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Can I be honest? I’m terrified.

posted 29th March 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Family, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Season 4

Note: this is my very first video blog, like, ever. Be gentle… but be honest: how’d I do? If you’re a mama, tell me how you’ve dealt with your terror and freakouts. I would love to see how other mamas — or mamas to be — deal. You all give me such inspiration. ILU.

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Vulnerability As My Tipping Point

posted 16th February 2011    Written by: Laura    CATEGORY: Laura, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 4

Vulnerability. One word that summarizes my tipping point. One word that describes the difference between pre-QLC me and current me.

Dictionary.com tells me that vulnerable means:
1. capable of being physically or emotionally wounded or hurt
2. open to temptation, persuasion, censure, etc.
3. liable or exposed to disease, disaster, etc.

Those definitions leave out a lot, don’t they? They make it seem like being vulnerable is a bad thing. Which, I suppose, if you’re in a war zone or a red-light district, it is.

But to me, being vulnerable means allowing yourself to be whole. It means accepting the bad with the good. It means exposing your heart and your soul, knowing it could backfire but trusting that it won’t.

And if it does, believing there’s something really valuable to be learned. It means acknowledging that you’re not perfect and you’re not capable of everything. You have limits. You don’t know every answer, you can’t infinitely work harder and harder, you can’t avoid emotions forever, and you can’t make it through life without leaning on people. We’re human, that’s just reality. Things like marriages, families, friendships, neighbourhoods, and cities exist because we need each other.

Acceptance, support, advice, laughter, love, conversation, comfortable silence, teamwork, generosity, kindness, honesty. We thrive when we give and receive as much of those things as we can. To me? Embracing that truth and all of the imperfection that goes with it is what vulnerability is all about. Remember that fierce sense of independence I alluded to in my first post? Well, it didn’t really allow for vulnerability. That’s the key lesson I learned last year that catapulted me into a QLC.

Don’t get me wrong, I was never a cold, unfeeling, non-social person. Oh no. I love spending time with people and I love feeling part of something bigger than me. I love being supportive, compassionate and considerate. I love being a good daughter, role model and friend. I’ve been with my boyfriend for 10 years and would like to think I’ve contributed a lot of great parts of myself to that relationship. But in doing all of that, I’ve always kept a little something to myself. I’ve always held a little bit back.

I wasn’t completely honest about how I see things; about how I see the world.

I didn’t verbalize my dreams and how much I want to contribute BIG, inspiring things.

I never defended my wish to be an artist, because it seemed frivolous and far-fetched.

I didn’t long to get married because I was afraid of losing my independence.

I wanted to be self-sufficient, successful and stable. Not because I’m risk averse, but because I’ve always been terrified of three words: I need you.

So I made a lot of choices that guaranteed I didn’t have to say them. In doing so, I missed out on opportunities for authenticity, creative expression, and passionate, enduring love. I missed out on opportunities to just be me.

The remaining piece of my story you need to know is that last year, I set out on a journey to shed that fierce independence and replace it with fierce vulnerability. I may not have described it that way at the time, but that’s exactly what it was. I took on a personal challenge posed by my BFF, who wondered: How would life be different if we said yes to 30 things we’d normally say no to? The answer? It would be knock-your-freaking-socks-off different.

A list of the 30 things I did can be seen here, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. At first glance, it doesn’t tell you that I embraced my talents, started letting go of my money-related hang-ups, spent countless hours creating a business model I believe in, and became really comfortable with not knowing the answers to stuff. It doesn’t tell you that I had eye-opening moments about my relationship and realized how unbelievably lucky I am. It doesn’t tell you that I slowed down and started taking the time to really see, hear and feel things. (Well, I dabbled in it. I need to do a hell of a lot more of that this year.)

By saying yes to 30 new things, I said yes to becoming whole and vulnerable. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I now know how much I value creativity, authenticity, fun, kindness, momentum, and big-ness. I now realize how awesome it would feel to create, read, write, laugh, and play every day, at least a little bit.

What do I have to do and what habits do I have to create to turn those wants into realities? I don’t know. Yet. But that’s what my QLC, what my life right now, is all about.

{Photo credit: Edward Townend Photography}

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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

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 †}


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You’re Never Really Alone

posted 15th October 2009    Written by: Marisa    CATEGORY: All Posts, Molly, Quarterlife Crisis

Marisa ScooterI find it difficult to accept help when I know I can accomplish the task on my own.  Any task really.  Well, most things let’s say, but two weeks ago I was confronted with the fact that I really do need help in certain situations.

During one of the most uncoordinated moments in my life, I fractured my foot. It was all so silly and I couldn’t believe that my klutzy self could even be capable of self harm like that, but I did it.  I fractured the fifth metatarsal bone in my left foot and it hurt.

I limped home, hoping it wasn’t too serious, and after trying to sleep during a fitful, restless and painful night, realized something was wrong.  I couldn’t put weight on it and I had trouble getting from my bed to the bathroom and around my apartment.

My cat Sophie watched in amusement (one can only assume) as I tried to hop around at 3 a.m. and not break my other foot.  I was faced with some choices: do I hop the four blocks to the overpriced and unaffordable ER or do I wait for the early morning light to taxi it to a clinic and wait for hours upon hours?  I had a hard time deciding what to do since the pain was starting to make me sweat and having never broken or fractured anything in my life, I panicked a little bit.

So of course, I called my mom.

It’s comforting to know that I can call her at any time, day or night, no matter the issue.  That’s what it’s like when you have an awesome (all be it sometimes overprotective who offered to fly the next day) mother.  I sat on the hardwood floors of my apartment, in pain, in my jammies and with a cat that either looked very concerned or very hungry.  And after talking to my mom, who helped me to be logical at an illogical time during the night/day, I couldn’t help but still feel nervous and scared in my dark apartment.

I was alone. There was no one there to hold my hand, hug me and tell me things would be better, soothing the pain.  I didn’t like the feeling of having just my cat sit there, watching me with inquisitive eyes, wondering if I’m going to get up and feed her or just sit there like a log.

I started to feel like Miranda in that one episode of Sex in the City where she choked on her Chinese food and became scared of dying alone and/or being eaten alive by her cat.  I hate to admit it, but I went there. I wondered if Sophie would one day find me tasty if I were to ever be incapacitated and she, out of cat food.

For Miranda in that episode, having no boyfriend or significant other to rely on, friends were her support and answer.  As soon as I was able to control the ridiculous, but plausible concern of being eaten alive by my cat, I called the ever reliable Katie and Kyle at a decent hour.

Kyle picked me up, helped carry me to and out of his car and dropped me off at a ZoomCare Clinic.  Then Katie took me to Safeway once I was on crutches and helped with some grocery shopping.  Even my busy touring friend Anna visited me every day until I could walk, and we celebrated with a dance party at Holocene where I was able to dance and adore the amazing Esser.

This is what I learned: I am alone, yes, but self-reliant and not without help when in dire need. Sure, I can get a little crazy at times-I have vowed to have a never-ending supply of dry cat food in my pantry-but still, I have people who support me and I in turn, support them.

It works.  And until I find someone to be there at my side to soothe the pain at 4 a.m. in the morning, I can do it alone most of the time, especially with wonderful friends.

And a full, over-fed cat.

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