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Blue, Blue Christmas

posted 26th December 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

I didn’t think this would be as hard as it is.

I’ve drafted countless posts about why I decided to spend the holidays in Europe, about not sticking with my plan to arrive in Australia in time to spend Christmas with my cousins there, about my family’s holiday traditions. I’ve been trying to slap a smile on my face about spending my first Christmas away from my parents and my brother. Everything that I’ve written so far felt false, and that’s not why I’m here.

So in the interest of speaking my truth, I’m here to tell you: it’s one week before Christmas, and I’ve been growing increasingly sad as December 25 draws nearer.

I didn’t think I would be. Christmas, though I have many fond memories and associated traditions, isn’t my favorite holiday. (In case you were wondering, that title goes to Thanksgiving, the day of eating all of the food and spending time with people you love.) I’ve grown accustomed to only seeing my parents once – or maybe twice – a year, and I saw them in May, shortly after I gave notice at my job. Also, I’m spending the holiday season in the best place in the world to do so: Central Europe. Lordy, do the people of this region love their Christmas markets, and I am all for that. Give me glühwein (mulled wine), cinnamon-crusted bread tubes, and glittering lights in cobblestoned squares. It’s magical, truly.

And yet, here I am, choking back tears as I think about how I won’t be baking cookies with my mom this year. (In fact, she was doing that while we were skyping yesterday.) I won’t be watching bits and pieces of A Christmas Story throughout the day, while it plays for 24 hours on TBS. (Does anyone actually sit and watch that movie the whole way through anymore?) I won’t be decorating a tree or carefully wrapping gifts for my family, including our labrador retriever, Max. (After you give him a new toy, he insists on taking it out into the back yard immediately.) I won’t be eating my parents’ homemade pierogi (the Polish equivalent of ravioli, stuffed with potato and cheese), my mom’s delicious Christmas Eve and Day feasts, or fried catfish and hushpuppies from Fred’s Fish House. (I love my mom’s cooking, but I’ve also got to take advantage of the fact that they live in the south now.)

Don’t get me wrong: I know that there are going to be awesome things about this Christmas. But right now, I want to acknowledge the sad parts. The missing-my-family parts. The things-changing-as-you-grow-up-kind-of-really-sucks-sometimes parts.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be celebrating Christmas with my friends in Graz. I suspect baked goods and tasty drinks will be involved, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ll skype with my parents and grandparents, and send holiday wishes to friends who are far away. I hope that some of today’s sadness will have passed as I create new traditions with friends and enjoy my adventure.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you enjoy the day, however you celebrate. And if it’s just another Sunday, let it be a good one!

[photo credit: me!]

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Fierce Family Love

posted 9th December 2011    Written by: Kristen    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Kristen, Love/Relationships, Season 5

On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, I saw the new Muppet Movie with my parents and brother. It was a fun family outing not just because as a family we love the Muppets, but also because it was the first time in over a decade the four of us went to a movie together (we think that last one was Disney’s Tarzan, which was in 1999).

I’ll reserve my thoughts on the movie for another forum (though I will say while I love Kermit the Frog with much affinity, that my other favorite Rolf, the dog, was not featured as much as I would have liked), but I will say it was great fun to go out with my immediate family.

I am so incredibly blessed that I have an amazingly awesome family- not just my parents and brother, but my grandmother, aunts and uncle, and a tight group of family friends that are closer to me than any of my extended blood family. I love spending time with these people- some of my best memories are hours that were spent playing games, going on vacations, and having awesome conversations with these people. I have some really remarkable human beings in my life.

The immediate Costa clan is filled with such a fierce love and concern for each other that for some outsiders, I can see it could be construed as overbearing and that we are all in each other’s business. And I will admit that at times, we are. And I can also admit that as much as I love my parents and have an immense closeness with them, that there are times when I’d like for them to back off too. But it’s a learning process for everyone about where the boundaries are as life changes and we grow up.

But if there is anything the Costa Family is, it is amazingly loving and loyal.

Family time was a sacred thing growing up, an example set by our weekly Sunday dinners with my parents, brother, and my paternal grandparents. It was a time for us to take out of the week to be together and talk about all that was going on, laugh and tell stories, and often reminiscence about favorite memories.

My brother, parents, and I ate dinner together every single night of the week when my brother and I lived at home, with maybe only Friday or Saturday night being exceptions as we got older and went out with friends. It didn’t matter what time band practice was or Little League started, my parents made the active effort every single day for us to have that time together. It was abnormal to a lot of my peers and I think sometimes how crazy the scheduling must have been for my mother to get us all fed at the same time ( thank goodness for mac and cheese!), but those nightly dinners together made our family a powerhouse.

The summer in between my sophomore and junior years of college I was working at my first museum internship in Newport and I was paid a stipend for the position, but not until the end of the summer. I spent a good deal of my free time that summer with my parents because of my lack of available funds and it was the first time that I really got to know and enjoy them as adults, as Patricia and Dave, not just Mom and Dad. If it wasn’t for that summer at home with them, I do not think I would have been able to live with them for five years after graduating from college. All through grad school, they were immensely supportive in many ways and I am so proud to call them my best friends.

As I think about my life and what I want moving forward, I think a lot about family. I spend some time on future thinking and what I want out of life next- job, love, and living situation wise. I often think about moving away and going somewhere new.I think about moving close to my aunt in California too because of my great relationship with her.

To move anywhere would have to be driven by a really awesome career or life opportunity at this point, but I’m open to the idea. It is hard to think about not having Sunday dinners with my parents, brother, and grandmother, random games of Scrabble with my brother and parents, or summer nights on my parents’ back porch with family friends, wine, and laughter.

Those moments have become really important aspects of my life and what I would miss the most if I left the immediate area. I know my family will visit me gladly anywhere I might go ( my mother once told me she didn’t care where I went as long as it was reasonably accessible via airport), but it’s the random moments of laughter and fun that would be the biggest void to fill.

I think a lot about a family of my own- and I don’t know exactly what that means yet. There are days I cannot wait to have my own family and coo over precocious toddlers in little man suits. Then there are days that the thought of caring for a child seems incredibly daunting—I’m just learning to take care of myself; however could I take on an infant at this stage? Needless to say, I’m not sure yet what my fate is with babies. And I am fully aware that my family unit may resemble something very different than what my reality growing up was- that I could have a partnership with a man that isn’t marriage, or that includes only children of the furry variety and the two of us. I know that families are not made by blood alone- my close knit group of family friends who we spend holidays, frequent weekends, and go on vacation with are evidence of that.

Whatever my future family looks like, if it’s just me and future man, or a brood of kids, I know my awesome people will be there supporting me.

[Photo Credit: I could not find a decent family photo to save my life! So the Muppets it is via here]

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Boycotting Thanksgiving – Gratitude and the Freedom to Choose

posted 24th November 2011    Written by: Dusti    CATEGORY: All Posts, Dusti, Family, Season 5

My family likes to ruin holidays. No really. They create drama of epic proportions.

This time last year, my bigot of an uncle had a real gem to share. Over pumpkin pie, he was discussing how he and his Army buddies used to beat gay kids with socks full of padlocks – because soap only left bruises and didn’t break bones.

Yeah. Can you tell my family is a generation out of the trailer park? Of course, he wasn’t aware his niece, *ahem* moi, was open about her bisexuality. I’ll leave the falling out of the evening to your imagination.

This year, I am boycotting my family and their tradition of drama-making in the name of gratitude for the freedom to choose.

In almost everything we do, we have a choice. We choose how we respond to what’s around us. We choose tomorrow based on actions we make today. We can choose to stay the same or change. We can choose happiness or apathy.

They say you can’t choose your family, but I disagree. Family is who you spend your time with. They are the wonderful community of people who you can trust. They are who you don’t mind sharing the last piece of apple pie with.

For me, that’s my sweet little girl – who is with her dad this Thanksgiving – and that handsome guy I live with. No turkey for us – we’re making something delicious and simple, because I’d rather spend the extra time making pies. (I make seriously gorgeous pies, and I’ve got limited energy to expend. Best to put it where it counts.)

I’m going to take some time and reassess my choices this year. How have I chosen well, and how could I choose better? Could I be in better alignment with my values? It’s all on the table. The idea is to give thanks I can choose.

And, I’ve got a feeling this Thanksgiving will have amazeballs written all over it when it’s over.

I’m not sure if there are other countries with similar traditions, but I think it’s pretty cool we have a holiday based on gratitude.

Could you ask for a better reason to stop what you are doing – and thank the universe for this moment, this breath? How beautiful that we have an opportunity to step back from our daily lives and just be grateful we have the right to choose who we are and how we live?

Happy Thanksgiving, Stratejoy Tribe. May your holiday be full of joy and chock full of love. (And pie. Good lord, enjoy lots of pie – and don’t feel guilty for any of it! You can choose better tomorrow.)

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My Biological Clock Is Actually a Biological Time Bomb

posted 13th November 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5

When I turned 29, disaster struck. Suddenly, I wanted to have a baby.

This may not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it was entirely unexpected. Prior to August 5, 2010, I didn’t care whether or not I had children. I adamantly declared that fact for years – just ask my mom. Friends would tell me that my biological clock would kick in someday; I was convinced that I didn’t possess one.

My brother has always wanted to have a family, so I figured that he could have kids, and I would be the awesome aunt who got them cool gifts as she traveled around the world. It was going to be great.

It’s unclear to me why my biological clock decided to make its grand appearance as I was in the middle of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad breakup. Apparently my body didn’t get the memo that I wanted nothing to do with those of the XY chromosomes. I can’t recall exactly how it started, whether I woke up and went, “Ohmylord I want a baby!” or if it was my sudden, overwhelming desire to coo over photos of friends’ children. It was there, and it wasn’t going away.

It took some time, but I thought I’d tamed the beast. Sure, I still ooo and ahh over my friends’ kids. I love hanging out with my two-year-old pals, even when they want me to read the same book to them 27 times in a row. It melts my cold heart when I see attractive dads with their kids, and I wonder if I’ll ever find an awesome partner to co-parent with me. Still, I find that my biological clock, while it makes me a little sappier, is overall manageable.

Or at least, I did. And then I spent two weeks in England with my OddDaughter, B. She just turned one, and she. is. amazing.

You see those stacking cups in the photo above? I can’t tell you how many times I rebuilt that tower to see the great joy in her face when she knocked it down again. I read the same five or so books – her favorites – over, and over, and over again. Sometimes, we wouldn’t even finish them before she’d want me to start from the beginning. (One-year-olds, goodness. Talk about a crazy short attention span.) When her parents brought her downstairs in the morning, she’d come into the living room, beaming – especially the day that she put her toy train that plays music next to my head to wake me up.

I knew I was in trouble when I was willing to sing at least 20 verses of “Old MacDonald” to get her to stop crying in the car ride home one evening. For the love, that farm had a seal and a tyrannosaurus rex on it! I can’t describe the sheer joy of tiny hugs when I would pick her up, or glee over high fives. The day that I saw a photo that my friend had taken of the two of us about to go down a slide, I actually had to look away because it made my heart ache so much.

Apparently, my biological clock is actually a biological time bomb.

There are a lot of ways in which I’m not on the same track as many of my peers. I don’t own a home, nor do I want to. I quit a good job to travel around the world and settle in another country. I’m single and don’t have any marriage prospects. And you know what? I’m okay with all of those things.

This one, though – my desire to be a mother – gets to me. I think about the fact that I only have about ten good child-bearing years left in me. When will I be ready for this? (Yes, no one is every fully prepared, but as someone who’s traveling indefinitely at the moment, I want to be sure I can create a stable home.) With no long-term partners on the horizon, at what point do I need to consider asking a friend to co-parent with me? (I know that I don’t want to raise a child alone.) Even more difficult to ponder, what if I can’t conceive? Is adoption an option I’m willing to entertain?

I don’t know whether I’ll ever know the answers to any of those questions. What I do know is that these freaking hormones are no joke.

Tick…tick…tick…

[photo credit: me!]

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Why It’s Okay That College Killed My Creativity

posted 9th October 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, What I've Learned

It might be that I have a terrible memory, or it might be that I’ve blocked out a lot of my high school years. Whatever it is, I don’t recall much of 1995-1999. Bits here and there, yes, but nothing particularly consistent.

One thing that I do remember is a quote from one of my teachers. Maybe it’s because it was particularly poignant, or maybe it’s because he gave several homilies based on that quote over the years. (I attended a Catholic high school, and we had weekly Mass on Wednesday mornings.) All I know is that to this day, I’ve got this line ingrained in my mind:

“You can’t give thanks for what you take for granted.”

I grew up believing that I could do anything. At age six, the list of careers I thought I might have ranged from fashion designer to the first female president of the United States. From reading, to painting and drawing, to Girl Scouts, my parents encouraged my hobbies. By age 10 or 11, my grandfather had me reading and discussing the business section of The New York Times on Sundays. Most distinctly, I remember winning my local spelling bee at age 13, and my dad asked me what was next. I responded that I would win regionals and compete in the National Spelling Bee that year.

And you know what? I did. And my parents were behind me 100% of the way.

I’m a little hard on my parents sometimes because I wasn’t allowed to choose a creative career/degree. Looking back on it, I don’t know that I would have been able to put together a portfolio that would have gotten me into an art school, and I don’t know that it would have been the best thing for me in the long run. I can give you a list of reasons why I feel like college made me dumber–though the more I think about it, what I really mean is that my undergraduate degree in business and the accompanying classes killed my creativity. It’s taken me years of slowly building my creative confidence again to do what I’m doing now: traveling, teaching, and building writing and photography portfolios.

Here’s the thing, though: you can’t give thanks for what you take for granted.

I forget that I was able to read at age three, and that my parents enrolled me in some accelerated classes in elementary school. Approximately one-quarter of girls in developing countries aren’t in school at all according to the Girl Effect, and I had the chance to go above and beyond basic schooling with those classes and extracurriculars.

I ignore the fact that college was a given for me, and even though I didn’t exactly choose the right degree, I learned a lot about myself when I was there, met interesting people and made some long-term connections, and was able to study and live in another culture for four months. According to the Girl Effect, an extra year of secondary school boosts girls’ eventual wages by 15 to 25 percent.

I’m fortunate that I am 30, single, and have enough money saved to travel for three months and move to another country. It’s easy to forget that when you’re living in a culture like the one in New York City, where you can’t keep up with people who are making two or more times your income, where rents are high, and where the first question anyone asks is what you do for work.

I’m lucky that I grew up with a family that pushed me to excel in and out of school. I’m fortunate that I was able to get a degree that helped me obtain a job that increased my earnings so that I could save the money to live life on my terms now. Without the foundation that I had, all of the work I’ve done over the past ten years probably wouldn’t have gotten me here.

On my photo blog, one of our recent themes was gratitude. Ending the New York chapter of my life and beginning the next part of my journey has had me thinking about my family, friends, and life in new ways.

It’s time to give thanks.

[photo credit: me!]

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