we all have to believe in something

It happened. 

I was standing in the kitchen on Christmas Eve with my two brothers, their wives, and my oldest brother's mother-in-law.  We shared stories, laughed and drank wine.  We celebrated an engagement, a new house, Christmas, and family togetherness.  My oldest brother asked me if I had decided on Prague, and without any hesitation I said, "I'm going."

I have never been so confident about a decision in my entire life.  No guilt, no regrets, no second guessing myself.  I'm still terrified, but in an oh-my-god-I'm-really-doing-this kind of way.

Eventually, you reach a point in life where you stop questioning your decisions, your abilities, and yourself and just do it.

People tell me I'm being selfish.  My oldest brother said he doesn't understand why I'm doing this.  Someone told me I'm destined to fail.

I've spent the last three years trying to make a difference in this world to save women's lives from cancer.  I have dedicated my heart and soul to helping others because it's just who I am, and because I genuinely care about others. 

You can't help others until you learn how to help yourself.

I've been struggling over the last month to put myself back together.  I spiraled into depression a couple weeks ago - something I haven't done since 2003 - and felt completely lost in life.  Maybe I am being selfish, but I think I deserve to be.  We all deserve to be a little selfish in order to live life on our own terms.

I haven't told that many people about Prague.  Not because I don't want to, but because I know what they are going to say.  Except this isn't about them, it's about me.  It's about rediscovering myself, uncovering a new type of happiness, and continuing to live life on my own terms.

"You don't have to understand why I'm doing this, you just have to support me."

My oldest brother doesn't get it because he spent nearly a decade in school to earn a PhD, and he has been working with BP since.  So yeah, he doesn't get why I'm doing this because his career path has always been shoveled for him. 

Not everyone will understand your decisions in life, or support the path you follow, but the only thing that matters is your ability to believe in yourself.  

And for the first time in a long time, I believe in myself, in my abilities, and in this.

"Letting go of all I've held onto..."

{{This post is part of #reverb10, an annual event and month-long online initiative to reflect on this year and manifest what's next for 2011.

Today's prompt:  Let go.  What (or whom) did you let go of this year?  Why?}}

After talking to a whore friend about today's prompt, I instantly thought of writing about letting go of my [former] best friend or letting go of a damaged relationship that I held onto for so long, but I realize that would be too easy because I've already blogged about that stuff.  You - and I - already know about that stuff.  

Letting go, of anything, is always the hardest part.  Because we don't realize just how difficult the process is until we're right in the thick of it.  But letting go is important in discovering what's important, who our true friends are, what we really deserve in a relationship, and how far we've come over the years.  If we held onto everything, we wouldn't get anywhere, right?

This year, I made a commitment to myself, to work through and let go of the raw, heart-wrenching pain of losing my parents.  Because at age 12 I didn't understand what losing a father really meant.  And at age 20, I was too busy trying to finish school to grieve properly for my mother.  This year was by far the hardest with Mother's Day, Father's Day, and the holidays.  While I believe that everything happens for a reason, I also believe that everything hurts for a reason.  The pain we feel is caused by someone or something.  The pain I felt earlier this year was by far the worst since losing both of my parents.

Letting go wasn't easy, and I'm still not completely 'there' yet.  I know I won't be 'there' for a very long time, if ever, but it took lots of tears, lots of reflection, lots of acceptance and lots of honesty for me to get to where I am today - and where I hope to be in the future.  It took spending most nights crying myself to sleep just so I could feel something other than numbness.  It took sitting in my room alone, consumed by sadness, just so I could acknowledge the pain.  

I've made some incredible strides in letting go of this pain.  I can finally tell a story about my parents and not well up.  I can finally talk about my father's suicide [somewhat] openly and not break down in tears.  It's not easy, but it's progress.  Big, big progress.  Monumental steps in letting go of all the raw, heart-wrenching pain I felt for the last seven years. 

Because once you hit rock bottom, there's only one way up.  And I know I'll get there.  Some day.

* title of this post can be heard in Hanging by a Moment by Lifehouse

giving thanks

 {via, yours truly}

for my oldest brother.  the one who has always guided me through life and helped me find the right direction.  the one who has provided me with more love and support over this last year, than ever before.  the one who nudged me to apply for graduate school to make my dreams reality.  the one who has always offered honest, valuable advice, even if I didn't ask for it.  for all of this and more, I'm so thankful.


for my older brother.  the one who sacrificed six years of his life so that I could graduate from college, get a job, and move across the state.  the one who has put my needs before himself, to make sure that I was happy.  the one who always brings us together on Thanksgiving and Christmas, to continue our family traditions.  the one who is struggling, but won't show it.  the one who always wants the best for me, whatever that may be.  the 'glue' that holds this family together.  for all of this and more, I'm so thankful.


for my parents.  the ones who gave me a better life.  the ones who provided me with a good education, good manners and kindness.  the ones who raised me right, who taught me the importance of gratitude, and showed me how to cook really good food.  the ones who put clothes on my back, a roof over my head, and delicious food on the table.  the ones who told me to fight for all of the things I want in life, to believe in myself, and to never stop smiling.  for all of this and more, I'm so thankful.

This Thanksgiving holiday (and every day), I'm thankful for my family.  The wonderful memories I have of my parents, and the wonderful moments I spend with my brothers. 

What are you thankful for?

on making it count

{PHL > SEA in March 2010}

In March, I went to Seattle to visit my cousin, Amoreena.  It was my first trip to Seattle and it was the first time in about 10 years since I had seen her.  Leading up to the trip, I was a bit anxious because I wasn't sure how the trip would go.  Would we get along?  Would the conversations flow?  Would we have much to talk about other than family stuff?

Amoreena and I basically grew up together.  We spent many family vacations together in Pittsburgh, Columbus, OH (where my grandmother lived) and Michigan (her hometown).  When my dad and grandmother passed away in the 90's, distance kept us apart.  We all got older, graduated from high school, went off to college, moved away from home and it just became way too difficult to plan vacations together.  Over time, it was tough to remain a part of each other's lives without feeling like we had to just because we were family.  Prior to my trip out to Sea-town, the last time I actually remember seeing Amoreena was at her mother's wedding in.... 1998? 1999?

We reconnected thanks to that evil thing called Facebook a few years back, and I will admit, I'm very grateful for it because it's allowed us to re-kindle our relationship.  But things are always different in person than they are online.  And relationships change over the years, especially from adolescence to adulthood.

My first night in Seattle we stayed up till 4AM (which was 7AM for me, since I was still running on East Coast time) drinking wine, talking, laughing, and doing a puzzle.  After that, I knew our weekend would be amazing.  And of course, it was.  Good conversation, delicious coffee (and wine), and spending quality time together.  It was exactly how I wanted the trip to be.  We created our own memories.

Tomorrow, Seattle invades Philadelphia.  My cousin has never been to the East Coast (shocking, I know).  We're going to cram a month's worth of activities into five days.  Wine and cheese night.  Game night.  Playing tourist.  Eating cheesesteaks.  Museums.  Playing at Condom Kingdom.  Going to a Haunted House.  I couldn't be more excited to spend time with her and show her my city and introduce her to my amazing friends. 

I don't get to see my extended family much so when I do, I make it count.  Because we should make every day count.  These next five days are sure to be epic and I can't wait.

Follow your yellow brick road

    "You, my friend, are a victim of disorganized thinking.  You are under the unfortunate impression that just because you run away you have no courage; you're confusing courage with wisdom."

We spend countless hours... days... even years... trying to find our own yellow brick road.  Teacher.  Lawyer.  Doctor.  Guidance Counselor.  We ace exams, complete internships and jump through hoops just to uncover a small brick in our road that will set the foundation for the rest of our lives.  We get to an age and stage in our lives where we begin questioning everything we once knew.  How did I get here?  What's next?  Am I really happy?  The Quarter-Life Crisis, as some calls it.  We constantly seek answers.  We constantly look for the next big thing.  We constantly turn our heads, peek through doors and search for that moment in our lives where everything just fits together.  And eventually - day after day, brick after brick - we lay the foundation for our own yellow brick road, and we begin to follow it.  We begin to see the twists and turns that we face as we continue walking down that road - illness, job loss, death of a loved one, a bad breakup.  With each turn, it gets harder and harder to stay on the road.  The turns become more sharp and more frequent, challenging us in every way possible.  Stamina.  Strength.  Endurance.  That's what it's about.  If you turn too late, you'll veer off course.  When you're lost in life, it's harder to find your way back.  

As you continue to work your way down that yellow brick road, you seek answers from people.  Strangers who don't know the answers.  Friends who don't have the courage to tell you when it hurts.  Family who may not have the heart to love you through all of your decisions.  But despite their flaws - and yours - you take those people with you, whether physically or emotionally, and you continue down your yellow brick road, determined to find out where it leads you.

Finally, you reach the end.  You face the toughest battle of your life, your own Wicked Witch: yourself.  Accepting yourself for who you are.  Believing in yourself when no one else will.  Loving every inch of yourself because you realize just how much you're worth and knowing what you deserve.  Finding courage and strength in yourself to conquer your dreams and fight for what you want.  And when you conquer that final battle, you finally see the rainbow.  It was there all along, just hidden behind the dark clouds, stormy days, and hard-fought-battles.

(via)

"Hearts will never be practical until they can become unbreakable."

* all quotes from The Wizard of Oz

Back to reality

Remember this episode of The Office?

Yeah, that was my weekend.  My friends and I attempting to act appropriately around my 61-year old [awesome] cousin, constantly hearing things like:

"it's so hard..."
"you can get in it from both sides."

It's amazing I'm still allowed out in public with this girl.  

But the weekend was amazing.

Laughter. Smiling. Pictures. Board games. Card games. Puzzles. Wine tasting. Sunsets. 

I'll be taking a brief respite (well, maybe) to catch up on work, gear up for my nonprofit's big charity event, and soaking in the last few days of my 26-year-old-ness (cue anxiety attack!).  But you can read more about my fabulous weekend here.

it's about accepting and owning the many pieces of your life

(via)

I sat there, talking about Elizabeth Gilbert, Jennifer Lancaster, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs.  

"I just can't find my voice." I said, "all of those authors talk about the detailed intimacies of their lives like it's no big deal."

"And why do you think that is?" she asked me.

I thought about it for a second.  "I don't know."

"What do all of those writers have in common?" she asked.  

The questions were getting a little annoying, but I know she was trying to get me to see the bigger picture.

"Me.  Because I read their books."  I smiled.  As she let out a laugh, I knew that probably wasn't the answer she was looking for.  

And then it hit me.  

It's about owning and accepting your life.  

...Accepting your past in order to get to your brighter future...

...Owning the mistakes you've made, the lessons you've learned and the experiences you've witnessed first-hand when you tell your story...

I've never been good with the whole acceptance thing.  Unless it's money or alcohol related.

Why yes, I will graciously accept that crisp $100 bill that I see poking out of your zipper wallet so you can buy me a drink.

See?  Easy acceptance.  

But accepting the dark and scary stuff?  It's too hard.  

TWSS.

As much as people tell me how brave and strong of a woman I am, I am embarrassed about my past.  The reality is, people look at me differently - whether in a good way or a bad way - and I hate that.  I hate being that girl with a broken past.  I know it's something I should be proud of, but I can't get myself to that point yet.  I can't accept how my life has turned out.  Which leads to the failure of owning it.  Which also leads to the failure of completing my memoir.

I've been working on my memoir a lot lately and I realized that I can't find my "voice" until I own my past.  David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs are such great writers and they write about the intimate details of their life because they have accepted and owned up to it.   

I want to get there, I just don't know how.

Where's "there?"

You know, there.  That point in life where you are completely comfortable.  You don't cringe when you have to recapture those tragic moments of your life.  You don't feel embarrassed when the only reply you get is, "I'm sorry." or "That sucks."  You don't feel judged or criticized.  You just feel... you.

I know getting there is a long, slow process.  It takes understanding and accepting the smaller things (like accepting the act of suicide before volunteering with suicide prevention) to accept the bigger things.  It's difficult to accept certain things in life that you feel you could have changed.  Or even prevented.  At 12 years old, I feel like I could have done or said something to change my father's decision.  I felt like I should have done something, even though none of us had any idea something was wrong with him.

Acceptance and ownership could be the missing pieces of my happiness, but at least I know I'm on the right track of getting there.  And one day, I'll be able to own my story.  And my memoir.

you can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girl

"Never forget your roots or the people who watched you grow up."

Conversations of family, friends, relationships, work, and memories over a three hour brunch with a former boss-turned-friend.  She provided me with my very first job, working at the University Library during my junior year of high school.  It was my first real experience in the work force and it was down right intimidating.  She showed me the ropes, introduced me to her colleagues and co-workers and before I knew it, I returned every summer thereafter.  Sure, the work was dry and mundane, but that experience set me up for my professional career.

As we get older, we sometimes forget those people who have watched us grow.  The neighbors and family friends who have, and always will, genuinely care about you: the neighbors whose children you grew up with and spent sleep overs at their house; the family friend who held both of your parents funerals at his Funeral Home and witnessed your worst moments; the former boss who nurtured the start of your professional career.  These are the people who truly matter.  These are the people who would do anything for you [or your family] because they have done nothing but love and support you after all of these years.  These people have watched you grow up, perhaps even along side their own children. 

Family isn't always defined by genealogy and DNA.  For some, it's defined by those people who have watched you grow up, seen you at your absolute best and worst in life, and have continued to stay a part of it.  When we lose someone close to us, we tend to lose touch with those who knew the deceased.  Whether it's a sibling, a best friend or a colleague - we forget that it wasn't just us who lost a loved one; they did, too.

"Don't say it to me unless you mean it."

We often say something just for the sake of speaking and not necessarily because we mean it.  We say something because it makes the other person feel good, not necessarily because we want to say it.  

I said "thank you" to my former boss-turned-friend as we were sitting at brunch, wrapping up our conversations.  I said it - not because she paid for brunch [although yes, I did thank her for that, too], but because she has provided me with undying love and support since I was seventeen, just as my own parents would have done for someone.  She lost a close friend and a colleague the same day I lost my mother, and it wasn't until we had brunch over the weekend and started reminiscing, that I realized she had been mourning for the last seven years, too.

We remember the impact of close friends and old lovers, but we forget about the impact of those who have literally watched us grow up.  We [sometimes] forget what kind of impact our hometown has on us - cultures, diversity, social scene, restaurants, sports teams, buildings - until we are old enough to appreciate it.  The beauty a city can have on a person is something to admire.       

blue balloon

As a kid, everything in life is all sunshine-y, butterflies, laughing and smiling.  You don't understand words like suicide, death and funeral.  You don't understand how those words are going to impact you later on in life. 

At 12 years old, I thought my parents would live happily ever after.  I would day dream of being an adult and bringing my own family home to Pittsburgh to my parents house for Christmas and Thanksgiving.  Or spending family vacations together, sitting on the porch on a warm, summer night, sipping wine and reminiscing over childhood stories at my cousin's cottage at the Finger Lakes. 

My father died in 1994.  His death never really impacted me as much as my mother's did.  Maybe because I am still traumatized over finding him hanging from a pipe in our basement, or maybe because I was too young to truly understand things like suicide.  Even now, at the age of 26 and being personally affected by it, I still don't understand suicide.  I don't understand why people do it.

Right after my father killed himself, I was ashamed at how my life turned out.  I was ashamed of talking about my father, thinking about him and looking at pictures of him.  When friends would ask me about my father, I would lie to them because I was so ashamed of being "that girl" who lost her father.  I didn't know anyone who had lost a parent and so I didn't want to believe I was different than anyone else.  I spent my life trying to fit into this world - knowing I look different than my friends and my brothers, knowing that I grew up in a white family, in a white neighborhood - I was ashamed of being even more separated from the world by being father-less. 

It's still painful to talk about it.  It's even more painful to think about him - more so because I never really had the chance to get to know my father.  At 12 years old, all I wanted to do was play in the park with my friends.  I didn't realize the importance of building a relationship with my father.  I missed out on one of the best things in life, but it doesn't mean I won't savor what memories of my father I do have.

Today, in honor of Father's Day, I ask a favor from my readers.  To those of you whose father's are still around, please take the time to cherish them.  Hug them tighter.  Appreciate them more.  Love them stronger than before.

(I'm a poet and I didn't even know it)

And remember those other people in your life who have lost their fathers.  Remember how difficult of a day Father's Day is and make sure you appreciate them just the same, because deep down they too are struggling with the loneliness that today brings.

A pink balloon for my Mother, a blue balloon for my Father.

Keep watching over me...

seven years

All it takes is one moment; one simple moment that changes the course of your life.


In wedding vows, you say "for better or worse."  But when you think about it, everything you do in your life is for better or worse. 

June 4, 2003.  I was in Pittsburgh mourning the loss of my mother.  That was the day my life changed.  While my friends were partying and drinking, I was settling an estate, closing accounts and planning funeral arrangements. 

For better or worse, I had to make a decision.  I could allow depression to take control of my life, or I could muster up whatever courage I had left and face this scary world ahead of me. 

Seven years later and I'm still standing on my two feet with more courage, strength, endurance and hope than ever before.  Sure, I have my moments when I feel defeated, lost and alone, but I take those days for what they are and make sure to make the next day a better one.

Today isn't about mourning or sadness.  Today is about embracing myself and being proud of how far I have come in the last seven years.  It's about embracing the strength and courage I have as I continue conquering the world on my own.  It's about being happy about the choices that I have made that led me to where I am today, for better or worse. 

Thank you, Momma, for shining down on me.
RIP
July 8, 1949 - June 4, 2003

 (via)

pink balloon

It's painful. 

Like a thousand needles stabbing every inch of your body simultaneously.  You wake up on this day feeling so helpless, almost dead, and all you want to do is let the pain take over.  You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing the pain would go away.  You wonder what it must feel like - a day without this pain; you wonder if you will ever wake up without this feeling ever again.

As you climb out of bed, every joint seems to ache a thousand times more than usual.  Your eyes well up and you sigh, trying to fight the tears.  You peek out the window.  It's sunny and windy.  Women are walking down the sidewalk wearing pink, pushing strollers, holding hands, receiving bouquets.  You close your eyes to blink and a tear escapes.

You avoid any reminders of what day it is, because the more you think about it and the more you witness things, the stronger the pain feels.  Instead of needles, it's knives - sharp knives penetrating every inch of your heart.

You feel guilty for feeling such pain because you know there are others out there who are experiencing worse things in life.  You know that life goes on - you've managed to survive so far - but today is the day that the sea of pink triggers the painful reminders, and the family brunches remind you of everything you have lost.  And you think, today, I'm allowed to feel this way.

Today, I had no Mother's Day brunch or family dinner.  I didn't participate in the Race for the Cure.  Instead, I spent today by myself, avoiding all things Facebook, Twitter, pink and the Art Museum area because it all bears painful reminders of what others get to celebrate and cherish and what I have lost. 

Each year it gets tougher and tougher, and the friend I wish would help me through this day, doesn't even acknowledge what today represents for me.

My heart aches.

All the time.

Every day.

A pink balloon

For my mother, on Mother's day.

Keep watching over me...

this is my confession:

"That's the thing ... there are some things people don't admit because they just don't like the way it sounds."

The first step in any road to recovery is admitting it.

The loneliness set in about three weeks ago.  I have been so busy with getting other things in order that it nearly caught me off guard.  I was sitting at home, watching a movie and I felt this sudden pain in my chest.  Not the I'm having a heart attack pain, but more like a deep weight setting on my chest.

For the last six years, I have battled depression.  I was diagnosed right after my mother passed away, and rather than take anti-depressants (I've witnessed first hand what it can do to a person), I decided I would fight it on my own.  Most times, I win.  But every once in a while, my depression wins.  And those times it does win?  It's beyond painful.  

Lately, I've been fighting a double battle - depression and loneliness.  I've been too scared to admit it to myself but I know fighting it will only do worse damage than working through it.  I'm lonely.  But not the I'm lonely and need a relationship or more friends to cure this way. 

I envy every single person who has the ability to talk to their parents whenever they want.  I lost both of my parents by age 20, and having to grow up without them truly sucks.  I knew it was going to be hard, but I guess I didn't realize it was going to be this hard.  Not a moment goes by when I don't think about them.  Everything I've experienced in the last six years, I've had to experience on my own.  I have no parental support system anymore.  And the love and support I have from my brothers and friends, don't make up for what I've already lost.  You can't replace the love and support of a mother or father. 

I don't regret anything I've done in my life.  Sure, maybe there were things I would have done differently, but I'm sure there are things in your life that YOU would do differently too, right?  Losing both of my parents at such a young age gave me strength.  Right after my mother died, I truly believed that my life was no longer worth living (if that's not a clear sign of depression, then I don't know what is).  And I may have explored certain options (think hard enough and I'm sure you can figure out what those 'options' were), but when it came down to it, I just couldn't do it.  My father actually executed that option when I was 12 years old and no good came out of it.  I didn't want to follow that same path.  I'm so much stronger than that, but it took six long years for me to finally realize it. 

I'm trying to recover from all of this, but I know it's not going to happen over night.  I've thought about therapy, but I tried that years ago and it didn't help at all.  Or maybe I just didn't like my therapist.  But I tend to believe that if I can't solve my own problems, then who can?

And yes, maybe I should feel guilty complaining about what I'm suffering through considering those children in Haiti lost everything, but you know what?  To each his own.  Everyone is suffering from something, and regardless of how big or small it is, it's just as important as what the person next to you is going through.

the past has left its stain

now I feel the shame

I'll seize the day
if you take away
the chains of yesterday

......

How do you say goodbye to someone?

I hate goodbye's.  Not in the 'Goodbye, I'll see you later' sense, but the 'Goodbye, forever.' sense.  I'm not good at saying goodbye to someone, knowing it's the end of everything.  I hate endings.  I hate the emptiness you feel when it's all said and done.   

Ignorance is bliss, afterall.

Over the last couple weeks, I've had to say goodbye to two people in my life.  One of whom, has already passed, and another of whom, is barely hanging on.  They say deaths happen in three's.  I don't want to know who the third person is.

Two years ago, doctor's found a brain tumor in my brother.  It was on his pituitary, which made the surgery less comprehensive, and it was also benign, which was a great thing.  The surgery went well, but he didn't recover as well as the doctor's would have liked.

This past Thanksgiving, I found out my brother needs another surgery.  This time it's more complicated and more extensive.  But just recently, I discovered that my brother has a 2% chance of survival from this surgery.  TWO PERCENT.  If he doesn't go through with this surgery, then he'll spend the rest of his life in pain.  So, my brother decided to go through with the surgery.

"I can't live the rest of my life like this," he told me.

I wanted to be selfish and tell him not to go through with the surgery, but I knew I couldn't.  I don't know the amount of pain he's experiencing right now.  I don't want him to spend the rest of his life being miserable and in pain.

His doctors have told us to hope for the best, but expect the worst.

When someone has a two percent chance of survival, how can you ever hope for the best?

My brother met with his attorney to draft up his will and make funeral arrangements.  I don't understand how he can remain calm and collected through all of this.  I can barely process any of it.  It's hard to say goodbye.  It's even harder knowing when you have to exchange those goodbye's.

I don't understand why bad things happen to good people. 

I'm not ready to say goodbye.

reflections, experiences, soul searching and my inner happiness

When I was home for Thanksgiving, I spent a lot of time reflecting back on what 2009 handed me.  Or maybe I should say, the decisions and mistakes I made lessons I learned. 

I realize, perhaps all too late, that our experiences shape our lives.  When you look back on your life, what do you remember most?  What gives your life any kind of substance?  Your experiences.  You remember the experiences that made you happy, and those that broke your heart.  You remember those experiences that challenged you to the very depths of your core, and those other ones that you hope to never live through again.  And hopefully, you learn from them.

At the young age of 26, I've experienced more than I wanted.  From bad friendships, to losing both of my parents, to breakups, to surviving cancer - these experiences (and all the other ones) have shaped my life.  In a way, they have made me the woman I am today - stronger, smarter and (hopefully) wiser.  I put a guard up to most people around me because I know that very few people in my life can be trusted.  I stand up for what I believe in because if I don't, neither will anyone else.  I work hard at everything I do because I truly believe it is the only way to become successful.  I take very few things for granted now a days.

With the New Year right around the corner, I have spent a lot of time soul searching.  Chalk it up to a quarter-life crisis, but I have recognized (again, perhaps all too late), that I'm searching for that missing piece of the puzzle to complete my inner happiness. 

2009 was surprisingly a good year.  I traveled, I tested my limits, I enriched my professional background and I created some great memories with some amazing friends.  That, in and of itself, is absolutely priceless.  But there's still something missing.  Yes, I'm happy, but I'm not completely happy.  I'm not inner-ly happy.  I'm just outer-ly happy.  Does that make sense?  I think I tend to portray a certain level of happiness to others around me so I don't show weakness.  I learned that weakness means vulnerability, and I hate feeling vulnerable to others.

About six months or so ago, I applied for a position with a government agency.  I never actually thought they would contact me about the job until recently when I received that phone call.  It took me by surprise, but a part of me felt happy.  But there's a catch (of course there is, nothing in life is easy, right?).  If I get cleared for this position, it means giving up my current life.  It means taking a respite from my friends, family and social life to pursue what could be a life-changing career.  It means permanently giving up my work in the non-profit field for a high-profile government career.  It means giving up that stability in my life and relocating every two years.  It means giving up everything I know for a life unknown.  Could I do it?  Absolutely.  Do I want to do it?  I'm still deciding.

2010 is my year of inner happiness.  I know I won't find my inner happiness immediately.  I also know that it could take an entire lifetime to find that inner happiness, but I want to know that by this time next year, I am one step closer to finding that inner happiness.  I want to know that I'm on the right path to living a good, successful, happy life, inside and out.  I want to know that I'm doing things for myself and no one else. 

Afterall... 

...I want to make the most of it.

family importance

Today is really Friday, but it feels like a Sunday.  I'm heading back to MY home tomorrow evening and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to it.  As much as I love spending time with my brother, I'm looking forward to going home to my own bed, my own room, my own house.

It's weird being home.  It's weird to drive down the same street I grew up on.  It's weird to walk into the same house I grew up in.

My brother asked me if I would ever move back to Pittsburgh.  Truth be told, never.  I know that sounds harsh, but Pittsburgh just isn't doing it for me anymore.  Besides my brother and a couple friends, I have nothing here for me.  The job market is lousy because the Steel City is still recovering from low-class economy.

I like the big city life because I never experienced it when I was growing up.  Our vacations were spent in upstate NY visiting family.  I guess I lived a somewhat sheltered childhood because I didn't grow up with cable television (my brother still doesn't have it - shocking, I know), central air (again, my brother still doesn't have it) or big vacation destinations.

My brother said something this weekend that really struck a cord in me:

"We were a poor family."

I never really considered my family to be "poor" growing up.  Sure, our parents never really bought us much stuff and we never wore labels, but I didn't think that meant we were poor.  But looking back on it now, our neighborhood is a low-class neighborhood (although you wouldn't think by looking at some of the houses in the area) and we went to a poor school district that was a center for school shootings (true story) and fights.
It's definitely not a school district I would ever send my kids to.  And while most school districts get better over time, it seems that ours has gotten worse.

I moved to a big city to give myself a better life.  I work hard for every penny I earn and I take pride in every penny I spend (regardless of my reasons for spending).  I don't have my parents income to fall back on.  I've used up some of my parents estate inheritance so I could put food on my table and a roof over my head.  I always thought I'd save that to buy my first house, but I've been using it to live my own life.

Last night my brother and I talked about something we rarely talk about - money.  While I've been trying to make a name for myself, so has my brother.  And only to realize now that he is a lot less fortunate than I am.  My brother basically put his own life on hold so that I could have one of my own.  He sacrificed his future [with his wife] so that I could have my "big city" life.  He's barely making ends meat.  He has no full-time job and barely any health insurance.  I want to help him but I'm at such a huge loss.  I owe him so much but I don't know where to begin.

Sometimes I really despise living 300 miles away from him because I can't spend more time with him like I have this weekend and I can't help him out with finances like he needs it.  Sure, I can send him money every once in a while, but I'd rather take him and his wife out to a nice dinner on a Saturday night because I know they'd appreciate that more.

It's been a rough Thanksgiving weekend for me between my dog dying and both of my brothers being very sick.  I'm shocked I haven't had a huge mental break down yet.  But this weekend definitely made me realize and value the importance of family.  It's difficult when all three of us live so far away from each other, but it makes "going home for the holidays" so much sweeter.


As much as I'm looking forward to going back to my home, I can't wait to come back to this home for Christmas...

praying

As the last hour of Thanksgiving Day ticks, I feel myself being more thankful for my family now, more than ever. 

Last Fall my brother underwent brain surgery to remove a benign tumor on his pituitary.  It was in the smack-dab middle of his brain and they had to go up through his nose to remove the tumor.  At the same time, he was diagnosed with diabetes and vertigo, making his health now even worse.  His tumor came back about six months ago, so they put him on anti-tumor pills, but his sinus infections seem to trigger his vertigo, making most days unbearable for him to even get out of bed.

I'm not religious, but I find myself praying for my brother with every day that passes.

Today, I'm going to pray even harder.

My brother called to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving and update me on his life.  We don't really talk much over the phone (mainly because he's too sick to talk for extended periods of time), so any communication we have is via text message or email.  It was nice to hear his voice though.  I haven't seen him since last Christmas, and I really missed him at Thanksgiving dinner tonight.

Anyway, tonight as he was updating me on school, work and health, he mentioned he will be getting another surgery in late January.  This time it's to help alleviate his meniere's disease.  While the surgery has a 70% success rate, it could also permanently make him deaf. 

It's all overwhelming and I'm barely processing all of it.  Mainly because I don't want to process any of it.  I hate seeing my brother so sick.  He's supposed to be the strong one in the family.

Today, I'm thankful that my brother's are still with me.  I'm thankful for quality time together, for laughing with them, for making jokes (and being the butt of them) and for all of our childhood memories that I'll carry with me to my grave.  Today, more than every, I'm thankful that I have the two best brothers in the world, even if we don't have the best relationship, even if we aren't that close.

Be thankful for your family, your friends and everything you've experienced in your life ... because you never know when it will be taken away from you. 

counting my blessings

"Cause I'm thankful for the blessings

And the lessons that I've learned..."

I'm thankful for:

having relatively good health. being with family. having food on my plate on this day. laughing. breathing. crying. soldiers over seas who are fighting for our freedom. television. football. pumpkin pie. puppies. memories with my family. smiling. reminiscing. good friends. my job. my other job. being an advocate. being a survivor. providing for myself. good days. warm weather. internet. laziness. sleeping. talking. a warm blanket. heating my house. hot chocolate with a shot of baileys. delicious thanksgiving food. being a good cook. my parents providing me with a great life. hope that I can provide my future children with the same. knowing both of my brothers and I will be together for Christmas. a few days away from work. quiet moments. relaxing moments. holidays.

Wishing you and your family a wonderful Thanksgiving!

16 years

They say a dog is a man's best friend.  I've lost pets before - bunnies, guinea pigs, and even other puppies - but this one somehow seemed more painful than the rest.

I remember getting my puppy from a pet store on my brother's birthday.  I was so excited to have my first puppy - or at least a puppy to call my own.  We took her home and provided her with a great life.  It's always painful when they get sick or you have to take them to the vet for something.

Today, I came home to make the decision to put my puppy down.  She had been very sick for a while - throwing up, urinating around the house and days when she could barely walk around or even eat.  The moment she saw me, she immediately perked up, waged her tail and starting giving me kisses.  Those are the moments I'll always cherish.  But I could tell she was sick.  She limped around, she whined a lot and she just looked ... sick.  It broke my heart seeing her in that state, but as much as I wanted her with me still, it killed me to see her in such pain.  Deep in my heart, I know I made the right decision.  I know she's living a happier life.

She had a wonderful life and she gave me 16 wonderful years full of memories, love and happiness.  I know she was "just a dog" but she was part of my family and I loved her like I would love my own child.  Heartbreaking doesn't even describe it.

May she rest in peace.

Sunday Bullets

• Today I slept in 'till 1:30PM and I woke up feeling somewhat refreshed.  It felt so awesome.  I wish I could sleep in every day.
• In an effort to enrich my education, I went to Barnes and Noble this weekend and bought a book on fundraising for non-profits guide.  Now, I don't usually buy that kind of stuff (mostly because I want to think I have all the answers when in reality, I don't), but I'm trying this thing called "reaching out and asking for more help."  So I spent a good part of today reading the book and taking notes.  It's actually quite helpful and I'm learning a lot more about fundraising and how to run a non-profit.  
• The upcoming work week is a short one (thank god) and I'm gearing up for a trip back home.  Surprisingly, I'm looking forward to going home and spending quality time with my family, regardless of how chaotic Thanksgiving day is going to be.  I'll be sure to pack my xanax and four bottles of wine in my luggage.
• I just realized that after I come back from Thanksgiving, my sports leagues start up.  I'll now be playing hockey on Tuesdays, co-ed soccer on Thursdays and women's soccer on Sundays.  Not to mention, my big hockey tournament in two weeks that I forgot I signed up for.  But you know what's even more awesome?  My ankle.  Giving me issues.  Especially at night when I wake up in the middle of the night and it's THROBBING (that's what she said).  
• One more week left of NaBloPoMo.  I can't effing wait until November is over.  And I'm never doing NaBloPoMo ever again.  I thought it would be cool to post every day, about all kinds of creative things, but now I realize I have nothing creative to write about - or maybe I'm just suffering from writer's block this month.  One this is over, I plan on taking a respite from blogging.  Maybe.
• My attempt at Christmas shopping this weekend failed.  Instead I went out to lunch with a friend, went to the book store, and then proceeded to buy a housewarming present for a friend.  Epic Fail.
• I'm glad Thanksgiving is this week because not only is it my favorite holiday, but it means I have a 4.5 day vacation where I can sleep in, eat lots of yummy food, drink and sleep some more.  It's going to be awesome.

Finally, I leave you with a joke.  Ahem.  Get ready, it's a good one.

Which sexual position produces the ugliest children?

Ask your mom.

Thank you and good night!

is it ever enough?

{picture taken by yours truly, edited in Picnik}

If love is all we need, then why are we constantly searching for more of something else? 

I find myself always looking for something.  A really good book.  A new pair of jeans.  A new restaurant to try.  A new city to explore.  I want more.  I feel like I'll never be satisfied with what I have, where I'm going, and what I'm doing.

I took the last few days off while my cousin was in town.  No work, no nonprofit stuff, no mind-drifting.  I was consumed in wine, cheese, conversations, laughter, taking pictures and walking.  Lots and lots of walking.  We had a Girls Night, toured our Nation's Capital, and shared stimulating conversations with the boy over delicious beers.  As wonderful as the weekend was though, I wasn't completely satisfied.  (TWSS)  Something was missing.  Something just didn't feel right.  I wanted more, but I didn't know what of.

Why is it, when our lives are filled with so many wonderful things - like a good job, great friends, passion, and laughter - are we always looking for something else?  Are we ever satisfied?