Crossroads - A Prologue

I haven’t blogged for over a year while collecting songs exploring themes of where crossroads in life take us. I thought I’d post this months ago, but what started as one playlist turned into six, with each of them exploring different aspects of life – including being loved and loving, death and dying, longing and letting go, and healing.

The passage of time has felt inescapable lately. I don’t know if it’s the onset of middle age, finally coming out of the fog of the pandemic, or being in better touch with my emotions – but sometimes, the feeling is almost like an aching for the past. Not that I want to go back because my life is pretty great right now. It’s more that I want to relive it and get a chance to see it unfold while knowing how things turn out. Sort of like the urge to rewatch a favorite show all the way through for a second or third time.

Albert Einstein once wrote to a friend, “The past, present, and future are only illusions, even if stubborn ones,” and that time and our place within it are relative. This notion is explored in a Scientific American article by theoretical physicist Paul Davies titled “Times Passage is Probably an Illusion.” It’s a great piece that talks about how the passage of time is subjective and that physicists have yet to agree on how things transition from many potential realities into a single actuality.

It’s funny that the " singularity " theory makes the theory of parallel universes, or the multiverse, even possible. There could be versions of us living entirely different lives of the many potential realities that could have played out. Where crossroads put us down just one of many paths because of a decision we or someone else might have made, or because an unexpected event changes the trajectory of where we were initially going. And these paths, I think, are most marked by the memories of people who move in and out of our lives — including the memories of tomorrow we’re making with those in the present.

My grandma, who recently passed away, gave me two great pieces of advice about life and those who share a path with us for only moments in time. The first piece of advice, given before cellphones and the internet existed, was to only fill out my address book using a pencil because people will never stay in the same place. The second piece of advice was that when people leave our lives, it’s often because we’ve learned all we can from them.

I don’t know if parallel universes exist or if time is truly an illusion, but I do know that in this specific time continuum, about half of my life is behind me (if I’m lucky). While it’s tempting, and maybe even a bit comforting, to sometimes replay previous seasons of our life — it can also make us stuck or lead us down an endless path of “what ifs” when our present situation isn’t everything we want it to be.

Some people say the best way to move forward is to forget the past and live in the present. But the past is too important just to forget. It’s what brought us to the moment we find ourselves today and the experiences that have made us who we are. When it comes to the passage of time, particularly when we feel lost or scared, it is knowing that wherever we are is right where we need to be. It might suck and be painful, or it might be incredibly joyous and filled with wonder — but whatever it is, the moment will only be temporary. It will become another memory until we have no more memories to make, at least in this time continuum.

“After all, we do not really observe the passage of time. What we actually observe is that later states of the world differ from earlier states that we still remember. The fact that we remember the past, rather than the future, is an observation not of the passage of time but of the asymmetry of time. Nothing other than a conscious observer registers the flow of time. A clock measures durations between events much as a measuring tape measures distances between places; it does not measure the “speed” with which one moment succeeds another. Therefore, it appears that the flow of time is subjective, not objective.” (An excerpt from the Scientific American piece mentioned earlier in this post.)

While the gray hair on my head and the wrinkles forming around my eyes indicate that time is passing, some moments in no specific linear fashion feel like yesterday, while others feel like an eternity ago. And others yet are just foggy distant recollections that barely rise to the surface.

So onto the playlists. I’m still editing all the other playlists I’ve created, which is needed because some have more than 60 songs. I’m also not sure of the exact order I’ll publish them, but I wanted to share the prologue of songs that didn’t fit into any one theme. This prologue explores these concepts as a whole about the passage of time, the memories we make, and the different paths we take.

You can listen and follow along below to learn why I’ve included these songs in the prologue, and if you don’t have a Spotify account, I’ve included a link to the YouTube version of each song in my notes.

Two Roads - Valerie June
This song was the inception of this entire series of playlists. There’s a haunting aching to the music that captures how decisions we or others make send us down one path vs. another — and even if we find contentment and happiness in where we end up, there’s almost always an inescapable wondering of what life might have been like if a different decision was made. If there was ever a song to make you wonder about the potential for parallel universes, I think the ethereal melody of this song opens a veil of wonderment about it.

As We Walk Into the Night - Amber Rubarth
Continuing on the theme of time and relativity, this song is about savoring core memories that create the fabric of our existence in relation to others. Even if Einstein’s belief that time is an illusion hasn’t been proven, memories of people are like time capsules. That’s why certain smells, places, and sounds can sometimes transport us back to a moment, making it feel as if no time hasn’t passed at all, or they give us an eerie deja vu feeling like we’ve already lived that experience. These memories, though, are tricky - “sometimes they keep us going, sometimes they hold us back.”

‘14: I Wish I Had Pictures - The Magnetic Fields
The lyrics of this song are self-explanatory of why it’s on this playlist. What I take from it, though, are not only how memories fade over time, but also how strange it is that people who are so incredibly important to us at different moments in our life will sometimes never meet each other. There are all these experiences and stories about who we are that they’ll never get to be a part of, nor us for theirs — including family you’ve known your whole life. It’s a beautiful song.

Every Mile - Layup
This song can transverse time in any direction — past, present, and future. It goes back to the notion that people, particularly our romantic partners, leave some of the strongest imprints on us as we pass through time. And that wherever we find ourselves in a given moment, whether we want to be there or not, is where we need to be for whatever comes next.

Berth - Gregory Alan Isakov
The notion of reliving our past and it leading to an endless cycle of “what ifs” is captured so wonderfully by this song. The haunting melody, the lyrics, and all of it. It’s sometimes hard to get out of those cycles, particularly when something in the present is causing distress. Romanticizing the past becomes an escape from focusing on what we need to address in the present.

Paths of Victory - Cat Power
This song is for those moments when we feel stuck or unsure how to move forward. It’s a good reminder that one day the fog will clear, and we’ll look back and realize just how far we’ve come, how much we’ve grown, and the healing we’ve done along the way if we’ve put in the work to do so. This song is a Bob Dylan cover. I love her voice and this arrangement because it brings a depth of evoking what hardships teach us.

I Remember Everything - John Prine
This is the last song John Prine ever recorded. He was one of the greats we lost to COVID. This song is so tender, heartbreaking, and hopeful all at the same time. As I mentioned earlier, memories are time capsules that hold moments — both good and bad. Things we could have maybe done differently, people and places we miss, and the small day-to-day moments that don’t always rise to the surface but sometimes do.

Low Expectations - Edwyn Collins
Edwyn Collins is a brilliant lyricist, and this song is no exception. Which makes it even sadder that he developed severe aphasia after suffering a massive stroke in 2005. This song hits on a new level knowing the unexpected turn his life would take, particularly for this playlist. It reminds me of those times when we find ourselves starting over or back in a place we didn’t want to be and knowing we need to move forward but lack an optimistic outlook. There’s a wonderful documentary about Edwyn’s journey back to language and music called The Possibilities Are Endless. It’s a wonderful piece of art in itself.

The Last Night - Lily Kershaw
“It can only take a few minutes to make and change your life …” This is another lovely song about the passage of time and past notions of who we would be and the people we once knew. I like how it captures the tender softness of emotions that memories sometimes spark.

Winter - Tori Amos
A playlist by me about traveling through time wouldn’t be complete without Tori Amos, my original musical love. The 30th anniversary of this album was celebrated this year, and it still hits home in those moments when we don’t love ourselves as much as we should or see the beauty in ourselves that others see. This song always transports me back to my teenage bedroom, painted in deep purple and black, and how I felt so insecure and not ready for all the changes that were happening so rapidly during that time.

Half Acre - Hem
While people definitely leave a mark on us, I think the places we’ve lived also do. I like this song because it feels like a personal journey of remembrance for all the emotions you’ve felt in those private moments of being with just yourself. And how we carry all of those places with us wherever we go because it’s an inextricable part of who we are.

The Million Things That Never Happened - Billy Bragg
I just love that this song reads in two ways — both as distant memories of people, places, and things that no longer seem real and of things that never transpired because we went down a different path. The violin in this is absolutely piercing in the same way that memories of what did or didn’t happen sometimes grab us and won’t let go.

Bookends Theme - Simon & Garfunkel
“Preserve your memories. They’re all that’s left you.” This song feels like one big sigh when you’ve gone down memory lane and feel nostalgia for past times. And also a gentle reminder to hold onto and make new memories in the present.

Core Memory - Distant Cowboy
This instrumental piece is a perfect complement to the previous two songs. Just close your eyes, focus your breath, and I’m sure a core memory will be unlocked.

Nightswimming - R.E.M.
This is another song that can transport me back in time to two core memories. The first is riding in the back of my parents’ van traveling dark prairie roads at night after spending holidays on the family farm, and the second is summer camping trips to Moon Lake in high school with my closest circle of friends. “The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago / Turned around backward so the windshield shows / Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse.” It reminds me of holding on to memories when we’re afraid of the change that’s coming, even though great new memories are being made in that moment.

Lullaby for the Lost - Reid Jamieson
Another beautiful instrumental with a few soft vocals to serve as the perfect capstone song to this section of the playlist. It’s like a tender sending-off of memories so we can embrace what’s to come, even if we aren’t sure what direction we’re headed.

Only Time - Aaron Espe
This is such a tender song of wanting time to stand still, if only for a little while. Even if we can’t stop time, and the passage of it may very well be an illusion, this song is like sitting down to savor the small moments in life that will be gone before we know it. It reminds me of a photo of my grandfather that I took after his 80th birthday. He was silently sitting in a corner, tired but content in watching his children and grandchildren play in the living room he built with his dad. My grandpa was an excellent teacher about savoring the small moments in life and being thankful for them.

Of Love and Life - Caamp
This song needs to be sung around a campfire on a summer night. It requires the banjo, though, because it makes the song. It’s a great tune to follow the last one with the memory of my grandpa and the lessons our elders can teach us about life.

And It’s Still Alright - Nathaniel Rateliff
This song is packed with so much pain and hope at the same time. It’s a prelude to the death and dying playlist, but I also think the playlists I’m assembling on longing and letting go. It’s a song for the valleys that seem impossible to escape when we’re in them. It’s important to remember in those low points that we’re alright and things will get better, and even if we can’t see it at that moment, it’s exactly where we need to be.

Past in Present - Feist
A fantastic song to round out the crossroads prologue to this coming series of playlists. “So much past inside my present …” goes back to the notion that we shouldn’t forget our past but rather honor its place in making us who we are, the lessons we learn from it, and that it will always be a part of us. It’s our story, for better or worse.

The making of a scar

I've been quiet on this blog since rekindling it a few months ago. I’ve been working through a pretty difficult time from my past that I’ve never shared publicly and it’s been hard to find the right words to talk about.

Due to an unexpected COVID-19 quarantine by myself, I’ve recently had the needed space to finally bring the processing of what happened to a state of mind where I feel comfortable enough to share. It’s involved revisiting a time when the trauma of 3 colliding incidents all happened within the span of a year -- a heartbreak, the death of a close friend, and a sexual assault. I’ve never talked openly about the assault, partly because it’s taken me almost a year in therapy now to unravel the pieces and understand what happened was indeed sexual assault by every definition of the law. That the shame and guilt caused by the trauma was a natural reaction and created a chaotic snarl of emotions. It wrapped all the grief of that time into a muddled layer on top of my still unprocessed trauma from 9/11, which had happened only 4 years earlier.

During the processing of all this, “I stood looking over the damage, trying to remember the sweetness of life on Earth." This line is a quote from Station 11, which I watched between the moments of processing in quarantine. This phrase repeated throughout the series hit home on multiple levels with the storyline itself being about the fallout of a pandemic and the processing of a pre-pandemic trauma.

At times I've felt selfish to take this very inward journey of my own past trauma during a time when we are all hurting. I don’t think we get to choose when the work needs to happen though. The moments find us, and we can either lean in and embrace them or retreat from them. I chose to lean in because I’ve been retreating for far too long.

I say retreating because part of this work has involved gaining a better understanding of my attachment style. I’m someone who retreats for emotional protection and shuts myself off from others. It’s most commonly known as avoidant attachment, and in the book Fierce Intimacy by psychotherapist Terry Real, he further classifies my particular attachment style as one of being walled-off and moving toward shame on his relationship grid.

What I’ve learned is that attachment styles are formed during our childhood and can change over the course of our lives. The avoidant attachment style has roots in learning from an early age that we must self-soothe ourselves during times of emotional distress. While I'm also revisiting the events of my childhood that influenced this attachment style, those reflections are a blog post for another day. I only bring it up because I think it’s important to acknowledge that while our attachment style may develop during childhood, there are other significant events in our life that can impact it.

What sparked this particular journey was a discussion with my therapist about Indigenous teachings on calling our spirit home when it’s lost. This teaching kept revealing itself to me in different ways over the last few months, and I’ve learned enough to know now that when this happens we need to pay attention to it. Joy Harjo describes this process in her poem For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet. Here's an excerpt:

Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

My therapist isn’t Native, but understood the meaning of this teaching revealing itself to me and encouraged me to pursue the work in calling my spirit back. So I’ve been retracing the memories of that time through music and creating a playlist to safely release the emotions from then all the way until today to unlock what I’ve truly been feeling.

I mentioned in my last blog post that returning to music, poetry, and writing has been a big part of my therapy. Those artforms are helping me get back in touch with all the emotions I locked away in my walled-off retreat for the last 20 years. Lily Kershaw’s album Arcadia was the genesis of starting this process, and my Spotify top songs of 2021 are a clear indication of that.

I’ve also been revisiting some of my writing from this time in my life, including revising and unpublishing a few old blog posts now that I have a better understanding of myself and what happened. While some of the specific details of these memories still escape me, I know I have a much stronger clarity of truth.

I know that, because I had a new perspective looking at some old photos I found on the computer with the journaling I was reading through from this time. One photo in particular really got to me. It’s a picture of me standing by the shoreline of Puget Sound. I remember the day it was taken and how I felt so lost in darkness at the time despite my smiling face.

I think in many ways this playlist is a tender love letter through time to reach her 16 years ago by tracing “the making of a scar, from the end until the start.” This lyric from Lily Kershaw’s song Parallel Lives inspired both the playlist and the title of this blog post. I really like the metaphor, because a scar is a wound that has healed.

A special note to those who were closest to me during this time in my life and might be reading this, thank you. Your kindness and friendship kept me afloat during a time when I was adrift in darkness.

Lady, weeping at the crossroads

The major headlines these past few weeks feel like being in a 20-year time warp back to 2001 with the war in Afghanistan, ISIS attacks, and a destructive hurricane causing havoc along the Gulf Coast. Now add to that a global pandemic, social and political unrest, and witnessing the decline of civilization in a post-fact world.

I’ve been learning a lot lately about the imprint trauma makes on our bodies, and how that manifests in everything from the way we physically hold ourselves to how we unconsciously respond to stimuli - be it sounds, smells, tastes, and things we touch and see. When our nervous systems get supercharged, they tend to stay in a constant state of flight, fight, or freeze. While my life has changed in so many ways over the last 20 years, not all of those changes have been for the better.

I wrote last week about being on a journey of healing this past year, and that some of that healing has come from talk therapy where I've been working to process past traumas and the effects they've have had on me, much like the havoc a destructive hurricane can cause. I've experienced a considerable amount of personal trauma, loss, and grief over the last two decades -- some of which I’ve been aware of and have talked about openly, and some which I’ve only just begun to process.

Without realizing it, my sense of self has splintered multiple times with each of these traumas, starting with 9/11. I have great capacity to compartmentalize, which can be a form of resilience but can also be damaging when we don't give ourselves the permission or space to eventually work through things. So in my effort to be resilient, I kept many of these traumas either half processed or not processed at all -- leaving part of me stuck back in all these really dark and lonely places waiting for the light to come, and part of me here in the present trying to give her that light.

I feel numb more days than not, and I often fake happiness, excitement, and tears when I know those are the socially appropriate emotions I’m supposed to be displaying in a given moment. That’s not to say I don’t ever feel anything, in fact when genuine emotions do rise to the surface they often feel like a threatening invader and I completely clam up and go blank or get filled with so much anxiety I unconsciously start stimming - usually by rocking, fidgeting, bouncing my legs, or tapping my feet depending on how strong the emotions are.

I wasn’t always like this, it's been a slow progression over the last 20 years. That said, it's been especially bad these past 5 years, which I think is partly due to the collective trauma we're all experiencing right now. When my therapist senses these physical responses during our sessions, she’ll ask me what I’m feeling and I get so frustrated because I'm rarely able to find the right words to explain it. As someone who works with language and communication for a living, to not have the ability to describe something happening inside of me is maddening. But I’ve come to understand that this is what being emotionally detached feels like -- fluctuating between numbness and unperceived physical responses.

I really want to be able to feel things again. To allow myself to be vulnerable and connect with the people in my life who I love and care about. To feel joy and sadness alike. Music, poetry, and writing have always been my outlets to tap into those feelings, but I stopped immersing myself in all of them about 7 years ago when my emotional tap ran dry after losing my mom. It was the final blow to a long string of unprocessed traumas.

As part of my therapy I’ve been reimmersing myself in these activities, and they’re slowly helping me to process and connect with my emotions. Being able to write not just one, but two blog posts within a week of each other is a testament to that! The title of this post is even inspired from a W.H. Auden poem that really hit home for me on multiple levels this week.

I know poetry isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, just like when I look at abstract art and don’t understand it. So here’s a few good analyses that aren't overly academic or laden with twenty-dollar words. One covers the metaphors of the poem and another it's structure and intended pacing. And if you aren’t into literary analysis, here’s the poem as a song adapted and performed by Carla Bruni.

The reason this poem resonated with me in particular this week, other than it's a narrative of a woman rediscovering her true self, is that it brings me back to 9/11 and full circle through all the traumas that have led me to this emotionally detached place.

When I escaped lower Manhattan that morning and finally had made it back to my neighborhood on the opposite end of the city, the juxtaposition of the setting was a shock to my system. When I stepped off the bus a few blocks from my apartment, the sun was shining bright and birds were chirping. Yet just a few hours earlier I had escaped complete scenes of horror where my life was spared by sheer minutes. When I came to, I was standing in the middle of an intersection with no sense of where I was.

I’ve written different posts and even a poem about that day, so I won’t go into those details here. Instead, I’ll end this post with the W.H. Auden poem that inspired it (just in case the links above ever break, as the internet is wont to do).

Lady, weeping at the crossroads,
Would you meet your love
In the twilight with his greyhounds,
And the hawk on his glove?

Bribe the birds then on the branches,
Bribe them to be dumb,
Stare the hot sun out of heaven
That the night may come.

Starless are the nights of travel,
Bleak the winter wind;
Run with terror all before you
And regret behind.

Run until you hear the ocean's
Everlasting cry;
Deep though it may be and bitter
You must drink it dry,

Wear out patience in the lowest
Dungeons of the sea,
Searching through the stranded shipwrecks
For the golden key,

Push on to the world's end, pay the
Dread guard with a kiss,
Cross the rotten bridge that totters
Over the abyss.

There stands the deserted castle
Ready to explore;
Enter, climb the marble staircase,
Open the locked door.

Cross the silent ballroom,
Doubt and danger past;
Blow the cobwebs from the mirror
See yourself at last.

Put your hand behind the wainscot,
You have done your part;
Find the penknife there and plunge it
Into your false heart.

Reconnecting and healing

I got a lot of compliments on my hair today from strangers, friends, and coworkers alike. What started as a pandemic grow-out has turned into something much more meaningful for me. As I’ve worked to heal my physical self from the ravages of COVID-19 this past year, I’ve also been on a journey to heal my spiritual and mental health. Part of that has come from therapy, and another part has come from reconnecting with my Anishinaabe culture, it’s language, and teachings.

I recently learned the Ojibwe phrase Aanji-bimaadizi, which translates for me to the phrase, “She changes her life.” There’s an Ojibwe teaching of the 4 hills of life - infancy, childhood, adulthood, and old age - where very few make it to the fourth hill before they transition to the spirit world. In order to move from hill to hill, we must overcome obstacles that hurt us or hold us back. We do this by embracing the inevitable changes that come, and letting go of what was so we can find balance and peace in what will be.

In working on all these facets of myself this last year, I realized there was unprocessed trauma tugging at me and keeping me from moving forward. Every time I thought I’d gotten enough momentum to continue on, the ground beneath my feet would give way. Over time I stopped noticing my lack of movement forward, mistaking the churn of distractions as progress. But with this pandemic, the forced stillness has taken away a lot of those distractions and has caused things left unprocessed to rise to the surface. I think maybe that’s true for a lot of people.

I’m still working to process the things that are holding me back so I can continue my journey forward. And my hair is a part of that journey. Teachings about hair in Anishinaabe culture can vary between families, clans, and nations, but a continuous theme throughout is that our hair connects us to our identity. It’s a part of our spiritual well-being, and how we take care of our hair is a reflection on how we take care of ourselves. Andrea Landry, an Anisinaabe teacher, writer, and mother, refers to our hair as “our life force.”

So as I continue to find the solid footing needed to let go and embrace the changes ahead, I will look at my curls and the gray within them knowing this is the wisdom that will carry me forward.

________________

You might be wondering why I posted on a blog I shuttered a decade ago. This is roughly the time I stopped pursuing writing as an outlet for processing things. I stopped writing poetry because it made me feel too much, and I eventually stopped blogging for the most part. I took a micro-blogging interlude on Tumblr, but reading through it now I realize that blog was more a distraction, an illusion of processing (minus a few posts here and there within it). So I’m starting up Nessa’s Nook again as a creative outlet to reflect, process, and embrace the changes ahead.

New Space and New Lease on Blog Life - Come Join Me

To all my readers, I must first say thank you. I know I've been neglectful of this space over the past two years, so if you're still poking around hoping for an update you're indeed a patient person.

I've decided to moth-ball this blog along with the two others I started over the years. I think I was too ambitious trying to have three separate online spaces for my personal creative writing pursuits, politics, and work. So, I've decided to lump them all into one space on my new blog. I waited a month to make the announcement and see if I would have more success in committing to just one space versus three. I'm happy to report that I am. This is also partly because Tumblr takes away the anxiety of feeling like I have to post a big, long post by offering quick post alternatives. So come join me in my new space where you'll get it all!

Dad and Dating

I think I’m a pretty lucky girl to have a dad like mine. Sure, he does all the things you expect a typical dad to do, such as teaching me how to drive a car and having patience when I back it into the side of the house. Or helping me move more times than I can count, co-signing student loans without batting an eye, and coaching me through several exhaustive and expensive career changes.

And then there are the unexpected, extra special things my dad does, such as sending a care package consisting of random nuts and bolts, screwdrivers, an assortment of pens missing their caps, hot pink fuzzy dice, a can of Hamm’s beer, and a hand-written note saying:

My Dearest Vanessa,

The love a father has for his daughter is a special one. It’s high up on a shelf somewhere that can’t be touched, and any guy who comes into your life is going to have to be pretty damn special to reach that high.

All my love,

Dad

P.S. I know this care package isn’t like the ones Mom sends, but there are just some practical things people need around the house. You don’t know when you’ll need what’s in this box, but you will.

A unique relationship
As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized the relationship I have with my dad is not your standard variety father-daughter bond. I can talk with him about almost anything, he’s one of my best friends, and he understands me better than almost anyone I know.

In our many conversations about life, the subject of dating and love has come up more than once. My dad’s perspective on this topic is always interesting to hear, and no matter how broken of a heart I have or how frustrated I am, I always feel better after talking with him.

It’s been awhile since I’ve talked with my dad about this subject. Mostly because my schedule is much busier than it used to be, which means we don’t get to talk as often. Then, out the blue, he emails me today with an uplifting message as if he had a sixth sense about how frustrated I’ve become with guys and the whole dating scene lately. I won’t go into those details right now, but what I will share is an exchange my father had about me with his best friend from high school.

The dating game
Yesterday I posted a link on Facebook to a blog post titled “5 things you should know before dating a journalist.” While I’m no longer a journalist, I still hold many of the same qualities. Once you’ve been in the trenches as a reporter, your outlook on life is never the same.

My dad decided to share this link with his friend whom I’ve never met, but I gather knows a great deal about me. He tells his friend the blog post does a great job in describing the type of person I am, then adds, “Which probably explains why she has had about 30 boyfriends and most of them have broke it off with her.” (Yes, I inherited my unabashed bluntness from my father, but I digress.)

This past week I’ve pondered the topic of why guys and I just don’t have staying power. The reflection came after a remark an older, wiser woman made to me at a wedding when she learned I was 30, single, and have never had a serious relationship that’s lasted longer than six months.

“I can tell you’re a girl with standards,” she said. “Perhaps, without realizing it, you’re the one pushing the guys away because you know they don’t measure up.”

The words hit me like a Mack Truck. Me? Push guys away? That’s laughable.

Then all of the sudden previous conversations with other older, wiser women in my life washed over me. I could hear echoes of the same sentiments in all of them.

With my perspective of dating completely flipped on its head, I started re-examining some of my more recent relationships. I became unsettled in the truth I was seeing. I do have standards. Pretty high standards in fact.

Not settling for second-best
In the last two years, I’ve become much more discerning about the guys I choose to date. Perhaps it’s because I’ve learned from my past, but I think a lot of it also has to do with knowing that for the first time in my life I’m ready for a long-term commitment (despite my hands trembling a bit as I type those words).

This re-examination of my dating life had been going fine, but then I started second-guessing myself thinking perhaps I might have set my standards too high. That’s until I received my dad’s email today, which included the following response from his best friend (my translations from French are in brackets).

Père [Father] Casavant,

Very entertaining — the article on dating a journalist. And well written!!

However, I would offer the following:

Daughter Vanessa had a mind of her own LOOONG before she first took up the pen of a scribe.

Her insistence in high school that she settle for nothing less than going to New York to study theater, right out of high school, took incredible courage and determination. Staying there, FOR SEVEN YEARS, once she arrived, is yet another HUGE accomplishment and testament to perseverance. Finding a way, enduring one audition after another after another and not being called back tests the ego of the best of any who make that journey. Dealing with the dining customers of New York will certainly give one an opportunity to stand one's ground — with a smile!

She has every good reason to feel good about herself. She succeeded and chose — on her terms — when to leave the city. She was not thrown out, replaced, chewed up and spat off the stage scene.

Taking that type of personal success to an occupation in which she is given the freedom to chase down "just the facts ma'am" must be an exhilarating challenge each day. Making the story factual, actual, verified and passing muster of an editor or two must be a genuine sense of "nailing it" when seen in print.

Yes, mon amie [my friend], she would try the patience of any man of thin skin and a lack of convictions. But, oh, happy is the man who is strong in his sense of self and happily, gainfully employed and can wait for Miss Vanessa!

--

Lee

So there you have it. My standards and I are just fine!

Miles ran: 2.5
Time: 34.08
(Huh?)

Dear Anonymous,

Unlike you, I do not to hide behind a shroud of anonymity. I have nothing to hide. So I am addressing your attacks on my character and intelligence in a public forum.

Yes, I removed your spiteful comment from my blog. It’s not because I can’t respond, but because you made it on a post unrelated to your hateful ranting.

In fact, I find it interesting you decided to attack me on a post about overcoming the physical and emotional side effects of 9/11 and the recent loss of my grandfather. In addition to being blinded by rage, you seem to also lack a certain amount of common decency.

On March 8, 2010, you wrote:

I'm posting a response here to something I saw on facebook. I don't want to reply on facebook for reasons that will become clear when you read this. I think you're a really smart girl, you know that? So smart that you realized a long time ago that you wouldn't have to actually use your brain and learn how to take part in a logical debate, because all you have to do is accuse your opponent of being racist, and (in your mind, at least) you win. As a conservative, I have plenty of ways to logically disembowel Marxism and its numerous noxious contemporary offspring without having to resort to throwing rhetorical sand in my opponent's eye. You, however, don't even make an ATTEMPT at discussion, preferring instead to draw attention from your own ignorance by pointing a finger and crying racist. Let me explain something to you- just because you loudly proclaim (to every man, woman, and child that will listen to you) that you're an Obama supporter, that doesn't magically give you the right to use the race card. Your people didn't spend hundreds of years enslaved only to spend a hundred more as second-class citizens (most of the time, at the hands of Democrats). The most "liberal" thing about you is the use of the race card, and it's not yours to use. See, I AM black. And I wasn't raised anywhere as pastoral as North Dakota. Who do you think you are? You don't know what it is to be black, and if you automatically think conservatives are racist, you're just as ignorant as the people you claim to despise. It makes me sick to see people like you USING my ancestry and the history of my family for political gains. Shame on you.

Response one
I find some of your facts in this comment to be very interesting because it means you’re a friend of mine on Facebook. I know this because my privacy settings are at the highest level, meaning only friends can see what you’re referring to in this rant.

So, not only are you a friend, but you’re a friend who is African American that didn’t grow up “anywhere as pastoral as North Dakota.” This reduces the number of people who you could actually be to a fairly small amount, which makes me suspect you aren’t who you say you are.

I am very protective of who I friend on Facebook. So, I’m fairly certain if you’re indeed someone left in this small pool of people, you wouldn’t have chosen to lambast me anonymously on a public forum such as my blog.

Also, in being my friend, you would know that your argument about my people not spending hundreds of years enslaved as second-class citizens is wildly inaccurate being that I’m Native American. So, if you want to talk oppression. Let’s talk oppression.

Crazy-pants rant kick-off
Furthermore, I believe what you’re referencing as seeing on Facebook is a heated conversation that transpired three days before your comment on my blog. That conversation, much like this one, was also started by an off-topic rant. Only that rant came from a childhood acquaintance named Justin who grew up in North Dakota and has since unfriended me.

In the pursuit of full disclosure, let’s review that heated, off-topic conversation and see the eerie similarities it has with your comments. You'll see I never once played the race card. In fact, the accuser doth protest too much, methinks.

And, for the sake of posterity, here is your most recent comment that I haven’t taken down.

On March 10, you wrote:

Hahaha! I see you removed my comment. Racist. That's typical of a lefty. You can't call me a racist because I'm black, so you quickly delete my post because you have no ammunition. ANYWAY I was having a look at your blog...Do you ever use the words "in my opinion" or "my point of view is" or anything of that sort? You seem to profess on and on as if what you're saying is gospel, without ever exploring the possibility that you're outside the extents of your knowledge.

Response two
Now who’s calling the kettle black? Also, I'd like to point out that being this is my blog and my voice, the words “in my opinion” and “my point of view is” should pretty much be a given.

So Anonymous, whoever you are, here’s your chance. Crazy-pants rant away! The world is watching.

I’m back! In more ways than one . . .

First, if anyone is still out there checking this blog for updates, thank you.

Where I've been
The demands of a new job and elected duties with the 43rd District Democrats forced me to curb my extra-curricular writing for bit. I’m happy to report though I’ve started to find a little more work/life balance. Something I’ve always failed at doing, but have now committed myself to finding.

During this time away from blogging, I’ve reflected a lot on what I want out of life. There’s nothing like a triple whammy to get the mind thinking. Last spring I was faltering professionally with a seemingly inevitable layoff, and personally in dealing my mother’s ailing health and the unexpected loss of my grandfather.

I pride myself on being a survivor with the ability to rise above when my world starts crumbling. This time things were different. The crumbling never gave way, and soon I found the fight within me being beaten to nothing more than a withering pulp on life support.

I had so much of my self-worth and identity tied to my job that the prospect of losing it made me feel like a complete failure. Combining that with the loss of one of my greatest beacons of support, my grandfather, and preparing myself for the possible loss of another with my mother, heartbreak had been redefined.

In the months leading up to my 30th birthday, I had settled into a pretty deep depression accompanied by a series of mini panic attacks. I was finding it harder and harder to get out of bed, much less out of my funk.

The only other time my emotional perseverance had been tested to this extreme was in the aftermath of 9/11. During a truth-telling reflection over beers with my best friend in Seattle, I examined this period of my life. I discovered there was one solid difference between then and now. I had running as a coping mechanism.

At the time of the attacks on the World Trade Center, I was well on my way toward accomplishing a lifelong dream of running in a marathon. Despite putting my marathon dreams on hold so I could focus on healing, I kept running. I pounded the pavement harder than ever, escaping all my anxiety and depression through a constant rush of natural endorphins.

My pace and endurance eventually started diminishing until I got to the point where I couldn’t even run a mile without becoming completely winded. Severe asthma had set in from breathing six to eight miles a day worth of horrid air at Ground Zero.

Protecting myself from the fierce blow, I shrugged off the loss of not being able to run by telling myself I was luckier than the thousands of others who didn't survive the attacks. I refocused my life and started putting all of my energy into my career. I thought it was a healthy obsession at the time, convincing myself that as long as I was on a path toward a great career nothing else mattered. I could fail at everything else, be it personal relationships or running, and I would still be a success.

When I found myself on the verge of being without a career, reality hit like a crushing wave stinging every inch within me. I had sacrificed time with my family and given up all my personal dreams for nothing.

That’s when my friend, who helped me make this discovery, reached out and gave me a gift that would change everything. She signed me up for a class with Beth Baker of Running Evolution. It was a smart and sneaky move. I couldn’t very well return the gift, and it forced me to not give up on myself at a time when I wanted to the most.

Where I'm going
My first time back on the pavement in almost eight years was terrifying. I felt overwhelmed by how much of myself I had let go, both emotionally and physically, when I was diagnosed with asthma. In facing that fear by putting my running shoes back on, I was able to start rebuilding the fight within me.

My confidence started combing back, and so did my energy for life. Before I knew it, I was filling out job applications like crazy and recommitting myself to making family and personal time a priority.

On the day of my 30th birthday, I started the new decade of my life on a high note, quite literally. I was on a plane flying to a work conference in Washington, D.C., for a dream job as a content strategist with a federal project. More importantly, I was basking in the glow of knowing this job was just the icing on the cake for rediscovering myself, my relationship with my family, and what I wanted out of life.

Jobs will come and go, but how I live this life is what will define me.  I can only hope that by the time I am reunited with my grandfather, my gravestone will read: dedicated public servant; loving wife, mother, and grandmother; accomplished marathoner and writer.

Miles ran: 1.5
Time: 19.5 minutes

(As a side note, I’m going to end every blog post with my miles ran and time for that day to keep myself committed to my goal of running in a marathon. I’ve shaved two minutes off my MPH average since starting to run again, but I still have a lot of work to do in building my lung capacity and endurance.)

GOP hypocrisy: Video of Reagan’s 1988 address to students of America

All week I’ve been riled up about the GOP’s ignorant attacks on a speech President Barack Obama plans to give students across America tomorrow about the importance of staying in school, getting good grades, and working hard to achieve success.

Before anyone had even seen a draft of Obama’s speech, the GOP jumped back on the fast track of the Fear-Mongering Express to insight anger along partisan lines.

Members of the GOP have good reason to fear the power a president holds for indoctrinating children. They needn’t look any further than a speech the golden boy of their own party, former President Ronald Reagan, gave to students in 1988. I was one of those children forced to sit in a school gymnasium listening to the importance of “our duty to bring the values of the American Revolution to all the peoples of the world,” which Reagan defines as a rebellion against “economic restrictions, taxes, and barriers to free trade.”

Reagan’s full speech, which you can also view below, is a complete overreach and abuse of power to spread a political ideology. Of course, only being a second-grader at the time, I didn’t realize this. All I saw was a very important man, someone even more important than my teacher, the principal of my school, and my parents, telling me what my duty was. I didn’t know what the American Revolution was about, much less what economic restrictions were. All I knew is that they must be an important reason for me feeling secure and safe, and that if I wanted to continue feeling secure and safe I should never want things to change.

If Reagan’s remarks had been more like President George H.W. Bush’s speech to students in 1991, then there wouldn’t be a need to post my thoughts on this subject. However, I feel it important to point out the complete hypocrisy of the GOP on this issue.

The last thing our country needs is another division along partisan lines, and I find it completely shameful one was created that will keep American children from hearing a message they all need – stay in school, respect your teachers, and work hard to achieve your dreams.

A public servant to the very end

There is no tribute I could post or words I could write to truly encapsulate the loss our country has had in the death of U.S. Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-Massachusetts). He wasn’t a politician. He was a public servant.

Despite serving more than 46 years in office, the third longest of any senator in the history of our country, he remained passionate and diligent to his responsibilities. He was not swayed by special interests or power, and never wavered from his commitment to fighting for the working class.

Even when facing down certain death, Kennedy put the public’s interest first. Just last week he sent a letter to key leaders of the Massachusetts legislature urging for laws governing succession of office to be changed. This was to ensure the state would not lose a vote in the upcoming showdown over health care reform after the summer recess.

My heart aches tonight in a way it hasn’t hurt since the loss of my grandfather in May. Only the sadness I feel is not of a personal nature, but of realizing the void Kennedy’s death will create. When he knew things were blatantly wrong, he didn’t hide under a smooth veneer that was politically safe. He would speak from the heart, reminding his colleagues in Congress they were there to serve the public and nothing else.

So with that, I will leave you with the greatest tribute I can think to post. Kennedy, in his own words, fighting the fight he fought best. The fight of the people.

Sunday’s Super Savings

With my hours at work being cut by one day a week starting in July and new job prospects slim, I’ve started putting some cost saving measures into practice.

Almost everything I’m doing to cut corners were lessons I learned during childhood when my parents were living paycheck to paycheck and raising three kids. There’s so many images forever branded to my brain of spending all day Sunday at the supermarket loading up five to six carts worth of food because it was double coupon day. Or waking up at 4 a.m. to hit the sales early for our back-to-school supplies in a town 30 miles away because the deals were better. And always guarding the mounds of clothes, toys, and household goods my mom would pile by me at rummage sales while I pilfered through the free boxes searching for hidden treasures of junk.

My mom probably doesn’t realize how much of an impression she left on me about how to make every penny stretch a mile more than it should. These of course were lessons she learned from her parents, who were farmers raising nine kids on next to nothing while having their income at the complete mercy of Mother Nature.

Never in a million years did I think I would be back to spending my weekends clipping coupons and strategically planning out my shopping trips so I could get the best bang for my buck. But with $500 less a month coming in, I don’t have much choice.

That said, I’m finding a bit of satisfaction in being frugal. It’s probably just the romantic in me thinking of it as getting a first-hand experience of what my parents and grandparents went through. I’m sure the nostalgia will wear off sooner than later, but for now, I’m going to be a bit of a braggart in how much I saved today.

After a day’s worth of coupon clipping and shopping, I ended up with a total of 64 items for $116. That’s less than $2 an item—even with the $1.50 I spent on Sunday’s paper factored into the mix.

My total savings at the end of the day came to 31 percent, meaning $52 extra in my pocket. So, what exactly did I get for less than $2 each?

Fresh Produce

• 5 apples
• 4 tomatoes
• 4 cobs of corn
• 2 avocados
• 2 bags of salad
• 2 mini watermelons
• 1 bag of carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower

Perishables

• 3 loaves of bread
• 2 blocks of sharp cheddar cheese
• 1 carton of eggs
• 1 bag of marsh mellows

Nonperishable & Frozen Goods

• 10 packages of Ramen noodles
• 6 boxes of cereal
• 6 packages of Morning Star sausages
• 4 packages of Boca Burgers
• 2 bags of brown rice
• 2 packages of Morning Star crumbles
• 1 bucket of Smart Balance
• 1 jar of peanut better
• 1 bottle of ketchup
• 1 box of Hamburger Helper

Household & Pet Goods

• 2 packages of razors
• 1 package of paper towels
• 1 bottle of dish soap
• 1 box of dog treats
• 1 post card

Clothes

• 2 shirts

Sure, I had to stop at six different stores, but they were all along the same street. Yeah, some of my stuff probably isn’t completely organic or necessarily healthy, but I’m living on a tight budget now and organic is luxury and non-healthy foods are comfort.

So there you have it. A penny saved is a penny earned. There’s still more I need to trim out of my budget, which is already as lean as it can be with $75 in reduced rent and putting all my student loans into forbearance, but I’ll figure it out. I am my mother’s daughter after all.

A year ago today

Last year at this time I was waking up in North Dakota for a traditional Wheeler breakfast at my grandparents' farm--a pan of homemade caramel rolls and a selection of Grandma's jams and jellies to put on freshly made toast.

It was Grandpa's 80th birthday, and I had flown in the day before to surprise him. We ate our breakfast while talking about the upcoming presidential election. Of all the people I have talked politics with in my life, and there's a lot, my conversations with Grandpa were the ones I always enjoyed the most. He was a steadfast catholic and dedicated farmer who lived almost his entire life on the rural plains of a sparsely populated state.

Grandpa was also an ardent Democrat, but a man who'd only vote for the person he thought could do the job regardless of party lines. It was still early in the election cycle, and Grandpa and I had already made up our minds Obama was the man for the job--much to the dismay of many in our family.

While Grandma washed dishes, Grandpa and I got so busy gabbing about politics we didn't notice her trying to join our conversation. She finally walked over to the table with dish towel in hand and said, just on the verge of yelling, "That's enough talking. It's my turn to say something."

Grandpa and I looked up from our cups of coffee and caramel rolls surprised.

"Well Ma. You have the floor. Speak," Grandpa said.

"Well, you two have already said it all. I guess I just wanted to say I agree," she said.

Grandpa looked at me, smiled his big smile, and said, "She's getting assertive in her old age. I like it."

I think the impromptu conversations like this one that took place before, during, and after meals, are what I'll miss most about Grandpa. They weren't always about politics. Sometimes they were about my career, and other times they were about my love life.

Unlike most women my age, I took delight in talking about my relationships with Grandpa. Maybe because unlike most grandpas, he took an interest in knowing.

It's only been a few weeks since I lost Grandpa very unexpectedly in an accident on the farm, and today is an especially hard day. Even though I'm fairly certain he went the way he always said he wanted to go, fast and without pain, I think about and miss him every day.

An image of Grandpa bringing me solace during this difficult time is the picture to the right. I took it on his 80th birthday last year, the day that started out with the story above.  I remember taking it because the look of complete contentment on his face. He was sitting in the living room he'd built with his dad many years before while taking in his wife, children, and grandchildren all playing games and laughing.

It had been a long and wonderful day of surprises for Grandpa. Not only had his loving wife of more than 60 years planned a huge surprise party with many of his friends and family, but he also received a gift that fulfilled his lifelong dream of a fishing trip to Alaska. I also surprised Grandpa with a video montage of pictures showing the complete and full life he'd lived (full video below).

This photo, to me, encapsulates a quote I read yesterday in the book Mortalism: Readings on the Meaning of Life. I bought the book a few days ago to help me figure out all the thoughts and emotions running through me right now. The quote this picture reminds me of is from the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus:

"But the wise man neither begs off from life nor does he fear the loss of it. For life does not offend him, nor does not being alive seem an evil to him. And just as he doesn't automatically choose the largest amount of food, but the tastiest dish, he doesn't grasp for the longest span of time but the most pleasant one."

For Grandpa

It's amazing how a person's life perspective changes in the blink of an eye. Two weeks ago I was consumed by anxiety over being reduced in hours at my job and wondering how I was going to make rent and my student loan payments. Then on May 4, my life changed forever with the news of my grandpa being killed in an accident on the farm that's been in my family for more than a century.

I have grown in more ways during this last week at my grandparents' farm than I have any other time in my life, including recovering from the aftermath of 9/11. My grandpa was one of the closest people to me, and I never knew how I would cope with losing him. Now I know, and will probably share more of what I've learned in this last week at a later time. For now, at the request of several family members, I will leave you with the words I spoke at his funeral last Friday.

Lorne Wheeler
May 28, 1928 – May 4, 2009

When I got the news about Grandpa's accident on Monday, I was at work. My boss, sitting on the ground next to me in my cubicle, holding me while I cried, said, "I never met your grandpa, but from all the stories you tell, I think he left this world in a way fitting of him. He left strong and working on the land he loved."

Over the past two years, I’ve been in the process of writing Grandpa’s memoirs for him. As a trained journalist, I'm supposed to be able to sum up a person's story, fitting it all into a few inches of printed words. But when it comes to Grandpa, there's not enough paper in this world that could ever hold the fullness of life he lived.

The names of our family alone would take up several Sunday editions of The Fargo Forum, not to mention the names of the thousands of people whose lives were touched in some way by Grandpa.

We are his story. All of us, in our own way, has taken on characteristics of him that will live on for generations to come.

For some, it's his irresistible humor and robust, hearty laugh that can be heard above everyone's in the room.

For others, it's his incredible compassion and strength of spirit that can put anyone at ease the moment you quietly and gently reach for their hand, instinctively knowing the exact amount of time to hold it.

For others, it's his sense of duty and diligent work ethic that inspires those around you to press on and press through, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

For others, it's his appetite for adventure, and perhaps his appetite in general, in appreciating the here and now by taking joy in all of the simple day-to-day blessings life brings.

For others, it's his shrewd business sense and honesty that garners the immense respect of those around you.

For others, it's his selflessness and willingness to always be the bigger person who regularly sets aside their own needs for the sake of others.

And in all of these things, a characteristic held by each and everyone one of us in the Wheeler clan is knowing the importance of family. We are big, both in numbers and in love. The reason for this is because of the incredible love shared by two amazing people, Lorne and Libbey Wheeler, whose priority has always been and always will be the family.

So as we move forward with our lives from this incredibly sad time, we can take solace in knowing that Grandpa will always be with us so long as we have each other.

WTF Seattle?

Aside from the shooting on the corner of where I work the week before last, or the several strong-arm robberies in and around the University of Washington campus in the last month, here is run down of current headlines on the local section of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer at this very moment:

• Woman who shot man after bus altercation released
• Wells Fargo on Capitol Hill robbed Saturday
• Strong-arm robbery suspects sought in Ballard
• Man arrested in Wallingford domestic violence incident
• Man accused of indecency in UW women's restroom
• Seattle police looking for purse snatcher

These are in addition to news on Twitter from Wallyhood Seattle, the news and events blog for my neighborhood, that there was an altercation on Saturday a block from my house that may or may not have involved gun shots.

Am I the only one wondering what the hell is going on and why I no longer feel safe living in the city that I love?

10 Sure Fire Ways to Creep a Girl Out with Your Online Profile

I've been doing the online dating thing for a little more than a year now. I may still be single, but I have stories. Lots and lots of stories mixed with frustration, exasperation, and perhaps some humiliation.

The good thing is that advents in social networking such as Facebook and Twitter have taken away the stigma associated with meeting someone online. This makes the selection of available dates a much more promising adventure. And I stress the word adventure here, because really, there's a whole smorgasbord of oddity that falls somewhere along the dating spectrum between blind dates and randomly meeting someone in a bar. Online dating would fall right in the midst of it all.

In these ups and downs of my many adventures, I've realized there's a slough of tips I could offer heterosexual men on what not to post in your profile for attracting those of the female variety.

10 Sure Fire Ways to Creep a Girl Out with Your Online Profile

1. Including phrases such as recently single, just out of a long-term relationship, or newly divorced. Really dude? Why are you on here? Online dating is brutal, and it's just gonna make you hate your newly single life even more.
   
   While it's courteous you put up a red flag of major baggage on board, you're not going to get many responses from the ladies. It's a vicious cycle see, you post a profile hoping to get your ego stroked a bit so you can fill the newly found void in your life only to find no one will respond. This in turn makes you feel even lonelier, and then causes you to post crap like, "Prove to me that all women aren't users and bitches." That's an alluring headline if I've ever read one. So, do yourself and us girls a favor by taking some time to heal and come back in a year or so.
   
   
2. Posting pictures of you shirtless in front of the mirror, much less multiple shots of these poses that don't include your face. The only time it's OK to post a shirtless photo is if you're on a beach, a boat, or something of that nature. And one shirtless picture is the limit or you're crossing the fine line between being hot and being a douche.
   
   Yes, you have nicely defined pecks and abs, but the majority of us women prefer charming over chiseled. So put your shirt on and stop intimidating the nice guys we really want to meet. Because you know that's the only reason you're posting those pictures in the first place.
   
   
3. Starting off the description of yourself by saying you're an average guy, not really interesting, or that you don't know what to say because your life is kind of boring and normal. Wow, sign me up for a date with you! Sure, no one wants to be a braggart, but come on. There has to be something about you that isn't lame, and if not, well you have other matters to tend to than finding a date.
   
   Also, overcompensating for your lack of an interesting life by being too witty, which is just as irritating as not being witty at all, is kind of painful for us to read. It's like watching a horrible stand-up comedy routine. (Please note this tip also applies to your first message to us ladies.)
   
   
4. Including pictures of you with girls, especially hot girls. The only thing creepier than this is a photo of you and a hot girl with her face cropped out. Seriously, even if these are the best pictures of you, don't post them.
   
   It doesn't matter if they have captions about her being your best friend or whoever, all that's registering in our minds is that there's a woman in your life who isn't your mother or grandmother that means a lot to you. You also share some kind of history with this woman that could be unresolved and messy. There's nothing wrong with having a girl as your best friend, honestly. Just don't show us who she is right away. Especially if she's hot.
   
   
5. Only posting hiking, mountain climbing, or any other rugged outdoor type of pictures. Sure, you love the outdoors. A lot of guys love the outdoors. Yeah, I know. You want a girl who also loves the outdoors. It will suffice to simply include one photo of you hiking and stating, "I am an outdoor enthusiast.” I promise.
   
   While I might not be the type of girl you're after, because I think camping should include air conditioning and daily showers, these pictures are still a deterrent to the outdoorsy girl you want to snag. Not only do they tend be taken from far away and often only include scenery, they are down right intimidating. It also suggests you spend more time with mountains than you do with people, warning us that you're potentially lacking in the interpersonal skills department.
   
   
6. Only posting photos of landscapes. Wow, you're an amazing photographer, if those are even your photos. The only guy creepier than you is the one who posts several sample wallpaper shots that come with Microsoft Windows. I love that you're creative and artistic. Really, I do. But if you're not willing to post a photo of the guy behind the camera, well, that says something. And trust me when I say this, it isn’t a good kind of something. Either you lack confidence in the way you look or you’re too embarrassed to show your face on an online profile. Either way, grow a pair.
   
   
7. Posting a long, rambling description of you that goes on and on and on without really saying anything at all. In fact, the only thing I'm sure of in reading your profile is that you either have Attention Deficit Disorder or a serious caffeine problem. Hey, maybe you're going for the whole flow of consciousness thing. A third of me respects this as a writer, a third of me detests this as an editor, and another third of me is just seriously getting the creeps. While censorship is totally not cool, minding your own internal censor is. So, if this is a display of your internal censor, I can tell I'm not going to get a word in edgewise or that you'll even hear it if I do.
   
   
8. Photos of you with guns, much less holding the gun above a dead animal. There is a place and time for these photos. Your online dating profile is not one of them. It's cool if you like to hunt and kill things that you will later eat. I'm not one to infringe upon someone's rights and beliefs (even as a vegetarian). But we girls, even the carnivores, really don't want to see a dead Bambi. We also don't want to see a guy flexing and posing in front of an arsenal so intense it could equip an army. This is equally disturbing.
   
   
9. Describing yourself as a starving artist or still trying to find a career. Granted, there are shallow girls out there who only want to date a guy who makes more than $100K a year and drives a Porsche. Most girls, however, aren’t asking for this. We just want to know you aren't sleeping on your mom's couch or god forbid an ex-girlfriend’s. We don't need you to take us out on fancy dates or impress us with your stock options, but we do need to know that you can at least support yourself.
   
   Hey, I'm all for female bread earners and paternity leave for men. But really dude? We're not in our early 20s anymore, and yes Mr. 25-year-old, that means you too. Please note there is a direct correlation of creepiness between your lack of career to your age. The older you get, the creepier and sadder it gets.
   
   
10. Defining what you're looking for as anything between casual encounters and long-term dating. Really? Wow. Just throwing it out there that if you're looking for a long-term relationship you might not want to be looking for casual encounters in the same place. I mean, if that's what you're into, great. However, I and many other girls might be leery about your true intentions for being on the site. I suggest you try the personal ads on Craigslist. At least the girls going to that site know there's a fifty-fifty chance you're a pervert.
    

brilliant trace #9

I'm not sure who you are, or if we've even met. All I know is I’ve reached the end of a year-and-a-half journey in learning from those who came before you.

I originally thought that revisiting the brilliant traces of my life was going to take 10 days. It turned out there were more bitter layers than sweet ones left behind in the healing of my heart over the years. However, I’ve come out on the other side as a better, stronger person. Not just for me, but for you.

Maybe it's just the onset of my 30s, but I'd like to think that the self-awareness and peace I’ve found in this process also comes from being greatly relieved in knowing what was inside of me for so long. I will most likely encounter more traces along the way to finding you, but this journey has prepared me for them.

I know Cindy Lou Johnson, the playwright who inspired this path of self reflection, intended brilliant traces to be the tragic marks different experiences leave on a person. However, after retracing the indelible marks left on me over the years, I realized one of the most amazing things about human beings is our resilience.

Every time our hearts stretch to the point where we actually feel them breaking, it’s an exercise in endurance. Because of these past experiences, my heart is in better shape than it has ever been and is ready to endure with you – my most brilliant trace of all. Wherever you are and whoever you may be.

Twilight twitterpation

I'm pretty perplexed lately about the excitement, particularly among adults, over the Twilight series. While working at the Peninsula Daily News and covering the small town of Forks, I was one of the first reporters to actually cover this story (back when Stephanie Meyer had still never even visited the many places in her books.)

I remember being assigned to cover her big visit to Forks where she was doing a reading of Twilight, which was nothing more than an event to create buzz for the book's sequel. Teenage girls flocked from all over the country and even Canada to meet Meyer and visit the coastal timber town of 3,000. It was the middle of summer with 80-degree weather and all of them came wearing rain jackets expecting to relive what they read in the book. Many of them were squealing with delight about visiting Forks High School and begging their parents to move to a desolate area rampant with poverty, isolation, and all the problems that come along with it.

I have to admit, I was less than impressed with Meyer and even less impressed with the portion of the book she read. Perhaps it was just the jealous writer in me feeling frustrated that a woman who never paid her dues in the world of writing got published with a book about a place and people she knew nothing about.

However, I was amused at the excitement this book created in all these teenage girls because the real Forks is pretty rough around the edges—to say the least. It's the sort of place where you go to a restaurant and, after placing and paying for your order, the waitress asks if you'd eat something else because the cook was having an off day and made the wrong item. When you kindly say no, because you want what you ordered and paid for, the waitress walks away annoyed and you end up feeling bad for being difficult in a situation that only Forks can provide. All the while, old-timers from the days of the timber boom with weathered faces and rough hands are sipping their coffee and looking at you like you're nothing but a city-slicker who can't roll with the punches.

So, when I saw all the giddiness in these girls' eyes over a small town that has seen more hard days than any town should, I felt compelled to purchase Twilight and see what all the excitement was about. The book reminded me of a candy bar. Something that you get a craving for, but then halfway through it causes a stomach ache from all the sugar. I couldn't even finish it.

I'm all for fiction and vampire romance, but it just didn't work for me.  It was desperately trying to have an air of authenticity, but it just wasn't connected enough to the reality of life on the Olympic Peninsula. The description of the area felt contrived, and as Meyer admitted—researched solely on the Internet. I also didn't feel an emotional connection to the characters, probably because I was an adult and not a teenager.

A few months later, to my complete surprise, this book and its sequel started flying off the shelves among both teenagers and adults. I was happy the attention was bringing some much-needed cash flow into the struggling town of Forks and its surrounding areas.  However, this happiness soon faded when I found out a movie was being made and it wasn't even being shot in the Forks area, much less Washington state.

If there was any part of the nation that needed revenue from a major movie production, it's the West End of the Olympic Peninsula. Hope and happy endings are scarce commodities in that area of the country. Jobs were and are hard to find, towns dying, timber mills closing, homelessness and drug rates climbing, and a slough of young people dying in horrible car and boating accidents and tragedies such as the war in Iraq.

So, I scratch my head and wonder—what's so appealing about this book and the author who produced it?

Life imitates art

Joe, the star of tonight's presidential debate, I would like you to meet Bud.

one from thousands

eight forty-five am
the morning my life began i stepped outside the gym

BOOM!

papers falling high and trickling in the sky
a parade today we'll see?

no. No. NO!

specs of metal glittering in the sun
i should run, i need to run--are all those people gone?

A bomb? A bomb?!

showers of ash upon my head sped with confusion and fear
my office, to my office, they'll know there

It stings to see. It stings to breathe.

she asks, are you okay
what happened?
a plane, it was a plane
you mean a bomb

BOOM!

my building rumbles and through the windows it's the second tower

a woman screams and a the man on the radio says it's another plane
i gasp, i tremble--are we next?

they gather us to the center of the room and our safety is assured

five minutes later--"An upgrade in your safety has been issued. Please evacuate immediately."

Forty flights of stairs
round and down we go--goodbyes and laters as we flee

I'm okay. I'm okay.

but at the bottom there's flying debris
and as i squint to see my breaths become shorter, my panic longer

then a hand, placed in mine

our bodies numb, we run

---

I wrote this poem about month after surviving the September 11, 2001, attacks on the World Trade Center. My mind had been running at a fervent pace trying to put all the pieces together. This was my attempt to gather them in one place.

I meant for the piece to continue as I worked through all the emotions of post-traumatic stress, but until today I hadn't been able to revisit this piece since I wrote it. It's been seven years, and I'm finally finding it easier to process the events of that day. I've written a full article about those thoughts and where our country has come since then.

Louder than words

"When it comes to men that are romantically interested in you, it’s really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do. It’s that simple. It’s that easy."

I heard this quote today while listening to The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. It couldn't have come at a better time in my life, because despite my best efforts, I've been feeling resentful and perplexed by my many romantic failings. All of which can be found here, except for one that has yet to be written.

I think the worst part of all in having these feelings over the past few months is that they were keeping me from loving myself by creating doubts of what I am worth a what I deserve.

Then I heard these four sentences today, and all of those bitter and jaded feelings melted away. I realized that I hadn't been duped in love, or even really in the presence of it.

It's sounds so silly, but being reminded of the undeniable truth that actions speak louder than words has made me realize how incredibly lucky I am. This is because I still have the opportunity to meet a man who is not only deserving, but who is able to accept all I have to offer.

It's that simple. It's that easy.