With My Deepest Thanks

In 2001, a 16-year-old high school junior walked into her guidance counselor's office seeking help she couldn't find anywhere else. Battling some deep-rooted body image and self-confidence demons, as well as self-inflicted academic pressure, she confessed that she felt defeated, alone and unable to stop the sudden onslaught of emotional meltdowns that had been happening with increasing regularity lately. A couple of lengthy discussions later and the first signs of depression identified, the counselor helped her student and her parents find a professional therapist to help sort through it all. But she didn't stop there. She continued to do what guidance counselors do best: listen.

As the holidays approached, her student started to express anxiety about Christmas gifts, wanting to do something nice for her friends but unable to afford much. Later that week, the guidance counselor called the girl to her office and presented her with two Christmas gifts of her own. The first was a recipe for a chocolate-covered bark she made for her family and friends each year.

"Everyone loves it," she said. "All you have to do is get some holiday baggies and portion it out and Voila! You've got gifts for all your friends." Then she handed the teen a piece of paper. Printed on it was a passage. "They read this at an event I attended recently and I thought of you. " As the young girl read the words on the page, she managed to choke out a "thank you" before the tears of gratitude and relief overwhelmed her.

While often mistakenly associated with Nelson Mandela,
Marianne Williamson is the actual author of this passage.

Sixteen years later, Mrs. Kerrigan's recipe is still a hit. Affectionately dubbed "Christmas Crack" by some former coworkers, my current colleagues start asking for it in November every year. And the treasured piece of paper she gave me that day? It still resides on my fridge. I read it every single day. Wrinkled and creased from its travels over the past decade and a half, its meaning has evolved as I have grown. In 2001, those words meant it was OK for me to be my nerdy, academic, nonathletic, silly self. Now, in 2017, they are a call to action. To be my very best self at a time when it may be very hard to do so.

Last Friday, as Michelle Obama delivered her final remarks as First Lady, flanked by guidance counselors like Mrs. Kerrigan and addressing the nation's young people, it felt so much like she was talking directly to me. Like she knew all my fears and knew exactly what I needed to hear.

"I want our young people to know that they matter, that they belong. So don't be afraid—you hear me, young people? Don't be afraid. Be focused. Be determined. Be hopeful. Be empowered. Empower yourselves with a good education, then get out there and use that education to build a country worthy of your boundless promise. Lead by example with hope, never fear. And know that I will be with you, rooting for you and working to support you for the rest of my life."

-First Lady Michelle Obama

Then, earlier tonight, as President Obama delivered his farewell address to the nation, I openly sobbed into a glass of wine in my living room. In a speech full of the soul-stirring rhetoric that first captivated and inspired me nearly a decade ago, the President too, it seemed, knew just what to say to me.

"And that’s why I leave this stage tonight even more optimistic about this country than when we started. Because I know our work has not only helped so many Americans; it has inspired so many Americans — especially so many young people out there — to believe that you can make a difference; to hitch your wagon to something bigger than yourselves.

Let me tell you, this generation coming up — unselfish, altruistic, creative, patriotic — I’ve seen you in every corner of the country. You believe in a fair, and just, and inclusive America; you know that constant change has been America’s hallmark, that it’s not something to fear but something to embrace, you are willing to carry this hard work of democracy forward. You’ll soon outnumber any of us, and I believe as a result the future is in good hands."

-President Barack Obama

To the President and First Lady,

Thank you. Thank you from the deepest, warmest part of my heart. Thank you for leading by example - with grace, courage, strength, humor, compassion and hope. Thank you for your selfless stewardship of the highest office of our land, a responsibility that has poisoned lesser men with the promise and realization of great power and may well do so again. Thank you for fighting for justice and equality. For deeming us all, every human from every walk of life, worthy and valuable. Thank you for being the cutest darn couple of all time and showing us all what true love can look like. Thank you for sharing your true selves with us. Thank you for building us up, not tearing us down. For breaking barriers and shattering glass ceilings. For making us laugh. Thank you for being the kind of leaders we'll tell our children about someday. I'm not sure if we'll ever see a Presidency like this again, but I will cherish the memory of yours forever.

For all of this and more, I thank you. And I promise you. I promise to be my best self moving forward. To follow the example you set. I promise to fight for justice, equality and the notion that we are all worthy of love and respect. I promise to love violently and fight hatred and ignorance peacefully. I promise to use my privilege to help someone other than myself. I promise to be kind. To take the high road even when I really, really, really want to crush a bigot with curse words. I promise to listen so I can be a better ally. I promise to acknowledge my own shortcomings. To call my lawmakers. To march, protest and picket when necessary. I promise to smile. I will remember to laugh. Above all, I promise you I won't lose hope. Even when I'm drowning in a flood of fatalistic anxiety, I will find a way to come up for air. Because in the face of such terrifying uncertainty, we need something to hold onto. And I choose hope.

I hope - and truly believe - that our generation is on the cusp of something great. We are coming into our own, fueled largely by a deeply-held belief that all men are indeed created equal, to change the world for the better. And I promise you, I will be a part of that change, in whatever way I am able to do so.

Yes, We Can

Yes, We Did

Yes, We Will

Empathy: Finding Purpose in Privilege

"Chill out."

"Relax."

"It's not the end of the world."

"Get over it."

"Calm down."

"It won't affect us."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Everything's going to be fine."

These are only a small fraction of the comments that I have heard and read in the past two weeks, directed at me, my friends and millions of others in the wake of the Presidential Election. To everyone who has said them: STOP IT. Now. Please.

Years from now, the night of November 8, 2016 will be the subject of a elementary school student's "Where were you when..." question. My answer? I was in a bar with some of my closest friends trying to enjoy my first Presidential Election not working in a newsroom. We were nervous but cautiously optimistic that by the end of the night, we'd see the first woman elected as President of the United States and a hateful, racist, misogynistic demagogue reduced to nothing more than a narrowly-averted disaster in the history books. Oops. We stood in shock and disbelief as the hope we'd been desperately holding onto like a security blanket slowly-oh-so-slowly unraveled before our eyes. We drank more. We held each other close. Tears started to fall. Dejected, we eventually went home to sleep off this unfathomable nightmare. I woke up in a cold sweat at 5:00 a.m. on Wednesday and immediately grabbed my phone, hoping against all odds that somewhere, someone discovered a few million ballots for my candidate overnight. But as we all know, that didn’t happen. It wasn't a dream. This was real life. And I promptly proceeded to spend the next two weeks alternating between uncontrollable crying fits and long periods of deep reflection.

The outcome of this election has shaken me to the core. To say I'm emotionally exhausted would be an understatement. I'm having full-fledged nightmares. I can't focus on anything. I can't stop feeling. Everything: sadness, disbelief, outrage, disappointment and hurt. So. Much. Hurt.

"Amy, stop being so dramatic."

No, YOU stop. Seriously.

While I disagree with most of what the current Republican party stands for, I'm not upset because their candidate won. While I wanted to see that ultimate glass ceiling shattered more than I even admitted to myself, I'm not upset simply because a woman lost. I'm upset because I have the capacity for empathy. And because apparently so many people don't.

Source: Merriam Webster Dictionary

Have you ever been "grabbed by the p---y?" I have. By a man who did not have my permission to do so. In a country with a culture where "they just let you do it" (to borrow another phrase from our future Commander-in-Chief). The man had a machine gun. I couldn't retaliate. While I was fully clothed and it only lasted a moment, I have never felt so violated in my life. Until two weeks ago. When a man who finds sexual assault entertaining was elected to this country's highest office. A man who won the votes of people I respected. People I loved. Because their capacity for hatred was greater than their capacity for empathy. They were so busy hating the idea of a woman in power...so busy hating a career politician...so busy hating her husband...that they couldn't see who they were hurting. You may not hate women, but by voting for him, you condoned his behavior. And in doing so, you told every woman in your life that you're willing to gamble not only with her body, but with her peace of mind. Just so you can "shake things up in Washington." Tell me to calm down again, I DARE YOU.

The thing about empathy is that it works both ways. As angry as I am right now, I don't think everyone who voted for the Sweet-Potato-Elect is a woman-hating racist who plays the banjo and hoards guns in the basement. They're mothers and fathers and sons and daughters who work really, really hard trying to provide for their families and pay their bills. They can't afford the college degree, so they can't get better-paying jobs. They're stuck in a rut and it feels like no one is helping them, so they cast their ballot for a man they thought would change things. And he probably will (although not in the way most of them hope, but that's a topic for another time). I grew up in a small, New England town full of blue-collar white people. I understand where they're coming from. That doesn't make condoning his behavior okay. And it sure doesn't make the fact that all the gun-toting, banjo-strumming misogynistic white supremacists who do exist are coming out of the woodwork any less terrifying. But it's important perspective.

I am an employed, educated, straight white woman. I recognize how privileged I am. I've lived my whole life in a happy little bubble of privilege. I'm not ashamed of that. Because in my case, I believe my privilege has given me perspective and the ability to empathize. I was fortunate enough to graduate from a respected university with a diverse student body. I was fortunate enough to live abroad during that time. I was fortunate enough to have been raised by parents who taught me that learning was fun and being selfish was the worst thing I could be. I have met people from all different backgrounds, cultures, races, sexual orientations and life experiences. When I come across something or someone new, I don't back away, but rather ask questions to better understand. Because until we can all listen to each other - EMPATHIZE with each other - nothing will ever change. And that goes for all of us.

While I don't apologize for my privilege, I do apologize for how I've used it. Instead of lending power and a voice to the marginalized, I've hidden behind my privilege, protected myself with it. Screaming from the safety of a Facebook post that only people who follow me will see. Ranting about injustice at a dinner table full of like-minded friends. Well-meaning, perhaps, but ultimately ineffective. Until we can extend our empathy beyond the boundaries of our privilege, progress cannot and will not be made. 

Well, consider my pretty little privilege bubble burst. From here on out, I promise to do better. I will not hide. I will say things that make you uncomfortable. I will do things that make me uncomfortable. I will ask my friends and community for support. I will be an ally. I will say something when I see something.  I will hold myself and others accountable. I will march, rally, scream, shout and call my lawmakers. I will spread kindness with the same enthusiasm that I express my outrage at injustice...because I don't believe the two should be mutually exclusive. And someday, I will look back on the generation of powerful, diverse, beautiful and empathetic Americans that rose from the ashes of the garbage fire that was the 2016 Presidential Election and say proudly, "I was a part of that."

The Importance of Change

The other day, I was talking to a friend about Change. Specifically the fact that I don't understand why people are so scared of it. While I certainly value a certain level of stability in my life (strong relationships, financial security, a place of my own to come home to), I think change is exciting. For the past year or so, change has certainly been the running theme of my life. I made a major career change. I got a new apartment for a change of scenery. Family change: my baby sister got married in August and my little brother gets hitched in two weeks. A change in the men I've dated: I've gone from being deceived by manipulative douchebags to having my time wasted by genuinely good guys who say they want something meaningful, but won't actually make room for it in their lives. (Yes, I realize this is still bullshit, but this is me and the Universe has decided to make this dating thing as difficult as humanly possible, so I'm just rolling with it in the hopes that I'll have enough material to write that best-seller soon.) But the biggest, most important thing that's changed for me this past year has been my relationship with food.

I discovered the Whole30 Program at the beginning of the year when my family, friends and I all did our first reset together. If you recall, it was one of the best experiences of my life (story here). While not designed to be a "diet" per se, it's the only thing that has ever worked for me. The only thing I've been able to maintain. Maybe it's because the plan allows for my own humanity - the authors acknowledge that we all fall off the wagon, but they also give you the tools to get back on it when you do. Perhaps it's because 30 days of clean eating annihilates my overwhelming, all-consuming cravings for carbs covered in cheese. Perhaps it's because I've learned to love cooking and the food I'm making tastes SO DAMN GOOD that I honestly don't feel like I'm missing out. Or maybe it's because after adopting the Whole30 lifestyle, my mom - the woman I have always looked up to; the woman I have always thought was beautiful; and the woman who has always been her own worst critic - looks and feels better than I can ever remember and it makes my heart explode to see her so happy and comfortable in her own skin.

I did my first Whole30 reset in February of this year. After I finished, I was able to stick to it at least 90 percent of the time. But as summer arrived and I started spending more time in the fresh air with my friends, I started to slip. Beer became a staple of my diet again. My go-to meal on nights when I didn't want to cook dinner went back to grilled cheese. It got so hot in the middle of the day that my colleague and I only got to walk on our lunch break once or twice a week instead of five days a week.

By the time my sister's wedding rolled around in August, I felt gross. My energy was gone and afternoon coffee became necessary again. I wasn't sleeping well anymore. I had put some of the weight I'd lost back on. I felt bloated and fat and ashamed of my body again. It was time to get back on the wagon. I decided to extend my Whole30 to 47 days this time, for two main reasons:

1. With my brother's wedding coming up at the end of the month, I figured 6 weeks of weight loss > 4 weeks of weight loss. I was determined to feel good in my dress.
2.  As a personal challenge to myself. If I could stick to the reset for 47 days, maybe it would put me in a stronger place to maintain things after I finish.

The great thing this time was that I knew what to expect. I wasn't nervous about how I'd feel, cutting out cheese and booze. I wasn't worried about what the scale would say at the end of my 30 days. I wasn't planning out every single hour of food prep. I didn't care what other people thought about my choice or what they would say. Because I knew how good I'd feel. How well I'd sleep. How my energy would come back. That I didn't have to cook fancy meals every day. That watching football without a beer in hand would be strange, but totally worth it. And guess what? It SO was.

It's Saturday morning, Day 48. I'm sitting on my patio, enjoying the few hours of sunshine we're going to have before the rain picks back up. I'm happy, comfortable and totally at peace. This morning, I woke up and celebrated a huge victory. Over the past 47 days, I lost 16 pounds. That brings the grand total since the beginning of the year (pre-Whole30, Round 1) to almost 30 pounds. I texted my family and danced around the room while the cats gave me their best "there-she-goes-again" look. I got dressed and made my way into the kitchen for breakfast.

Ahh. My first meal, post-Whole30. I could have anything I want today. Anything. So I whipped up some sweet potato toast and topped it with runny eggs and (compliant) chicken-apple sausage. All washed down with coffee and a splash of my favorite (also compliant) coconut cream/almond milk creamer. Nope, no pancakes and maple syrup. No bacon. No toast. I just didn't want them. So I didn't have them. Maybe I'll splurge later today. Maybe I won't. But that's what's so amazing right now - I'm in control of my food, not the other way around.

A couple weeks ago, the creator of The Whole30 published another book about what she calls "Food Freedom." It details how to re-introduce foods back into your diet in a way that helps you identify which ones are problematic for you personally, so you can decide whether or not they're worth keeping in your diet. But for me, because I did that after my first round of Whole30, the exciting part about this book is her advice on maintaining this lifestyle long-term. 

"What you are embarking upon is a constant cycle of progression, but it's not linear. You'll do well, then stumble. You'll be in control, then fall back into old habits. You'll have weeks of effortless balance, followed by (surprise!) a week of Carb-a-Palooza. This is all totally okay."

-Melissa Hartwig, Food Freedom Forever

This is okay. That is exactly what I needed to read. That being human, being fallible is okay. That it's part of life. That stumbling doesn't mean I can't pick myself back up. That food isn't "good" or "bad," and my choices don't make me "good" or "bad" either. I'm about halfway through her book right now and I'm absolutely loving it. 

My friends and colleagues often ask me Why. Why would you give up eating all those good things? Why don't you just eat smaller portions and more veggies? Why would you commit yourself to a diet that forces you to cook/prepare almost everything? Why do you feel like you need to lose weight?

The thing is, this isn't just a diet. It's not just about numbers on a scale. Yes, I'm absolutely PUMPED that they're the lowest I've seen in a loooong time. But it's about so much more than that. I stick to this because it makes me feel good. Like crazy, stupid, I-could-conquer-the-world-and-look-great-doing-it good. I sleep soundly through the night - no more restless tossing and turning. My skin is clear. My digestive system is working the way it should - I honestly can't remember the last time I had gas, felt bloated, got heartburn or had any kind of bathroom issue. My body is regulating my hormones properly, so I'm able to process my emotions in a way that's healthy - no more self-destructive Stress → Eat → Guilt → Repeat cycle. I have more energy than I know what to do with. As far as the weight loss goes, it's less about the number than how I feel. I feel good in my own skin. Confident. Pretty. I like what I see in the mirror for the first time in decades. I enjoy shopping for clothes. As a woman who has spent her whole life struggling with some pretty awful self-confidence demons, this is huge for me. I've finally locked them away and I have no intention of letting those nasty little shits make a jailbreak any time soon.

So yes, the next time you say BYOB to a get-together, my "B" may just be "Bubbly water." I may pass on the chicken wings when we go out to watch football. I probably will bring my "cleaner wieners" to the next barbecue and my own salad dressing to a restaurant. I'll opt for eggs and potatoes instead of biscuits and gravy and I'll pass on the potluck at work. On the other hand, I won't feel guilty as I eat/drink my way through my brother's wedding weekend. I will not beat myself up for the mimosas I plan to have at brunch with the girls tomorrow. I'll definitely need to drink on Election Night. And I'll probably make my gooey, greasy, cheesy, heart-attack-inducing taco dip for the Super Bowl party. The point is that, for the first time in my life, I'm making these decisions for myself based on what feels good, not what someone else tells me is right/wrong. I'm in control. I'm so happy and really, really, really proud of myself. So yah, that's Why.

So back to that Change thing...

As part of a broader effort to "build the new" me, I'm working on a new blog! One that's a little more focused and less my random stream-of-consciousness ramblings every couple of months. I want to be the best version of myself. And for the first time in my life, I know I can be. To do that, I need to be more mindful of the decisions I'm making regarding food, exercise, relationships and life in general. So I plan to write about them, hopefully boosting my own awareness, but also to offer some helpful insight for others who may struggle with some of the same issues I do. I'll keep you posted when it's live - right now, like me, it's a work in progress. 

The Banality of Evil

I haven't been sleeping well lately. Part of it is because I've been eating like crap. Part of it is because the cat's been getting up at 3:30 every morning for the past three weeks to go on a psychotic rampage for a solid hour or more. Part of it is because I just got metaphorically sucker punched by yet another guy who didn't think I was worth his effort. Part of it is because I've been super stressed at work. But a lot of it is because I'm appalled at the world's complacency (my own included) in the face of unfathomable hatred.

Let me explain. 

Early Sunday morning, a man walked into a popular gay nightclub in Orlando with an assault rifle and gunned down 49 innocent people. Two-and-a-half weeks earlier, a man spewing bigotry and intolerance clinched the Republican Presidential nomination. Are the two events related? Not on the surface. But a common thread ties them together: hate. 

As the nation copes with the worst terror attack since 9/11 - a hate crime carried out against the LGBT community - someone is preparing to actually print ballots that give us the option of putting a man who advocates for war crimes and ethnic cleansing in the nation's highest office. I keep asking myself the same question: "Is this real life?" 

As the current President addressed the nation after the Orlando shooting, I barely heard a word he said. All I could hear was how defeated he sounded. Likely feeling the same as many of us - that if past mass shootings haven't prompted change, this one won't either. That this won't be the last tragedy at the end of the barrel of an assault rifle. That apparently the right of a well-funded group of trigger-happy nutjobs to bear arms trumps my right...my family's right...my friends' and neighbors' and fellow humans' right...to life. I take your Second Amendment and raise you one Declaration of Independence. You know - the document that actually established the nation where you have the freedom to be an ignorant, fear-mongering fuck.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are LIFE, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

(As this post is not intended to wax philosophical about the merits of gun control, I will just leave that there and save the rest for another time.)

Just hours after the attack in Orlando, a Sacramento pastor stood behind his pulpit and told his congregation that it was a shame more people weren't killed (among several other abhorrent postulations). This man spewed his hateful rhetoric from a pulpit just a few miles from my home. In my community. In my city. My city where most people were rightfully disgusted. Where those people shared the video of his hateful speech in a post about their disgust. Where the media then broadcast his hateful sound bytes to tens of thousands of people who never would have heard them otherwise.

Now, I believe in Free Speech as much as anyone, probably more than some people. And as a former member of the media, I know how that battle between your moral compass and your journalistic "duty" to be objective can absolutely shred you inside. But at what point does the media sit down at a higher level and decide that maybe sharing hate speech isn't in its audience's best interest? That maybe saying, "You know what? This guy said some really hateful things today and we're just not comfortable broadcasting them, but you need to know so here's a summary" would probably earn more respect from your viewers than you think.

Here's how I see it. Imagine this: it's 1938, you're a 2016-era journalist and Adolph Hitler is alive, well and spewing antisemitism all over Germany. Knowing everything you do now about what the man is capable of/about to do (yep, talking about the Holocaust), do you put him on TV? On the radio? Do you mic him up? Do you drive people to the web to read the full transcript of his latest Gestapo pep-talk? Do you give out your personal information to obtain a media credential to the Fuhrer's next event at a concentration camp? Yes, people need to know he's evil. But there's a way to do it without giving him a public pulpit. Same goes for the pastor. And Trump.

"But where do you draw the line?" you ask. I wish I knew. The moral compass won my internal battle - a big reason I don't work in a newsroom anymore. That is not to say everyone who works in the media doesn't have one. I have a great deal of respect for the journalists who struggle every day to find that balance between being objective and being what their viewers actually need. I just wish the folks at the corporate/network level would reach a consensus that perhaps, at this moment in history, what the nation needs is another Edward R. Murrow, not another William Randolph Hearst.

The Boston Marathon. Paris. Sandy Hook. San Bernardino. Charleston. Terror attacks and mass shootings have become practically commonplace in recent years. Each time, you think it can't get worse. And then it does. And your heart breaks a little bit more. And you swear you'll take a stand this time. So you change your Facebook photo in solidarity with whatever city or already-marginalized group of people was attacked this time for a week or two. And then you change it back. And nothing actually ever changes. At least that's how it works for me.

For me, my complacency stems from a deep fear of conflict. I don't like to argue. I hate to debate. I don't ever want to be "the bad guy." I've always intentionally avoided talking or posting about politics or social issues or basically anything controversial because it's easier to quietly float under the radar than it is to defend an unpopular opinion. I try not to attract attention because it makes me uncomfortable.

But now, more than ever, that makes me feel guilty. My complacency is a luxury. I'm a privileged white woman. I've never truly known what it is to be marginalized. To be targeted. I can empathize, but I've never had to actually defend myself against hate. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't be standing up for others. Staying silent is just another way of devaluing them.

When I was a kid, I went to Catholic school. In high school, we had to take a Religion course every year. My senior year, I chose a course titled, "The Banality of Evil." Not being Catholic (or particularly religious at all), I didn't know what to expect. We talked at length about genocide and other atrocities and delved into the dark side of humanity. It was strangely fascinating in the way that it really made you think about the world we live in.

Here's what scares me. In 2036, will the students sit in a classroom and discuss what's happening around the world right now? The mass shootings? The terror attacks? The ethnic cleansing and international conflict that will inevitably take place if the 2016 election ends a certain way? If we don't stand up and actually do something soon, they absolutely will.

From here on out, I'm making myself a promise. A promise to stop being complacent. I will share my thoughts openly without hesitation. I will not share hate speech, even in the context of a broader article that condemns it. I will fight for meaningful change on local and legislative levels in whatever way I can. And I won't just stand in solidarity with targeted groups who need an ally - I will act like an ally.

This Sunday, hundreds of people will stand in support of the LGBT community at a peaceful protest outside the Sacramento church where that pastor delivers his small-minded sermons. I've never been to a protest. But I'll be at this one. Because my fear of conflict is no excuse. Because changing my Facebook photo is quite literally the least I can do to support a group to which many people that I care about belong. Because I was raised to believe the worst thing a person can be is selfish. Because Love is Love. And because hate can't win. It just can't. I hope you'll join me.

Playing the Packing Game: Keep, Toss or Donate

Remember that time I was unemployed and discovered my inner hoarder while cleaning out my kitchen? Well, apparently she's still in there somewhere, as I've discovered the hard way over the past several weeks.

After nearly five years of spectacular sunsets and less-than-spectacular neighbors, I'm finally moving to a new apartment. Long story short, my downstairs neighbors are inconsiderate assholes, my next door neighbors are obnoxious douchebags and management doesn't give a damn as long as they can hike the rent by $100+ every year. So I found a great place in a much safer neighborhood and next weekend, I'll be quite literally moving to the other side of the river to become an official Sacramento resident.

The new apartment complex. 

I haven't moved in five years. That's the longest I've stayed in one place as an adult. And it's been glorious. But it's time for a change and I'm ready to move out and move on. Except now I have to pack everything. Which means going through it all first. And here's the thing: I am actually the world's worst packer. No joke. Ask my mom. I'm never ready, come moving day (also partly due to the fact that I'm the goddamn WORLD CHAMPION of procrastination). It's so bad, she's actually flying out to California during her school vacation to make sure I have my shit together. Mostly to spend time together, but also because she knows me better than anyone else and how to light a fire under my ass. In an effort to prove her wrong (and to prove to myself that I'm better at adulting than I give myself credit for), I started packing early. I feel like I've made pretty good progress too! But maaaan, the things that I've found. More specifically, the things that I've moved from New Hampshire to Maine to New York to California with and kept.

The closet in my spare room

I decided to start by going through and packing up my spare room. I knew it would be the biggest task and it's the room that's become my "dumping ground" over the years. Where I put stuff I rarely, if ever, need or use. There were several boxes in the closet that I hadn't even opened since I moved in. (And now, in packing hindsight, I realize I probably haven't opened some of them since I moved out of my parents' house nine years ago.) I began digging through the boxes, deciding whether to keep, toss or donate each thing I found.

 Are you ready for this? Because I sure wasn't.

A box of 100+ crayons that I was clearly worried about losing when I was 9 years old. Also, some pretty nice handwriting for a 4th grader, if I do say so myself!
Final decision: Toss

A box of everything I pulled off my bulletin board in my childhood bedroom when I moved out of my parents' house after college. Among other things, a necklace my brother brought me from a trip to Jamaica, a picture of my friends and I from a high school swim meet and my Red Cross Babysitting certification card that I earned at the ripe old age of 12.
Final decision: Toss/donate

A comic a friend gave me in high school due to my infatuation with Ricky Martin. (No judging! He looked better in leather pants than you ever will.) This lived inside my locker for many years, hence the scotch tape lamination.
Final decision: Toss

Maps from the cities where I lived/worked, courtesy of my dad. Because remember back when we had to get to/from new places without that annoying GPS lady barking at us from our phones? Yes children, paper maps were a thing once.
Final decision: Toss

Various attempts to make sure there was absolutely no confusion as which room was mine, both at home and in my sorority house in college. Not entirely sure why I kept these. Perhaps I was worried I might lose track of which room I slept in...in MY OWN APARTMENT? Christ, Amy.
Final decision: Toss

The letter that held my Wegmans Shoppers Club card when it first arrived. If you're familiar with Wegmans, you know why this is special. If you're not familiar with Wegmans, get your ass to upstate New York. Pronto. Because if anyone's actually going to "Make America Great Again," it's these magnificent humans.
Final decision: Toss 

One of two bead boxes

Just a few of about two dozen packets of sequins

Some friendship bracelets and a
gimp keychain, all unfinished

A mobile I made out of plastic canvas,
yarn, fishing line and some beads

My favorite find? Definitely my childhood craft box. Arts & Crafts was my JAM as a kid. I spent more Sundays than I can remember with my best friend up to our elbows in beads, yarn, glue, fabric, paint and whatever else we could get our hands on. Why I thought I'd need those unfinished friendship bracelets or a mobile as a grown-ass woman, I'll never know.
Final decision: Toss the stuff that wasn't usable/damaged. Keep a few things. Give most of it to a friend with two little girls who will enjoy it.

Cleo definitely knows something is up. I'm not so sure about Calliope. But they're both pretty stoked to have all the makings of the best cat fort ever, so that's a win.
Final decision: Use the boxes. Keep the cats. At least until they start acting like assholes.

A few of several failed attempts to lose weight by counting calories/points. Yeeeaaaaah, nope. After my Whole 30 experience, I won't be doing this again. Ever.
Final decision: Toss. Burn if I could find a way to disable the smoke detectors.

All of my old license plates. Including my vanity plates from NH. Because I was a teenager and thought I was sooo cool. Newsflash: I wasn't. I was actually a huge nerd. Also, those New York plates? A little piece of my soul died when I put them on my car. I mean, I am a Boston/New England sports fan after all.
Final decision: Keep, for now. (Thinking about using them for a project. We'll see.)

This used to be a resistance band. I honestly don't know at what point it melted back into a puddle of purple, but my guess would be on the trip from Plattsburgh to West Sac. Gross.
Final decision: Toss (duh)

Equipment from my J-school days. My first (and only) IFB for when I was still young and delusional enough to think I wanted to be on-air. And my tape recorder to record about a dozen, probably poorly-executed interviews for radio/other classes.
Final decision: Toss the IFB. Donate the tape recorder/mic.

An empty box that once held an internet modem I no longer use and a bag from the Jelly Belly factory tour I went on with my mom 5 years ago. Because, you know. You never know when you might need... Nope, I can't do it. I can't even make the joke. For fuck's sake, Amy. WHO NEATLY FOLDS UP A PLASTIC BAG, TUCKS IT IN A DRAWER AND THINKS, "GEE, I'M SURE I'LL FIND A GREAT WAY TO USE THIS IN THE FUTURE?" Me, apparently. That's who. If you need me later, I'll be suffocating myself with the Jelly Belly bag. (Not really, but good lord.)
Final decision: Toss, then schedule intervention with local anti-hoarding support group

This is a fun, yet slightly depressing one. If you know me at all, you know I'm pop-culturally challenged. My answer to "Have you ever seen __" is No, 99% of the time. It's bad. When I was working in Plattsburgh, my coworkers started making me lists of their favorite movies - the ones I needed to watch. Wanna guess how many I've seen, 5+ years later? No, you don't. Trust me.
Final decision: Toss

I can't say I was surprised to find a bunch of old cell phones. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to find one of them still worked. And it was full of pictures of our old family cats, Gus and Rosie. They were the best cats ever. I miss them.
Final decision: Keep photos, toss (recycle) old phones

So long, old friend. It's been a fun run. But it's time for the VCR to retire. I hope the folks at Goodwill find you a nice home with a nice family who can "Be Kind and Rewind."
Final decision: Donate, along with about a dozen VHS movies

Eight floppy disks from high school and college. When I tore them apart to keep the homeless people who dive in the dumpster from stealing my personal information (Joke's on you, identity thief! #NoMoneyNoProblems), I discovered that the little disc inside is in fact, floppy! Who knew??

Also, this happened when I started to Google "how to destroy floppy disks":

Really, internet?! Really? Chill out, people.
Final decision: Destroy (floppy disks, not "angels"), then toss

This is totally normal, right?

So I have never really considered myself a "shoe person." I generally want my feet to be presentable, but otherwise, I care more about comfort than style. Or so I thought until I pulled enough shoes out of the closet to completely cover my queen bed. Got rid of quite a few "cute" pairs and kept my ratty old Tom's and flip flops. Because, again, Comfort > Style. Always. (Unless you're buying me a nice dinner. Then heels. Because I'll do just about anything for food. Like wearing heels.)
Final decision: Keep half, Toss/Donate the rest

My very first mixtape. My mom made it for me - my favorite songs to sing along to when we were in the car together. Pretty much sums up my childhood, music-wise: Disney, musicals, 80s piano crooners and a splash of classic rock. Now, I'm just kicking myself for donating that cassette recorder before I found this. Dammit!
Final decision: Keep. No question. Even if I don't have a cassette player anymore.

These are just a handful of the more interesting items I've come across while packing. There was a lot more than this. I've already made multiple trips to Goodwill and probably thrown out enough stuff to fill a dumpster. And with moving day less than a week away, I've reached several conclusions: 

1. With this much crap to go through, I'm never going to prove my mom wrong by the time she gets here on Thursday.
2. If anyone needs a plastic bag, I've got you covered. 
3. I'm a hell of a lot closer to becoming a crazy, hoarding cat lady than I thought. 
4. There are no skeletons in my closet. Just the shattered remnants of my self-respect.

I won't miss my shitty neighbors, but I sure will miss this view.

The Most Toxic Relationship of My Life

Before you start salivating over the possibility of another juicy story about the almost comical disaster that is my dating life - something I've only mentioned briefly here, but with which my close friends are deeply familiar, one even referring to me as "Mother Goose for adults" - let me make something clear: this is not a post about a guy. This is a post about something much more personal, with a much longer history that has left me much more messed up than perhaps any of the aforementioned men. This is a post about my toxic relationship with food. More specifically, how it has shaped my life and how I'm finally changing that.

If you know me at all, you know I love food. Most of my social activity revolves around restaurants, bars, breweries, wineries, backyard barbecues and parties with platters of yummy treats. I certainly don't have the most sophisticated palate, but there are few things in life that make me feel better than good food. The problem is, there are equally few things that make me feel as bad as food does.

Let me explain. I have struggled with my weight since I was a teenager. I have always loved food. I have never loved working out. Don't get me wrong - that high/feeling of accomplishment you get after making it through a tough workout is awesome! I love that feeling. But I don't enjoy what I have to do to get there. No, I take that back. I massively dislike what I have to do to get there. So much so that I have always made excuses not to keep it up long-term.

On top of my lack of love for working out, I have a deep love of unhealthy foods. If I had my way, my personal food pyramid would look like this:

(Clearly, I missed my calling as a graphic designer)

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that for the past year or two, my personal food pyramid has looked like that more often than not. I know better than to eat like this - I'm a smart, educated woman who knows what you put in your body matters. But I always find excuses.

• I'm too tired to cook a healthy meal.
• I had a salad for lunch, so this is okay.
• But I can never find this beer on tap. <Drinks three>
• <Reading a box of mac & cheese> 2-3 servings? They mean for kids, right? <Scoops entire pot into bowl>
• Now that I have a life again, I need to take advantage of Happy Hour. ALL the Happy Hours.
• I'll go to the gym tomorrow.
• I had a long day - I deserve this.
• I'll cook something healthy tomorrow.

The other big problem is why I eat/drink. I eat when I'm bored. I snack/drink when I'm watching TV. I eat because everyone else is. I drink because everyone else is. I eat/drink when I'm stressed, sad or otherwise feeling bad. I celebrate by eating/drinking.

So I give myself permission to eat that thing I shouldn't and in the moment, I enjoy it. But shortly afterward, the guilt kicks in. I feel bad about eating it or about eating so much of it. Bad about myself and my lack of self-control. Bad for not making a smarter decision. Bad for not hitting the gym to burn off some of the calories. And what do I do when I feel bad? Yep, that's right. I eat more crap. It's a pretty ugly cycle.

Not surprisingly, I entered 2016 in the worst goddamn shape of my life. At 30, I should be in the best shape of my life, not the worst. I felt disgusting. Guilty. Fat. Ashamed. Ugly. And discouraged. Here I was, stuck in this rut that no amount of working out or dieting was going to change. It was my attitude that needed to change. My relationship with food that needed to go. So I decided it was finally time to break up with my bad habits once and for all. Fast-forward 28 days and I swear, I have never felt better in my entire life than I do right now. 

Note: Here's the part where I explain what I did and why it's working for me. Having zero professional background in anything even remotely health-related (other than an expertise in ignoring expert advice), this is not an endorsement or suggestion that you do the same. Everyone is different. Also, I could never actually bring myself to tell someone to give up cheese or beer. 

In January, one of my best friends texted me. She, her sister-in-law and her mother-in-law were all going to do a Whole30 in February. They were going to set up a private Facebook group to encourage each other and she asked if I'd be interested in joining them. What's a Whole30, you ask? Don't worry - I asked the same thing.

I'm paraphrasing of course, but the basic idea is to strip your diet of the foods that aren't fueling your body for 30 days. That includes some foods often considered to be "healthy." No grains, sugar, dairy, legumes or alcohol of any kind. This allows your body to reset. The negative effects of these foods (some of which you may not know are even caused by your diet) subside and your body is able to start functioning the way it's supposed to again. After 30 days, you gradually re-introduce these foods, paying attention to how each one makes you feel. From there, you can decide what you do and don't want to keep in your diet moving forward.

When I told my parents I was thinking about doing the Whole30, they told me my brother and his fiancée had started it on January 1st. So I called my brother to see what all the fuss was about. They were about 20 days into the program and he had nothing but good things to say about it. I figured if my little brother, a longtime lover of chocolate, milk and good booze, could do it, so could I. Besides, it would only be for 30 days. By the end of the month, I was all-in and we'd convinced our parents to give it a go too.

In the program rules, the authors write, "This will change your life." I remember reading that and laughing. Yah right, I chuckled to myself. They always say that. It never does. Well, ladies and gents, I was wrong. So very, very wrong. It is changing my life. And it's awesome.

Where to start? Cooking. I'm cooking/food-prepping all the time. I feel like I am always in the kitchen. This isn't a bad thing. In fact, for a long time, I've been meaning to cook more and this has been a great learning experience. That being said, I'm creating more dishes than my poor dishwasher can handle. And my feet! Even if I'm cooking in my slippers, by the time I'm done, I just want to rip my feet off my legs. I mean, how was the 1950s Housewife ever a thing?!?

Hell. No.

Here's the thing. As much pain as my feet are in and as many dishes as I have to do, it's worth it. Because the food is just so damn good. I mostly stick to the recipes they offer in one of the Whole30 books. And man, are they yummy! 

Butternut Squash Soup. I've made this twice already.
It's amazing.

Chicken Hash for breakfast. Not pretty, but yummy and great
when you're tired of eating eggs every morning!
Chicken, spinach, apples, walnuts & grated sweet potato
with red pepper flakes.

Ranch dressing, made from scratch
(dairy-, gluten-, sugar- and additive-free). I'll never buy
it in a bottle again. Seriously.

Harvest Chicken Salad - Seasoned, grilled chicken
on top of greens, cucumbers, apple slices and dried
cranberries with a scratch-made raspberry vinaigrette

Pulled pork carnitas on a cabbage/carrot/apple slaw 
(made with lemon garlic oil & crushed cashews, not mayo)
with a drizzle of ranch

Whole30-friendly pork sausage patties.

Whole30 Shepherd's Pie - Ground beef, broccoli, carrots
with mashed sweet potato

Here's the thing. This food is so good, I haven't missed the junk. Like at all. Not one, single craving. As someone who has tried all kinds of crazy diet plans, this is a HUGE win. I want to eat like this forever. And now I have the tools to do it. The major downside to this has been the cost. Buying all these fresh ingredients isn't cheap and I'm broke AF. I'm hoping to find some ways to save, including making trips to the farmer's market a regular thing.

The first change I noticed was my sleep. I've always been a light sleeper and when my mind is racing, forget it - no way I'm falling asleep before 2:00 a.m. When I finally do, it's a restless sleep. But within the first week of starting my Whole30, I was out cold. Deep sleep for seven hours straight, within 5 minutes of hitting the pillow. I didn't even notice when the cat brought the noisiest toy ever into the bed in the middle of the night.

Another bonus: my body feels 1,000 times better than it did last month. A month ago, I was getting out of bed most mornings, literally hobbling to brush my teeth. Everything hurt. My joints. My feet. My back. Since I started this? Gone. All of it. Also gone? My heartburn, which had become an everyday problem with all the garbage I was eating.

And can we talk about energy levels?! Last month, I could drink 4-6 cups of coffee a day and still fall asleep by mid-afternoon. Now that I'm fueling my body with the right foods to produce energy, I'm brimming with it! I physically can't sleep late anymore. Past my 7:00 a.m. alarm? Oh yah - still hitting that snooze. But even on my days off, I'm wide awake by 8:00. I don't even need to drink coffee every day anymore. I've been having tea in the morning and coffee in the afternoon when I feel like I need it. In the book, the Whole30 authors describe a phase they call "Tiger Blood," (thanks, Charlie Sheen) where your body is finally clear of the junk and starts working the way it's supposed to. I woke up last Saturday (Day 20) and it was like a switch had flipped. I had so much energy. My mind was clear. I felt happy. Confident. I felt like I could conquer the whole damn world. It was crazy. Crazy awesome. And a week later, even after a particularly stressful few days, I still feel that way.

I've also been trying to break some of my bad habits. Instead of eating at my coffee table in front of the TV (which just reinforces my eat-while-watching-television behavior), I've been eating at my dining room table. I've also barely watched any TV this month. It wasn't intentional, but I've found myself reading or writing or playing with the kitties at night, rather than staring blankly into the moving picture box. Because I can't drink or eat junk, I've had to handle stress/disappointment the healthy way - by crying, talking about it and letting it go. And I'm getting active again, walking about 3 miles at lunch with a coworker every day. I also get a few miles in every week when I walk dogs at the shelter. Hoping to add more hiking and swimming to the agenda as well in the weeks/months ahead. Yes, I hate the gym, but there are ways to get moving that I do enjoy. No more excuses! And when everyone else is drinking, I can still sip on a sparkling water with lime.

I've lost weight too, although I don't know how much. Because it's billed as a lifestyle change, rather than a diet, you can't stand on the scale until your 30 days are up. But my clothes are all loose and several people have told me it looks like I'm losing weight, so that's exciting.

But seriously, guys. I feel amazing. I feel happy. Aware. Confident. Energetic. Proud. Pretty. Unstoppable. Healthy.

That's why, when my 30 days are over, I've decided I'm going to maintain this lifestyle as much as I can. I will give myself room for some of my favorite things again, but in moderation. I will admit, I'm really looking forward to having a glass of wine on Wednesday (no, not beer quite yet - the authors say the negative reactions during reintroduction of foods are strongest with grains).

So by now, if you're someone who already lives a healthy lifestyle, you've probably shouted at your computer at least once already: "No shit, Amy! This is all common sense." You're right. But when you've spent your whole life eating all the wrong food for all the wrong reasons, that eat-guilt-repeat cycle is a tough place to dig yourself out of. But now that I know what "healthy" feels like, I'm not looking back. Only moving forward.

Wavering Resolve

What a difference a year can make. Please pardon the cliché, but it's true. This time last year, I was looking ahead to 2015 with cautious optimism, hoping it would be a good year. It wasn't. It was a great one. Relax - I'm not going to write another "my life is so wonderful" post. If you've been reading the blog at all in the past year, you know why it was great. (No excuses for not reading it. Seriously - I only wrote three times.)

Last year, on New Year's Eve, I made a number of resolutions for 2015. Twenty of them, in fact. (Refresh your memory here.) I haven't had time yet to assess how I did in keeping them, so I thought I'd do it the same way I made them - while writing about it. Here we go!

1. Start a new career.

I don't think anyone in the history of state worker-dom has ever been as excited to become a state employee as I was. And assuming I pass my final probation report next week, I'll pretty much be in the club for life! #Winning

2. Get healthy. 

Yeeeeaaaaahhh. Nope.

In all fairness, I was doing really well for a while, but then I got the new gig and started enjoying having a life a little too much. Happy Hour, every hour.

3. Not eat an entire brick of cheese in one sitting. 

Stuck to this one! Although with the discovery of uber-affordable, extra-sharp Vermont cheddar at Trader Joe's, I will admit it hasn't been easy.

4. Drink less. 

Bahahaha. Right. We knew this wasn't going to work.

5. Swear less during football games. 

Gronk and Edelman both got hurt. Oh, and we basically played the whole season with the JV squad. So this one never stood a chance.

6. Only hit Snooze Once.

Not. Even. Close.

7. Wear my hair down at least three days a week.

Let's go with "moderate" success on this one. I grew it out, so I do wear it down more than I used to. But still rocking the pony (or barely getting away with it, anyway) a lot.

8. FaceTime with the family more often. 

Nope.

Because let's be honest. Facetime is creepy AF. And I can't "mute" Facetime, which means I can't secretly pee while I'm talking to my mom on the phone.

9. Continue trying new foods.

So bacon wasn't one of them, but this kid is basically my spirit animal, so it works. But yes, I did try lots of new things this year. "Runny eggs included. Okay, soft-boiled, but given my post-food-poisoning fears, I'd say that's a big step forward. Also, mushrooms are pretty tasty. Who knew?!

10. Stop apologizing for being a "cat person."

Mission accomplished. Also, now that I volunteer with dogs, my social media posts are a bit more "balanced" so I get less shit from people.

11. Make my cats Instagram-Famous.

Does 368 followers count? Yah, I didn't think so either. I feed you, house you and make you look good in photographs. The LEAST you girls could do is make me a few bucks in return. Sheesh.

12. Open Sacramento's first Cat Cafe. 

Someday.

13. Take more pictures.

Resolution reached. And then some. Still dreaming of a decent camera, but I'll probably have to win the lottery for that to happen. You never know - I do have a ticket for PowerBall tonight!

14. Be more cordial to strangers.

Soooo this one backfired. I seemed to have forgotten that some people misinterpret social cues. At least until I was awkwardly reminded of it last week when one of the valet guys at work apparently took me being friendly as me being interested in him and asked me out. Nice enough man, but old enough to be my dad. Gross. So, so gross.

15. Drink less coffee. 

Not a chance in hell.

16. Fall in love.

Let me put it this way. Have you ever tried online dating?

On the bright side, I've now met so many assholes, I have more than enough material and motivation for a new writing project about the disaster that has been my dating life. Stay tuned.

17. Start swimming again.

This one was a success! Joined a gym with a great pool. Only problem is it's outdoors and for the first time in 3+ years, it actually feels like winter in Sacramento. Damn you, El Niño! Back at it when it warms up!

18. Try yoga.

Never happened. But I'm okay with that. Maybe this year.

19. Stop avoiding judgement from grocery store cashiers by buying frozen veggies.

Easy. I didn't buy a single bag! All fresh this year! Although, I do often feel like this about eating them.

20. Try 10 new beers.

This was legitimately the only resolution I knew I'd keep. Probably got there by February.

So it's safe to say I made good on about half of them. Better than I expected!

This year, I'm keeping it simple. Just three resolutions that I really want to focus on.

1. Get healthy

2. Get my finances in better shape

3. Write more often

(And obviously, more beer. But that's a given.)

Happy 2016!