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

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.