hair--that is the question

ok, in a brief effort to lighten it up a bit (some of my latest posts have been a little heavy!) let's talk about HAIR.  you see, i'm having total hair envy of anyone's head but my own. anne hathaway has always been one of my favorites and her latest totally short hair has me wanting to chop off my locks once and for all. and my for all i mean for a while. as i sit here with my medium length hair in a messy bun i can't help but want to lock away my hair dryer and mousse for a change to easy. 

this wouldn't be the first time i'd do this. about two years ago i chopped off my hair in prep to go abroad, so i know how good and easy it can be. 

something in my wants to keep trudging at this longer hair thing. i want braids and ponytails, and maybe a little ombre in the fall. i want sock buns and beach waves. 

and then, just when i convince myself that summer is not the time, and to give myself slack and my hair some patience. i think once more of how awesome anne looks...

hummm...

what do you think? 

(awkwardly, this isn't the first time i've written about this...a sign?)

image 1, 2

memories

that infamous red room

our house. moving day

For some reason, as of late, I’ve been thinking a lot about home--both as a place of mind and geography…sometimes I think the girls’ homesickness just rubs off.

But here’s where I’m at: I just keep having moments, totally unconscious where I start to dream about places I’ve once lived, particularly our house in Virginia Beach. This is all very odd because we—my family—don’t really attach ourselves to our physical homes, there isn’t a purpose; we don’t live there long enough. No, I learned early that it is better to just stick with the family, they are the ones I can count on because in the end, people always leave, and those people were us (that mentality wouldn’t change until I was about 18 and wouldn’t be dissolved from my social interactions until I was almost 20, but that’s another story).  So, I lived and moved and grew up.

And now, at 24 all I can think about is home. More particularly, that one house.

Virginia Beach is unique. We lived there for nine years. That is about six years longer than anywhere else, and the longest I’ve lived anywhere by a lot. And it was the same house; I lived in the same room. It was high school, college, and the year after. Everything you can think of happened in that house. First day of high school, birthday parties, prom, rejection, happiness…I got my first cell phone while sitting at that dinning room table, got rejected from Brown while in the office/computer/dog room, and paced about that room for hours on the phone while falling really hard for the guy at the other end.

That room.

It was a labor of love. I was fourteen and I wanted drama. My mom painstakingly painted those wall deep red (a story she still tells) and I chose white linens and dark brown furniture. It was totally me, for all nine years.

Of course a lot happens in the house you come of age in. I think the interesting thing is that I never thought of it that way until now. Now as I meet people who become important to me, and want to show them my past, and what made me who I am, now there is no house for that. No spot to show. No memory with each footstep. There is no red room. I can’t show my high school and make you look for the two places you can find my name or the guidance counselor who still remembers me (I bothered them a lot). We can’t hop in the car and take you up I-64 to where I went to college recounting the number of times I’ve taken that trip.

Now, those are all stories.

My parents moved from that house almost two years ago. Today they live in my father’s hometown and we haunt his memories.

Even though I have no attachment to that place, no reason to return—few friends stayed and I’ve never been one for mid-Atlantic beaches—it lingers. I could go visit my aunt who lives in the area, but there is something about it all that wouldn’t be the same anyway.

So, in the end, I just think about it all. I wonder about that house and the life it leads now. I think about all that it knows and the secrets we told it. I think about the times I wanted to run far, far away from there and find it all ironic that I went back in the end. It makes me think about growth and how wrong most of what I thought at 14 was and yet how much sense it all made at the time. I think about driving down the highway (one of the few chunks of time when one would find me behind the wheel) singing along to the radio in traffic on my way home.

Home.

Somethings always change.

the dreaded for sale sign. but that's our corner. (and our realtor was amazing!)

it's so very interesting how much life can fit in a moving truck. 

and i think of this song with these lyrics too.

and a look way back to the day it happend

a little more on the subject...

Rehoboth Beach, DE  2009

continuation from last post...

Confession: I have never owned a two-piece bikini. It’s true. In actuality, I loathe swimsuit season. The beach, the ocean—I just never really saw the appeal. The irony is that I spent 22 years living on coasts surrounded by some lovely beaches. Just like the facebook group, my life was their vacation.

This season I’m having a change of heart. Well, not total change, but a growth. Every time I’m at the beach there are women of various shapes and sizes in various cuts and styles--some of them rock it, some don’t. But they are out there. And it has me thinking…

What is holding me back?

Seriously.

I am not thin. My thighs rub together.  I have stretch marks from way back when.  My stomach is flat, but not toned. My arms are soft. To be honest, I’m kinda totally imperfect.

And some days I fight it like it’s the enemy. Because, like everyone else, when you look around, this isn’t exactly the image that sticks, this isn’t what makes the pages of magazines.  

But, if you want to see the change, sometimes that means starting with you. So, this is the body I’ve got. And it’s given me a lot. Sure, there are fashions I don’t wear, and trends I stay away from like they are the plague.  But I still have clothing. That’s never been a problem.

This body is the one that gets me through the day. It handled the heat of Mali and the cold of New York City. It takes me running and curls up to read long novels.  It loves and gives and strives.

So maybe, in a effort toward self acceptance, this summer will see something different. Something braver.

It’s not about weight. Or perfection. It’s about having the type of life that doesn’t live in the restrictions of society. After all, I’d never let any one else dictate how I live or what I do…Why am I letting anyone but me dictate how I feel when I look in the mirror?

Sleeping Bear Dunes, with view of Lake Michigan, 2012

written with inspiration from her and her

swimsuits...in january? REALLY?

I've NEVER in my life worn a two-piece bathing suit, but this season, I'm having a change of heart. Maybe. 

If I were to walk on the wild side, I'm totally digging this vintage number. It may have everything I've wanted in a bikini. And really, who can say no to a polka dot? 

Thoughts? Does size really matter when it comes to swimwear?

rockin' the red blazer

in the residence life department, if you get voted the employee of the week, you get to take in your possession the red blazer. once upon a time people at IAA wore this red blazer. now it's more of a trophy of sorts. mary-kate and i won the red blazer for our mad decorating skills and general charm. ;) plus i think we are kinda awesome at our job. but that's just me. 

well, what's winning a vintage blazer for a week if you don't get a fashion shoot out of it?! here is a brief glimpse at the fun we had messing around in the red blazer. 

 mary-kate look rather studious. we are still trying to get through Anna Karenina. What can we say, it's a rather long read. (Though totally wonderful. Seriously.)

 so, because we BOTH won it, we certainly tried to BOTH wear it. 

super silly. and completely awesome. 

just me chilling in the way too big blazer. 

thanks MK for humoring me both as model and photographer! you da best!

some moments

so, i've been having some image issues, and instead of boring you with photo after photo of, well, basically snow, i thought i'd do a short little peak of some of the moments of break and those days leading up to it. 

residence life tried to have a holiday party. but mother nature had other plans. the party continued, with some tweaks. and then the power went out. geez...

so there was a winter storm across the midwest at the exact moment we were trying to empty out the academy for break. that was kinda uncool. but i got some lovely pictures out of the deal. this one is a favorite. 

like father, like son. (look Ma! I got BOTH of them to show teeth! SUCCESS!!!)

 an animal in a hat. of course! what more could you expect from Nick's? 

 we were walking around campus and then all of a sudden we turned a corner and this appeared. I shrieked. It happened. 

 Kirkwood Ave. Bloomington. 

M&M. Friends across continents. 

reunited

marcy came to visit during the holidays. 

she put up with a blizzard and all my craziness! 

this is very typical us. 

thanks to my darling sister laura for taking the pictures!

and a big thanks to marcy. 

desire

When I was young, in elementary school, I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint and draw because that’s all I wanted to do in my free time. I wanted to go to college in Chicago and be an artist. At the time I had no idea what that really meant or what I would have to do to get there, I just knew that I hated going to school and my only solace was art class. So I just wanted art class to be my world.

Sometime in middle school I discovered I didn’t really have the hand of an artist. To be honest I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if some bully told me I had no talent or if something happened, or if I witnessed someone who really did have talent and felt I couldn’t compete (I don’t like competition, but that’s another post). Something happened and all I remember is walking out of some store crossing the parking lot telling my mom that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. A very serious conversation for a twelve year old.

So I distanced myself from being an artist. I ran smack into the world of politics. I realized I was smart and quick and had no fear of being told “no” because that just fueled my fire. By the time I was entering college I was going to save the world. I was going to join the Peace Corps. Maybe I’d live up to the expectations and be president.

Five years later I joined the Peace Corps.

Six years later and it was over.

I’ve basically done everything that I wanted to do (minus the whole President thing, though every time I watch West Wing I think about it…). So there should be a part of me that feels totally liberated to breathe and live freely. After all, I’m 24, single, with nothing but time. Thanks to a wonderful family I have no pressure to do anything but make myself happy.

Now when people ask me what I want to do with the rest of my life I kind of stare at them disillusioned.

What DO I want to do?

The best career advice I ever got came from a seminar of sorts I went to while at NYU. The woman asked us what we wanted to be when we were young. Surprisingly everyone there—all struggling twenty somethings—smiled thinking about their years dreaming of being fireman, ice skaters, and the ice cream man. This one particular guy literally laughed out loud. The woman leading the group asked him what he was thinking about. He said that when he was younger he wanted to be Peter Pan. She then smiled and asked him what he was at NYU majoring in. Turns out he was an actor. Better than that, he was recently cast to play Peter Pan that spring.

So wishes really do come true. 

The point of that exercise was that when we are young we don’t have pressure, or knowledge of money, power, or celebrity. What we want to do is based on something we like, something we admire, something we connect to.

That brought me back to my days of wanted to be an artist. That was two years before I declared an art history major, something that I still claim to be the best decision ever.

And here I sit. I managed to do both, major in art history and be in the Peace Corps. Yet the question of what I will do when I “grow up” still burns.

So then people ask you “What would you do if money weren’tan issue?”

This question bothers me for one big reason. Money IS an issue. But I get the point. I want to do something I love. I want to enjoy my work. I want to succeed. I want to flourish in a career that makes me a better person.

And to be brutally honest, my answer to that question is never a hard one to come up with. It’s actually pretty simple.

I’d design.

Someday I’d like to live around creative people who believe in the power of art to change the world we live. I want to change the way people view themselves and the world around them. This is truly an amazing world with beauty seeping from all around and no matter how clichéd or naïve it may sound, that’s what I believe. I also think we’d all be a little happier if more people enjoyed it all. So, that’s my goal. That’s my dream.

It’s not as black and white as wanting to go to law school to save the world. Some would say the arts is a recreation enjoyed by the wealthy, and that all this fashion and interior design and event planning is not capable of changing the world.  That is doesn’t matter. That one shouldn’t judge or view image as important, and perhaps there is a point in there somewhere.

But I still disagree.

And like I said before. There’s been a lot of years and life between that young girl who wanted to be an artist and me here wanting to be a creative—a lot of lessons learned and memories made. And I did say nothing fuels my fire like being told I’m crazy. This certainly isn’t the first time.

So here I go. Starting 2013 with a desire to merge everything I love into my future. It’s going to be complicated and layered and probably messy. I’ll second guess myself and think I’m not doing enough.

Yet. Then again. That kind of sounds marvelous.

Who’s in?

i hereby resolve...

On principle I’d like to say I’m opposed to making New Year’s Resolutions. I mean who needs a date to make changes? Well, I think I’ve become one of those people who does indeed need a date. Or at least a fresh start. Or the start to a new chapter. Anyway you look at it, I’ve decided to not only make resolutions, but I’m going to PUBLISH them as a way to hold myself accountable. (Or at least make myself feel guilty if these don’t happen…ekkk)

Here we go…and in no particular order…

I’m actually going to keep in touch. Like really. I have truly amazing friends who, believe it or not, actually think I’m pretty cool. I came to the realization that for all the people I think about and make an effort toward who actually don’t deserve it, I could be putting time and energy into delightfully deserving people. (That was such an esteem booster…I feel all sorts of mature.) More phone calls, more texts, more emails, more facebook writings and not just looking at all the photographers I follow.

I’m going to write. It makes me happy. I should just commit to things that make me happy.

Reading. I should read more. Magazines, books, articles that don’t come from entertainment websites, those things should happen. I will finish Anna Karenina!

I really want to recommit to my health. Like women all over the world, when your life revolves around children, you seem to slip to the end of the priority list. That’s happened to me and even now I have next to me a very near empty box of Cheez-Its. I have to get it together. I am not really sure what that is going to look like. More long walks, more runs, more Greek yogurt and veggies.

I have to decide to let him go.