2012 in review

I predicted that 2012 would be a very good year, but it wasn’t a hard prediction to make. There was a lot to be excited about.

Graduation, marrying the love of my life, and a Hawaiian honeymoon, to name a few things.

But this past year was also about more than the big things.

It was about battling old demons, learning new things, pushing myself, embracing the ugly, and starting new traditions. Plus a million other little things in between.

What I said for 2011 holds true, too, for 2012: this year has once again exceeded my expectations.

(Minus my Philly teams imploding, of course. Though, one could argue that I should have expected that, too.)

Regardless, 2012 was fantastic, but I know that 2013 will offer up its own adventures.

And I can’t wait to embrace them.

Cheers!

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If jobs were celebrated like wedding anniversaries, I’d be getting silverware today.

Five years ago today I started my first (and current) big girl job.

I remember the feeling of getting up early and taking the metro into DC from Ballston.

I remember the outfit I wore.

I remember the welcome lunch I was taken out to – at a downtown restaurant that no longer exists.

I remember the newness of it all.

And while I may still be at the same job – a rarity for my age group – many more things have changed over those five years.

Five years ago…

…I thought that Ballston was close enough to DC.

…I didn’t have a blog.

…I hadn’t yet met Husband.

…I hadn’t even considered grad school.

…I hadn’t run one marathon, much less three in three months.

…to be fair, I hadn’t actually run any races.

…I’d never flown through the air - with or without a net.

…I wasn’t even close to being considered a local.

Now, I still wouldn’t consider myself a local – and I’m not quite sure when you get to that point – but I do consider this city home.

And that’s something else that I didn’t imagine happening five years ago.

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The 5 people you see at yoga

As per my 27 list, I’ve been at the yoga studio a lot more often recently, and thus feel compelled to share some of my observations. Especially when I start to notice the same types of people over and over.

1) The Stereotype

Before I started doing yoga, I attributed it as a practice best left to hippies and crunchy-granola types. Not in a bad way, but in a I’m-too-Type-A-to-meditate kind of way. I’ve since realized that everyone has their own way of practicing – even us Type A-ers – but it still makes me giggle (on the inside) when I hear someone behind me talking about how they camped out at a Bob Dylan concert and it was so wonderful and soulful.

2) The Competitor

Yoga is not a competition. In fact, every instructor I’ve ever had emphasizes that it’s a personal practice, and that you should focus on what your body can do, not what everyone around you can do. The Competitor hears that and thinks, you clearly don’t know me and how I operate. I can say this because I fall squarely into this category. Sure, I want to focus on my own practice, but if the girl next to me is trying a bind, you bet your ass I’m going to give it a shot.

That is, until I wobble and fall. A Weeble, I am not.

3) The Underdressed Yogi

I suppose that if you’re comfortable, then it doesn’t count as underdressed. But when I look up from my downward dog and I’m staring directly at butt cheek, it’s a little disconcerting. And I find myself wishing that the UY would wear spandex that’s just a teensy bit longer.

Also disconcerting? When that spandex rides up in the front and you’re standing directly across from the UY. But there’s one in every class.

4) The Dude

No generalizations about guys that do yoga. Just an observation that I see a lot more gentlemen in my classes now than I did five years ago. I’m impressed. And also jealous when they’re far more flexible than I am.

5) The Picture-Perfect Yogi

The Picture-Perfect Yogi isn’t defined by how well he or she does yoga, but by how prepared they look for the class. That is to say, I’m not passing judgment on their practice, by any means. But there’s always one who is decked out head-to-toe in the latest yoga clothing (likely from lululemon*), with a brand new mat, and a perfect slip-proof towel to match. If the PPY is new to yoga, at least they look the part. If they’re seasoned and adept at the poses, then you can bet there’s a Competitor close by, eyeing not only the binds, but also the clothes.

Damn that PPY.

My observations are clearly colored by the fact that I am undoubtedly a Competitor (even as I know that that’s not what yoga is all about). But help me out – who have I left off the list? Or, if you’ve never been, who do you imagine I’ve left off?

*Again, no judgment. Just another minor case of jealousy, since I want everything in the store.

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Once again the year has exceeded my expectations

From December 2010:

“2010 seems hard to beat, but I think 2011 is up to the challenge.

Next year will see more marathons (or, at least one); the halfway point of my grad school career; five weddings within a three month period (plus another one over Labor Day); hopefully the completion of my birthday list; and a potential trip to Buenos Aires.

I can’t wait to see what else 2011 has up its sleeve.”

• That potential trip to Buenos Aires turned out to be a beautiful reality. It was relaxing, warm, and amazing to meet so much of BNF’s family and friends. And my Spanish was passable, so I’ll count that part a success.

• I didn’t fully complete my birthday list, but I did come up with a new one for 26 that I’m slowly working my way through.

• The weddings were fantastic. We danced and ate and celebrated fairly consistently from March through June (and then in September).

• At this point, I only have one semester left of grad school, and this past semester was the best one so far.

• And as for the marathons…well, I grossly underestimated how many I’d be doing in 2011.

• But the best surprise of all of 2011 was the proposal. Talk about having something up your sleeve!

2010 was a hard act to follow, but 2011 did just fine. And 2012 has a clear advantage, because how could I not be excited about the year in which I get married and get my M.A.?

I love making resolutions, mostly because I love making to-do lists, but at the same time I haven’t really made any these past few years, and things seems to be falling nicely into place. So I think I’ll stick with that method.

No resolutions, just happy years.

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Lessons from first semester

School starts back up again on Monday.

I have a mere four days left of free afternoons and weekends and I plan to take advantage, because now I know firsthand how much I’ll miss them when they’re gone.

First semester…

…I thought that three hours between work and class would be plenty of time to go for a run.

…I expected to be able to still see my friends most weekends, and get all my school work done.

…I figured that six hours of class a week really wasn’t all that much.

…I knew that I’d have to closely manage my schedule, but anticipated that the time adjustments would be doable.

…I was afraid that I would be far too timid to strike up conversations and make new friends.

Now I know…

…that doing anything other than reading/preparing for class during those three hours will make me feel as though I’m rushing, and potentially stress me out.

…that it’s difficult to see everyone that I want to as much as I want to and that sometimes I need to be selfish with my time. But I also know that even when friends get frustrated with my MIA-ness, it’s only because they miss me.

…that the time spent in class is nothing compared to the amount of time I should be spending on the work outside of the scheduled hours.

…that I have still have things to learn regarding time management – a skill I hope to perfect improve on this semester.

…that I really am becoming more outgoing and that I now have several friends who I’ll be in touch with long after this program is over.

Just more proof that lessons aren’t limited to the classroom.

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A little reflection in preparation for 2011

One of the perks of keeping a blog is that I don’t always have to remember everything. I can often just refer to a post to jog my memory. Which is what I was trying to do this morning regarding New Year’s Resolutions. It seems very much like something I would do – post a list of resolutions so I have things to check off – but I couldn’t find one.

I did, however, find my wish for fewer miscommunications in 2009; my acceptance that 2009 had its ups and downs (and own set of misunderstandings), but mostly ups; and my prediction that 2010 would be even better yet. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was completely right.

2010 was (and is) the year of…

…not one, but two marathons

…beginning grad school

…three weddings within a two month period

…turning 25 and all that I hope to accomplish within that year

…moving in with the boyfriend (and weeding out my closet in the process)

…my first Thanksgiving with a significant other’s (entire) family

…a beautiful Puerto Rico vacation

…and a New Year’s Eve that also coincides with our 1 year anniversary (schmoop!)

2010 seems hard to beat, but I think 2011 is up to the challenge.

Next year will see more marathons (or, at least one); the halfway point of my grad school career; five weddings within a three month period (plus another one over Labor Day); hopefully the completion of my birthday list; and a potential trip to Buenos Aires.

I can’t wait to see what else 2011 has up its sleeve.

Happy New Year!

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A few Friday observations

I’ve spent the past two days immersed in orientation activities. I have chatted and networked and bonded and bitched and been overwhelmed all in a very short time, and there’s still plenty more to come. But I have noticed several things within the past 48 hours:

• There will always be “that girl” who wants to go above and beyond everyone else who’s going above and beyond and who doesn’t realize (or care) just how obnoxious she’s being. And I don’t have to be friends with her – even if she is in my program.

• There will also always be “that other girl” who, at the networking reception has one drink too many and proceeds to knock empties off the table, so that they shatter on the patio. And, because we’re all still high schoolers at heart, the rest of the class will say, “oooooooohh!”

• I’m no longer either of those girls. (Or, at least, I wasn’t yesterday.)

• There is a bigger difference between a 22-year-old and a 25-year-old than you might initially guess.

• Riding a bike back home after the aforementioned reception probably wasn’t my best idea, but I learned that it is doable. For future reference.

• And speaking of biking in the city, I think I’m ready to check off that whole “comfortable riding in the streets” thing. Because when I yell at drivers (mostly when they can’t hear me), I know I’ve started to bike like I drive. For better or worse.

• First impressions are SO important, and will undoubtedly set the tone for whatever friendships follow.

• If all professors had British accents, I’d pay much more attention in class.

• Grad schools are apparently the new eharmony/match.com/chemistry/etc, considering nearly every administrator mentioned stories of students meeting their current spouses and having babies. That should be a perk, not your selling point.

• And finally, judging from all the information I’ve gathered in the past couple days, I was right about having no life once classes start. I’m torn: I love being right (who doesn’t?), but I’ll miss my sanity. Or rather, what was left of it.

Anyway, I’ll be finishing all my back to school shopping this weekend, along with a healthy dose of softball tomorrow. So long, sweet summer.

Happy Friday!

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Back in the swing of things

It may seem contradictory, but after my week away I’m both exhausted and rejuvenated.

It was exhausting because it was a long week. At camp we’re on the go from 7:30am until well after midnight. And sometimes the day starts even earlier if I decide to run before breakfast.

But, at the same time, it was rejuvenating because it was just so much fun. The people I work with there are family, and the middle schoolers who come are so full of energy that it’s often contagious. In a good way.

I’d been feeling a little drained before I left. I was stressed and snappy and overwhelmed and I just needed a break. Now that I’m back, I feel like I’m really ready to live up and enjoy these next four weeks before grad school begins. I’m ready to continue checking things off my summer list and my 25 list (both of which I’ve made progress on – yes!) and to ride the high that comes after camp…even if it’s only temporary.

For now, I’ll play catch-up at work (and on blogs), same as any post-trip, but I’ll say this: being away has been exactly what I needed.

Game on.

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Maybe having a type isn’t always a bad thing

I’ve realized recently that I can divide most of the guys I’ve dated, into two different categories.

• The first type is the kind of guy that I *should* be dating. It’s a good relationship that, even when it’s over, inspires more fond memories than regrets.

• The second type is the kind of guy who I turn to when I fear that I’ve gotten in a rut with the first type (or looking/waiting for the first type), and I think I need to branch out.

These types have nothing to do with looks.

(Though there was once a string of such similar looking gentlemen that even my mother commented on it. And she backed it up with side-by-side photos of me with each guy. But that’s neither here nor there.)

They have everything to do with personality.

• The first type is confident. He is intelligent and passionate and not afraid to disagree with me. In fact, most of my best type-one-relationships and I have differed on topics that are very important to me (religion being the big one), but in such thought-provoking ways that it’s never been a dealbreaker.

• On the other hand, the second type tries to be intelligent and thought-provoking (and is, perhaps, passionate), but falls short. He makes shallow, surface arguments, that suggest that he either doesn’t know all the facts, or is parroting popular opinion – or both.

• The first type can read me like a book. Nothing gets by him, even when I want it to, because he’s so attuned to my facial expressions, and the slight, but very telling movements of my body. No, I don’t expect him to read my mind, but sometimes he reads me so well that it feels like it.

• The second type is easier to hide things from – which is a sign, though not the biggest, that he’s not who I should be with anyway. It’s not that he doesn’t care. We’re just on different wavelengths.

• The first type is aware of himself. He has grown into himself, and isn’t constantly trying to prove something. As a reflection of this, he usually tends to be a few (or more) years older, though I know that age does not guarantee maturity.

• By contrast, the second type is never done trying to prove something – anything – to everyone. He also tends to be my age. That’s what happens when I think, maybe I’m just being too picky. It’s what happens when I remind myself that age doesn’t have to equal maturity. It’s what happens…right before I return to being single, and continue looking for a Type One.

And it makes me realize that maybe having a type (like that, anyway) isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And it doesn’t mean that all Type Ones are the same – they each have something special, unique, that sets them apart. Some even more so than others.

But having a type also just means that I finally have a better idea of what I want. I know what’s important to me, what I need, and what I can’t stand.

And I feel like that’s half the battle.

So what do you think? Do you have a type (whether intentionally or not)? Or, possibly, did you only think you had a type…until someone else came along?

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Happy Birthday, Poppop

Dear Poppop,

Happy Birthday! I know it’s been over ten years, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently.

I don’t know if you knew this then (though I’m sure you do now), but you were my favorite. I never really said it out loud because, well, I felt like choosing a favorite grandparent was akin to a parent choosing a favorite child. We all know it happens, but you’re not supposed to admit it. I always secretly thought that maybe I was your favorite, too – or, at the very least, that we had a special bond – maybe because I was your only granddaughter.

You were the one who taught me all those old barbershop quartet songs, that I now sing to the kids I babysit. The first one to try to teach me an instrument – though, to be fair, the ukulele is a hard place for a child to start. I wonder if you knew how much I wanted to impress you. I tried to play; I sang my heart out; I memorized poems that you liked, just to be able to recite them to you. And I loved every minute of it.

The other day, I was walking by the World War II Memorial, here in D.C. It may just be the new kid on the block as far as memorials go, but it’s also one of my favorites.

There are benches there that list the different branches of the armed forces, and the side labeled “Merchant Marines” caught my eye. I noticed it because, though I recognized the title, I didn’t know nearly as much about it as I should. I didn’t find out until far too late that you had been a Merchant Marine; I didn’t know that you had served in World War II until I could no longer ask you about it.

I’ve realized that there’s so much I never got a chance to talk to you about; there are so many stories of yours that I never got to hear. And I’ve done a lot of growing up, myself, since you saw me last.

But there’s still a little part of me that desperately wants to impress you.

Happy Birthday, Poppop. Miss you.

Love,

Liebchen

A haze on the far horizon

The infinite tender sky

The rich, ripe tint of the cornfields

With wild geese sailing high

All over upland and lowland

The charm of the golden-rod

Some of us call it Autumn

Others call it God

~one of Poppop’s favorites, and one of the first that I remember him teaching me

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