just a girl

from Paper Towns, John Green

I remember toward the end of my junior year in high school liking this boy and when we got back to school in the fall people asking me what was the deal between the two of us. While I had absolutely no idea of it at the time, I suppose there was some general curiosity into the social life of the wallflower and soon to be valedictorian that I was, and friends of ours starting playing matchmaker. Even though everyone’s attempts fell apart--timing has never been my strong point in relationships-- I recall telling someone that the reason I would always remember said boy was that through all the drama that was senior year, and for all the expectations I had accumulated -- Ivy League future, speeches, honor societies-- at the end of it what he saw was just a girl. And that I loved.

It’s something that I think about all the time, the idea of something versus that actuality of something, and how often in our lives it’s not something but rather someone. We have to knock them off the pedestal we put them on to save them and ourselves, we can’t live on pedestals and often we never ask to be put there in the first place.

Sometimes I think about how I have become such an open book in recent years. I didn’t use to be this way-- so loud, so opinionated -- but I think one of the reasons I am has come out of the way I have been perceived -- as having it all together, having the perfect family, being destined for greatness-- I knew I couldn’t live under the shadow of perception forever, so in order to beat it, I just began talking.

I’m still being told that I am intimidating. My resume is too long, my adventures too grand, my dreams too big, so I wait. I wait for the people who when they look at me, they just see a person, a girl.

Yesterday I was in meetings for four hours all talking about self-reflection and strengths. (Yeah, it was a little heavy.) At one point we start talking about how you would describe yourself if you couldn’t use the regular statistics. What would you say if you didn’t say where you were from? Or how old you are? Or your one quirky fact? What would you add to the conversation? Who are you?

After some thought, I think this is my answer...for now…

I am a dreamer, a loner, a creative. I long to feel purposeful and needed by those around me. I want to give of my time and energy to a cause and fight for it with everything I am. I am an overachiever, sometimes controlled my to do lists and high standards. I am loyal to a fault, have no patience for ignorance or cruelty, and have a soft spot for John Green novels and chocolate. I feel totally safe feeling small and have owned the fact that twenty-five is a beautiful age because you really are smart enough to know better and young enough to go dancing all night and then eat chocolate milkshakes at 2am. I am just a girl who may or may not be on the precipice of greatness. Do you see the girl?

this is me! picture from yesterday in my new sweater

the holiday season

Interlochen Holiday Party. ResLife Represents

hello hello! so i know it's been forever...and I have so much to write about! but right now i'm under the weather and years have taught me that one shouldn't publish things when under the influence of cold medicine. so please come back when there is more to say. in the meantime...

find me on pinterest. or instagram.

and i'll be back!

things unspoken part 2

This series continues to talk about some of the things I don’t usually write about here. My point is to find the words...and let the rest just fall into place.

There is a running joke in the movie The Runaway Bride where Julia Roberts’ character doesn’t actually know how she likes her eggs. She just eats them the way that her significant other eats them and has absolutely no opinion of her own preference. Then, towards the end, there is a scene where she stands with plates and plates of eggs, searching for how she likes her eggs.

This is exactly how I feel about music.

It’s an odd thing. Here I am, twenty something in a culture where generations are molded by the music they listen to. I could walk into any high school, college, bar, group of people and have groups identify themselves by the music they love or hate. What music you listen to seems to define what kind of person you are and what group you belong to.

Now this may seem like a weird subject to talk about in a series that is about disclosing...

But here’s the thing.

I HATE it when someone asks me what type of music I listen to, who my favorite group is, what is on repeat on my ipod. And more than that, I don’t ever tell people that because it seems so uncool.

I grew up listening to the music my Mom listened to--a nice blend of 90s country and soft rock. I know the words to every Faith Hill and Colin Raye song. At one point I think we had every album Celine Dion put out and my sister and I can still recite the words to The Bodyguard soundtrack (the good times of Whitney Houston…)

My Dad on the other hand was a die hard rock fan. Smashing Pumpkins, U2, The Stones, Queen...when he would drive that is what was on the radio.

By the time high school rolled around I played in the world of top forty. Nothing too scandalous, but sure, I like to think I wasn’t totally out of it.

Then, my siblings started driving and I was in the car with them. I didn’t care what was on the radio so it became their preferences. Years past and top forty became slightly passe and we moved to alternative rock and local bands. While Bobby’s musical taste is expansive, Laura’s is mindblowing. Girlfriend knows her stuff and listens to true alternative and indie. They are great about making me mixes and recommending artists. Et VOILA! I have a random assortment of music on my own.

But about two years ago I sat there looking at my iTunes account realizing that it was the most random grouping of songs. I wanted it to resemble more of what I liked. And then it dawned on me, I have absolutely no idea.

A couple of days ago someone said to me, “We can put music on, but I have no idea what you like…”

The hard truth is that I’m not attached to music the way most people are. Top forty doesn’t feel like I’m selling my soul to the industry. Country music isn’t about tractors and living in the south. Rap isn’t totally offensive. The Beatles are great because they are THE BEATLES and that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything else about them. I have more Taylor Swift on my ipod than I’d like to admit, but she’s great to run to and that’s really what I use my ipod for. When I get into a car I am never the one to DJ. It’s just not my thing.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not slowing getting in touch with some favorites. And believe it or not, some of them even my sister hasn’t heard of--a feat that makes me so very proud.

What kind of music do I like?

Well…

I lean towards strong female lead singers. Adele, Lorde, Jessie Ware, Sara Bareilles. I like a little indie: The Civil Wars, Lord Huron, The Lone Bellow. I am totally in love with slow music that you want in your head all day (and that’s not whiny): Michael Kiwanuka I could listen to all day. I totally have a soft spot  songs you’ll find on the radio, there is always a time and place for Beyonce and Katy Perry, and yes, even Taylor Swift.

Yes, there are ton more on my Spotify and iTunes account. (I didn’t even touch on Maroon 5, Mumford and Sons, or Justin Timberlake…)

At 25 I’m starting to navigate the neverending black hole that is music. I’m trying to keep my cool and understand the vast deepness of the genre, and find my place within it. I want to be able to rattle off favorites and songs and blow your mind with my underground taste. And, it’s very likely that won’t happen. It’s more likely that I’ll have you laughing at the fact I know the words to that song on the radio, whatever that song is, and sing along in the grocery store. But what I want is a playlist to turn on at midnight when it’s just me in my room, when the day has been long and hard and so good, when I sit on the floor, legs outstretched, back against my bed, I can close my eyes and hum along. I want music that fits my life. That’s slow and steady and filled with lyrics that mean something. With a special place for music you just have to chair dance along to, for just when the moment calls for it.

just keep driving

the day started with a couple of friends in two cars drinking cider in a little house with a bicycle as the only marker to where we were. then, just like the last time we ran away, we got in the car and drove up the leelanau peninsula. we decided the best thing was fresh air, the sound of crashing waves, loud music you can sing to, and only good food. 

Grand Traverse Lighthouse and Lake Michigan

Point Betsie Lighthouse and a shameless selfie :)

Frankfort Lighthouse at sunset

Like any good road trip, it ended with margaritas and friends in a small michigan town...

what will next week entail? 

things unspoken: part 1

It has occurred to me recently that there are a few things that I either haven’t talked about in a long while in this little blog of mine, or I have totally not talked about at all. I’m going to try to dig into those subjects in this mini series of “things unspoken.” Please bare with me as I try to find the words, I know myself well enough to know that while talking about these things is good, it doesn’t make it easy.

I was sitting at Olive Garden talking to dear friends and somehow my military background came out. For those of you who read this blog because you’ve known me for years, this is not a new fact. But in the past couple of years my military life has been overshadowed by college and Peace Corps and the bubble of the world I currently live in, plus my Dad has been retired for almost four years now. However, once upon a time, I was a military brat. It was 21 years and it was all I’ve known.

Back to Olive Garden.

So, I’m sitting there spitting out bare bones facts. Military jargon. Deployments. Moves. All of the schools, the hellos and goodbyes, the homecoming I got to miss school for, life on base, life as a civilian.

You want to hear some stories? Talk to a former military brat. We know a lot. We see a lot. And our perspective on the world is magical. Why? Because we grew up seeing both sides. We know the sacrifice and yet we believe. Duty, honor, loyalty. Those aren’t hollow wishes, those are the pillars we all stand on.

When my brother was in elementary school my Dad took his class on a tour of the aircraft carrier he was on (my brother was therefore the coolest) as a school field trip. When I was in fifth grade my siblings and I sat at the pier for hours waiting for the ship to come in after deployment and started playing UNO (the ONLY game the four of us can play) once the sun came up and ended up in the local paper.

My Mom used to create these paper chains and we would take a picture of my Dad in full uniform and move his picture down the chain as we got closer and closer to his homecoming.

I remember living in Seattle and he was due back just before Christmas. The three of us were still young, all in elementary school, so my Mom went all out for the holiday. I’ll never forget it, we show up in the Christmas tree lot and we aren’t there thirty seconds before my Mom looks at us and says, “What if we just got the biggest tree here?” We all looked at her in total disbelief. This isn’t how we roll. But she smiled and it was like some big secret, we were going to get the biggest tree so that it would be beautiful for when it would be the five of us again. I don’t think my Mom ever second guessed that choice. I wish I could remember the looks on all of our faces.

I remember loving dusk, when the sun would go down and living on base you could hear the trumpets of Colors, when all the flags are brought down and everyone stops and salutes. I can see it, us driving up the hill away from the base, aircraft carrier behind me, traffic light in front of me, towards home we went, the sounds fading into the background.

Being a military brat is a way of life. It’s a fraternity that few join. It’s not just a destination or a career choice, it is most definitely a lifestyle.

It’s a community. It’s waking up to your neighbor mowing the grass of the entire block because she was feeling empowered and knew that your battlegroup was out. It’s the Marine across the street explaining to inquiring minds all the tattoos while a bunch of elementary students ohhh and ahhhh. It’s Moms getting up early to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as humanly possible--dogs are walked, lunches packed, breakfast is ready, play dates are planned. It’s the dreaded spring conversation of what move will happen this summer.

I have all the stories. I have fond memories that make me smile and I have the sad ones. It was hard work, it was a lot of growing up fast, it was duty and honor and respect. It was lessons learned and humans molded. It was uniforms and balls, wives clubs and commissary Saturdays. It was military IDs and having a parent whose job you never really could explain (I will have to tell you the turkey story later).

I used to sit on the bus and look at the window of the suburban life around us and dream about staying put. I would imagine having grandparents at soccer games and friends for years. I thought about living in the “house you grew up in,” of having the same bad wallpaper and creaky stairs, of having so many people know you being a teenager would be hard because you could never do anything scandalous.

I didn’t really get that. And if you had asked me then I would have told you I got the short end of the stick. After all, I didn’t ask to be a military brat.

But here I am. Eating my selfish teenage words. Just like my Mom said I would. (Note: My mother is ALWAYS right. Except when she picks a winner in The Bachelor, for that I am always right. :)

It was hard. But really it was different. It was our kind of different.

So yes, I grew up all over. I’m not “from” anywhere. I don’t have a childhood home. My friends are on three continents in about 5 time zones.

It’s a crazy, beautiful life. And so I get to blow people’s minds with my stories, and then promptly go back to eating my Olive Garden breadstick.

And just as it turns out, I will probably never live in one house, or down the road from my parents--what can I say? Old habits die hard.

PS-- Go here for one of my favorite military family blogs.

Pictures from my road trip a couple of weeks ago 

couldn't have said it better

Sometimes other people say it better. 

Check out the rest of my quote pinterest page here. 

image 1, image 2, image 3, image 4, image 5, image 6, image 7

running away

beginnings can be hard. while some things, some people, are old hat, there are others that are entirely new. you find yourself constantly torn between being inside and outside your comfort zone. 

and time marches on. the days become longer and the daylight shorter. your children start driving you stark crazy mad. you work on your days off to get it all done. you worry, you cry, you eat too much chocolate. and suddenly, it's october and you are constantly curbing the urge to stand up from behind the desk and walk out and just keep walking. 

or maybe that's just me.

adjusting to this new year has been difficult at times. this is the first time i've returned to anything since my junior year of college about four years ago. and perhaps that has been too long because i have totally forgotten what it is like coming back to something. 

but i'm learning. 

and in the meanwhile, between going crazy and trying to be in the moment, between juggling my own emotional status and that of the teenagers under my care, between doing it all and not having it together...all i could think about was running away. 

and about a week and a half ago i got my wish. 

it happened exactly as i had hoped. two very good friends. one beautiful day. a tank of gas. and the Michigan peninsula. 

we were all at lunch and they looked at me saying, "cancel your afternoon. we are just going to get in the car and drive north until we don't feel like driving anymore..."

and that's what happened. 

we drove up the coast. we stopped along the way, took so many pictures, drove along the tunnel of trees up to the mackinac bridge and waved to canada. we skipped and ate fried fish and sat at a local bar eavesdropping on conversations. we sang loudly to 90s boy bands and ended up sitting in the dark watching the stars. 

in the end we had to come back to our lives, our co-workers, our students. but we came back with the fall air crisp in our lungs, headaches from laughing so hard we cried, and happy hearts. 

sometimes all you need is to run away. 

Torch Lake, MI 

the runaways 

the tunnel of trees

picturesque michigan

st. ignace, MI

good night michigan!

that time i was an amateur photographer

This is Madeline. Isn't she lovely? Writer, musician, vocalist, dreamer, friend, and killer hall counselor -- I am so happy to be her friend and get to spend more time with her this year. I was thrilled and honored to be asked to take a few shots of her this afternoon for her amazing blog musings by madeline, which everyone must check out (it's hysterical).

Here's a little sampling of our afternoon. Thank you Madeline! 

22

LC, Mamma C, and me

She is the other half of me. The light to my dark. She’s the one who can finish the crossword, who is an ace at math, who asked to borrow my Shakespeare books so she would have something to do on the weekends. She has beauty and brains and a presence that makes her like an old Hollywood movie star. The fact that she knows all the words to most black and white movies and every 90s sitcom. I’m in awe of her really. Those short curls and totally hipster clothing-- worn in a way that’s not trendy or ironic, but in a way that speaks to her early nineties birth date and preference for grunge. She taught me how to apply eyeliner, curl my hair, and convinced me that I don’t look ridiculous in glitter eyeshadow. (Or else she lied…)

I don’t remember being the only child. I sometimes get that question, if in the years between my brother and sister came along, I remember being the only one around. And I honestly don’t. I don’t remember a time when they weren’t there. Throughout it all, they have been right there.

Laura is four years younger than I am, and yet she has lived a life. She has such an amazing story and still stands tall. She is a daughter, sister, friend, scholar, giver, and global citizen.

Yesterday she turned twenty-two.

Cheers to you my love. Happy twenty-second year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of crazy goodness. I hope you find joy and happiness in each day.

xx

mc

i LOVE this photo. she's gonna kill me

a west wing state of mind (aka: the fall funk)

oh yeah iphone. way to take those photos...

It was a good friend of mine in college who told me I’d like The West Wing. After that comment it would take me three tries and a couple of years to become addicted. Then it became the bonding moment for between me and a college roommate and I was hooked.

As it happens, I’ve started binge watching episodes of The West Wing off Netflix recently, something I’ve really only done once before. The summer after I graduated from college I moved home and would spend the hours that my parents were at work watching episode after episode until I started to know all the lines. Now, in between desk shifts and late at night I turn it on. Something about the smart wit, fast paced dialogue, and you know, the politics of it all, speaks to me. It doesn’t hurt that it is also the favorite show of some of my good friends and we spend endless hours daydreaming about being CJ Criag (and dating Josh).

Everytime I watch this show I think about being the characters. And I know a lot of people say that about a show, the characters are what get us into the story, they are what make us invested viewers. But I like REALLY think about being them because a part of me believes that I can.

After college I was in the middle of deciding what to do next. Right after graduation I was supposed to move to Washington state and work for AmeriCorps. Sometime after that I chose to withdraw that job opportunity to really refocus on my dream of serving in the Peace Corps.

At this moment I don’t know what’s next. I feel a little lost. Mentally I feel like it is much later in the year than it is; I certainly should feel like there is more time to make these decisions, and let’s be honest, really I should be enjoying the warm weather and the fall foliage and shove off these big thoughts for when they really have to come.

But we all know I’m not like that.

I’ve written about wanting to go into design. About my love of art. About moving to Charlottesville and living a life of all the wonderful and talented people I know there. About going to Scotland and studying International Development. About how graduate school was the logical next step and it was the most important. But that didn’t work out, or happen, or frankly, I just lost interest in various pursuits. Which brings me back to what I’m going to do next.

I remember the first time I began to grapple with the idea of duty. Duty to something bigger than oneself. We were living in Seattle which means I would have been at most in fifth grade. My Dad was on sea duty and we were saying goodbye. I recall it being dark so it was probably really early in the morning and we were all very upset saying goodbye for six months. (Before 9-11 much more deployments were a standard six months, now that isn’t true.) I remember my sister, in kindergarten, so upset and not understanding, asking him to stay.

It’s taken me fifteen years to really understand why he didn’t.

When it comes to my family I am very much my mother’s daughter. It’s freaky. But it’s amazing what people in your life teach you when neither one of you notices and my father instilled in me a sense of duty and honor so strong I simply can’t shake it.

I am coming the conclusion that I will end up in graduate school soon. I like the idea of being a student again. Even the long hours and coffee intake don’t scare me.

It is also coming to my attention that my love of government, my desire to affect the world I live in, my sense of duty to pay back all the good I’ve had--all of this comes above anything else I have in my head as my future.

I think the only person who is surprised at all of this is me. Just tonight one of my residents asked me, “Well Mary...What do you want to do with your future?” To which I dramatically flung my arms back in my swivel chair and groaned a little. My cohort in closing calmly turned to us and said, “She wants to save the world.”

It’s true.

And maybe at 25 it is silly. Maybe it’s naive and innocent. Maybe it’s stupid. But I think it’s possible.

I’m going to change the world.

I’m going to be CJ Craig.

I’m going to remember how to dream and rise above everyone else’s expectations. I’m going to revel in the knowledge found in very big textbooks and old professors. I’m going to continue to be different and worldly and smart. There just isn’t a way out of that.

Maybe in 10 months I’ll be moving to DC or NYC. Maybe I’ll be buying my LSAT prep book. Maybe I’ll be working for a non-profit out west.

I have to find a goal. I have to find a dream.

And I will.

One step at a time.

Meanwhile, I’m in the middle of season five of The West Wing,  and it is so good…

PS-- In case this resonates with people, I feel like this post ended very calm and centered. For the record, I don’t really feel that calm or centered. I’ve already cried on my floor this week and eaten a lot of chocolate. But I know have to keep pushing and keep believing. I just wanted to let you know the appearance of falling apart gracefully, well friends, that just ain’t the way it happens. For me at least. 

image via pinterst

nothing to wear

I've been thinking a lot about fashion and style. I suppose some would say that is not unusual for me, but I guess I should say, I've been thinking a lot about my personal style. 

Personal style is hard. It's one of those things that I'm always surprised when someone says "Oh hey, I love your style!" My inner response is something resembling: 1. Quick! Without looking down...what am I wearing? 2. I have a style? 3. Does this more resemble UVA, NYU, or Virginia Beach? 

In that order too.

I tend to think of my own style as more erratic. Thrift store motorcycle boots, navy blue chinos, striped shirt with exterior zipper. That's what I'm wearing today. Yesterday I wore my favorite black dress (Target) with a big black belt (Banana Republic) with leg warmers and those same thrift store boots. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to hard to get it all right. To express the right thing--whatever that might be. 

My closet is a little weird. It's not totally predictable. It's not all one thing--prep, urban, boho, beachy. It's an odd blend of all of it. It's Gap and thrift, Anthro and Target. 

Perhaps one day I will have a more definitive style. Something where I can say-- "Why yes, I have perfected the art of the city's tomboy style..."

But seriously, I doubt it. For at least right now I'm way too busy trying out different styles the same way I'm trying out different lives. Twenty something style for me is crazy and different and a mix. It's where I go to be someone different every day...

image. 

PS--Interested in my fashion inspiration? Check out my who/her board on pinterest!