Monday, October 22, 2012

Ask a Grown Person

When I was a teenager, I read Sassy magazine. Oh, how I wish I would have grown up in the Age of the Internet. Rookie magazine, what Sassy would have been as an online 'zine if written by the readers instead of adults, would have made me a much more well-adjusted teenager, because I would have known that there were other people out there who thought differently, and I wouldn't have felt so out of place. And guess what: I follow Rookie on Facebook and often read their pieces, including Ask a Grown Man and Ask a Grown Woman, because I may be a grown woman myself, but I think we all still have insecure teenage selves hidden deep inside, and that makes Rookie relevant no matter how old we get. If you have young people in your life, share Rookie with them and let them know that you're never too old to watch Ira Glass make balloon animals while giving love advice. The rest of the content is also superb and shows just how far we have come as a society that teenagers not only talk about previously taboo topics but also accept everyone's gender/racial/sexual/cultural identity differences without question. Women of my mother's generation set the gender equity bar such that although women may still struggle in some areas, those in my generation never questioned whether women could do anything that men can do. I like to think that my generation is setting the cultural bar such that the next generation (i.e., Rookie readers) will never question their worthiness or capabilities across gender, sexual, racial, or any other lines. That's encouraging.

Monday, October 08, 2012

One year later

My Boiseversary was last week. One year since pulling into this cowtown, unhappy kitty in tow (Dear Kitty hates riding in cars, especially after four 10-hour days on the road). I was scared shitless, unsure of what I was getting myself into, knowing only that I had been overdue for a drastic change and in desperate need of a way to shake off that feeling that I was still a kid. So I paid my first month's rent and collected my house key from the landlord, pulled into my garage, and plopped Dear Kitty on the green carpeting in the empty living room, where she sat down and looked at me as if to say, "This is my last stop. You can keep driving but I am going nowhere." We both knew we were home. I celebrated that night with delivery pizza and a bottle of wine from a local winery, and the next day, got to work unpacking.

A year later, the rooms are full. Art is on the walls and curtains are hung. The garage and spare bedroom are collecting various items to outfit various adventures. The porch has been sat on, grilled on, and partied on. The pathetic garden has been tended and the sad lawn has been mowed. I have seen the mountains and the desert, though there is still much more to see. Some things around here could use some work, but the point is that I have spent the year taking it all in, learning what each season looks like, and now I know how to do it better in the coming year.

I hardly recognize the person I was in DC. That world now feels so foreign, and it has been replaced with a world in which I awaken every morning, hardly believing that is isn't just a fantasy. This is the life that I am supposed to be living. There are some kinks yet to work out, but what would life be without something to strive for?

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” - Dr. Seuss