Since I’ve been in DC just over a week now, I’m realizing that I’m not in Kansas — rather, Chicago — anymore. Here’s the first installment of things I’m learning about living somewhere other than the midwest:
DC Living, Part I:
1) It is HOT here. I know it’s hot in Chicago and Michigan right now, too. But I’ve never had a summer with this kind of unrelenting heat and humidity. We had a little cold front of 80 degrees today, and I threw on a cardigan. That’s plenty warm in the midwest, but here, it almost feels cold after the 90-plus-degree days we’ve had since I moved here. And everyone who lives here tells me to get used to sweating nonstop for a few months.
2) Everything is old. That sounds silly, I get it. But this was the original coast! Where the US started! Even my house is super old, and it creaks allll the time. There is no way to move quietly in this place. Anyway, I actually really love how much history there is though! Chicago was a fairly new city since most of it burned down in 1871 and was rebuilt after, so this is pretty cool. Once I get all settled, get my classes set for the fall, and find a job, I am going to take a day to play tourist, big time. And I’ve got a few friends coming in soon, too, so I get to drag them around to everything with me!
3) I need to always carry at least $20 on me. This isn’t a huge deal, but cabs aren’t legally required to accept credit or debit cards here like they are in Chicago. Something I need to keep in mind, although I’ve been walking almost everywhere, so hopefully it won’t be a big deal!
4) Everyone here is smarter than I am. Either that or we midwesterners just don’t use all of our 50-cent words in one sentence and we’re more subtle about our intelligence? Jury is still out. Everyone here is super involved active, too, though, so I’m loving it! Already trying to figure out what groups I should join to meet people, and there is definitely no shortage of organizations in which to get involved.
5) Everyone here is from somewhere else. I’ve met very few people who are actually from DC, which is nice, because I feel a little less out of place. I don’t have people asking about an accent or telling me I seem like a midwesterner. At least, not yet.
Today is my 27th birthday. I usually plan a post out and make goals and lists and talk about how much I’ve grown. I’m not going to do that this year. For one, I kind of forgot about posting until 20 minutes ago, and just wanted to get something out before the clock struck midnight. This one may not be planned, but it’s tradition afterall.
I’m not even going to link to last year’s post because it had a lot of goals in it…and a lot of them I did not accomplish. Somehow, I’m really not that upset about it. And this year? I’m not going to make another list. I’m feeling pretty good about life, honestly. I’ve got some goals up in this noggin of mine, but I think I’ll keep them there for now. They’re still growing and developing. I’m not even sure what they are yet. Also, I accomplished one of the big ones just a few days ago — I moved to Washington, DC. I also moved here because I’m starting grad school in the fall. So I guess we can check two off the list.
The other reason I’m not listing goals out is because I’ve found out in the last few months that wonderful things happen when you let go of an agenda and just see what happens. (Wait now, did I just accomplish three of last year’s goals?) Maybe knowing that I was leaving was what I needed… I slowed down, made sure to connect with friends new and old (well now, that seems to be another one of last year’s goals I can cross off), and lived in the moment. I was planning on moving home to Michigan from Chicago for a few months before DC, but I changed my mind at the last minute, crashed with an amazing friend with a spare bedroom, and had the best time I’ve ever had in Chicago. The Windy City and I ended on lovely terms — an amicable breakup indeed.
I think I just kind of let go and trusted that I could do what I needed to (and that the Big Guy in the sky would guide me along the way) — without an exact plan. So I stayed in Chicago for three additional months and completely changed how I looked at life. Just as I was packing my bags, a freelance project from an old job fell into my lap. A BIG one. And I was working on my own terms for the most part (let’s call that #4 checked off).
Just as I was ready to start over in DC, I realized how amazing my group of friends was and how much I had taken people for granted. So I dove into strengthening those great relationships — even if it meant I would miss them even more after the move. And I acted like I was 13 (and maybe 21, too) A LOT. (Ding, #5)
I took a breath and said, ‘hey, body, we’re still going to work on things, but we’re in this together, so we need to get along.’ And I stopped obsessing for a few minutes about how I looked, even though I was taking better care of myself and actually enjoyed dressing up and developing a personal style I thought I’d lost (is that six goals down now?).
I met more people and made more awesome connections in the past six months than I did in the previous four years — including a really important one with myself. My energy, my life, my happiness all came back. It was as if God or the universe or the little voice in my own head that I had been ignoring just told me ‘WAIT. Fix this. Figure it out. And stay before you go.’
And it made all the difference. It was as if that was finally, truly exactly where I was supposed to be in life. And I’m so glad that 26 — wonderful, imperfect, messy 26 — led me to this 27. Maybe I didn’t accomplish all of my goals for 26 (Oh, what the heck, here they are), but I think I got the important ones.
Can we just discuss something for a sec? This has been bothering me for a while now, and being at home in Michigan has really set it off. I don’t normally get all shout-y and political on you, but this is my random blog (Body FM has its own nice, calm health agenda), and I guess being shout-y and political is part of who I am.
So let’s talk. Are you a feminist?
Oh, I KNOW. No way! You don’t hate men, you aren’t burning your bra, you aren’t marching around with signs in front of Romney campaign offices. Or whoa! You’re man, so no way, you couldn’t be a feminist!
Well I don’t do any of those things either, and I happily call myself a feminist. I like men quite a bit, actually. I am rather fond of my VS Very Sexy. I’m really terrible at making posters because my handwriting and art skills look like those of a kindergarten child. But I love the F word and wear it loud and proud. I also know a lot of stereotypically masculine men that do, too.
Ladies, do you want to be equal to men? Do you want to be able to make the choice between working in the home or out of it? Do you want to be able to make choices about your own body, whether those choices mean popping out as many babies as possible and not using contraception or opting not to have children?
Guys, do you think that your coworkers who identify as women– the ones who do the exact same job that you do — should be making the same amount of money? If you’re heterosexual, do you not want your significant other to be your equal partner? Do you believe she’s any less of a person? Are you all for making sure that women are protected against violence caused because of their gender?
Then guess what, folks. You’re feminists! Don’t freak out, it’s not quite as dire as it sounds. There’s no cure, and it’s really easily spread. But… that’s kind of a good thing. If it really kills you, don’t call it feminism — call it humanism or equalism (equality, I know, but I’m going with the isms here) or whatever you need to to help you not hyperventilate when you talk about your views, but know that feminism is what you’ve got and a feminist is what you are. I like to think that most of the people in my life are feminists, whether they own up to it or not. If they truly aren’t though, and secretly harbor loads of misogynistic thoughts, they should probably quietly show themselves out of my life. But honestly, most of my friends and family know that I am just as much of a person with just as valid of an opinion as anyone else — man or woman. Whether they choose to use the other F word is up to them.
What do you think? Based on the descriptions I gave, do you consider yourself a feminist? What’s your reasoning? If the F word leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you’re all about a level playing field, what did that for you?
And since we all know I love my corresponding music, here’s a throwback:
So, let’s talk about hair, shall we? As much as it’s a part of everyday life, and we generally don’t give it much thought, it plays a pretty big role in how we see ourselves.
Recently I decided to cut my hair. I wanted to donate it, and, as I felt like I was on the brink of a new chapter in my life, I was going to get a fresh new cut for a fresh new me. And well, that’s not what happened. I mean… technically it is, but that’s not ALL that happened.
On the Tuesday morning I was going to get my hair cut, I sprung out of bed, excited to cut my crazy long hair and try something new. I planned on getting a long bob, and was going to print out pictures of Liv Tyler and Jennifer Aniston as examples of what I wanted. I wanted to keep it long-ish, because as anyone who knows me has seen, I have this thick, wavy hair that half the time is really beachy-boho-sexy and the other half of the time is dirty-hippie-crazy-homeless-woman. And I really have no control over its decision unless I straighten the decision right out it, and even then it sometimes rebels. Anyway, I still wanted the option of letting it air dry without it poofing out on me, so a little length was key. Plus, I’m a personal trainer, so pulling it back is kind of important to keep it from suffocating me and getting in my eyes while I work out.
Well, the thing is, I am a product of my parents’ genes (which my sister somehow escaped), and I am perpetually 5 minutes behind schedule. So that morning, printing an example picture of my dream hair fell by the wayside. But I mean, how hard could it be? It was just a bob, but long! Piece of cake, right?
Of course not. Especially because anytime anyone leads into a story with ‘piece of cake, right?’ it means that something went horribly wrong. The first thing was that I went to the Aveda beauty school by me because I’m cheaper than almost everyone I know. (In the school’s defense, I’ve actually gotten some killer haircuts there.) The second thing was that I was set up with a student who was just really into experimenting with his clients’ hair. At one point, he said to me, ‘Ohh, I always go a little funkier than people want at first then see what they say!’ What? No. This is not how you satisfy customers. Long story short (pun absolutely intended), the guy cut off 12 inches of my hair, instead of the eight I was planning on donating to Pantene’s program. Do you know what that gave me? Not a long bob, I can tell you that.
After he was done, and after I had been watching his instructor in the mirror, staring and whispering with another instructor, I had a bad feeling. It looked… okay? Maybe? From the front at least, but the back was shorter than I have ever had it, and I was freaking out. Then the instructor came to fix it, because in his words, ‘it looks like two different hair cuts in the front and back,’ and it got even shorter. They turned me around, and I started crying.
Let me tell you, by the way, that I am not a public crier. I hold it in and then explode when I’m alone and have access to a large pillow that I don’t mind getting mascara stains on. But oh, MAN, did I cry. I left the salon whimpering, and then turned on my heel and came back sobbing (and uh, raging). This needed to be fixed or refunded or SOMETHING. So I talked them into fixing it in a few weeks (it was still really uneven and weird) and I got the instructor to show me how to style it, because this short hair thing was completely foreign territory for me. I think they just wanted to get me out of there, though, because I was scaring clients and making a scene, and I may have wailed the phrase, ‘I don’t even feel pretty anymore.’
After crying to my mom and finally texting her pictures, I took a deep breath and forced myself to face the reality that short of getting a weave of my own hair, there was nothing I could do that this point. So I reminded myself that hair grows and gave myself a pep talk about how I was just going to rock this new ‘do, and that was that.
And you know what? I totally have been. As much as we think so little about our hair (or maybe that was just me), it plays a really integral part in how we see ourselves. Whereas before, I felt like I was a free spirit and this classic girl next door type, now I feel a little bit edgier, and like I stand out in a sea of women with Kardashian hair (I’m not hating, I still miss swinging my hair around like I’m in a shampoo commercial). I also feel like I pull it together a little bit more often — both physically and mentally. I forgo the yoga pants a lot more these days in favor of an actual outfit that does not involve athletic apparel and I take pride in my appearance. It’s not that I didn’t before, but something is so different about how I do it now. I also get my head on straight a lot faster when a crisis comes up. If I start to panic, I just look in the mirror and see this in-charge woman, and I know that I can handle whatever gets thrown at me that day.
It might sound so shallow, but it changed my attitude. A drastic change in your physical appearance is a lot to handle, especially if it’s not something you particularly wanted. It takes some adjusting to, and it forces you to shift your perspective. I know that hair does indeed grow, and that I wasn’t horribly disfigured, but when something that I used to get a lot of compliments on, and that I considered part of my identity, was yanked away from me, it took its toll. And it took a minute to realize that I was still me. Physically, I kept getting a shock every time I looked in the mirror, and mentally, I wondered who I was now. Was I The Girl With the Short Hair? What did that mean? When cancer patients decide to shave their heads to keep that power, to take their hair away before the cancer and the treatments can, I get it, and I commend them. But I’m realizing that I’m not that brave. Although cancer has affected many in my family, I don’t think I ever actually considered the possibility of what I would do if that were me. If just a haircut affected me so deeply, I just…have no idea.
But you know what? I think I’m discovering that while I may be a bit cowardly, I am braver than I thought. I realized I had been hiding behind my hair. Sure, it was pretty, and there are some days when I miss it, and I can’t promise that I won’t grow it back out, but I think that now that I have less hair, I have more me. I have nothing to shield me, nothing to protect me, and I almost feel a bit more alive. As if I can now say, ‘Here I am, world! Take it or leave it!’ Of course, I could have said that before, but there’s something about being so exposed that makes you want to put yourself out there even more. The other night, I was out for a birthday dinner with a bunch of girlfriends, almost all of them with long, swingy hair, and as I looked around the table, I just felt really content with myself. Not smug or self-involved, just self-assured and appreciating but not envying these girls with hair just like I used to have. I turned to one of my best friends and said, ‘You know, I think I’m liking this hair these days.’ To which she replied, ‘It’s because it’s YOU. The long hair was pretty, but there’s just something about this that fits you so perfectly. Just completely you.’ And for the first time in a long time, long hair or not, that’s how I felt. Like me.
Who knew hair could be such an emotional topic, eh? I didn’t. And while I really am not my hair, I think in between the dyeing and cutting and ironing and curling and looping and piling and pinning, it’s done a pretty good job in helping me figure out just who I am. And if this is what it’s done so far, I’m kind of excited to hear what it’s going to tell me next. I had no idea that I would like this new me or new cut at all, so it’s gotta be keeping a few things from me. I don’t know, must be full of secrets.
(By the way, 1) you really actually need to watch this video. Watch for sunglasses in the bathtub. and 2) I never got what this song was about until… now. [Facepalm here])
I feel like I am just bursting with excitement lately. I’ve got so much to look forward to, and it makes even the little things even more exciting. It kind of feels like this really great spillover from one aspect of my life into all of the other ones. So what am I excited for lately?
The Big
Grad School! Most of my friends said they thought it was a given, and I had a feeling I was as good as in, but you just never know! Finally having my acceptance makes me so happy and takes a huge weight off of my shoulders. Especially since I, uh, only applied to one school.
Moving to DC this summer! Obviously I’m excited about school itself and studying Public Health, but I’m incredibly pumped about where I’ll be studying it. After graduating (almost five years ago — how did that happen?!), I had planned on getting out of the midwest, but it just didn’t happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a midwestern girl at heart, and always will be, but I knew I needed to see the rest of the country. So here’s the first step! I also feel like it’s such a vibrant, passionate city, and I cannot wait to be a part of it.
Being closer to my sister. My little sister/BFFAEAEAEAEAEA lives on the west coast now with her husband. But this summer she’ll be on the east coast too! Not right next door, but close enough for weekend trips. I cannot wait to see them both more often than once or twice a year.
The Little
Being home in Michigan this week. I was so happy to be home, hanging out with my parents this week. They came to Chicago for Easter and I just hitched a ride back. There’s just something so comforting about being in the house you grew up in and sleeping in the bed you did in high school (although the whole twin bed thing is not so great anymore). And being around my parents for the whole week is great because I’m making up for all the hugs I’ve been missing out on in Chicago. They really don’t mind when I ambush them for a squeeze. Also, DRIVING. City folks without cars get it. I don’t drive in Chicago and won’t in DC, so this is great that I get to practice (I really am terrified that I’ll forget) and not feel at the mercy of public transit.
Seeing my best friend this weekend. My BFF Meggie and I have known each other since third grade, and I am so happy that I get to see her! The last time we spent much time together was her wedding this past summer, so I’m excited to have a girls’ night with her … and maybe her husband. He and I are actually good friends, and I introduced them (call me Patti Stanger) a few years ago, so it will be nice to see them both!
Having friends. That I make plans with. OK, so I’ve always had friends, but I feel like I keep running into old ones and meeting new ones! This may seem a little silly, but I am on a ROLL with my social life lately. But, to be fair, I think I’m just making up for about two years in Chicago where I didn’t want to go out ever and never accepted invitations because I was in my own little black hole (more on that and how I fixed it later). So really, this is 24 to 36 months rolled into about two months, which is all I have left in Chicago. I also can’t help but think that this is an upward spiral — I’m so positive and happy about everything that I’m attracting new and old friends into my life, and then of course, having friends and people to reach out to and hang out with makes me happy, and thus the cycle continues.
The Michigan spring football game. I bleed blue. I really do. I am so obnoxiously proud of where I went to school, and I don’t even care that this is precisely the reason the other Big 10 schools roll their eyes at us. I was raised on Michigan football, but I’ve never been to a spring game! So on my way out of town, my parents and I are going to the Big House. Hail to the Victors, baby.
Working my new haircut. So, I’ve got a big post coming about this later, but I recently cut my hair. And not a trim. I went from long, flowing Kardashian-minus-the-extensions hair to an angled bob, donating 12 inches in the process. I didn’t actually want to cut it that short, and I cried when they turned me around in the chair. But now I am SO happy I did it. I’m more confident, more professional, more carefree, more everything. I’m ME on steroids (I mean, figuratively). And I’m getting hit on more too, which shocked me. So…win for the bob, I guess.
I mean, maybe I’m getting too excited about everything, but at this point, I just don’t care. I feel like myself for the first time in a looooong while, so I’m going to run with it. In the past few years following college, there were too many times where I didn’t look forward to anything, and I couldn’t have gotten worked up at all, even if you waved a check for $1,000,000 in my face. So now, I’m soaking up every single second of this feeling and just living every day with every excitement, every letdown, and everything in between.
I’m so excited, and I just can’t hide it. [Insert cliche Saved by the Bell joke here if you’d like.]
I’m back in Michigan for the week, visiting my parents, and there are just some things I always forget about my hometown that I miss a little when I head back to Chicago…
Driving everywhere. Parking lots. GM cars as the norm.
6% sales tax.
Listening to the radio. And remembering that there are people out there who actually like Nickelback — not ironically.
A golf course every mile in every direction.
Hills (at least relative to Chicago’s pancake landscape). More green than gray.
Halo Burger. Ziggy’s. Big Boy. Rite Aid. Kroger.
Lounging in my parents’ living room full of books and sunlight, reading and hanging out with Merlin, the cat that thinks he’s a dog.
Ann Arbor. Michigan football games (going to the Spring game Saturday!).
Ah yes, there are certain things that absolutely make me feel like I’m home again.
And in other news, I got into grad school for Public Health in DC so I’m going to have a new home soon!
Since the month-long bootcamp I bought on Living Social has a waitlist until mid-April, I’m going to try this at home today (Friday). It’s Fitness, Baby.
Also, can I just say that it’s kind of BS that this bootcamp is booked until then? Being a fitness professional myself, I know that the companies I’ve worked for have always honored people’s deals and we’ve tried to get people in as soon as we could. We also didn’t let people book months in advance so that we didn’t have waitlists like this. Just a little frustrated, especially since I may be going home to MI for a few weeks and after that may be living in a different apartment that isn’t convenient to the bootcamp location at all, which is why I bought it in the first place.
OK, stopping my white-girl whine to go sweat. Have a fab weekend!
Remember how I said you should take a look back at my archives and see how this blog started? After doing just that myself, I changed my mind. [Note to self: I thought you learned that whole ‘think before you speak’ thing? No?]
I used to use emoticons. And I loved parentheses even more than I do now. It’s not pretty, so maybe…just don’t. I’m not going to take those posts down or delete them, because it’s important to see where I’m coming from, but taking a peek at them was…painful. And while looking back at the person I used to be is interesting, I’m glad I’m not there anymore — in my writing and who I am as a person — despite everything I learned. Like that using winky faces isn’t really putting my English degree to use and that if I talk about my goals too much they seem to lose a little value.
But can we talk about how it’s been over TWO YEARS since I posted on this blog? And how I abandoned it over on Blogger to start up Body FM, my fitness blog? And how I thought I wanted to really focus on health and less on my personal life or the ridiculous circus happening in this head of mine?
All those things are true, but I’m kind of feeling like… like… I need an outlet. And one that’s not fitness related. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a trainer, and I still love all things health, and I’m not sure I should ever tell anyone everything that goes on in my brain, but I just kind of want to chat, you know? Like I would with my girlfriends or family members or the random people that talk to me in Starbucks — not like I would with my clients (although for the record, I LOVE my clients). I wanted a place to just WRITE — for me and for any brave soul who wants to read. I call myself a writer, but I’ve been so uninspired lately, thinking I could ONLY write about health, that I haven’t done the title much justice. So… writing. That’s what I’m doing with The Verbal Filter here (the name’s rather deceiving since I don’t actually have much of one). I’m going to talk. And you’ll know it’s me, because there will be lots of tangents and parenthetical phrases and lengthy sentences. Get excited.
Honestly, I know this is going to be a weird jump (hey 22, how have you been?), but if you are just dying to know what has happened in the last 2.5 years of my life, look here or here (MAN, I have really gotten around the Internet). They both tell the story (or lack thereof) in very different ways, sooo, actually, you might just want to skip that. I don’t know.
And finally, the last order of business on this second inaugural (is that a thing?) Sunday night on The Verbal Filter is post titles. Anyone who has ever read this blog in the past or braves venturing into the archives might notice that I’ve tried to make every title either a song title or lyric (uh, see above). While I like the idea in theory, because music is such a huge part of who I am, I might abandon the practice, as some past titles were a bit of a stretch. I’m bad at titles as is (I will write a novel one day and never publish it because I won’t know what to name it), so I worry that might make them even worse. I welcome any and all thoughts on this. And really anything else you want to talk about.
The Verbal Filter 