The grass is always greener where you water it.

Women are an insecure bunch. The ones who don't admit it, are lying. We're constantly try to live up to others standards, live a life of discontentment, striving for the next best thing, and sometimes going along with a theme or an idea of something we don't believe in, just to "fit in."

The trend that I've found myself in over the past year has been quite the opposite. I now only surround myself with the people who make me better, and push my beliefs to expand on new ideas and concepts. I date a man who makes me a better woman, and overall human, because it feels good to do good. And I strive for career goals, because that's who I've always been. I can't sit still, I don't do stagnate well, but by NO means am I perfect.
I look in the mirror every morning and notice the flaws, I constantly correct my own work (I will have re-read this blog at LEAST 25 times before posting it), and critique my routine. I challenge my own thoughts, judgments and decisions, and do a very large helping of self-reflection. I engage in conversation with friends, family and strangers alike about current events, politics, cause and effect properties and even a little shameless Hollywood gossip from time to time. But long gone are the days of drama, wondering who doesn't like me and how I can fix it. Gone are the days of chatter, judgment and caring about irrelevant things like dress, weight and hair color. Mostly, I do what makes me happy and try not to negatively affect as many people as possible.
Most recently, I have run into several messages that are extremely humbling. Women and men in my life stop to tell me how they aspire to be me, or live vicariously through me. While I'm extremely dumbfounded that someone pays enough attention to my "highlight reel" of social media that they sometimes want to enjoy what I enjoy, it is just that. My highlight reel; the great, glorious, braggable/laughable/shareable moments that I choose to share with the publics in my world.
I'm human, and to every fault of what that means.
I definitely don't know how I got here and constantly research about God and what it takes to follow and believe in him, since, well, there's no other theory in my mind that makes sense.
I definitely don't know where I'm going when I die, and that, when overly pondered, makes me wonder all of the silly human things that we think, Will it hurt?, Will I suffer?, Will I get a chance to do all of the things I want to do before my time clock stops ticking?
I definitely don't know what tomorrow will bring, just like the rest of you. I can't tell my future, although sometimes I selfishly wish I could.
I definitely do not know how to protect all of my loved ones from hurt and pain. I wish I could, I promise. I wish I could never see people suffer hurt, despair and loss. I wish I could heal wounds and promise a better future, but I can't do that either.
I definitely do NOT live an extravagant life. I'm not fancy. I rarely shop for myself. I own a whole handful of designer brand name things. I am definitely NOT rich.
I definitely don't have a perfect relationship. We fight, bicker, argue, and disagree. We are human just like the rest of you. We have bad days and need some alone time. We offend each other and sometimes hurt each other's feelings. We don't concisely TRY to do any of these things, but they happen from time to time.

::The grass is always greener where you water it::

So as I was thinking about the eloquent words some have used to summarize my life, and wondered where they were coming from, I came up with a few things I'm absolutely sure of.

I work HARD at my relationship because it's worth it. I have started down a journey with a man who is my best friend. And for every idiotic stunt he pulls, he pulls 10 heroic or romantic ones. Everyone sees the cute ones. The ones that make me brag about him. The ones that make me proud to call him a thoughtful, kind, selfless man. He's funny and cute (which I am reminded of daily by friends and strangers alike). He gets me, appreciates me and makes me want to work at our love. Friends say, "I want a Peter." While I don't want to minimize the fact that he is an incredible man, it's not a "Peter" every girl needs (insert numerous jokes here). Peter and I tell each other every day what we mean to each other. We constantly say "please," "Thank you," "I love you," and "I'm sorry." We try our best to be honest about our feelings and make it a rule to end every night happily. Long distance is not easy. I said I would never do it again, and look at us now. We both have chosen high-stress career paths, and thrive off of delightful chaos. SO believe me when I say this, it is difficult every.damn.day. You have to CHOOSE to invest, if you find stock that you're interested in. Watering the grass makes it greener, not looking to the other fields and wanting what they have.
I work HARD at my job. Just like my love-loss in my recent years past, I lost my job in March and was stuck in a rut. A large rut. (Peter actually jokes that he picked me up when I was at my lowest to make a large investment for when I make the big bucks, and his investment will pay back in dividends with his early retirement- ha!) I went without a paycheck for THIRTEEN weeks. Yes, that's 3+ months from which I'm still recovering. But thankful for some pretty incredible people in my life, I forged the river and only a few ox died... Today I work for a communications agency I found off of an unmarked internet ad. It turned out to be one of Detroit's longest-standing and acclaimed agencies in the automotive business. It weathered the bankruptcy storms, and even recently merged with an equally great creative agency to bring logistics, event planning and graphic design and production in-house. I started on a prayer of just getting my foot in the door, and after five months of annoying enough people and applying for every open position that became available, I was promoted to Program Manager- Logistics, Ford Communications in mid-October. I now work on-site with our client at the Ford World Headquarters, alongside of the team of five others on the account. Yes, I travel with them. I laugh and enjoy my job with them, but there's not one of them from my executive director, rigth down to myself as the rookie, that doesn't work our ass off, put in long hours, last-minute troubleshooting, and give up some nights and weekends in the name of work. I do it because I love it, and I'm thankful for it.
The point is I'm strong, stubborn and normal just like the rest of you. I experience highs and lows, and I choose to be happy, because I would rather believe the glass is half full, than half empty. I'm not an optimist, I'm a realist. Nothing in life ever comes easy. I haven't been handed anything, just the rest of you haven't. We're all working hard at different things, and playing the cards we have been dealt. But that's just it; hard work.
You know what I don't have? Memories of a beautiful wedding and a handsome husband. Cheerful-playful children, running around, dirtying my place. A house or equity in land. But I'm not mad about any of these things. I don't want them because other people have them, I want them when it's my time, and right now, it's not. I'm not proud of some of my past mistakes. I don't tend to think I'm even 50% right, in all reality. Humility, shame, embarrassment, they're all incredible character builders. Publicly admitting I failed at something stings a little bit too, and that's happened a couple of times. I was depressed for a bit after my failed engagement. Some days, it took convincing myself to shower that day and I would consider that a win. Nobody wants to hear that stuff. Facebook doesn't want to read my somber music lyrics, or my anger cycle of rage.

And then one day, it's like you finally pick yourself and CHOOSE to be better.
The sun didn't just magically appear one morning. It was there the whole time; I just had the shades drawn- literally. It affected my relationships, my work and my overall health.

So to the people who want to live my "glamorous" life, don't sell yourselves short. There's a career out there for everyone, there's a person out there for everyone, and luckily there's always a second chance at life. I'm 6 weeks away from turning 28 and I've never been happier with my second chance. I've changed, I like myself. I go to bed at night at run through (6782351 checklists according to Pete) what could've went differently in my day, and which of those, I could've influenced more positively. And then I finally fall asleep and wake up to a new day, a new chance and a new opportunity the next day. Work hard for what you can control, and ease up on the stuff you cannot. And look around you. We live in a beautiful world, with incredible scenes. It's what you make of it. Water your own garden, lawn, trees, grass- whatever it is you choose to invest in. But make it your own, and something you're damn proud of.

Just like a knight in shining armor, from a long time ago...

In the fall of 1999 I spent a fun evening hanging with friends in a subdivision in our hometown. If I recall properly, her parent's were there, we were having a bonfire, and indulging in the innocence of being 14 years old with not too many cares in the world except finding our way in the "BIG" high school the following year.

Meandering around the backyard, a couple of us noticed a large tree house a couple of houses down, that seemed like it belonged to a house where nobody was home. And what's more exciting than playing (trespassing) into a child's play structure into the night? (The answer is "a lot of things.")
It was up in that tree house moments later when I experienced one of the many "firsts" of being a teenage girl, and quickly slid down the slide afterwards to return to the party, hiding my flushed cheeks in the darkness of the cool night air.

I had gotten my first kiss. 

Up there. All giggly, teenage, and probably "super dreamy," which translates into awkward and terrible, thinking back now. (Although I still do giggle about it.)
His name was Peter Lapham and all that occurred between us the rest of the night was a quick, muffled exchange over by the fence, "You didn't even move your tongue." "Oh yeah? Well you didn't open your mouth wide enough."

Flash forward to 2013.

Pete and I have been "officially" dating for just over six months now, and unofficially, you know that awkward phase where there's tension, unresolved feelings and extreme amounts of non and miscommunication? Yeah, that started happening when Steve brought us back together about a year ago now...

With all that had happened in my personal life leading up to last summer, I was in no hurry to make all of the same mistakes again. I was scared, nervous, clouded and having way too much fun not having to answer to anyone but myself. But there was something about Pete and I. It wasn't a secret to anyone who was around us, although most of the unanswered questions between us relayed to publics as aggression, tumult or annoyance. (Think about how school-aged children who like each other act... IE: pulling hair, being snarky and making-fun.) It was exhausting for both of us, all of our friends, and even some family members. It was humorous to the point of exhaustion and exhausting to the point of humor.

Then, last September Peter asked me on a date. Super romantic-like. I do believe him and Steve were on Blue tooth together and it went something like, "Steve and I were just talking about how "cool" you are. Go on a date with me." In which case, after my laughter I said "no," because I simply knew it wasn't time, and most importantly, he wasn't ready. He didn't stop. He had convinced me it was a great idea and would pick me up the following Tuesday after work and we would go out to eat.

Tuesday came, and despite us texting all day everyday, I hadn't heard a thing from him. A couple responds to inquiries from Steve on a 3-way group thread, but that was it. I tried to call as I curled my hair for the date I had all of the sudden become nervous for, and it went to voicemail. I knew he wasn't coming. I just knew in my gut, he was backing out, and in true Amanda Barry-fashion I did everything in my power to pretend it didn't bother me. Once he eventually texted me back about 45 mins before he was supposed to be at my door, he gave me some bullshit excuse about working late, and a casual "sorry." Fortunately for myself, I had done extreme amounts of rebuilding my character and worth post-broken engagement and I didn't really have a threshold for idiocy, so I wrote it off, put him back in the "friend zone," and went back to pretending it was all OK, but that was just the beginning...

Peter and I struggled with communication for the next five months. Things were up and down with us. He brought three dozen long-stem "I'm sorry" roses to me that Saturday and through weepy eyes, hours later, I choked out a "thank you." He took such good care of me and my friends, my sister who was also my roommate, and our house that had improved tremendously with a new-found Mr. Fix it always stopping by throughout the week. The only thing he wasn't 225% careful with was my heart, but how was he supposed to know?

(Now THIS is the part of the story Peter would interject at, if he were here. This is the part where he would exclaim to everyone that he TRIED dating me at 16. That I chose another guy over him, and he never recovered. ;) This is the part where he would bitterly recall detail of me being "too popular," or "too cool," for him in high school. And also the point where he would forget that he never had the guts to tell me he liked me, but I found out after I was already in another relationship, from a mutual girl friend of ours.)
Also- our college years were fun. Whenever we saw each other we made-out lavishly without a care in the world, then turned, awkwardly, mirroring our first kiss, and never saying much more than that to each other. I digress...

So last fall pressed on and it was the trifecta doing everything together; Peter, Steve and myself. Weekends were hysterical, entertaining and fulfilling. They came to my weekly softball games and cheered us on, getting to know my new friends, we went boating and we even did a little travelling together. My brother was never far away, casually hanging out from time to time, and did warn me at one point that judging by how much Pete was a "ladies man," I shouldn't get my heart caught up in it. Too Late.

We went through the winter, a couple of more arguments, juggling of feelings and a superfluous amount of "intoxicated conversations," and then it finally blew up. Peter was dating another very sweet girl at the time, and when I finally got to meet her, we instantly connected and started to share funny Peter stories, although things about both sets of details weren't adding up... When approached, he got mad, angry, and rightfully-so, that words and stories that were coming from me were starting to unravel their relationship, not to mention in a public setting.

That was it. I knew it was coming to an end, and I finally had the courage to stand up for myself and tell him he was a jerk. He was a jerk because he would get mad and irritated if I went on dates with other men. He was a jerk because he had a hidden life that I wasn't allowed into. He was a jerk because he regarded me as someone who wasn't as special as he made me feel when it was just the two of us. And mainly, he was a jerk because I knew he loved me, and he was too big of a coward to tell me. And I loved him, so much.

He yelled. I yelled. He acted tough, like it didn't matter, I did the same. I spent a very lonely Christmas, secretly devastated that it was over, and once and for all, and then I cried. I cried because for a moment in time I knew exactly what was between us, even if everyone else thought I was crazy, and we were both so stubborn, hard-headed and independent to let those last few walls down and work our way through the chaos. I thought I deserved it, the heartache. I thought, based on my year before that I was a young woman that already got to experience all of the ups and downs of a serious relationship, a courtship, an engagement and a failed wedding. I convinced myself I wasn't going to find happiness like that again. And then something happened...

I was all talk, you know. Peter and I began to communicate regularly again after the week of my birthday. (Two weeks after Christmas.) I forgave him, he forgave me, and we basically never talked about it. My parents continued to ask what was with the guy who was doing everything for me, always around, and always being so sweet, and what was the story. I didn't even know. My sister watched the shimmer in my eyes day after day, and started to get annoyed that nothing was happening, and Pete and I both continued to act like nothing was going on.

It was a very snowy night in January. Peter insisted he was to come over after work and snow-blow the driveway because I didn't need to be doing that. It was a Friday, and in true-fashion, the trifecta would probably be setting up shop at mine or Steve's house, having some cocktails, playing some cards, and inevitably laughing until our stomachs hurt about ridiculous scenarios. This Friday was different. Steve was out of town, helping out with a Ski Team gig. My sister came home from work to us drinking and playing cards with some neighbor guys who had come over, which was perfect for me because I was so tired, I wanted her to tag in, so I could go to bed. Within a half hour of me retreating to my room, Pete came knocking and said we needed to talk. Apparently my sister (God love her) decided to take their opportune "smoke break" outside together to tell Pete what a moron he was, and couldn't he see how I felt, and didn't he understand that it couldn't be this (not so) glorious limbo forever?

He was quiet, unassuming and sweet. He was patient while I made him "use his words," and explain all that he was trying to convey. It was so natural to him, and such a shock to me. I was awe-struck, I still am. We had so much to rifle through, and decided to make the honest decision to try it together. I was scared to be happy and tell people, because it had been the "Boy Who Cried Wolf" for so long.

And then it just got to a point where my smile said it all. I could not, not tell people. It was like a new beginning, a fresh start, and a complete beginning to my long-awaited fairytale. (Gag.) He's perfect for me, and we "get each other." Life has been so wonderful from then on, and it only continues to get better. Sure we argue, we bicker and considering we're in a temporary long-distance relationship, there's plenty of pros and cons that come along with that. But I wouldn't change a thing for the world. My cute, little, imperfect 8th grade kiss is now the man of my dreams, and continues to make me feel so blessed each and every day, near or far. We've had a million different events and adventures already thus far (I will promise to start cataloging them,) and we have so many more even in the near future. We needed each other, we found each other, and we continue to work to make each other better people.

And I promise you, no matter how "low" your breaking point is, you always deserve to find this kind of happiness, because believe me when I say it, "Timing is everything." Xo

Generation Y... Excited to be here.

I may be an old soul in the mere definition of it, but often times I think about what makes me happy, and yes, writing and reading are included on that list. Call me a nerd, but I think it's an incredible outlet to help catalog thoughts, feelings, stories or even advice.

Writing, much like the printed newspaper every day, seems to be a dying breed with today's generations. People don't have time to sit down and spend hour(s) retelling stories to their publics, when in all reality, the world and media is moving so fast via social outlets, that people know more things about you and your surroundings than you do sometimes. The difference between our generation and the ones older than us... our parents, aunts, uncles and even grandparents, is that we're more apt to change, although we may not like it.

The only problem I see with that is, large percentages of our generation are using their social media news feeds and Instagram-filtered photos as fact, in which case, more often than not, it's skewed. The change has become a paradigm shift. It's become a subconscious decision to "glue" yourself to the happenings of your social media feeds daily, hourly and even multiple times in a ten minute span, to clue into what's happening in the world. This is news... or so you think, when you're discussing with a friend later that day about what you saw.

Political parties have agendas, and subsequently many Twitter handles supporting their causes. Organizations have causes, and use sympathy to sell their ideas with YouTube videos. Businesses have bottom lines to hit, and they use strategy to pursue that via people you may subscribe to, and even be "friends" with on Facebook. This doesn't mean it's fact, fiction, or myth otherwise, it just means your constant buzz MIGHT be just what it seems. It's a completely brillant, over-stimulating, constant barrage of a social network that makes connecting with billions of people, worldwide, at any time of day not only possible, but very plausible.

Everyone who knows me, understands I'm pro-social media. I am an adventurer in many forms of the word, and it's fun to catalog weekends with friends, trips, reminiscing with old pals, and beautiful(ly altered) photos via cropping, filters and location tags. But the thing we must remember as a generation is to spend time reading the facts of society from a (hopeful) unbiased source, or wherever you choose to gather your news.

At a certain point in the next 10-15 years, we're going to be the individuals in upper management, the people whose lives are altered by stocks, investors and 401K's. The people who need to know what the pros/cons of new policies are, and how to set yourself up for a decent retirement. The people standing in line at the polls who will vote based on concepts of foreign affairs, fiscal policy and the United States Constitution versus who they like better, or what race they are. It's scary, but it's real.

The reason for my soapbox this afternoon is because I started to become the #1 culprit of all of this. I used to be good at spending 30 mins every morning checking the headlines, scanning the paper, and now, I was catching up with what happened on social media from the night before. How ignorant had I become?

Yesterday, I went to pick up a prescription I have been getting prescribed from the same doctor, and filled at the same pharmacy for over a year, and the cost was nothing. Zilch. Zero dollars spent and I was walking out of there with something that used to cost me close to $100. The reason: Obamacare. I knew about it, the term anyways. The idea that an American policy was being put into place that included very socialist ideas. Whether or not my political beliefs align with a policy or not, isn't the point. I had something affecting me, negative or positive, and I didn't even know the exact cause.

So today, I spent an hour over lunch understanding the policy. Familiarizing myself with the pros/cons and reviews. I have formed my own opinion, and can now actually speak to the topic should it ever come up, or someone else like myself was naive to the concept.

I spent the first year of this blog cataloging my (so-called) happy life, and sharing with friends and family. Last year, I spent an entire year using this outlet as a diary. A tell-all for the healing I was going through. Cleaning up the mess of what had become of my life, and sorting through the rubble. And I don't regret it. I needed it. It helped me understand things better. And it helped continue to shape the woman I am still becoming.

Today isn't the day where this column becomes a lecture, or advice, because Lord knows I haven't mastered anything enough to give it out. It just becomes the day where I say to myself, just because college is over, doesn't mean we need to stop learning. Stop yearning for new knowledge and tips. Because at a certain point, "growing up" turns into "grown up," and I don't want to be the one walking into a brick wall.

###

If ever you'd like to know what I go to for news:

• Zite is a great iPhone app to put all of your interests and hobbies into and it will populate sources for your enjoyment. 
• I very much enjoy The Detroit News & Free Press for local and state-wide news, however they have a bias towards MSU and although I enjoy them, I like the boys in AA better.
• For international or overseas news, I usually check the NY Times.
• And should you ever want amusement, entertainment or gossip from your news source, I usually find The Huffington Post does a good job of having serious and light-hearted articles.

Thanks & Giving

You know, thinking about it now, it's completely unfortunate that our human race has deemed life "SO busy" that it takes most of us until November (Or Mo- for you charitable, creepy-stache growers out there) to start reflecting on our lives, family and friends.

When I said us, I include myself, wholeheartedly. If not more this year than ever.

I can't even put into words the thoughts, memories and reflections of this year entirely. I wish more than anything I could. Or at least shelled out the cash for a full-time videography crew to document my 2012, because that might have been my best idea to date. But joking aside, I wouldn't take back a day, week or month of this year.

I learned heartbreak at one of the most extreme levels.
I learned patience.
I learned sadness & sorrow.
I learned healing.
I learned the true meaning of life-long friends.
I learned that money will come and go, but memories will last a lifetime.
I learned that my affinity for boats and water still exists.
I learned that falling off the horse and getting back on, usually is a more exciting ride.
I learned old friendships that resurface can be some of the most entertaining ones.
I learned people don't change.
I learned that disregarding my health for 8 years and now trying to rein it back in, SUCKS more than anything. (But the every-day gym is getting easier, and funny friends help tons along the way.)
I learned that your heart feels most full after spontaneous weekends with your close friends.
I learned to let people in again.
I learned to never stop laughing at yourself, it's always the best medicine.
But mostly I learned that my family will never leave me, no matter how much they think I'm not making the right decision, being stubborn, ungrateful or immature.

Today is an ode to these four people; Mom, Dad, Shane & Beck. My lifelines at any moment I may need them.

"T"

Halloween at my house this year- Mom won the (non-existent) carving competition. 

My brother and I just had a conversation with a friend of ours about how much our mother really is worth, about how there really is a special place in heaven for her, and about how she doesn't hear it enough. This woman is absolutely incredible. She has a big heart that extends to friends and strangers alike, and she doesn't let anything get in her way of making things happen. She's a mover in all senses of the word. Currently, in a walking cast due to some fractures in her foot, she was still climbing my counters last Sunday teaching and helping me strip wallpaper, and clean my house. She's tough, that I'm sure. But like most moms, which took me too many years to figure out, and sometimes too many jokes from the boys and I, she's very fragile and needs special care. For all of the times I've been selfish, unruly, impatient, immature and a downright jerk, she ALWAYS kisses me goodbye, tells me she loves me and encourages my dreams. To you Mom, I could only hope to be half the woman you are one day. For you, I am thankful.

"Denim Dave"

"Coz' every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.."

When I think about talking about my father, I laugh. I laugh not to make fun of him, or to disregard all of his great qualities, but I laugh because we're so much alike it's frightening. He's crazy and fun. He hasn't quite let go of his wild streak, and I'm not sure he ever will. He loves to laugh, entertain and tell jokes. (Most of which are not that funny.) But the craziest of all of the qualities my father possess' is his guarded heart. I'm sure I have no idea what the burdens of caring and raising a family entail, or most specifically, being the bread winner for a house full of ambitious people. Nothing from our childhood was cheap... the sports, the equipment, the vacations, the sleep overs, etc., and this man carried the majority of this weight. In his old(er) age these days, the signs of his big heart are starting to show more and more, as the barricades come down. My father is an incredible man. He would do anything for us children, and his wife, and stands up for us always. He means well, instills knowledge freely, and has the courage to share his mistakes and failures as an avenue of wisdom for us. He's a simple man. Not much for the big city, or "all that jazz" that Shane and I enjoy, but he pokes fun because he wants the best for us. The best of everything for his children, because that's what he's spent his whole life trying to achieve. To you Dad, I could only hope to keep my wild spirit, whilst still managing to grow into this life and provide for my family like you've always done. For you, I am thankful.

"Banger"

Paintin' the town in Manhattan- Sept 2012

If I could bet on the man this guy is becoming, I would go "all in" on his color. Cocky yet sweet, bold yet humble, athletic but super dorky, my little brother has become someone I look up to. He's accomplished more in his 23 years of life than I have in my 26. He's managed to secure a successful job and potential lifelong career doing something he's very good at; BS-ing. (Also one of Dave's best qualities.) In all seriousness, this guy would give you the shirt off his back when you need it. He loves his family, even though he doesn't show it ALL of the time, and his jokes are plentiful, and sometimes more funny than Dad's. One of my best memories this year with him was hearing his reaction to the gift I got him on our arrival back in Michigan after our stint in Manhattan... When we were in NYC, we went to Newsies, The Musical, and he totally dug it, something I wasn't sure was going to happen. So on our last day while he was flying around Times Square, pretending to be Tony Stark, I ducked into a little shop and got him the CD recording of the live songs to remember our trip. ...Ask him what plays on repeat in his car these days, for which he would like a dash cam, and he can hit every note to every tune. ;) To you little brother, thank you for being the protective, goofy, lighthearted reminder of what life is all about. For you, I am thankful.

"Sister"

Rebecca with her friends in their second home- Slingers, MI.

Probably the most underrated person in this family, my sister is not one for the limelight like the rest of us. She takes to the background quite pleasantly, and relishes in not everyone being in her business. My older sister, the saint of my life, for sharing a room (which consequently meant EVERYTHING) to me, didn't have a shirt unworn by me, a glass of juice un-drank by me, or a new pair of earrings not lost by me. I wanted everything to do with her things growing up. We didn't always see eye-to-eye, which is a secret to nobody. We're very much polar opposites in looks, interests and activities. The thing that has taken me far too long to realize is all of the things I can learn from her. She's taught me patience, and emotions (gross). She's taught me how to cook, bake and where to get the world's best ranch. (yum) But most importantly, she's shattered the walls of society standards. She's taught me to love the underdog. She's taught me that it's OK to be different, stand up for yourself against the masses, and to cry, when it's necessary, even if I think it makes me weak. She'll be your biggest cheerleader, and your best call on a bad day. She'll relish in your happiness, and share in your sorrows. She is, by far, the definition of being an older sister. To you Sister, thank you for never giving up on me, through all of the frustrations, as I can only hope to be as strong for you in life like you have for me. For you, I am thankful. 

To all of my friends, family, acquaintances, strangers and enemies alike,

I would like to say I'm thankful for each and every one of you. For what you've brought to my life, what you've taught me in life, and what we will all continue to learn together.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

Amanda Marie

I'm not lucky I'm blessed, yes.

As I sit here and my Friday afternoon turns into my Friday evening, I think about how blessed I am. Blessed to be living the life, and with the people whom I surround myself with. 

After my crazy summer of 2012, and quite possibly the most entertaining and memorable to date, I'm excited for the upcoming fall. The fall where house projects start filling up your weekend mornings, and football starts filling up your afternoon and evenings. Friends start to settle into a routine, people don't feel the need to party every night, and the boats and pools will start to get winterized. All you can do is smile. Smile about what was, what is and what's to come. 

In the instance of what's to come, I've had quite the secretarial night in booking trips. For starters, we just booked a room for four of us (stay tuned for that rooming saga...) on the Carnival Breeze, leaving port in Miami on April 7, 2013 and sailing to Grand Turk, Jamaica and the Bahamas for Oz & Darren's wedding. I'm SO excited to be included in their big day, and plans to celebrate and vacation with new friends. I'm sure it will be one for the books, no doubt. 

Otherwise, I just booked a trip for two, yes two, to Manhattan, New York, to go knock off another bucket list trip. The classic Joe Cool in my life, my brother, was very excited to embark with me. We're heading into NYC the morning of Thursday, September 27 and staying until the night of Monday, October 1. We're heading in with no concrete plans, other than a (hopeful) plethora of "broadway and cocktails." I'm sure we'll get around to the most notable tourist locations (compliments of S. Waddell and her City Pass secrets) and live to share the classic instagram's of them. 

The idea of vacationing with my little brother makes me smile. We're both finally to the age where a little bit of a disposable income, and a lot of big dreams, are fueling our motives. Plus, after Florida with my mother in February and Montreal with my sister in August, it's only fair I jet-set with my main man. I do believe my mother is a little worried, but that's pretty standard. We're both always in some kind of trouble, which I'll argue finds us first. :)

Shane and I at Artprize 2010

...So here's to the great upcoming fall, the unknowns in life, the loving what you have, and the taking life as it comes instead of always trying to plan it. My new mantra, my new outlook, and my hopeful new blueprint for the future. 

Enjoy the pumpkins, cider and the ride, friends. 

oh, and Go Blue. 

My Journey Continues...

 "... I might, just might, be able to find my stubborn, wildly-excited, optimistic, always-laughing, loving self again...And I am sure, 2012, despite the speed bumps, might just turn into my most memorable year yet." (May 21, 2012)

That wasn't even three months ago...

Well, the foreshadowing was right about on par.  To say I've found my old self again is an understatement... I've had quite the summer, and the most hilarious of times. I guess I didn't quite realize it until one of my best friends came over to hang out and quoted one of her friends, an acquaintance of mine, saying, "Amanda Barry is living like she's dying." ...Aren't we all?

May started off with a bang. Three of my close friends and I travelled to Las Vegas, NV to vacation for a couple days before Amanda's older brother got married at Caesar's Palace that Friday afternoon. We lived quite the life, enjoyed the pool, met new friends, and hung out of the top of limousines cruising the strip. It was an eye-opening experience of sorts, although I had been there before at the mere age of 21, vegas was an entirely new and wild ride.

Outside the taxi circle of our hotel, The Flamingo

After I got home from Vegas, another speed bump hit- and like always, unplanned and quite jolting.

My puppy Max, who had already been through a lot before I rescued him, then the break-up, the housing changes and the minimal socialization, had the most severe anxiety disorder. He was antsy when I wasn't around, down trodden when I left him, and completely unpredictable. I started paying an "arm and a leg" to take him to a canine behavioral therapist, who prescribed Zoloft, observed him, and assured me he would absolutely never turn on me, being that I was the only human she was sure was 200% safe with him at all times. 

Well, like always, in times of need, my parents saved the day. I had taken Max over to their house a couple times, and he absolutely loved their dog Ben, played, rolled and ran everywhere with him. Naturally, when I left for Vegas, this was the best option for leaving him, since they were aware of his condition, and quite honestly- wouldn't sue me if something went terribly wrong. (Max's anxiety led to aggression towards people. As his doctor quoted, he was always "scared out of his mind.")

Well Max had found quite the home on Earhart and ended up staying even longer than my trip because he seemed to have molded so well. But then, an incident happened, and Max ended up biting a family friend of my parent's. The therapist explained it like this... There's a bite to warn, and a bite to harm, and this most definitely was a bite to harm. Once again Max had proved to regress in what we thought was a long road to recovery. So in talking with several animal professionals, my parents and his therapist, it was decided either my life, or Max's life was going to be inhibited. I would have to stay home (at a newly single 26 yrs old) to keep my dog feeling safe each day and night, or Max would live his life in a cage and with a muzzle due to incessant, unexplainable fear he experienced each day.

Because of this, I made the decision to put Max down, and bring him the peace and tranquility he deserved. 

I just looked at my family and friends after that day and said, "If 2012 doesn't kill me, I'm not sure I'm ever going to die." Saying it was a hard day is putting it mildly. Here is this tiny, lovable creature who was always at my side when I needed him, snuggled up when he heard tears, and loved to give me a run for my money when he got loose of the leash. He'd been there every day of the hardest months of my life, and we were pals.... I held him when he went, and covered him in a blanket with his favorite stuffed animal and buried him underneath a big shady tree in the back of my parent's pasture with my dad. 

Max and Ben rolling around during my lunch hour on Earhart

So naturally, as it has become a theme, when something bad happens, I just put that much more positive efforts into loving, laughing and enjoying the moment. 

June came, and like the weather, my schedule heated up- rapidly.

 There was weddings, parties, lake days, movie nights, Tigers games, LOADS of bachelorette parties, GR weekends, softball games and last, but certainly not least, the annual Love Shack weekend in Hale, MI. This is the weekend where our high school group of friends, and adopted stragglers along the way, spend a long weekend on the lake in Ryan's mom's cottage. It's one of the best weekends of the entire year, for the mere purpose of lack in technology, outer stimuli and work distractions. Four days catching up on life, laughing, swimming, boating and most definitely- frequenting the greatest 'Small Town U.S.A.' bar in history. It consists of good, clean fun, unbreakable, pure friendships, and hearty laughs that make you smile just thinking about them. It will forever be an annual tradition that has already begun to include future significant others and one day, as scary as it is, maybe our children.

Frank, Passage and I aboard the pontoon for a evening cocktail cruise

July- the even BUSIER season.

July started for me with an unplanned week in Grand Rapids. It was one of the best weeks this summer. Entirely spontaneous, completely unpredictable and wildly fulfilling. I stayed with Passage, just like old times. We managed to bring the house down with karaoke on July 3- to some extent myself more than her, enjoy 4th of July on the beach in Grand Haven and watched the city fireworks from the Blue Bridge downtown that evening, all while in back-to-back 105 degree days. (The record since 1936.) We enjoyed some new company at the Whitecaps game Thursday night, and managed to finally end the streak Friday night with a heavy metal 80s glam band in a sketchy part of town. I'm sure, if you have to give that week a definition, it would be "bender." It was great to be back, miss the ole GR days, and plant enough of a seed to make me secretly want to move back... one day. :)

The karaoke Dream Team- Twisted Bull- July 3, 2012

Grand Rapids Fireworks- Downtown- July 4, 2012

GlamHammer- The Log Cabin- July 6, 2012

After that, there were more bachelorette parties, reconnecting with college friends, weekday hangouts at my house with all of my crazy teaching friends in town for the summer, with no job to report to the next mornings ;), and lots of softball.

Crazily, one Saturday night when I was out, an old family friend got ahold of me via Facebook and asked if I would sub for her friend's co-ed softball team the next night. I reluctantly said yes, in hopes to not botch any big plays, agreeing to play and socialize with complete strangers. I'm pretty sure that invitation, game and night changed my summer. I met some of the funniest, coolest, most down-to-earth individuals in SE Michigan. And, since I was kinda funny, and would play wherever they wanted, they asked me to play on their women's league on Thursday nights too... which I stand corrected, is the team that changed my summer.

Some of the team taking shelter in the pavilion during the storm

These girls are hysterical. Everyone different in age, occupation, lifestyle and body type. Yet somehow, an uncontrollable, happy group of misfits. We all share an interest in ball, obviously, but aside from that, we stick around after the games to socialize, hear about one another's lives, and consume a few beverages. (Not to mention a couple of them date/are engaged/married to some of the nicest men that have a team that usually play after us.)

This team has just proven all of the lessons of life for me, bringing my self-healing light years up to speed.

"Give someone a chance and they might surprise you. Put a little bit of energy into that person, and it could turn out to be something you never expected. Expect the unexpected and you might find yourself with a new friend." ...Or in my case, two dozen of them. :)

Part of the team at 59 West- August 9, 2012

The tail-end of July brought on a trip to Rockford, Illinois to visit one of my most favorite friends, Tara Bells, who lives and works there as a high school Spanish teacher. She, like myself, joined a softball league that opened her eyes to an entirely new circle of genuine people, and saved her from the boring depths of books and video gaming this summer. These women, their friends and families are quality people, and went out of their way for us strangers, to make sure we enjoyed ourselves and were comfortable. And, might I add, throw a helluva party. Passage and I were invited back down in October for their "End of Season" lobster broil, and cannot WAIT to re-attempt our seed in the Kan Jam tournament. (Bring it.)

Jodi, Tara, Myself and Passage at the team party

So August is finally here, and has sang to the tune of family. An incredible vacation, visits from both grandparents and several family events will keep me busy with another novel-long post here soon... but until then, there's a point to all this jargon, despite cataloging my incredible summer.

A simple thank you. Thank you to those of you who picked me up when I was down. A thank you to those who believed in me when I had a hard time believing in myself. Thank you to those who don't ask questions, and also the ones who know exactly what to say, and when to say it. Thank you to those who never treated me any differently when I was pitiful, emotional or just plain sucked on a certain day. Thank you to those who have made my skin tougher, my cheeks pinker and boosted my standards higher. Thank you to those who constantly make me laugh, dance, sing and love on a weekly basis. Thank you for being you, and loving me.

"Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly. "

Raw, Untold and Alive.

I've opened this window at least 100 times since the start of this year. Why shouldn't I? In 2011 I selfishly talked of the times of wonder, bliss, and pure content. Conversely, 2012 hasn't turned out quite the same, and humbly, I have learned that as painful as honesty might be from day to day, at the end of the day, it's what really matters, and what, in turn, is happening.

We'll start from the beginning.

I broke off my engagement to be married in late January. I know, at this point, there is shock and awe on some of your faces. Horror on others. And just plain anger in some of your eyes. I'm not telling everyone this to take pity on me. And quite frankly, my past life of living in the spotlight has been one of exhaust. I'm just trying to be honest, and luckily, this column is about my life experiences, and what I feel.

If everyone likes what you're doing, you're doing it wrong. ~Unknown.

Sparing all the painful details, I had some incredible friends that picked me up when I needed it, called often to even hear my silence, offered their home to me for as long as I needed, and continually gathered on weekends when everyone's exhausting work weeks were done, to make sure I was comfortable and surrounded by love. To them, and you know who you all are, I am forever indebted to you. I love you.

You have not lived today until you have done something for someonewho can never repay you. ~John Bunyon

So in true Amanda Barry fashion, I ran, most definitely in the literal and biblical sense. My friends and I had been running for the past year, continually picking up distance as the races we signed up for progressed. The end goal was the Disney Princess Half Marathon, in Orlando, Florida in late February. I begrudgingly signed up, despite the mental roller coaster that had become my life, and put my emotions into the pavement. As the race neared, I made plans to drive to Florida with my mother, who also was entered to race, and finalized as many plans along the way as possible. We were going to be able to see my maternal grandpa and stay with him, explore Orlando with my friends, head South to visit my most missed, and dear family on my father's side, and there was still room for some random acts of spontaneity- most definitely my favorite pastime.

Myself, Aunt Colleen & Mom- Post Half Marathon

The open road surrounding us, my brave mother and myself made our way to Daytona, Florida in 16 hours. She probably still winces at the thought of a day-trip to Florida, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I wanted, and needed, so badly to drive and put as much distance between me and my reality as I could fathom. I didn't know how otherwise.

We laughed and talked, cried and argued, all of the natural details of such a loving friendship. My mother, whom I have been known to mirror in several ways in life, had once again surfaced as my rock- everything I needed and could ask for, and she gave so selflessly in my time of need.

Once in Florida, my mind washed away with the heat and tide. I did, indeed, have the best trip of my life, as cliche as it sounds. There, of course, was plenty more I had wished to see, cousins whom I don't get to see enough too far away and a definite feel of "home" in my 93 (this week) year old grandmother's condo on the golf course. The pool, the air, the old friends, the Barry family dinner with too much wine, the meeting of my grandfather's new girlfriend who bittersweetly doesn't replace the woman most dear to my heart, but brings a 16-year-old boyish grin to his face again, the food, the beach and the ocean- the healing process it had started can't even be put into words.

The girls & I posing for a shot with the glass slipper.

Grandma Barry, 93, posing with my finishing medal.

And then, there was the skydiving.

My grandfather, the one I claim as my hero, has had a hard last calendar year. Some days when I think my struggles are a worthy cause I remember, life can be so much more intense. This gentle giant. This tall, handsome, strong man has woken up to a new outlook on life. One I share, to my mother's dismay, and to be fair, one at my age, can be slightly risky...

You only live once, and tomorrow is not promised.

As one can foreshadow, in my mission to put 'driving from Michigan to Florida' in the day-trip category, we got up early, drove until we were tired and weary, and arrived late into the night. Upon entering my grandfather's home, there was a notable piece of scrap paper on the counter laced with his chicken scratch, "SKYDIVE 738-3539." Now I was wide awake.

My mom was gathering her things from the car, and using the restroom, so I had little time to react, turning it more into an interrogation than an actual conversation.
"You're going skydiving?"
"No."
"What's this about?"
"I don't know."
"Grandpa, so help me God, if I am in Florida for 10 days and you go without me, I will not be happy."
"I don't know what's going on. I don't want your mom to know. We'll talk about this later."
We smile. I hug him, so happy to see him, and we go to bed.

On my last night in Southern Florida, soaking up every second of my aunts, uncles, cousins and my beloved grandma, I got a call from Grandpa back in Daytona.
"You sure you really want to do this?"
"Skydiving? Yes."
"Good. I made an appointment for Friday at 10am. I'll see you when you get back here."
My heart sang. My grandfather, this mysterious new adventurer, arranged for us to skydive. Life was complete.

Not once did I cry, worry or freak about the thought. I was so happy. I did try to persuade my mother into jumping, using the "Three generations out of the same plan would be the coolest thing mom!" She didn't want any part of it. She joked that if something happened to us, she would need to be on the earth to field all of the calls and take the blow forces of my questioning aunts.

So we jumped. And it was, undoubtedly, the coolest thing to date. My instructor and I averaged 145mph from 14,000 up. It went by rather peacefully, yet we were back on the ground within minutes. We all celebrated with some spirits and lunch, and watched the DVD documentaries of our short journeys through the atmosphere. Top 5 days of my life. Hands down.

Grandpa, Fran & I- Post Jump

So back to reality we went that weekend. Home to cold, snowy Michigan in our flip flops. The paradise was put on hold for now... Until next time.

At the middle of March my grandpa offered me quite the proposition. I could live in his Michigan home, where I could have my own space, and my puppy, tend and take care of it, because he didn't want to live in Michigan any longer. It was like a call from heaven. The situation was perfect, it was everything I needed to get back on my own two feet, and he didn't have to worry about rushing home this spring to open it back up, clean and decide what to do with it. He's lonely in Michigan, and for a man who has recently been blessed with love again, the last thing on his mind was moving thousands of miles away from his dear new lady.

I can't say it's been easy. Ladies, all of the simple, mundane tasks of garbage and lawn care, fixing things and technology glitches that your boyfriend, fiance or husband complete- these are something to be praised, take it from one who used to disregard them. I have a home that needs cleaning, food that needs cooking, and an anxiety-ridden dog that needs special love and attention. It's long days and sometimes forfeiting social nights, but it's so worth it. I've finally rested my eyes, and my mind, relaxing into my reality. I speak openly, honestly and with special care now about what I want and need from people. I'm mending my broken heart, and filling the lonely empty nights with novels, writing and my new-found love for Jesus and the Bible.

I was raised Catholic, and much to my ignorance, being brought up in a religion does not mean you're a practicing woman of faith. I have recently, with the help of dear friends, opened my eyes to the circle of believers. I have accepted some tales to be truth, and aim to hold myself in a higher regard. Does it mean I'm going to make a 180 on my lifestyle and incessantly preach to family and strangers alike? No. It just does something for me that I need. A lifeline to hold onto when the days are hard and the nights are quiet. It gives me hope. And my most recent favorite book, The Shack, has left me with a resounding quote that I think of nearly a dozen times a day.

Love one another.

The sound of it makes this whole "life" thing seems simple. I know it's not, and I know Narnia, to quote a great friend, doesn't exist in the sense of a perfect life. But, I do know, that with a strong support system, some pretty incredible friends and a positive outlook, I might, just might, be able to find my stubborn, wildly-excited, optimistic, always-laughing, loving self again.

And I am sure, 2012, despite the speed bumps, might just turn into my most memorable year yet.