Shake it off

Dear 2012,

I am very excited to greet you tonight, you have no idea.  Today I found myself thinking today about the things I would like to change over the next 365 days that we will spend together.  Yes, I have those pesky pounds I'd like to say goodbye to.  I would like to continue my goal of being more well-read, and I hope to kiss a large chunk of this student loan debt goodbye before the end of next year.  But more than that, I want to welcome you and those I encounter with you, with more grace.  The past several years I have been offered more grace than I could have ever earned (thus, making it grace, right?).  Grace so ridiculous that I can't wait to share it.    

2011 was exactly what I needed in a year.  It was comfortable, fairly easy, and at times a bit boring.  But I'm not disappointed in the time we spent together, not at all.  2010, if you recall, was a huge year that brought a hurricane of change into my life.  2011 was a perfect buffer.  Over the last twelve months I have reassembled myself, established some tangible goals, and created a crude road map to get me started. 

2012, I am ready for you.  Let's play.

All my love,
Stephanie 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbN0nX61rIs

So I finally caved and I read the Hunger Games.

I have been holding out on the series because the biggest advocate of the books that I know is also a huge Twilight fan, as in a t-shirt-making, midnight-show-attending, probably-buying-the-Bella Diamond-from-Rogers-&-Hollands-as-we-speak, fan.  Naturally I have little faith in her taste. 

Imagine my surprise when I found that people I actually respect were reading the latest craze in juvenile fiction.  Not just reading it, but LOVING it.

After watching the trailer, curiosity got the best of me. I wandered over to the Young Adult section at Schuler's and, with reticence, selected the first book off of the shelf.  Naturally the woman at the check-out lit up when she saw my choice.  "You have to come back and talk to me about this one!" she commanded.  She then went on to drop a few other titles into our conversation before handing me the sales slip to sign (apparently I need to read The War Horse too).

Long story short, I finished the book in a matter of three days.  Book two took me four days.  Book three took me two. 

I could not put down book three.  Holy smokes.  I am a skeptic when it comes to books and I don't like to be the last one to join when it comes to trends, but seriously.  Read these books.

But... you don't have to take my word for it.

We Didn't Start the Fire

I haven't blogged in a long time. 

That's not to say I haven't been writing.  My hard drive is quickly filling up with letters to people that will never read them.  Sometimes you just need to provide an escape for frustration, anger, and hurt-feelings, without latching them on to someone else. 

Holy smokes, melodrama.

Anyway, I also haven't had a lot to write that I felt like sharing, but today I do.

When I was in high school I took a social studies class called "40's through 70's".  This was my favorite class by far.  My teacher was absolutely passionate about the subject matter, and EVERY ONE that we studied was passionate about something.  We talked about Martin Luther King Jr., Kennedy (both John and Robert), Nixon, Khrushchev, Reagan, Kent State, Vietnam, the Cold War, it was essentially a highly detailed, more in-depth, version of "We Didn't Start the Fire". 

I would sit there in my seat thinking about how exciting those times were, how my generation would NEVER see times like that, how lucky the people that lived through that were, because they had these amazing stories to tell.  I would never have those kinds of stories.  We would never see civil unrest the way that our parents did.

Cut to seven years later. 

Every Saturday I volunteer at the Urban Institute of Contemporary Art on the corner of Fulton and Division.  Kitty-Corner from this gorgeous, state-of-the-art facility, a group of Occupy Wall Street protestors are camped out.  They wave their signs, bang their bongo drums, and cheer every time a passing motorist honks in support.  I stare at them through the window and decide on whether or not I stand with them or think their efforts are silly.

Of course I do love watching Bobo the Chimp and his "No More Monkey Business on Wall Street" sign.

I am not an expert on this movement, and I have heard so many different explanation on what they are fighting for, that I don't know what their primary focus is.  But I do know this, I am currently looking at about $30,000.00 in student loan debt.  I have a full time job that doesn't pay anywhere near that for my annual salary.  What's more, I work for one of those big evil banks (mine is among the top-five largest in the nation) and I am constantly watching their profits increase while my salary remains stagnant and repaying my student loans has made living on my own almost impossible.  I am one of the fortunate ones though, because I have full health coverage, dental, and a 401k that my employer contributes to on my behalf.  There are millions of Americans out there that are not blessed in the same way. 

I've seen the postings online from people who have been laid off from their steady jobs and are now working three part-time jobs with no benefits just to make ends meet, and like any person with a soul, I feel for them, I do.  Working three jobs just to put food on the table and provide for your family should not be the status-quo.

Watching public policy be dominated by a vast minority (1%?) should not be the status-quo.

Deciding that any one industry is "too big to fail" completely contradicts those capitalist values that so many of us cling to, and this should not be the status-quo.   

Of course, every time I see the protestimonials explaining how someone is $200,000.00 in student loan debt and can't find a job outside of being a barista, I roll my eyes.  College is a choice.  No one held a gun to my head forcing me to go to school.  I applied to higher ed. with the understanding that this was going to be a huge investment.  One that will put me way behind financially for at least a decade.  And you know what?  There ARE jobs out there that don't require you to work for tips.  I started at the bank with no experience and a HS diploma.  I worked hard and never thought I was too good for the work I'm doing. 

I also recognize that the poverty that Americans face is NOTHING compared to the poverty that the rest of the world faces.  I'm not belittling the U.S. poor, homelessness is always heartbreaking, but the poverty stricken Americans still have constant access to clean water.  Emergency rooms and Doctor's Offices are completely prohibited from turning away anyone in need of care.  We live in a nation full of NPOs dedicated to nothing more than providing food, clothing, and God's grace to those less fortunate.  This is why I tend to get annoyed at OWS protestors asking for more, when so many of us squandered what we had to begin with (myself included). 

To the rest of the world, the first world is the 1%. 

In addition to our economic woes, we are ten years into a war that went from a "necessary evil", to an "evil", to no end in sight, to "oh wait, we are still at war"? 

Once upon a time we sent troops into a far-off country to "contain" the spread of communism.  Thousands of men and women were killed.  I'm no political expert*, but I can connect dots, develop venn diagrams, and make connections.   Today we still have thousands of men and women overseas, trying to contain the spread of terrorism.  One of the lessons I took from 40's-70's was that the longer the U.S. stayed in a conflict (like that of Vietnam) the less chance they had of emerging victorious.  Not only does support from home start to wane, but eventually people want their countries back.  Support from the place where you're fighting starts to wane too. 

When Nixon took office, he began to seek a way out of Vietnam that wouldn't ensure victory, but dignity.  So in 1975 (ten years after war was declared) he pulled our troops out of South Vietnam and America tried to pretend that mess never happened.  Obama has stated (several times) that the war in Iraq will be over by the end of 2011.  I predict this will be another event that we try to pretend didn't happen.  We underestimated our enemies (can you really beat terrorism if you commit yourself to UN peace treaties and standards?) and we refused to acknowledge defeat. 

As for passionate people? 

 Jason Russell

Wael Ghonim

 

 Aung San Suu Kyi

Cornel West

...still got 'em.

*I used to think I was, but as I get older I realize that there is so much I don't know.  I'm probably better off that way.

Barbie Girl

I have been going through SoulPancake to help me re-establish my creativity, if it's possible to do so, and one of the activities in the book urges the reader to take photos of simple household objects, to see them in a different light (blah blah blah).  So I decided to spend my morning doing so.  Out of 68 photos, here's what I got:

Lazy Saturdays...

Moving Shadows Write the Oldest Magic Word

I think it's romantic that my mom bakes sugar-free brownies for my Dad.

I think it's romantic that Bethany's husband rents movies he knows he will hate, just because he thinks Bethany might like them.

I think it's romantic that Jon leaves love notes on his bathroom mirror for his wife, and she never takes them down. 

Little things.  Love 'em.

Gotta Be More Than Hoping It's Right.

There are times when I find myself driving past my old high school and thinking about how much easier it would be to go back to being 15.

I loved much of my high school experience.  Yes, I was a total nerd.  I was in the Art and French club, I was in choir, I was involved with theater, but I reveled in it, I mean, not to the point where I would broadcast my nerdiness and draw attention to myself.  I don't think I was one of the obnoxious nerds...

All of my friends were in the same extracurriculars that I was in, so we had a lot in common.  We related to one another on EVERYTHING.  It worked.

It doesn't work anymore.

I don't know what to do about it.

For the Weekend...

What do you do when your job stops being fun?

At 17 you can put in your two weeks notice and not worry about it.  Another job at the mall will open up and let's face it, you don't really NEED to work any way.

At 24, post-college, you can't do that.  Student loans, credit cards, car payments, and a cell phone tend to win out over your happiness.

And being at this job where your coworkers are awkwardly happy makes it that much worse.  I should feel blessed that I am working.  Thousands upon thousands of people are searching desperately for employment.  I really shouldn't complain about it, but I'm gonna.

At least three times a week I have to force myself to get off of 196 at the East Beltline exit.  Staying on the freeway and driving East with no real destination in mind would be so much easier.  Instead I swerve to the right at the last minute and make the trek southward to my branch. 

I sit at my desk and watch the clock until it hits 1 PM, I take my lunch, come back an hour later, and watch the clock some more until it hits 5:05 PM.  This is my day.  This is my life. 

Is it the people? Yes.

Is it the work itself? Yes.

Is it the policies and procedures? Yes.

Is it the same thing day in and day out?  Yes.

Like I said, what do you do when your job stops being fun?

Can't Go Back Now

Yesterday, when you were young,
Everything you needed done was done for you.
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone,
What can you do?

You and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now.

You know there will be days when you're so tired that you can't take another step,
The night will have no stars and you'll think you've gone as far as you will ever get

But you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you'll see me.

I can't really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself

And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now - The Weepies

Here comes the...

I have ten toes.

Ten little wiggly toes that ache in stilettos, burn on the beach, and sparkle when I let them.

But you know? I would willingly get rid of one if I could exchange it for one of the following:

1. Belle's library:

Have you seen this place?  Books.  So many books.  Shelves and shelves of books that require spiral staircases just to get to them.  I still seethe (just a little bit) when the Beast reveals his mondo gift to Belle.  In recent years I have learned the value of used books.  There is a romanticism to knowing that someone else scanned those pages, lovingly/angrily/sadly/compulsively flipped through them, before eventually giving up the book.   I always want to track them down and find out why they decided they no longer needed the book.  I want to start a book club with them, all of them.  I want Belle's library.

2. A Body like Jennifer's

Enough said. She should write a book on how to be just like her.  It would outsell Harry Potter.



3.A Stable Friendship with Butch Walker

Pink is probably one of the luckiest women out there.  She's adorable even when she screws up the lyrics to his song.  He just laughs it off with her.  It's not a secret that I love Butch Walker.  The man is a genius.  Simple.  He should want to be my friend.


4. My childhood creativity

When we were kids, my best friends and I would turn our church bulletins into these elaborate blue prints of our fantasy homes.  Naturally we would all be neighbors, and we would all have (very practical) swimming pools in our bedrooms, ivory bed frames, gardens of fresh flowers spilling off our roof tops, exotic jaguars, lemurs, and peacocks wandering through our living rooms, and closets that rivaled Cher Horowitz's.  We wrote plays, filmed our own talk shows, and amassed way too many craft-night kits.  Nerds? Definitely, Clever? for nine year olds, I think so.  Now, when I sit down to write I have to psych myself up for a good twenty minutes before I can churn out one sentence worth sharing with the public.  At nine years old I had this unabashed personality that I shared with anyone who made eye contact with me.  Where did that go?

5. I think I will keep this one to myself...

Three of you read this.  Anything out there that you would maim yourselves for?

Float on

I like to start things.  Starting points are always exhilarating.  There is the excitement of not knowing how projects will progress, but the confidence that they will.  The inexplicable confidence that the new effort will not only result in success, but some sort of remarkable glory.

Once upon a time, I decided that I was going to start making all of my own jewelry.  I have been to enough craft fairs to believe that my eye is refined enough and my patience strong enough to create masterpieces.  I dropped $70 on various supplies from my local Michael's*.  Latching on to the nautical trends dominating Forever 21, I decided to create my own necklaces out of oversized faux pearls, navy blue ribbons, and compass charms.  These items are still in the Michael's bag on the floor behind a chair in my bedroom.  Not only do I have unrefined eyes, but also patience comparable to that of my two-year-old niece's.*

I've started exercise regimens with visions of an incredible beach body dancing in my head.  Countless books lay under my bed, in the trunk of my (Jim's) car, or jammed onto book shelves, forgotten and never finished.  It took me five years to graduate from college because I started a new major almost every year.  Maybe I just have an addiction to beginnings, I don't know.  There's a kind of natural high that hits me when I find myself at the base of a new challenge.  Despite my poor record on follow-through, everything is approached with the same vigor and confidence in an inevitable accomplishment.

Maybe its all related to the whole self-discovery thing.  At 24 I should have a fairly strong understanding of who I am and what I want to accomplish with my life, but I don't, so I poke my head into every door that peaks my interest.  



*Why oh why does Hobby Lobby insist on closing their doors at 8PM?
*My career as a seamstress/designer has also gone this way, I have several attempts at creating scrubs still pinned to the patterns. I haven't worn scrubs to work since 2008.

My First Allegiance

I like to think that I grew up in a fairly Patriotic house.

Cooooooool.

My parents fly the American flag on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July.  They could probably launch into a lengthy impromptu presentation on why America is the greatest country in the world, complete with sparklers and some patriotic jell-o squares.  I think they gave us a pretty strong respect for the great U.S. of A.

I once asked my Dad if he was disappointed that none of his kids expressed an interest in the military.  "Are you kidding?" He replied, "absolutely not!"  My sister and I recently joked about how terrible we would be in the military.  She'd complain about the heat, I'd cry every time a drill sergeant approached me, neither of us could ever shoot at someone, even if they were aiming a gun at us.  The military and the Gambles would just be a poor mix (I'd like to take this moment to thank my dad for not filling our house with guns, camouflage, and other silly military paraphernalia).  

(Thanks Dad)

Apparently Goshen College, a small Mennonite college in Indiana, has decided that they will no longer play the National Anthem at their athletic events.  I caught part of an interview with one of their administrators today during my lunch break.  Things like this always peak my interest.

I am a huge proponent of separation of church and state.  I am also a supporter of separation of state and church.  A part of me always squirms a little bit when the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem, or bits of presidential speeches are delivered from the pulpit.  During the 2004 election, I was sitting in a pew at the church my parents still attend and the pastor asked the congregation who among them planned to vote democrat that year.  Several couples raised their hands, some more proud than others.  The pastor then spent the rest of his sermon telling them why John Kerry would be a terrible leader and that the ideals of the democratic party just simply don't line up with Biblical teaching.

Jesus would be so pleased.

I returned to the church several years later and a boy dressed like Abraham Lincoln stood in front of the audience and recited the Gettysburg Address.  Cute? Maybe, depends on how old the kid was.  My brother's church has "God and Country Day" in the summer.  There is just something very disturbing to me about pledging allegiance to a flag when everything I have ever learned from Biblical teaching states that my identity is in Christ, not my country of origin.

Nationalism can be a very scary thing.  It pits us against the potential Samaritans of the world, creating this "us vs. them" mentality.  Don't get me wrong, I love living in this country.  I was given the freedom of a childhood, the freedom to live in a safe neighborhood, the freedom to choose my own career and pursue it, but these freedoms don't make me any better than those who weren't granted them.  Our value isn't found in our nationalities.

Now, Goshen College has decided that they will no longer play the National Anthem because they are pacifists.  Singing about rockets and bombs completely undermines one of their basic values.   I say Kudos to them.  Its a gutsy move and a lot of ignorant people will send some alarming hate mail their way.  I hope that they maintain the grace and peace that the Mennonite church is known for.

Everything I Want, I Gotta Wait a Year

Just over a year ago I graduated from college.  I donned my blue gown, walked across the stage, received my "diploma" from a random administrator, shook T. Haas' hand, and blew a kiss to the arena.  I didn't look back.

Until now. 

During my undergrad I always knew that a career in writing wouldn't pan out for me.  I am not clever enough or experienced to write the next Great American Novel, nor am I dedicated enough.  At some point during my time as a GVSU student, I decided that it wouldn't be so terrible to make a career out of banking.  My managers always told me I could "go all the way" if I really wanted to, and I thought that made sense.  Perhaps that was my excuse to never really give 100%.

But you know what?  I don't want to be a banktress for the rest of my life.  I don't want to tip-toe around the wealthy to keep their business, I don't want to garnish people's wages, and I don't want to explain the reasoning behind petty fees.  I don't want any of it. 

This fall I am headed back to the ivory towers of Grand Valley.  I will take a few more PR classes and hopefully network with some of my professors in hopes of securing letters of recommendation for my grad school applications.  If all goes according to plan, I will then trade in my Laker blue for Spartan green in pursuit of a Master's Degree. 

Remember how I once wrote about my need to count down to things?  I am always looking ahead to the next major event in life.  Well, I'm doing it now.  Perhaps this is what I love so much about public relations.  Its always focused on what's next. 

Good things are next. 

All this Beauty.

I have been putting some serious effort into organizing my life.  My bedroom is full of clothes I don't wear, books I don't read, magazines that should be thrown away, and shoe boxes that still haven't been unpacked since I moved back from Chicago.

Rather than find the appropriate places for these things, I have been shifting them from place to place (bed, floor, chair, bed, floor, bed, floor, closet).  In all of the rearranging, I stumbled across the journal I kept when I was a junior in high school and traveled to Europe.  I spent ten days traveling through France and Italy.  Before we left, my high school French teacher recommended that I keep a record of our "adventures".  Because I idolized her, I took her advice.

I was flipping through it, remembering how smoggy and malodorous the city of Paris was, how underwhelming the Leaning Tower of Pisa is, and how absolutely incredible Nice, Monaco, and Florence are.  At the age of seventeen I was blessed with the opportunity to see masterpieces like David, which I snapped illegal pictures of, the Mona Lisa, the Last Supper, the Sistine Chapel, the Rodin garden, and Versailles.  I had the opportunity to attend Mass led by the Pope himself.*

In nine days I will turn twenty four.  I have been mopy about my Birthday, as is typical for me, thinking about how I am getting older and how I haven't done anything with my life.  Bethany was married by my age, Jim was preparing to climb Kilimanjaro when he was 24, Jon was changing the face of Grand Rapids' neighborhoods with his design skills. 

I can't let myself become a bitter old woman in her mid twenties though.  I HAVE done things, and I am starting to realize how many more things I have to do with my life.  I watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night from the Seine, I got lost in the Vatican, I sang hymns for the congregation of the National Cathedral.  My research has helped schools in Florida and Georgia keep recess and PE programs, and I even touched Butch Walker.  Twice.

Sparkle Sparkle

Butch Walker, I love this man.

Yes, I have friends that are married, friends with kids, with mortgages, grown up jobs, and I think to myself that they are living their lives.  They are established.  But you know, the idea of being established is more frightening to me now than being 24, single, and living with Mom and Dad.  I am learning to embrace this ridiculous freedom that I have.

Maybe I haven't lived yet, but I have experienced.  I haven't peaked yet.  I have sixty years to peak.  Good things are coming, 24 will be good for me.  Who knows, maybe a refresher trip to Europe is in order....

*The Pope was presiding over the mass, we could have stood in the courtyard with the hundreds of other people, Jenny and I chose to go shopping instead.

Too Many People on the Bus from the Airport/Too Many holes in the Crust of the Earth

So I have been neglecting my blog.  I haven't even been writing in the dog-eared moleskine that Jim donated to me two Christmases ago.  I used to write every day.  I would sit on the train headed towards Highland Park and scrawl everything I was experiencing across the pages of my notebook.  I would sit at the Starbucks across the street from my branch and judge the impossibly thin mothers balancing their extra-hot-non-fat-triple-caff-lattes with their Louis Vuitton purses, extravagant strollers (that cost more than my car), and perfectly groomed dogs tethered to their owners by designer leashes, stalk down the cobblestone sidewalks. 

I love writing, I really do.  I just haven't been inspired to write these last few months.  Or the inspiration strikes but the follow-through doesn't.  You would think that the major life change that I went through last summer/fall would result in thoughts, emotions, and poorly constructed anecdotes overflowing onto this blog.  I guess that they have at times.  I have tons of attempted entries that I don't plan to share.  Many of which sparked by a raging bout of PMS.

I packed my life up into clear plastic bins and moved out of state to a city I had only visited several times, to an apartment I had never seen, to live with a girl I had only met once.  Things like this do change you.  You learn to adjust, to accept, to negotiate one way streets around Wrigley field.  You learn that some things are just not worth making a big deal over, and that there are others that its okay to respond to with panic.  There is this little bit of your childhood that disappears during a move like this.  The whimsy that you believe makes you unique, that makes you likable, starts to diminish.

Not all bad.

I learned a lot in my four months in Chicago.  I did.  There were things that I loved.  I loved being able to catch the red line and take it to the loop on my days off.  I loved wandering down Michigan avenue and pretending I belonged there, acknowledging the silly tourists that snapped pictures of things I decided not to get excited over.  I loved that my best friend was four blocks away, right next to a Chipotle.

I couldn't build a life on these things alone though.  I couldn't stay at a job that made me completely miserable, or with a roommate who I barely knew.  I couldn't value my time there when I wasn't even living paycheck to paycheck, when I had to call home just to beg my parents to put enough cash in my checking account so I could pay for the $2.25 subway ride home.

I have been home for three months now.  Three months to reflect on the ups and downs of my time in Chicago, and I feel like a little light has been extinguished inside of me.  That whimsy that I valued so highly, that I believed made me who I was, has become increasingly difficult to find.  There was a loneliness I felt in Chicago that I assumed would stay there after I left, but it didn't. 

I don't know that I would go back and change my decision on moving there or not.  Lets face it, I wasn't entirely happy with how my life was going before the move.  I am glad that I know what I know now, and it was an incredible learning experience.  I suppose that, at this point, I wouldn't change anything.  I am grateful for what I learned about myself, my friends, and my family.

Sorry I've been away from the blogosphere for so long.  I will try to fix that.

And In the End, the Love You Take is Equal to the Love You Make.

I try to keep my blogging about perpetual single-hood to a minimum. This is probably why I will go several weeks without posting anything new.  Because, at the age of 23 (almost 24) the things I think about are:

• Your sister was married at your age.
• Why don't you ever have any money?
• Where is that middle ground between appearing obsessed with him and completely disinterested?
• Is that bill due already?
• Oh. My. Goodness.  That sandwich looks delicious.
• Is Blake Lively as cool in person as she is on TV?
• Oh look, 84% of your graduating class is married.  To each other.
• Yep, your sister was in fact married at your age.

Lately, I have come to the realization that I may just have to settle into this whole single-gal life and accept that some of us are just not meant for those kinds of relationships.  And yes, a big part of me is going through a bit of a mourning period, as is to be expected.  I mean, doesn't every normal girl imagine the perfect man at some point?

In seventh grade my best friend Robyn and I came up with a list of the qualities our dream men would have before we would consider dating them.  Rather than listen to Mr. Kievet explain how to solve for "X", we filled our math notes with "Must be able to make me laugh" and "must understand my love of Nora Ephron movies".  Over time our lists whittled down from hundreds of qualities to 75 to 25, to whatever they are now.  As you get older you realize that it isn't that important for a guy to like Savage Garden, in fact, its preferable that they don't.

I don't come to this conclusion lightly, its more-so after repeated "dates" that left me bored, annoyed, offended, or just hopeless.

Shameful admission: I have never left a date feeling excited for the next one.  Not one.  This is probably why I haven't been on one since October.

I've gone out with guys that lived in my dorm, guys from my study groups, guys from the bank... I've let friends try to introduce me to guys, no dice.  "You're too picky," my sister tells me, "give him another shot."  She is obsessed with the idea of me dating one of her former football players.  I'm sorry dear sister, "Can't be a ginger" is still on my list.

    

I suppose almost every family has an Aunt Spinster.  Someday I will regale my nieces with stories of "When I was your age" at the Christmas gatherings that my siblings have invited me to after my parents have passed on.  I will bring something from around the house that I giftwrapped, like a bowl I decorated at a paint-your-own-pottery store, and I will try to sneak more Boone's Farm into my glass from my purse.

This could be good...

This could be really good.  Perhaps I will run out of my own stories to tell, but Mae and Elli will have plenty to share about me.

Auld Lang Syne

Dear 2011,

Sorry for the late correspondence, I am usually better about writing my letters in a timely fashion.  Here we are, our first day together.  I apologize for welcoming you with little more than Nyquil and pie.  2010's parting shot to me was a bit of a head-cold.  Its okay though, I'll survive.  Listen 2011, your predecessor brought about a lot of growth and change.  I am not going to sit here and ask you to give me break, but I would like to request that you give me a bit of breather before you follow in his footsteps. 

Last year at this time I made the resolution to take advantage of new opportunities.  This is something that brought me to Chicago for four months.  2011, you may not know this, but that was a decision that never brought me peace.  So this year, dear 2011, I would like to make the resolution to use good sense in my choices.  I had the option to say no to that move, to say no to the apartment lease, to say no to the job offer, but my fear of being in a rut, my fear of being mundane, got the best of me.  I didn't want to be the person who never left home.  At the risk of getting all Shaun Brumder on you, it took that move to make me realize how much magic we have here in Grand Rapids. 

So 2011, as I leave the first quarter of my life behind, I would like to ask that you be another year that brings more growth and change, but less heartbreak and less anxiety.  This is day one, you and I have a clean slate.  I apologize for some of the baggage I will be bringing with me from 2010, but I promise I will purge it soon enough.

Let's get this show on the road!

Love always,
Stephanie