Good Times

I think most people have a friend in their lives who, no matter what, can make life a lot of fun. She is the friend that helps you forget all your crazy hangups, who encourages you to lower your inhibitions, and who always manages to make even the most mundane things memorable. This weekend, I headed north to Minnesota to visit her (and to celebrate her 30th birthday), and I have had more fun than I have had in ages.

Carrie and I first met during freshman orientation in college. We were in the same freshmen seminar, and while I don't remember all the details about our first real conversation, I swear it had something to do with getting lost in one of the university buildings and trying to navigate our way out. While not the most auspicious way to meet (FYI: getting lost in random places would become a recurring issue for us), it didn't prevent us from becoming good friends. Carrie has the kindest heart, the biggest smile, and the most fun-loving spirit of just about anyone I know. (You can also include smart, talented, funny...) And, most amazing of all, Carrie is one of the few people in this world who can convince me to do crazy things. Nothing dangerous or stupid mind you (well, most of the time), but things that I would never, ever do on my own--dance in public, sing out loud in random places, go to a frat party (okay, this only happened once in college and never again). 

This weekend was no exception. At her party, I didn't stand to the sidelines, an idle observer. Instead,  I jumped in, playing all sorts of Kinect games (I am fairly good at ping-pong, fall flat on my back when trying to long jump, and am absolute rubbish at volleyball).  I think we probably provided the most amusement when Carrie and I played one of the dancing games. Well, Carrie was good at it. I did my best to follow the moves, but that usually meant being about two steps behind and moving as if my muscles were permanently tensed. Still, instead of giving up after the first song, I kept at it, forgetting how absolutely ridiculous I must look and just had fun. After she beat me soundly in our little dance-off, we each grabbed a beer and headed upstairs to chat a while about old times. 

As we sat there just talking, I wondered why we didn't make more time for this kind of thing more often. And while I had first dismissed the idea of even coming--I mean, it is a six hour drive north and heaven forbid I ever do anything to change my routine--I couldn't believe I had ever considered not being there. We are all so busy in our lives that we forget to take that time to nurture our relationships. Life gets in the way, it is inevitable. But sometimes, our priorities get so skewed in the process that we forget that we won't starve if we put of getting groceries for one more day or that the world will not fall apart if you bow out of other obligations every once in a while.  It is a hard habit to break, but doing so can be so very liberating. Carrie has always been the best at reminding me of this, which made it all the harder to leave this morning. I am not only leaving her behind, but it was like I was waving good-bye to the part of myself, the part of myself so few people have a chance to see but I suspect many people would like (probably far better than the part of me that I usually show to everyone else). 

Is it possible not only to miss someone but also the person you are when you are with them? Perhaps it is a sign of great dependency, but I often find this to be the truth in regard to how I relate to my best friends...but perhaps that is best left to explore at a later time.

So Many Reasons

Even as a person more prone to seeing the glass half-empty, I cannot deny that in my life I have been so very fortunate, that on even a bad day, I have so much more going for me than I can even begin to fathom. Beyond the basic necessities (food, clean water, shelter, clothing, etc.), I have so much more than I deserve.

Top on my list is a loving, supporting family. Throughout my life, I have never doubted that my parents were my biggest supporters. While we have encountered some challenging times (and quite frankly, still do), without their trust, encouragement, and guidance, I would not be where I am today. They challenged me to do my best, they allowed me to follow my own path. The taught me the importance of honesty, integrity, and compassion; hard-work, dedication, loyalty. Because of this, I feel free to take trips to places like Kazakhstan. I dare to dream of a life that doesn't fit into any mold. I know that love is the greatest gift we can share. I know that I will always have a place that I can call home.

Now, I have to give credit to a few other members of my family...actually, quite a few. I look back on my childhood and realize that I didn't just have my parents looking after me, but a whole slew of aunts and uncles (even great-aunts and great-uncles), not to mention both sets of my grandparents. We are a weird bunch, one that I often question how it is even possible that we function in the real world, or how we work together for that matter. But, we do. As the majority of us were gathered around the table (sadly, my parents were unable to join us) enjoying a delicious feast prepared by many capable hands, there was no complaining, no whining. No one jockeying for the last bits of dressing or criticizing the quality of the gravy (not that it was in need of criticism). I am so fortunate that the rifts in our family our so few, and I pray that at some point everyone experiences the same sense of love and belonging. To belong to a family with so many whom I would love and respect even if they were not my relatives is rare. For them to treat me as a friend as well is my great fortune.

 

I have to give a special shout out to my grandmother, the one with whom I still live, and my grandfather down in Texas. My dad's mom has the best humor and luckily doesn't take herself too seriously...I think it has allowed her to survive her five sons AND the abuse she receives from her granddaughter. (Considering how many of my co-workers think she spends her days plotting her next liquor store robber, perhaps I am the worst offender)

As for my grandpa in Texas--while I may dream of some fairly ambitious things, he encourages me to take it one step further. Whether he is encouraging me to buy a motorcycle to drive cross-country or to make my way down the Mississippi on a small raft (he promised me he would pay bail any time I was arrested for stealing chickens), my grandpa has always believed I could do anything I wanted...even rule the world..with a little hard work and dedication...and if I became an accountant.

Without my family, I would have never learned what it means to be a friend. And without my friends, I would lead a boring, miserable life. I have such a diverse group of friends that I cannot even begin to describe how each one adds color to my life. I can say this though about each and every person I call my friend. They are intelligent, compassionate, witty, and fun. They all possess beautiful souls and are so incredibly generous and humble. They all in some way help me to be a better version of myself, challenging me to stretch and grow. I often think I take far more than I could ever give, and even in this, they seem not to mind. It gets harder to maintain friendships as you get older, and I admit that some of the people about whom I cared greatly are disappearing into the background. That doesn't lessen my gratitude for them because even those who are a part of my past have given me so much to help me create my future. 

I am thankful for my job. As frustrating and challenging (and occasionally monotonous) as it can be, it is still a company that recognizes the importance of its employees. It recognizes the value of its consumers. It gives generously to local non-profits, promoting education, the arts, the food pantry, and so much more. Even better, I get to work with some of the most creative minds in America. Daily, I am astounded by the genius that surrounds me, particularly my little group of co-workers in our department who never fail to make smile. Goodness knows what it is like to go to work with people you don't care about on a day-to-day basis. I am not sure if I could do that for very long...

And I could go on for so very long with the remaining things I am thankful for, but I will try to make the last few things quick:

• Health
• Financial Stability
• Books (particularly mysteries that keep me up way past my bedtime)
• Libraries
• Bread and Cheese
• The ability to travel just about anywhere I want
• Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens (not particularly, but just checking to see if you were paying attention still)
• Wales and all the amazing people with whom I studied while over there (Dw i eisiau mynd i Gymru!)
• Laughter
• My stuffed rabbit
• So many wonderful memories

Okay...that is it. I have run out of steam on this. And I know that this entire post has been one big cliche, I don't care. Because, the truth is I want people to know this. I want my friends to know how much they mean to me. I want my family to know that I recognize just how crucial their love and support has been. And I want the world to see that I am only who I am, at least the very best of who I am, because I have been so very fortunate. 

One of Those Days

Or, maybe one of those weeks...one of those months? I don't want to go so far as to say it has been one of those years, but it has been a bit rough lately. I feel exhausted. You would think having come back from a trip, I wouldn't feel so lethargic, but I find myself struggling to get my head back in the game.

At work, it is hard to reengage. Every day I go through the motions, doing just enough of what is necessary to keep up with what needs to be done, but my mind is floating somewhere off in the clouds. I try hard to focus because the last thing I ever want to do is a bad job, and so far I think I am managing. But, I am noticing small things, details that others may not see, that suggest to me that my grip is loosening, that all I have worked toward is starting to unravel. It makes me angry at myself for losing control, it makes me sad for those whom I may be letting down, and it makes me wonder how much longer I can hold on until things fall apart. Perhaps I have just reached a bit of a slump, that once I make it past this small lapse of attention, the situation will improve and I will feel invested in my work once again. Right now, I am clinging to this notion, that there will be a time where things go more smoothly, that every day doesn't feel like a battle. All that said, I still strongly believe in my partners, the people who make the wonderful product I do my best to categorize, organize, and the like. Without them, their good humor, their passion, I would find it very difficult to find a reason not to walk away.

Family life seems to be following its normal trajectory, currently on one of its downswings, if I were to be honest. My mom is sick again (she was admitted to the hospital on Friday); my sister is still recovering from surgery about a month ago, so she isn't quite back on her feet again. As always, outwardly I seem rather indifferent to it all...when people being in the hospital/getting surgery becomes the norm rather than the exception, I think it is one way to prevent yourself from becoming a perpetual nervous wreck...inside, waves of worry wash over me. There are also mixed emotions of frustration and helplessness. I never know what the right thing to do is any more. When talking with my mother, it sometimes takes all the patience in the world to keep my mouth shut...really, all she wants is for someone to listen and take her seriously. With my sister, I always get off the phone with the distinct impression that all she wants from me is a check that includes at least three zeroes in it. Sadly, sometimes to assuage my ever growing guilt, compliance is the easiest solution. At least until the next time it happens, some three to six months later.

On a positive note, there are lots of good things in my life, too. (Slightly obscured by the not so good.) First and foremost, I am healthy. I am fortunate to have good friends who care about me, even when I keep them at arm's length or longer. I have the time to pursue things I enjoy, whether it be baking cookies, reading a book about art thieves, or researching upcoming travel locales (I am currently debating: South America in February, Italy in late May, or, dare I say it, both?). Despite an increasing sense of despair, the rational side of me knows that I have the power to change it all. While I have no control over what others may do with their lives (and no control over how their decisions may or may not affect me), I can control what I do, and experience has taught me if I the choice I make isn't the best one, it doesn't prevent me from making another choice.

I just need to remind myself this over and over. So, if you pass me by, and I appear to be mumbling incoherently, it is probably me repeating this to myself. Whatever works to get through the rough times, right?

Back From Half Way Around the World

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled what seems like halfway around the world (over 8,000 miles) to Almaty, Kazakhstan. I went to visit my good friend Lauren, someone with whom I have had many grand adventures in the past, be it traversing Cornish bogs or climbing Welsh mountains. And this time around was no exception.

However, our adventures weren't necessarily on the same scale as before, and I think that is why I am just now getting around to writing about them. Kazakhstan is different from anywhere else I have ever traveled, a place not really regarded as a must-see tourist destination. That isn't to say there is not plenty to explore and experience...even just walking around the city was an adventure in some ways. But, there wasn't the typical sense of wonder and awe that have accompanied my past travels. I found this trip challenged me more on an nintellectual level, a truly intercultural experience in which I could barely find my footing. It was daunting coming to a country where visitors are often met with suspicion from the outset, and my normal manner of coping with the situation--a quick smile imbued with the apology for my overwhelming ignorance--was quickly dismissed. For once, I found it easier to get through by maintaining a cloak of indifference, not seeming overly interested in what others around me were doing. While it made it easier to blend in (if given a quick look over, I guess I can pass for someone of Russian descent...one of the more interesting things about Almaty is its mixture of peoples found in the area, a remnant dating as far back as Stalin's rule and his penchant for exiling people to as remote of places as possible), I found it discouraging. I had hoped to have a few more encounters with Kazakhs, to be honest. A naive thought in hindsight.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that everyone was unfriendly...I just found that the people of Almaty were far more reserved from what I am used to, a feeling confirmed by Lauren and the other non-Kazakh people I had the pleasure of meeting in my short time there. It takes time to break down the barriers that you encounter, so a quick five day trip doesn't allow enough time to establish any kind of rapport. And I want to note that there were several people who were friendly to me during the trip, it just was the exception rather than the rule. (One man, Kidur, sticks out in my mind. He is one of the guards at the international school my friend teaches at...we went to the construction site of the new school building, and he was there, smiling the biggest smile I had seen since arriving. It made my day, actually.)

Still, being able to walk the city, visit its parks, its markets gave me a glimpse of everyday life in Kazakhstan. There is an interesting mix of East meets West meets Soviet. (I am not really sure how to categorize the impact that being under Soviet rule has had on Kazakhstan, the country's identity, and its enduring culture.) As part of my exploration, I visited one of their malls. It was populated with several brand name stores found in any of your more upscale shopping centers in the United States, yet it felt like simulacrum of the real thing. Even now, I cannot put my finger on what gave it that feeling of artifice. Indeed, many of the more recent updates to the city feels a bit like that...as if in an effort to make its exterior more appealing to the outsider (which, I believe, is one of President Nazerbaev's goals), instead of building something authentically Kazakh, they have constructed a facade that they believe will appeal to the tourist.

It doesn't take long, though, to get beneath the facade. The moment you step on a bus, you are hit full in the face that this is NOT like any Western country you have ever been in. The more people who can be crammed into a bus, the better. No need to worry about maintaining a respectable amount of personal space...it does not exist. At the same time, if you find your backpack jamming its way into someone else's back just as someone's hand draws precariously close to your face, it is all part of the experience. No one gets angry, it is all just taken in stride. (Try that here and if the bus wasn't pulled over for being overcapacity, I do not doubt that there would be some kind of commuter rage that would spark small fights all over the place.) And, having endured the joys of the bus only to find the place you were going to go has been randomly closed (no warning, no real explanation) clinches it...it makes you want to hike the several miles back through the utilitarian concrete buildings littering the landscape back to your room, where you can close out the dirt and the grime for a little while (but only after taking a ride on an elevator so small, four average-sized adults have to strategically place themselves to fit while maintaining the right balance to prevent it from scraping its way up the shaft). It feels as if there is a blanket of unspoken oppression hovering above the city still. Lauren says that, even after twenty years of freedom, the oppressive force of Soviet rule still permeates and that as a result, few people have hope. While I would not go as far as to say that, I admit that something certainly is lacking, so much so that an outsider like me felt it the first day I was there.

As I write this, I notice that my words seem laced with negativity, and I can only say that comes from my level of discomfort and a little bit of disillusionment. I wasn't sure what to expect, but despite having few preconceived notions, I feel a bit let down. BUT, there is an amazing amount of beauty to be found there. A stroll through President's Park is enough to make anyone gape at its beauty, particularly with the trees blazing in all their fall glory in brilliant shades of gold, the Tien Shan mountains rising in the background. The fountains in this park alone prove a fair rival to those found throughout Kansas City (a mighty feat for those not too familiar with the KC area).  The level of pride expressed in the war memorials found in Paniflov Park resonate with anyone who knows the tragedy of war. The incongruous brightness of the Cathedral found just outside of Paniflov provides a contrast to the seemingly drab surroundings. Driving above the smog-line to be closer to the mountains reveals beauty incomparable, a true gem of natural beauty that few outsiders have ever had the opportunity to see.

I debated for a long time as to how I would answer people when asked what it was like to visit Kazakhstan. I still don't have the best answer. It was not quite what I had expected, but I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. No, I didn't go traipsing about the mountains or sit down and discuss world politics with the locals over a few shots of vodka. No, I didn't indulge in local foods, haggle at the bazaar, or anything like that. But I did get to witness, observe. I went somewhere that few others have ever thought to go, and I was reminded that what to us may seem so far in the past is still very much a reality for others. Reading about Kazakhstan and experiencing it for myself are two very different realities. And this is yet another reason to travel...it isn't enough to read about somewhere to understand it. The levels of complexity in experiencing somewhere new cannot be captured in words, no matter how skilled a wordsmith you happen to be. It also reinforced the reality that my world view is only one in a multitude and that I really do not know anything. I can travel to every country in the world, read every travel guide, and meet hundreds of people and not seen even a fraction of what is out there. Doesn't mean I won't keep trying though. 

Early Morning Nerves

It is about 4:15 a.m., on my day of departure to Kazakhstan. My bag has been packed and repacked several times in the past 24 hours, I have run through my internal checklist many more times than that, and yet my mind remains restless, certain that there is something I am forgetting. I did get some sleep tonight, a solid three hours. I might be able to sneak in a couple more if I lie down again in a few minutes, but the likelihood of my getting some actual rest is minimal. Still, it is hard to pinpoint what exactly I am nervous about. It isn't so much the act of flying (rarely ever occurs to me that it can be even remotely dangerous). I think I am more worried about moving myself around from place to place--getting to the right plane, having enough time in between, missing connections, the like. All things that are for the most part out of my control. But still I worry. I wouldn't be me if I didn't. 

Still, the more rational part of me recognizes that whatever happens is not going to be the end of the world. I will get where I need to go, even if it may be a bumpy ride to get to that point. I am fairly certain that in a week's time, I will be back here, beginning to document all the exciting adventures I experienced with my friend, Lauren, and I will be planning my next great escape to somewhere just as far-flung as Central Asia. (To be honest, I have already begun doing some of the research to find out where I want to go next.)

Five Years of the Very Best...

Okay, so perhaps not the best play on words with this post's title (there is a reason I am not employed as a writer or editor), but I must admit that five years into my career at Hallmark, I am reminded just how fortunate I have been. Considering how when I submitted my resume all those years ago, I never thought I would get a call back let alone a job, I have done pretty well. Fate, fortune, or something like that seems to have conspired in my favor, allowing me to move from an on-call position to a permanent, full-time job that allows me to work with some of the most intelligent, talented people I have ever met. They also happen to be some of the funniest and kindest, too. If I could, I would describe what it is I do, but I have learned from past experiences, trying to explain the strange alchemy of metadata, Excel spreadsheets, and Hallmark.com often results in my audience falling into a trance from which it is hard to rouse them. Best not ask for details, and just know that I have been reassured numerous times that whatever it is I do is working, and since nothing has imploded, exploded, or failed miserably, I will go along with this assessment.

But really, I do not want to talk about me or my specific job. Instead, I wanted to shine a light on my awesome co-workers who made me feel like what I do matters and, more importantly, that perhaps I matter. (Yes, my insecurities run that deep. I came into my current position completely overwhelmed, and it has taken me about two and a half years even to think that I have a grasp on what I am doing...and it has taken me almost as long to get to know my co-workers better. If I were to be honest, they still intimidate me a bit. Not in a bad way--it is more like the kind of awe one experience's when encountering someone who seems to know anything and everything...but I digress.) So, anyway, there was a little party to celebrate my anniversary. I had requested cupcakes and celebration that was to be low-key. I am not one for much attention, and I was freaking out even thinking about having to stand in front of the cupcakes as my manager Jen handed me the Crown pin and card. I kept telling myself that people were coming for cupcakes and cupcakes alone. Still, it was nice to see my friends from my old department as well as those from my current department gather round, chatting with one another. When the moment came, there was no speech, no embarrassing spotlight placed directly on me. Instead, Jen simply handed me an envelope with a completely different kind of surprise.

Inside there was a passport, filled with warm wishes and pictures of my travels with my co-workers superimposed onto some of my favorite memories. It was amazing. I stared at it in shock and found myself blinking back tears. Even now, I do not know if I have conveyed to my co-workers why this gift was so touching. It isn't just the fact that it is an awesome idea that does a good job to reflect my personal interests, but that they took the time to think of something so perfect and then took the time to mock it up, adding their personal touches wherever they could.  That they would take the time to do this for ME is more than I can fathom. I am not used to having something like that done for me, (I can only think of one other time, and to this day I am embarrassed by how I reacted to that...but that can wait until another blog post) and since I had thought I had done everything possible to become one with the background while at work, that my friends at work still noticed blew me away. I meant it when I said that the best part of coming to work each day is my co-workers.

Throughout the day, I had several others congratulate me and tell me what a good job I do, some of whom I would never have thought noticed what I do. While I cannot vouch for the actual veracity of their statements (I try my best, I really do...but I cannot help but wonder what I can do better), I can say that it made me feel like I belonged. And, to be honest, that is often something I long for. Probably something we all long for. I just wish that I had been better able to capture what it meant to me in this post...sadly, this long rambling missive does a poor job conveying what I wish it could. I don't know why I have had this opportunity to work with the very best (tying in the title yet again), but I am grateful for the opportunity, and no matter where the next five years take me, these five years have meant a lot to me.

One Rabbit's Journey

It was Easter, twenty-two years ago, that I received the best present from my Grandma & Grandpa Tanner.  At the time, I am sure they did not realize what significance this small stuffed animal would acquire over the next two decades, and to be honest, I do not think my six-year-old self could have fathomed the many things she would be a part of. Back then, she just happened to be an adorable gray bunny dressed in a pink shirt and denim overalls, complete with a small hole for her faux-cotton tail. I fell in love instantly, and Peta became a constant presence in my life. 

I was a strange child, as many of us undoubtedly were, and as such, I needed to create a back story for my new friend. Looking to her attire for inspiration, I noticed that emblazoned on her shirt was the word Greatland (at the time, the store brand from Target). In one of my more fanciful throes of imagination,  I decided that this was name of her home planet. The planet itself was not all that exciting, one filled with animals of all kinds of crazy colors (my pink cat...aptly named Pinkie...also hailed from Greatland). Peta was a prominent leader there, but her insatiable curiosity led her to explore other lands, and she eventually found her way to me. I felt lucky that she stayed with me for so long. She would go on to own a restaurant, lead a few coups, and star in a few of my clumsy childhood stories. She had her own voice (which sounded oddly like mine, but with a higher pitch and a bit of a quaver) and often engaged in conversation with my other stuffed animals. To their credit, my parents and sister were quite indulgent in all this, never discouraging me from creating this exotic, sprawling fantasy world.

More importantly though, Peta has stuck by my side through some pretty difficult times. Whether it was a debilitating migraine (of which I had more than my fair share even at the age of six), recovering from sinus surgery, or even when trying to cope with things I couldn't quite grasp at the time (my mother's injuries/disability, my sister's emotional issues, etc.), I had her for comfort. When I felt so sick, just having her in my arms made me feel one hundred times better. Holding her in my arms while I cried made it a bit easier to gain perspective, to take control of my emotions and move on. And it is clear that I turned to her more often than I can ever quantify. Her once lustrous coat is now worn away to the point that she looks almost bald. There has been more than one occasion when her left ear has required surgery, and her glassy black eyes now have cataracts. In all honesty, I am surprised that she hadn't met the fate of the Velveteen rabbit considering how many germs she has come in contact with over the years...thank goodness my parents would have never done that and had deemed a couple hours in the dryer on high heat would suffice.

As I grew older, I turned to Peta less and less. She still was (and is) a constant presence in my room, staying on my bed throughout high school traveling with me pretty much everywhere.  However, I was beginning to feel slightly silly to be so old and still have a stuffed animal with me. She became less of a companion and more of a symbol of my past. She reminded me of my grandparents, my childhood. No matter where I went, as long as she came with me, I had a small piece of home. And for me, that is something I have never outgrown. Despite how conflicted I can feel about Texas, it shaped me more than I can say, and Peta is a good reminder of that.

What is really interesting is how Peta has become an integral part of my family's bigger story. My Grandma Hayes bonded with her over the course of a few years (she is not the one who gave me the rabbit), and in a way that only family can, we have decided that Peta has grown into a bit of a troublemaker. My parents go along with it as do several of my aunts and uncles. My Grandpa Tanner (who gave me Peta in the first place) still asks about what she is up to lately.  As I have grown and evolved, so too has the rabbit. Where once she was a source of comfort and support, she has become a bit wild. No longer burdened with the responsibility of easing the emotional woes of a young girl, Peta has embraced life, and her antics have become notorious. Something broken in the house? Peta did it. Empty cans of beer or bottles of liquor strewn about the house? The rabbit did it.  String of robberies throughout the city? She was the mastermind.  Are we nuts?  Perhaps, but only in the way that all families have their idiosyncrasies, right?

One Wild Night

Anyway, my Grandma Hayes is the one who suggested I started taking pictures of her when I travel (you can check more of them out on my facebook page...more pictures to come in a few weeks after we visit Kazakhstan). At first, I was embarrassed to carry a bunny around my backpack and pull her out in front of large crowds of locals and tourists alike. My friend Lauren helped me through this with her enthusiasm for the idea.  It was this that made me realize why there is no reason to be ashamed of it. Yes, I am twenty-nine, and I still have a stuffed animal. So what? I also have lots of fun memories and great pictures. And for those willing to listen, a great story that remains unfinished.

Crater Lake -- Me: Age 25, Peta: Age 19. She looks a little worse for the wear.