Happy Trails

I’m always impressed by people who say that they “love” what they do for a living; at least those whom I believe. People who love what they do exude happiness in such a way that there is no reason to doubt their sincerity. They speak of “living a dream” and having “passion” for their work or cause. They share stories of dressing in a police officer uniform for Halloween every year of their childhood, to then growing up to proudly wear the real thing. Honestly, though, how many of us have childhood dreams that translate into adult possibilities? How many of us can even say with certainty what we’re truly passionate about? Over the years, I have wanted to be a ballerina, a country western singer, a television news reporter, and an American Gladiator. I’ve been passionate about, if not thoroughly enamored with, plans of feeding the homeless, mentoring inner-city children, rescuing animals, and in my spare time, reading to the elderly. And with all of these dreams and lofty ideals, I have become a lawyer.

I think that for many of us, my self included, we choose a path based upon what we’re good at, but not necessarily something we have passion for. Sometimes, we make decisions that create their own paths, and we follow because we feel like we have no choice. And then of course, there are those of us who simply do “something” because something is better than nothing, and to do nothing is not an option.  The problem doesn’t lie in the fact that we may have made a wrong turn, but rather that some of us never once consider stopping to check a map or ask for directions when we get lost.

I have a theory based on anecdotal evidence (collected from the two people who live in my house), that the idea of finding one’s passion in life seems frivolous when there are student loans to be repaid, car payments to make, and air conditioners to run. If we (ok, my husband and I) were ever going to find our passion, the time was back in school, before we picked a major and set out on a road that seemingly has no turnoffs, runaway ramps, or rest stops. Relaxing and trying to take our minds off of work when we’re at home has become the closest thing to a passion that either of us has.

But last night, while lying awake at 3:00 a.m., because this is when we do our best thinking, we may have stumbled onto something. Suppose we actually made the effort. What if we actually explored things that we get fired up about when we see a story on the news or followed up on an article that piqued our interest? What if we tried out 20 new hobbies until one stuck? What if we lived our lives on purpose, fully engaged and open to the possibility that maybe we haven’t chosen the wrong road, just the wrong lane? To give deliberate thought and energy to the pursuit of our passions may just lead us to a place where what we do and what we love is the same thing. 

To a certain degree, it takes courage and humility to admit that you’ve made some wrong turns, and choices you regret. I’ve had to admit that I’m not entirely happy with myself. I’m happy in my marriage, happy in my friendships and other relationships; but there is a nagging feeling that there is something I should be doing that I’m not doing. Since kindergarten I’ve been the kind of girl who could get by pretty well giving only a middling effort. In those areas that interested me, though, I could excel. And even though excelling mattered to me, nothing mattered more to me than the approval of others. Because of this mind-set, I became good at quite a few things, but not singularly great at any one thing. In recent years, I have begun shedding a bit of this part of me, and as a result, have found tremendous happiness. But I know that there is more happiness to be experienced if I simply force myself to take a different route to work from time to time.

Happiness is not an accident. It is a choice. It’s a result of the choices we make, the ones we avoid making, and sometimes the choices that are made for us. By making the choice to figure out where my passion lies, I believe I’ve made a choice to be profoundly happy.

The Facebook Fallacy

I may be exposing a most insecure side of my personality here, but so be it. Recently, I’ve been dealing with a bout of Facebook envy. Facebook can be a dangerous place for a woman in her late 20s; full of babies, gorgeous weddings, vacation photos, and grand announcements. Having reconnected with friends from childhood and distant branches of my family tree, I’m interacting with people with whom I haven’t had a real conversation since grade school, if ever.  I’m discovering that some of my long lost friends haven’t changed much at all from our playmate days, while others are nearly unrecognizable. Some have gotten married, started families, or started families and then gotten married. Some still live at home, and some have homes that rival the dream house that exists only in my wildest dreams. Some got started a long time ago, and some would rather be pushed from a moving car than be forced to settle down right now. A few are living their dreams, while others begin wistfully wishing for the weekend on Monday at 9 a.m. As happy as I am right now, seeing the lives of my 387 “friends” depicted in picture albums, status updates, links, and 20 second video clips has done more than a little to shake my confidence.

While I am fully supportive of those who wish to hold on to youth for as long as nature, their parents and society will let them, it’s those friends who have forged ahead into adulthood who have me wondering if I missed the bus that swung by about five years ago to pick us all up. I’m married, but definitely a newlywed. I’m childless with no immediate plans to be otherwise. I’m three years out of law school, but the bar exam is still fresh in my mind and my new business is still in the infant stage. I have never bought a new car and the thought of having to clean anything more than the two bedrooms and two bathrooms of my condo is downright terrifying. I’ve never been much of a crowd follower, but my Facebook friends have me envying the very lifestyle that I know I’m not ready for yet.

The other day, I was feeling especially mope-y, and almost shared it with the Facebook universe. I stopped myself. Aside from lamenting a bad headache, or a crappy workday, I only share a carefully crafted version of myself online; the wittiest, thinnest, happiest, smartest self I can create. I edit my thoughts before they make it into a status update. I delete the most unflattering photos from picture albums and make sure that no one has tagged a picture of me on their own page that might make me look fat (or I suppose accurately capture how I really look). I’ve started wondering if maybe I’m not the only one.

My envy is not necessarily a result of a deep desire to have what my friends have; it’s that I just don’t like feeling left behind. Will the children of all of my friends be old enough to babysit by the time I feel ready to be a mother? When my husband and I feel ready to commit to the financial obligation of owning and maintaining a house and a yard, will my friends already be decorating their dream homes? When I finally figure out my calling in life, will my friends be announcing on Facebook that they have been named the director of this or the president of that? If I’m already this far behind, is it ever possible for me to really catch up?

My guess is that a majority of my friends are very happy with the choices they have made and the places life has taken them. But I’d also be willing to bet that some of them are only winging it; desperately trying to figure out how they got to Responsibility Island and if there is even a remote possibility that a plane is coming to rescue them. Even I feel this way sometimes, and my responsibilities don’t include children, a mortgage payment, or a car payment, for that matter. I don’t doubt that there are incredible rewards that negate many of the sacrifices. But if I’m honest with myself, I’m not ready for sacrifices, regardless of the reward.

So, no matter how enticing some of you make responsibility look, I’ve decided not to join you today, tomorrow, or even next year. Upon truly thinking about the lives of my “real life” friends (as in the people I see in the flesh and speak to on the phone on a semi-regular basis), I’m even stronger in my resolve. Marriages dissolve, husbands cheat, babies get sick, air conditioners break and new cars get repossessed. Maybe these events don’t occur on Facebook, but they happen in real life. So, as idyllic as you successful few have made adulthood out to be, I think I’ll pass on the really hard stuff for now, and take my Facebook with a grain of salt. Check back with me in five years. I may have caught the bus by then.  

Lost in Translation

When my husband and I were first dating, we were different people. We were high on endorphins and lust, and reveling in the awesomeness of our new relationship. If you need proof that I was not myself, here’s a little tidbit for you: I helped make the bed. Every day. For months. Even more proof: my then boyfriend was a romantic fool: cards to say “I love you”, flowers to say “You’re beautiful”, and the most loving, lingering goodbye kisses every day. Fast forward two and a half years, and while the love is still there, I could really care less about whether the bed goes unmade for a few days or the dishes wait until morning, and I’m pretty sure the last card my husband got me was on our wedding day.

Now that we have become husband and wife (and for a little while before the big day), we have begun shedding our hormone-fueled identities and becoming our true selves. To be honest, my truest self can be a bit of a lazy housekeeper.  This flaw in my makeup (yes, it runs that deep) doesn’t just annoy my husband, it drives him up the wall. And you know what? When the passionate morning kisses became pecks and quick hugs instead, I began to fear that maybe my happily ever after was in jeopardy. How could we be arguing over such petty things as unmade beds and kisses? We still loved one another so much.

The funny thing about love is that for all of us, it means something individual. And with such varying definitions of what love means and the innumerable ways to show love, there are bound to be a few glitches in communication. Today, I want to share something that completely changed the way my husband and I show our love and appreciation to each other. Don’t laugh…it is a book! The 5 Love Languages, by Gary Chapman has given me a completely new understanding of love, and the way I will think about love, for the rest of my life.

I cannot even fathom how many books and articles are devoted to the topic of love. I would venture to say that many of them aren’t worth the paper they are printed on.  This book isn’t perfect, either. Many of the anecdotal stories seem a bit dated, and honestly, if my spouse were putting me through some of the awful things mentioned in the book, I’m not sure I would have stuck around long enough to find out what the heck a love language is. But, the premise is simple and rings true. We all show love in a way that is unique to us, and we feel love when it is reciprocated in a similar way. Knowing and understanding your own primary love language, as well as that of your spouse, makes it possible for you to both give and receive love in a way that is meaningful and appreciated.

Briefly, the five primary languages described in the book are (1) Words of Affirmation, (2) Quality Time, (3) Receiving Gifts, (4) Acts of Service, and (5) Physical Touch. While we may all speak a few secondary language, more likely than not, one of these languages fit you better than the others. It’s the way you show love and the way you want it returned. After taking a short quiz (and honestly, the names pretty much say it all), I realized that my husband is an Acts of Service kind of guy, and I vacillate between Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch.

Just knowing your partner’s language isn’t enough. You both have to be willing to try speaking the other’s language in a sincere way. More importantly, you have to acknowledge that even though the gestures your partner may be making do not speak to you on the level a gesture more closely resembling your own language might, it is still an act of love.

When I went out of town for a weekend, I came home to a spotless house, new furniture in my office, and my husband wore a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat’s. No, it wasn’t “romantic”, but it came from his heart and I felt loved. The other day, I organized the closet so neatly you would have thought the job had been done by a professional. My husband was so appreciative that I didn’t have to pester him about those brisk pecks anymore, because they were replaced with the kisses that had knocked me off my feet two years ago. By going out of our way to speak a different language, we had created the desire to do the same in one another.

I could never explain this as well as Dr. Chapman does in his book. And if you don’t have the time or inclination to go out and pick up the book, you can visit his website and get more information on the 5 Love Languages. I truly believe that my understanding of my husband has increased tenfold. I want to show him love in a way he’ll hear, feel, and enjoy. Thankfully and wonderfully, he makes the same effort for me. My love tank is full.

He's the One

A few weeks ago, I read a blog posted by a local bridal magazine that encouraged readers to write a list (during this presumably happy and love-filed time) of the traits they loved most about their partners. I was encouraged to write my own list and was thrilled to share it with friends, family, but especially my new husband. As we have begun navigating the waters of married life, and our faults and quirks are becoming more apparent, it was a nice exercise to put into writing just what it is that I love about the man I married. 

He is a good son. Early on, I realized that my husband and his mother have a strong, close relationship. He respects her, he trusts and confides in her, and, of course, he loves her. Seeing this relationship encouraged me to believe that we would also have a respectful, trust and loved-filled relationship.

His glass is always half-full. Optimism is contagious, and Darius’ is downright infectious. I am a natural born worrier, and at times, have given the stresses of life too much power to overwhelm me. He is able to gently remind me that I need to push through setbacks, and that things always get better if you simply let them.

He is smart. Not only is Darius smart, but in ways too numerous to count. He’s intelligent, socially savvy, intuitive, and curious. He knows things that I don’t know and has opened my eyes to different points of view. But he’s also aware that there is so much left for both of us to learn. I appreciate that he seeks to continue learning, and hasn’t got an ounce of arrogance in him.

He has a great walk. Silly maybe, but one of the first traits I noticed about my husband was his walk. He walks with confidence and a great sense of coordination. You get the sense that this guy has rhythm (which is true!). He walks with purpose and a little bit of swagger that I just love.

He can cook. Seriously, this man can cook!

He is a man of faith. Darius and I have been on a bit of a faith journey together. We come from slightly different religious backgrounds, but our experiences had been very similar. When it became apparent that we would be together for life, I began converting to his religious denomination and shared my conversion process with him. We were able to openly discuss our doubts and questions, as well as share our stories of encouragement and gratitude. As a married couple, we have asked God to be the third partner in our marriage so that when either of us simply needs more than the other can give, we will have one more heart on which to rely.

He has the BEST sense of humor. Darius doesn’t have to try to make me laugh. He doesn’t have any great one-liners or prepared routines. What he does have is a knack for seeing the humor in everyday mishaps and an awesome ability to embrace his own quirks. We laugh every single day. Because he is so comfortable with himself, I am more comfortable letting my freak flag fly, too. If only these walls could talk…

He brings out the best in me.  Perhaps this is selfish, but I’m most grateful for the person I have become since meeting my husband. He is so genuinely good and decent, and our personalities are so compatible, that I truly believe we bring out the best qualities in one another. I feel stronger, smarter, more ambitious, kinder and more loving than I ever have before. I feel more beautiful than I ever have before. I want to be more generous and open-minded because of my husband. I know that I’m a better person than I was before we met.

He’s a man with a plan. My husband is ambitious. He frequently reminds me that “Rome wasn’t built in a day” when I become impatient. He sees large goals as a series of short-term goals and works to get from one place to the next. He’s not content to allow life to simply happen to him, nor is he content to let me give in to that sort of thinking. He only gives in to impulse when there is no chance that our family or relationship could be harmed. I appreciate his thoughtful approach to life and his endless desire to see our marriage grow and thrive.

He gets it. This quality is less about anything specific and more about the fact that my husband just “gets it.” He knows how to live his life in a way that mellow, but with a sense of urgency. He takes nothing too seriously, but has the utmost respect for those things that matter to his friends and family. He sees the ultimate big picture and I think that’s what keeps him content. It is impossible to spend time with him and not realize that this is a man with a great understanding of people and the world around him.

Why Write?

There is a part of me that worries that blogging is a bit vain. The only topic on which I'd consider myself an expert is "me." I'd venture to say that even the most interesting posts about me would eventually bore even my mother to tears. I don't have any cute kids to write about. I cook, but not enough to devote an entire blog to the topic A travel blog is out of the question as I would hardly call myself a jet-setter. But still, I want to write. I want to share. As I have moved through life, albeit a relatively short one thus far, I have picked up a few things along the way that have made me wiser, stronger, and better. There are moments that I recall for the lessons they taught me or the feeling of overwhelming happiness. There are also moments I continue to revisit, wishing I could live them all over again; wondering the outcome had I gone right instead of left.

I often hear from my peers, and this big world around me, that the past doesn't matter. Have no regrets, and live in the moment. The beauty in thinking and living this way is that accountability for one's mistakes becomes less important than the ability to forge ahead past one's mistake. Somewhere in the middle is where I live. I am of the opinion that as long as I remain cognizant of my previous pitfalls, accepting that there were times when I made bad choices (most of which I do and should regret), I am less likely to stumble into a previously traveled and rock-filled road. But forge ahead I do, and must. I am grateful for my present and excited for the future. But, I'm also fully aware that the past continues to live inside of me. Ignoring it, will only make it speak louder.

So that is what I'll write about. I'll write about mistakes I make and the lessons I learn. I'll write about my successes and the steps I took to get there. I'll write about happiness and love, marriage and friendship, sadness and regret. I'll write about food, my travels, books, websites, movies, and music. And, certainly, I'll write about me. I'll share because the words are inside me, and this is the best way I know to express them. Sharing our lives with one another is now easier than it has ever been before. I think I'll take advantage of what's trendy (just this once). Even if my blog merely becomes a cathartic exercise in emptying my mind, or a way to document some of life's moments for me to look back on months or years from now, that will be OK, too. At least I will have done it; I will have claimed a little place in the world and deposited a bit of who I am and what I know.

I am happier now than I have ever been. I want to live this part of my life fully engaged, and totally present. What better way to accomplish this goal than by writing about it. To everyone who may stumble upon my blog, thank you for indulging me.