"Maybe 23 is the age people become disillusioned with life. Until 23, everything is preparation for a 'life' that's supposed to begin after college. But when you finally get to 23, you realize there really isn't life after college."
From Faith and the City
Monday, March 20, 2006
good-bye 22
I am saying good bye to 22 tonight. It was a good age, a good year, a formative year. My world and my identity changed on so many levels. But even though it was a great year, I'm ready to say good bye to 22. Will I feel older and more mature tomororw, more like the adult I pretend to be every day at work? Probably not. But now I won't feel quite so embarrassed when someone inevitably asks how old I am. I will proudly say 23, which is still young, because I'm not pretending to have it all figured out, but it sounds a heck of a lot older than 22, which as one of my fellow 22 year old friends described as an age that just screams fresh out of college.
It's kind of a big week for good byes. Adam and I are moving out of our first apartment together and taking the plunge into homeownership. As of Friday we will be the proud owners of a 2 bedroom condo in Des Moines. I have had more addresses than I can count in the last 4 years, none of them lasting more than 7 months. So it doesn't feel that abnormal to be packing things up again. But this time I won't be packing again in a few short months. What will that be like? I really don't know. There won't be a compelling reason to get rid of clothes I haven't worn in a year and I won't be emptying drawers, throwing away that eyeshadow I never used, the shoes I don't wear any more or the random crap I am so good at aquring at the Target One Spot.
My family also moved out of my childhood home this year, which meant there was another closet for me to empty, another set of dust bunnies to disrupt from under my bed and a collection of memories to relive. I cleaned out that room in November and filled a box with things I couldn't bear to part with but that my mom refused to let into the new house. And you know what? That box is still sitting in the trunk of my car. I haven't looked at, but I still can't throw it away. The picture frames with smiling faces from high school. The college mascot memorabilia, the yearbooks. Maybe I'll finally move the box into the new condo, where it can collct dust until we move again.
So I said good bye to my college apartment and my childhood home of 20 years without shedding a tear. So why is it that I feel most sentimental about this little apartment where Adam and I have only lived for 7 months? There are plenty of things to complain about, from the dryers never completely drying our clothes to the dishwasher not really cleaning anything. To the lack of a light over the dining room table, to the cold showers. But there are as many little idiosyncracies that I love about it. I love that we are on the 8th floor and have a balcony that overlooks the city. I love it that it feels like we live in a big city because we live in such a big building. I love the old retired people you encounter on the elevator who ignore the unspoken rule that people don't talk to eachother on the elevator and always ask how your day was or comment on the weather. I love it that it's so small that Adam and I can clean the whole thing in an hour. I love our huge walk-in closet that I managed to dominate even though Adam had a 5 month head start on me. I love it that it is and always will be our first home together. That we made our first real adult furniture purchase with this space in mind. I LOVE the neighborhood that it's in. Just south of Grand, which if you're familiar with Des Moines is the highly desireable country club-esque neighborhood. This is the place we had our first little dinner parties, put up our first christmas tree, argued as we hung the first pictures and burned our first dinners. I love the swimming pool, that I was able to take full advantage of when I wasn't working full time.
good bye 22. good bye #806.
It's kind of a big week for good byes. Adam and I are moving out of our first apartment together and taking the plunge into homeownership. As of Friday we will be the proud owners of a 2 bedroom condo in Des Moines. I have had more addresses than I can count in the last 4 years, none of them lasting more than 7 months. So it doesn't feel that abnormal to be packing things up again. But this time I won't be packing again in a few short months. What will that be like? I really don't know. There won't be a compelling reason to get rid of clothes I haven't worn in a year and I won't be emptying drawers, throwing away that eyeshadow I never used, the shoes I don't wear any more or the random crap I am so good at aquring at the Target One Spot.
My family also moved out of my childhood home this year, which meant there was another closet for me to empty, another set of dust bunnies to disrupt from under my bed and a collection of memories to relive. I cleaned out that room in November and filled a box with things I couldn't bear to part with but that my mom refused to let into the new house. And you know what? That box is still sitting in the trunk of my car. I haven't looked at, but I still can't throw it away. The picture frames with smiling faces from high school. The college mascot memorabilia, the yearbooks. Maybe I'll finally move the box into the new condo, where it can collct dust until we move again.
So I said good bye to my college apartment and my childhood home of 20 years without shedding a tear. So why is it that I feel most sentimental about this little apartment where Adam and I have only lived for 7 months? There are plenty of things to complain about, from the dryers never completely drying our clothes to the dishwasher not really cleaning anything. To the lack of a light over the dining room table, to the cold showers. But there are as many little idiosyncracies that I love about it. I love that we are on the 8th floor and have a balcony that overlooks the city. I love it that it feels like we live in a big city because we live in such a big building. I love the old retired people you encounter on the elevator who ignore the unspoken rule that people don't talk to eachother on the elevator and always ask how your day was or comment on the weather. I love it that it's so small that Adam and I can clean the whole thing in an hour. I love our huge walk-in closet that I managed to dominate even though Adam had a 5 month head start on me. I love it that it is and always will be our first home together. That we made our first real adult furniture purchase with this space in mind. I LOVE the neighborhood that it's in. Just south of Grand, which if you're familiar with Des Moines is the highly desireable country club-esque neighborhood. This is the place we had our first little dinner parties, put up our first christmas tree, argued as we hung the first pictures and burned our first dinners. I love the swimming pool, that I was able to take full advantage of when I wasn't working full time.
good bye 22. good bye #806.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
lunch dates
Adam has been living in Des Moines for a year now, and we've been married for 7 months, but the fact that we can have lunch dates during the week is still a luxury. I hope it's something that I never take for granted. And the great thing about Des Moines is that we both work downtown, so I can go meet him in the skywalks and we can lose ourselves among the other professionals who are wandering around tryign to decided if they want Maid-Rite or Subway. Our lunch of choice is usually pizza from a little vendor in the corner of the food court. We each get 2 slices and a small drink for $7, you can't beat it. And seeing my husband in the middle of a stressful day is something I wouldn't trade for anything.
Every girl needs a guy who can tell her to stop worrying and relax. That's exactly what Adam does for me. Today I felt like I didn't know what I was doing at work, and he quietly reminded me that I do know what I'm doing and if I have questions I can't be afraid to ask. I still had a stressful, busy afternoon, but it was manageable.
Every girl needs a guy who can tell her to stop worrying and relax. That's exactly what Adam does for me. Today I felt like I didn't know what I was doing at work, and he quietly reminded me that I do know what I'm doing and if I have questions I can't be afraid to ask. I still had a stressful, busy afternoon, but it was manageable.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
CRASH
Adam and I saw Crash this weekend. (Academy Award Winner for best pictures) It was out in theaters in the spring but one of the theaters in Des Moines is showing a bunch of the academy nominated films. Anyway, we missed it the first time it was out. It was amazing. I don't know if it just hit me at a time when I was especially sensitive to its messages about race relations and family ties, but I highly recommend it. I thought it gave an excellent and acurrate portrayal of so many of the stereotypes and labels we have for people who seem different from us. but is also showed how important family is. From a daddy's desire to keep his little girl safe to children's commitment to their parents as they grow older. This is a movie I'll definitley want to see again.
The opening line sums up the whole movie. "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.
Has anyone else seen it? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
The opening line sums up the whole movie. "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.
Has anyone else seen it? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Green!
I don't think I have a drop of Irish blood in me, but that doesnt' mean I can't celebrate my friend's Irish roots. My mouth is still sore, so Adam got me a shamrock shake. I don't think I've had one since I was a kid, when they seemed so mysterious and special. Now the concept of adding mint flavoring to a vanilla shake isn't quite so novel, but it still tastes good, nad I don't have to chew it. :)
new life
Last year was a year of weddings for Adam and I. Aside from our own we celebrated with many of our friends who were married. And now it's time for them to start having babies. We are far from that ourselves, but it's so exciting to see Nate and Sarah bringing home little Sophia (check out pictures piecesofglass.blogger.com) and Dustin and Carly with their new son. We can't wait to get back to CR and see for ourselves how beautiful and precious these babies are.
signs of growing up
I was on a quest for a new pair of khakis for work this week. I went to my usual stores, Banana, Express, Limited, Gap. In one store, the salesperson asked if I was shopping for spring break. This made me feel both old and young. Old because I don't get one of those anymore and young because obviously I still look like someone who might be taking a spring break. As I stood in dressing room after dressing room, trying to be practical it hit me that I now view myself as a young professional (whatever that really means). I didn't want the pants to be too tight or too low. I wanted them to be comfortable. I even ended up getting a pair that is a little loose rather than squeezing into the smaller size. When I left the store, I coudln't help but think that my mom would be proud. After all her comments about things being too tight, too small, too low I was finally understanding. This is not to say that everything in my wardrobe is this practical. Far from it, I mean who can resist the clearance skirt that you know is too short, tight, whatever. Not me. But for work purposes I am finding that anything I can do to appear older than the 22 and fresh out of college that I am is a good thing. I need all the confidence I can get, and if a pair of khakis can help, great.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Check it off the list
Technically I haven't written out a list of things I want to do before I die, but it's in the back of my mind. Watch the sun set/rise over the Grand Canyon, take a gondola ride in Venice with Adam, go hiking in the Rocky Mountains, own a house, take a road trip along the California coast, get my wisdom teeth out. Wait, you say. Get your wisdom teeth out? It's not really something I aspired to do, but it seems like it's one of those things that just has to be done. So like it or not, I got to check something off my list today. In all fairness, I was already half way there, having had the top two taken out in college. But today, this morning to be exact, the bottom two we removed. I opted out of anethesia, and just took local anethestic. Right now, 10 hours later, I'm thankful for that decision, but about 20 minutes into it, when I could feel them tugging in my mouth I was having second thoughts. Thank God for iPods. I highly recommend them during any dental procedure.
So now my mouth is sore, but Adam assures me the swelling has gone down, and all I can eat is cold, soft foods. Unfortunately I'm craving something salty. Does anyone have any ideas? Becca thought of hummus, but I don't think I can bring myself to eating it plain, and Adam won't put the bag of dorritos in the blender. Tomorrow I should be able to move onto hot foods. Watch out tomato soup. I have my eye on you.
So now my mouth is sore, but Adam assures me the swelling has gone down, and all I can eat is cold, soft foods. Unfortunately I'm craving something salty. Does anyone have any ideas? Becca thought of hummus, but I don't think I can bring myself to eating it plain, and Adam won't put the bag of dorritos in the blender. Tomorrow I should be able to move onto hot foods. Watch out tomato soup. I have my eye on you.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
normal
Is it just me, or do we all have an innate desire to be normal? So much of what I do revolves around this false sense of security I find in my effort to become normal. I went to college, got married, got a job. All these things are fine and I'm not saying I would have it any other way, but underneath the surface of all these acts is a longing to just be normal. To fit in. To be accepted. Deep down, that is my desire. I think if I just wear the certain outfit, am seen with the right people, and go to the trendy places on the weekend, people will look at me and think, "yeah, she's got everything together. She's normal."
But really, what is normal? We all know that nobody has it together, no matter how great things look on the outside. There's no such thing as the perfect life. Suburbia is a joke. Those people with 1.5 kids, a dog and a white pickett fence probably have more problems than you and I, they're just better at hiding it. So that leaves the question, if there is no such thing as normal, what is it that we're striving for? And if it doesn't exist, what's the point?
This past weekend I was at a church retreat, and the speaker briefly touched on this desire we all have for normalcy, even if it is fleeting. He asked, when is the last time you felt normal? That struck a cord with me, but what he said next is what really hit home, and I think it's the definition of normal I've been seeking. I will only feel normal, secure, accepted, and loved when I let myself be free to be who God created me to be. I didn't create me, God did. I forget that a lot. I think I can create my own happiness, which is so far from the truth, but it's what the world is telling us at every turn. Once I acknowledge that God created me, the next step is truely believing in my heart that the only way I can feel normal is if I let myself experience God's love at such a depth that I can be comfortable with who I am. The me God created me to be.
Maybe it sounds cheesey, or really basic, but that's where I am right now. And really, if everyone was normal what fun would that be? It's the quirks that I love and remember in those I hold close to my heart.
But really, what is normal? We all know that nobody has it together, no matter how great things look on the outside. There's no such thing as the perfect life. Suburbia is a joke. Those people with 1.5 kids, a dog and a white pickett fence probably have more problems than you and I, they're just better at hiding it. So that leaves the question, if there is no such thing as normal, what is it that we're striving for? And if it doesn't exist, what's the point?
This past weekend I was at a church retreat, and the speaker briefly touched on this desire we all have for normalcy, even if it is fleeting. He asked, when is the last time you felt normal? That struck a cord with me, but what he said next is what really hit home, and I think it's the definition of normal I've been seeking. I will only feel normal, secure, accepted, and loved when I let myself be free to be who God created me to be. I didn't create me, God did. I forget that a lot. I think I can create my own happiness, which is so far from the truth, but it's what the world is telling us at every turn. Once I acknowledge that God created me, the next step is truely believing in my heart that the only way I can feel normal is if I let myself experience God's love at such a depth that I can be comfortable with who I am. The me God created me to be.
Maybe it sounds cheesey, or really basic, but that's where I am right now. And really, if everyone was normal what fun would that be? It's the quirks that I love and remember in those I hold close to my heart.
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