel a hell of a lot lighter having embraced the philosophy of minimalism.)

#3 Get moving. This might involve FINALLY taking those yoga classes or just taking a walk every night. I’m lazy. I like the couch. What can I say? (I walk a lot at the zoo when the weather is nice, and I started taking yoga on a fairly regular basis. I ended up losing 10 pounds before Christmas.)

#4 Continue the quest for healthy eating. I’ve cut out most processed foods and eat meat only on occasion. I want to keep getting better at this. (Rob and I have become mostly vegan at home and part-time omnivores when out and about in the world. If we are eating animal products, we consider where it comes from and how much we’re ingesting. I’ve watched multiple documentaries and can honestly say I rarely ingest anything super-processed which has felt so good.)

#5 Fully embrace my Americorps experience. (What this means may come only with time spent in Americorps.) (I pretty much live at the zoo, so I think that counts!)

#6 Create a financial plan that works towards eliminating all of my credit card debt (Still working on this one…)

#7 Begin learning to play the guitar (I have THOUGHT about beginning to learn the guitar. That is as far as that has gotten, haha.)

5 of 7. I can deal with that, especially because I’ve seen the positive changes those 5 goals have had in my life. I’ve learned that goals don’t have to be scary and steps can be small. Even with goals in mind, however, I’ve ultimately learned that it is ok to live my life one day at a time, enjoy the experiences I’m having now, and it is ok NOT to be sure of the future if I’m going to ignore the blessings of the present.

I am thankful to Ashley, Dusti, Hannah, Kat, Kristen and Laurenne for sharing their powerful experiences with me and the rest of the community. I’ve learned so much from you all and found so many different perspectives as we’ve gone on this blogging journey together. A special thanks to Katie for her encouragement along the way and to Molly for allowing us all to share our stories with the incredible Stratejoy community.

Where can you find me from here on out? I’m not much of a blogger outside of Stratejoy, but I do tweet @elyse_lohrbach on Twitter. I’ll be continuing my work with the zoo and the Emery Theatre and really embracing some new truths I’ve learned about myself on this walk. I look forward to not knowing what is ahead as I stumble through life.  And as the famous JRR Tolkien once said, “Not all who wander are lost.”

So without further ado, continuing on into that mysterious horizon, this is Elyse signing off.

{Photo Credit: Bossco}

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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I stopped at red lights. I took a multivitamin each night after flossing. I retweeted important pleas and drank 8 cups of water each day. I got up when my alarm went off and began teaching when the bell went. I smiled when strangers smiled and laughed when others laughed . I did not make waves, I did not cause ripples. I followed all the rules. Except the one called “Do not consider suicide as your rescue boat.”

No, that rule I wanted to break. I wanted to break it badly.

2010 was the year that almost broke me. My months were filled with anxiety of job stress, family drama and most significantly- indescribable stress relating to discovering my boyfriend had a rare type of blood cancer. On top of finding the cancer, we were in a long distance relationship and the stress of such horrifying news fueled tear filled fights. After months of nightly stress induced arguments, we broke up.

I spent the remainder of the year pulled over each night beside a grain field near my childhood home, sobbing loudly, my hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel needing something to hold .

At this point, I assume you are wondering, “Where the hell are your friends? Where is your family?!” and rest assured, they were there. But as anyone who has fallen into the dark and murky world of depression knows, it is possible to be so immersed in your own sadness that you feel like even those who reach out to you do not really care. Or worse, that they do care but they would be better off without you.

I reached my bottom one night as I pulled over to my regular spot- next to the grain field that looked silver in the night. I put the car in park and laid down, my head gazing up to the stars through the passenger window. I was resolved. My sadness was unbearable and I felt as alone as someone stranded on the Moon. As a former drama student and lover of BIG MOMENTS THAT SHOULD BE IN MOVIES, I realized this would be the perfect moment to look up at the moon and make a list of all the things I needed to do to say goodbye to everyone. People I would need to say goodbye to. Passwords I would have to leave for someone to find. Accounts to close. Money to transfer. Apologizes to write. I took a deep breath and lifted my eyes to the sky and began making a list that no one thinks they are ever going to make.

Except I couldn’t see the moon.

Now, when you are the kind of sad that makes your bones ache, laying in your car in the middle of nowhere, contemplating if you should mail goodbye notes to everyone or leave them addressed neatly on your bed- not seeing the moon shouldn’t be your biggest concern. But in that moment, the tears stopped- and I craned my neck to the side. Because I mean, I WAS PLANNING MY GOODBYES, the least I could get was a movie worthy moment. But still, no matter how I contorted my head, I could not see the moon through the passenger window.

So I broke my vow to continue planning who would take care of my mother. I stopped thinking about who would tell my students I was gone. I broke the rules I had put in place for myself- the ones that I had told myself I needed to live by. The ones that shackled me to my sadness and encouraged me to replay in my head just how sad and alone I felt. Instead I leaned forward pushing my tear stained face towards the windshield, stretching my neck, smashing my nose against the cold glass. No moon. I slid over to the driver seat, gingerly unrolled the window letting the cold air invade my car and popped my head out. No moon.

At this point, my sadness had been interrupted by the kind of fearful determination reserved only for elephant mothers trying to protect their babies. I ignored the rule about wearing a winter coat in -26F weather and whipped open the car door and scanned the sky for the moon. It was no longer about saying my goodbyes, I was infuriated that one more thing, ONE MORE GODDAMN THING was not going in my favor. It was the damn moon. Every night it was out. EVERY NIGHT. And here I was, on the night I needed it most, it was nowhere to be found.

And then I saw it. The moon. Far in the distance behind poplar trees, hiding between branches. I leaned against my car, freezing in the winter air and let out a sigh. And in that sigh I let out a year’s worth of angst and hurt and frustration and the deepest sorrow a heart can hold.

I didn’t get better right away. In fact, some days I wonder if I am ‘better’ or what better means. But I know that that night changed me.

We live our life following so many rules others make. We stop at red lights. We eat our vegetables. We stand for anthems and sit for sermons. We sing “Happy Birthday” and clap when the curtain closes. But it’s the rules we break, the ones about driving alone, or wearing coats in winter, or the ones we create for ourselves telling us how we should feel instead of recognizing how we do feel that end up saving us when the world is breaking us.

Sometimes I still drive down that road. I look up. Sometimes I see the Moon and sometimes I don’t. I remind myself that even if I don’t see it, it’s still there. And if that’s not enough, I can get out of my car on a cold winter night, stand outside without a coat and look for it.

Brandy (twitter | blog) is an elementary school teacher who credits therapy, medication, carbohydrates and the healing power of Jed Bartlet for overcoming the difficulties found in the last few years.

A short yet defiant gal, Brandy can often be found trying on dinosaur costumes, building reading forts or napping with her bulldog, Macy.

Her goals for 2012 include getting bangs, making fractions easier to understand for kids and developing a love for yogurt (Greek or otherwise). Brandy likes tackle hugs, sequins, Jon Stewart and talking in the third person.

She’s glad she’s here.

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

This has been an incredible 5 months.

I’m turning 24 on February 9th, a new baby is about to hit the scene, my great-grandma died this morning, and I quit the job I started at the beginning of my Stratejoy journey.

Life and death, success and failure, embrace and release. It’s been a crazy, bumpy ride. (No, really. You should see my baby bump. I’m having a massive child, may the Universe have mercy on my poor little broken body.) But here we are reflecting on our goals set and the outlook for the future!

First, the accomplishments I didn’t anticipate – gotta love the good that comes when you give it the time to.
Refining my values – Working through the Joy Equation and defining what all of my values encompassed for me completely changed the course of the last half-year. It sounds trite, but before I sat down and worked through these, I was pretty lost. I thought I knew my values, but without defining them, they were kind of superficial. One of the most crucial points in this was realizing how important community was to me and why. That’s part of why I even got started writing online, but my business had begun to ostracize that part of it. Now, it’s back in alignment.

As for the goals I started with, I’ve made some kickass progress!

To prepare as much as I can for the new baby. – Well, we’ve got everything except the all too necessary electric breast pump (Molly, that and a good nursing bra are the best investments you’ll make), so I’m thinking we’re good to go. Evie lifts up the front of my shirts to “give baby Tristan a kiss,” and although it’s going to rock her world, I think she’s about ready for her impending trek into big sisterhood.

To write my manifesto. – I still can’t believe I got out as much as I did for this. Working on my manifesto changed so much for me. I began to consider my decisions and the long-term more fully I had ever thought I could before. That was a major mental shift – thinking long-term means commitment, and commitment to an idea is scary, because it means I might fail, and on and on down the slippery slope.
(It’s funny, the thought of having two little people in my life forever isn’t a terrifying prospect, but GOD FORBID I choose the wrong college major or career path. Good lord. I love being entirely at home with making no sense whatsoever.)

To open as many doorways as I can for my writing career. – And boy, did I ever. After moving into the new place, I found myself with more writing work than I could handle. I actually started a marketing agency without realizing what I was doing! Seriously. As for grad school, well… Not so much. Grad school was the backup plan when I thought I couldn’t do it – I thought my business was going to fail, and I needed something to fall back on. Nothing like a good, ol’ $50,000 in debt to help! (Har har har.) But thanks to all of the work I had done the previous year, September rolled in, so did the cash, and I dropped college like a hot tamale.

I can always go back, but somehow, I don’t think I will. After landing a killer gig working at Productive Flourishing, the only things on my mind are taking myself and career to the next level and bringing a sweet baby boy into the world.
Goodbye, Stratejoy readers – I hope to meet even more of you down the road.

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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It is unfair to say I am fashionable. I am not quite fashionably illiterate, but even that is up for interpretation considering I was a late-adopter of skinny jeans and I still can’t get myself to buy a pair of wide-legged pants or a floppy hat. I did have my moment of knowing and following the fashion of the time: In kindergarten, my ever well-intentioned parents supplied me with a Little Mermaid backpack; the ultimate in five-year old couture.

Supported by my fiercely independent youth, that pink plastic bag fueled a level of self and societal awareness that enabled a boldness which jump-started my journey of building clothing combinations and discovering hairstyles. One morning has been branded in my elementary mind: I had artfully crafted a side ponytail on my left temple with four brightly colored hair-ties which, when my sister saw it on our way to school, put her into a jealous pout. My mother countered her frustration by reminding her that I had done my own hair while she had not requested such a modish statement from my mother. Proud, budding stylist-Hilary stepped out of the car and into the oblivion of my lost memories of the early 90s.

I don’t know how anyone emerging from the late-80’s fashion scene could judge my apparel choices, but my mother has a favorite story of my post-pre-school fashion decisions. After getting dressed, my mom would tell me, “Hilary, I love the top, and I love the bottom, but they go together kind of like mashed potatoes and chocolate syrup.” Looking at down at my clothes, then back up at her I would shrug as if to say, “Whatever. I like it so what does it matter?” I have no memory of that happening, but I have no doubt that it did; I catch myself doing that exact double-look-and-shrug combination in response to external opinions I find to be irrelevant in my perspective.

The proverbial bite-in-the-ass to my fashion stubbornness addressed my life in fifth grade. My elementary school’s PTA pushed into implementation a voluntary “common school dress” code. All theoretical benefits of minimizing bullying aside, my parents incorrectly believed the change to be a school-encouraged institution and decided my sister and I would support the system. I soon came to know the pain of standing out as the only one in awkwardly pleated blue pants and cheap white polo shirt. I was the only female fifth grader wearing the uniform and, as a girl, I felt painfully left behind in the self-discovery process represented in the picking and flaunting of clothing. I felt like a communist commune plopped in the middle of San Francisco’s “Painted Ladies.”

Every morning, for three months, I fought the cotton shackles. It was the night of my Parent-Teacher Conference where my teacher informed my parents the school did not support the dress code any further than simply appeasing two notoriously difficult mothers and their ideals. The next day I wore a pair of khakis to school. A couple of times I have tried the fashion world on for size.

Twice now I tried signing up with websites that offer deals on designer threads. Both times I gave up when the required fashion- assessment quiz asked what designers I prefer. Issue one: I have no idea what designer creates what types of clothing. Issue two: my closet is as eclectic as a GoodWill donation van. Needless to say I was slightly insulted to not have an “all” option.

My husband and I went to a second hand store a few weeks ago and I started pulling clothes from the rack when I heard my husband say, “Oh no, not more ugly clothes.” I balked, and looked down: He was right. The patterns were overt, the cuts were ridiculous and the sizes varied. I know I sometimes wear ridiculous combinations of clothes. I realized quickly that at nearly six feet of height I am a statement, so I go with it. Where my husband sees fabric on a hanger, I see an end-result; pulled together, each piece either strategically toned-down or the strangeness accentuated to fit the quirkiness of my day. I shrugged and headed to the dressing room.

Every morning, since I was free to choose those khaki pants, picking an outfit has been more than simply matching colors and styles, it is a ritual, a physical representation of the daily reflection of my personality. Some days I am the glitzy girl; the match to my husband’s southern roots. Other days I am a pure Bay-Area-oddity; salty and eclectic. I thank the fashion gods everyday for approving both bright colors and neutrals, ridiculous statement shoes and ballet flats, combat boots and glitter. And I am glad the Internet agrees with my motto: Any combination is acceptable as long as you work it. Yves St. Laurent is quoted as saying, “Fashion come and go but style is forever.”

I may be fashionably illiterate, but I sure as hell have style.

Hilary Jarman is a communications expert, despite the fact she still relies on spell check. Anything related to good public relations (the focus of her B.A.) or clever advertising makes her giggly and eyelash curlers make her nervous.

Since she is intrigued by the power of words she reads voraciously and speaks three languages. She recently traded her last name, “Hurst,” for an Atlanta-raised husband. They spend their free time watching hawks around their home and drinking energy drinks. Hilary’s dream is to own an international public relations firm and a fuchsia Dodge Challenger.

Become her friend at @hurststatus or hilaryjarman.com.

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*