Mouthful of Diamonds.

Sadness about my mom comes in waves throughout the year. There are certain times that are guaranteed to be more emotional than others, but for some reason Mother’s Day had never really been a troubling holiday for me. But driving down I-35 last Sunday, I noticed a man at a cemetery off the highway, getting on his knees to place a bouquet of flowers on someone’s grave. I lost it. Crying+hyperventilating, it’s been so long!

I was quiet and sad the rest of the day, partly because I missed my mom, and partly because I was afraid of my reaction. People who have dealt with grief and/or depression know the related feelings of helplessness. I can feel myself slipping into it, and I don’t know if it will last the day or several months. And to have those feelings triggered by something that used to not have the same negative effect feels a lot like regression and defeat.

The difference between before and now, though, is I know my friends’ and family’s support is endless and sincere. There were a lot of days spent in bed when my mom passed away. It wasn’t really until Texas 4000 that I learned how to talk about my mom, or how helpful it could be.

I got home Sunday night to a roommate who listened to me cry about my day. I checked my email and Facebook, finding messages from friends and teammates who had me and my mom in their thoughts that day. Those reminders made me realize I wouldn’t withdraw into my sadness because my support group wouldn’t let me.

As a “writer,” it dawned on me that I’d never written about my mother. I still think it’ll be a while before I write more personal memories of her, especially the last painful ones. But this is a start. In a span of a week, I have celebrated my friend’s mother being declared cancer-free and heard news of a friend’s grandfather losing his battle. I don’t know if cancer will be cured in my lifetime, if ever, but I do know that everyone has a support group that can help them through it. And if they don’t, they can talk to me!

My episodes of sadness are further apart and shorter in length. Thanks (and sorry!) to those who have literally taken the wheel so I can blubber down the highway, watched me burst into tears over lunch because I saw a woman who *kinda reminded* me of my mom, and suffered through my blunt “my mom’s dead” jokes. It’s all part of the healing process, I guess.

The Jensen family, Thanksgiving 1995

I was at Shangri-La a few Fridays ago when, quelle surprise, I ran into some co-workers of mine.
“My dad works out in the field and I need to call him,” one of them said, grabbing at my phone. Oh, I get it. Like it’s a rugged device. Funny.
Sometimes I’ll humor the jokes made in my phone’s direction, but it’s admittedly becoming a sore spot as the jabs keep coming.
I’m sorry, but what effect does my not owning a smart phone have on you?

I totally see the appeal for having one, but i guess having a “dumb” phone plays into my general interests and tactile fetish. I like having buttons to press. I prefer to make lists and notes in my mini-spiral. It’s not the end of the world if I can’t Shazam a song playing in a store.
I would take the plunge and get a smart phone if I were to move to a city I’m not familiar with, just for Google maps and a sense of safety. But I live in Austin, where all I really need my phone to do is make calls and receive texts. I know my general sense of direction. And if I don’t know where something is, I can ask a nearby stranger, or whatever acquaintance I run into.
Seeing someone I know everywhere I go, by the way, is very much my reality. At dinner on Friday, I was seated next to the family i nannied for in college at the restaurant. Afterward, I ran into my sister at a bar. I’ve finally accepted this reality, calmly saying Hi to my run-ins as if clairvoyant and expecting to see them there. Sometimes this has its perks; after a 15-minute hunt for parking at the Domain on Saturday, I rolled down my window to say Hi to a former high school classmate, who pointed me to a coveted space she was about to vacate. Thanks, Cristina!
[Later, as I was people-watching from outside the Starbucks, I witnessed the girl at the next table over have one "OHMYGODWHATAREYOUDOINGHERE?" moment after another as people she knew continued to surprise her with their presence. I couldn't tell if she just hadn't lived in Austin for very long or was just plain dumb.]

My phone, albeit beloved and well-defended, is getting old and slowly falling apart. I walked into the Sprint store a few weeks ago to check out their selection and was sad to see that the non-smart phone section had been diminished to a pathetic few. “I think they’re phasing them out,” the clerk said with a face that could most accurately be described as : /.

Ah yes, first my career path and now my choice of phone is slowly being pushed into obsolescence to make room for the future of communication: one that has me familiarized with the tops of friends’ heads as they check their news feeds and friend’s Instagrams while we “talk.” What quality time we have! Why don’t I print out pictures of my friend’s homemade pizza and whip it out the next time we’re having a conversation? Look at that Nashville filter.

While my sister and I were on our way to Marfa, she commented that she hoped her phone didn’t die on the way there.
“You didn’t print out directions?!” I asked incredulously. “Never rely on technology!”
This exchange came up during a party this Saturday, when once again my phone became the topic of conversation when I explained why I couldn’t “bump” with his.

“That’s when I would use my backup GPS,” he said.
“And if that died?”
“Well then I’d be fucked.”

: /

Rania and I crossed off an item on our Texas bucket list a few weeks ago : road trip to Marfa.
Because Rania thinks I’m the “worst roadtripper ever,” we decided to take our private airplane instead. Some friends tagged along.

Once we got there, we enjoyed many of Marfa’s attractions. We got some curry at Food Shark…

Hung out at El Cosmico

and took some really silly pictures in front of Prada Marfa, y’all.

But really…

It’s back, waking up in the middle of the night and writing stories in my head. But for who?
My sister and I helped a guy get home the last night we were in Marfa (more on that later.) He had moved there recently to teach at the school, and he gave us a tour of his house’s expansive grounds with a flashlight in one hand and his shivering chihuahua in the other. Marfa is a cute little town, but I wanted to know what it was like for someone who lived there. He talked about how the grounds’ burrs always gave him flat tires on his bike, and how there was tension between the artsy folk and the local townies because the creatives’ idea of art involved buying land and not farming on it. The Get Go might be a quaint hipster market, but for those who have to actually have to afford their grocery shopping there, Pueblo’s offered half-frozen everything that 9 times out of 10 turned its bread into a soggy, molded mess. He added that he lived with one of the artists, whose work was currently showing at Binder (pronounced with a short ‘i’, not like the school supply). We mentioned that we were there earlier that day and had met the artist. He said something to the effect of, “So you met Sam?”
I get it; Marfa’s a small version of Austin.
Our new friend said that he could live in Austin, where people his age live and the bands he listens to plays. But he couldn’t get the five-student classrooms here like he does in Marfa, where he feels like he’s actually making a difference in their lives.

And all of a sudden I missed writing for the Sun. When people complained to me about an article I’d written, part of me was just glad that they’d read it and cared.
I’m still pitching to Austin publications, but freelancing is nowhere near glamorous. There are very few outlets for Austin writers; I feel like we’re all climbing over each other, resumes held high, trying to get the attention of editors. I still pitch to a particularly difficult editor, who has taken to reaching out to my ex-boyfriend for cover stories. It’s somewhat understandable; he’s arguably a better writer than I am, something that I honestly respect rather than resent in most cases. But he moved to New York to pursue journalism big-time, where there are beaucoup opportunities and publications to write for. It just doesn’t seem fair to hand pick an ex-Austinite to write for a local publication when so many of us are starving for bylines within the city limits.
What I lack in craft, I think I make up for with interpersonal skills and disciplined work ethic. The ability to write seven-plus feature stories within a week doesn’t really hold any weight in the freelance world, though, does it? Instead, I pick up a copy of the magazine at Central Market and flip it open to see the ex’s name throughout, sort of a professional and personal stab in one. And when I’m feeling especially down about my career, each story reads like a slight against me.
Headline: You’ll never get another writing job in this town
Body: Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Go back to bed, Amira.

“I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.”

I just finished reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, a book about her year spent setting specific resolutions each month with a goal to recognize and enhance her happiness.

The author, like myself and so many others, often lets herself be unhappy and unsatisfied despite having a generally good life. It was an interesting enough read and somewhat reminded me of my blog. In 2011, I made resolutions to expand my skills and experiences. Last year I made an effort to enjoy what I already have, and this year I’m making a point to make time for fun. All of these resolutions, I feel, have an underlying goal of being more happy, whether it’s a matter of changing my habits or simply changing my attitude.

Some of her resolutions never panned out, which I can certainly identify with. I never have as much money as I’d like, I didn’t have as many adventures as I aspired and I sure as hell never mastered the crow’s pose. But Rubin points out that setting those resolutions weren’t for naught; at least she gave them a try and realized they either weren’t attainable or not really what she wanted.

Just being mindful of what I’d like to embody helps me be happy, and some resolutions I set are no longer something I need to remind myself of and are now an organic part of my life. I may not cook complicated meals weekly like a few years ago, but I actually enjoy cooking now and make simple meals for lunches. I also don’t have to think about volunteering with H.O.P.E., I just go. Seeing my clients’ smiles when I deliver their groceries has also inspired me to keep food in my car for the many panhandlers I come across during my work commute. Peanut butter crackers might not be what they’re wanting, but they still smile when I give it to them and I don’t have to ignore them and feel bad every day for not having money to spare.

Throughout the book, among many “truths” that she discovers through her happiness research and project, one mantra she repeatedly mentions is wonderfully simple: Be Gretchen. She accepts her quirks and shortcomings, which often become clear as she tries to be a better version of herself. It’s easy to be a defeatist when you can’t keep a resolution, but she points out that giving it your best shot is better than nothing. Comforting!

These are a few ideas she came up with that I particularly enjoyed:
-Couples should have at least one outdoor activity and one indoor activity that they enjoy doing together.
-Create “memory boxes” for your children,” organizing little mementos from their childhood by year/age.
-Change passwords (to Facebook, e-mail, etc.) into resolution reminders or happy thoughts.
-Make True Rules for you to live by. Examples include “Always say hello” and “Buy what you want at the grocery store – it’s still cheaper than eating out.”

I also enjoyed these phrases she shared:
“You manage what you measure”
“Feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right”
“The days are long, but the years are short”
“You can choose what you do; you can’t choose what you like to do”
“If you want it done, best do it yourself”
“Act the way you want to feel”

That last phrase came to mind last week, when I was feeling especially down at work (Rania shared with me that, oddly enough, it was marked as “the most depressing day of the year.“) I was tired and feeling anxious about a freelance gig I had after work. But then I really thought about my situation and realized I had exactly what I wanted: a job that challenged me as well as afforded me the time to pursue other interests. I perked up, had a good interview and felt great the next day. Life isn’t always wonderful, but the book reminded me that at least it doesn’t totally suck always, especially if I don’t let it.

Some happy thought password ideas:
lotsofbabies
josephgordonlevitt
listssomanylists
newmusicawyiss
ermahgerdcoffee

Rania and I spent three days in Salt Lake City to see our dad get married.
It was a long weekend full of snow, good food, new family and celebration (drinking).

I also came home with…
something old: my Barbie dining set from childhood, aww yiss
something new: a 21-year-old baby brother!
something borrowed: my mother’s beautiful watch
something blue: lips, toes, fingers. Zero-degree weather does not agree with my complexion.

Warm spinach salad from Sage's Cafe

On the way to Park City

Egyptian Theatre

Bookstore kittehs at Dolly's bookstore

Speculoos from Trader Joe's. The Lord giveth, and airport security taketh away before I could try it.

Oh 2012, you were a bitch of a year.
A recap of my resolutions:

Live on a budget
Oh, I lived on a budget. I only spent everything I could. Here’s to cheaper rent in the new year!
Run a half-marathon
! I did that!
[And I'm doing it again on February 17 with my roommates. Please help Team New Haven raise $2,500 here!]
Church shop (take two)
There were 53 Sundays in 2012, and I believe only 3 of them were spent in church.
But when I think about how I actually took time to focus on my faith, the Sunday that comes to mind was spent swinging in a hammock in my friend’s backyard.
It’s not just 2012 that was a bitch; life is just mean. It’s easy to lose faith when events like Sandy Hook happen, or when more personal tragedies come to pass.
My friend and I were commiserating over the disappointments and cruelty we’ve experienced this year and in years past. For me, these are what challenge my beliefs the most. What I realized was that although I don’t currently feel compelled to attend church, my beliefs remain the same. What I can do is act accordingly in my daily life, which does a lot more good than spacing out and making awkward small talk for a few hours every week.
Volunteer once a month
I am now the proud owner of Route #63 in Meals on Wheel’s H.O.P.E. program.
Most of my clients live in a complex run by the Housing Authority of Austin, where residents like to sit outside, shoot the breeze and tease the girl who’s struggling with heavy grocery bags. There’s a sense of community there, and I love how they make me feel like part of it when I visit.
“Say girl, are you Santa Claus?”
Go on a bike ride once a month
I got into a pretty good rhythm in Georgetown for a while, and I’d love to start taking advantage of living off Shoal Creek. Ben did mention something about a New Haven cycling gang…
Go on another road trip
Do three trips to Dallas count?

But that’s OK, because several road trips will happen in 2013 if I make good on my resolutions. The theme for this year is:

You’re getting old, so start having fun. (a.k.a. the quarter-life crisis, realized).

coffee mornings with my roommate
evening walks with friends
eleanor’s gorgeous presence
only working 8 hours a day
hilarious co-workers
lunch dates with my sister
weekend calls from my dad
the return of dessert potlucks
a boy who likes to make me laugh
the not-so-little things