Breaking My Seattle Freeze

Seattle a couple of weeks ago.
I miss the fall colors already!

The Seattle Freeze is how people refer to the fact that it's really hard to make friends as a newcomer in Seattle. And it's definitely true. But I've also been freezing out the blog since I moved here, so I decided I'd catch y'all up and try to get back on track. I've been telling myself that I've been too busy to write, but that's not exactly true.

I have been somewhat busy. I've started an editorial internship with Seattle Met magazine, which means that I'm waking up at 5:50 a.m. and feeling angry about life until about 7:30 a.m., when I catch the bus. But the bus isn't what cheers me up—it's the walk to the bus (I actually seem to enjoy colder weather a little bit more now that I'm outside in it all the time; when you're walking everywhere and creating your own heat it's not so bad) and the fact that I'm usually listening to Dan Savage's podcast for my walk and my bus ride. But working at the magazine is great. I spend more time talking on the phone than I'd like, but I enjoy fact-checking, proofreading, and blogging, and I'm doing all of that and more. I even got to write a blog post on a musical, just because I asked why it wasn't on the magazine's calendar. So I'm having a good time.

Along with the internship, I'm doing freelance editing and tutoring work. (By the way, does anyone have a copy of Catcher in the Rye? I'm not saying I didn't read in high school when I was supposed to. I am saying that the girl I'm tutoring needs to read it and I could probably stand to...look it over.) So I'm staring at a computer a lot and trying to remember things about high school English and history.

So those are things that actually keep me somewhat busy. But the truth is that there have been several times when I thought, "I should write a blog post." But then I thought, "Or I could read. I could read that young adult novel I got from the library. Or I could watch episodes of Scandal. Or I could cook some dinner and eat. I could eat while watching episodes of Scandal." It's hard to get blogging done when you're thinking like that. And it's dark outside at 4 pm.

Aaron singing Frank Sinatra at karaoke.
Even has the whiskey drink in his hand.

We have done some cool things in Seattle, though. We went to see Margaret Atwood read and speak in October. We saw The Leftover Cuties play for free. Aaron sang 4 songs at a karaoke night we stumbled onto. And for our anniversary last week, we went to the Seattle International Comedy Competition and saw 16 of 32 contestants perform.

But I've also watched a lot of Scandal. And read a lot of young adult fiction. (You should read Graceling and Shatter Me. And maybe Under the Never Sky—I'm starting it tonight so I'll let you know.) And I'm not necessarily going to stop. Well I'm all caught up with Scandal so I can't binge watch it anymore, but I'm sure I'll find something new. And I have my books.

I'm actually going to work on some creative writing. Not ready to say what or anything, who knows what it will turn into, but it's exciting to have a creative and personal project to work on. And I'm going to do my best to keep all the darkness from getting me down. A friend told me that there are alarm clocks you can get that brighten the room before they start making noise. This sounds incredible! It would certainly make 5:50 a.m. a little more pleasant.

So there you have it. Caught up on the past couple of months of my life. I promise not to keep freezing y'all out.

A True Introvert

So I did it. I moved to a big city. I crossed the country in my little car and only the possessions my boyfriend and I could fit into it. We found an apartment in a good neighborhood. He found a job, I found enough freelance work to cobble together an income for the time being. So that's that. Big city life begins now.

Except that it doesn't. Because even with all the big changes I've managed to make in the recent months (none of which I regret), I haven't changed. This shouldn't be a surprise, but somehow, to me it was. I really felt that moving to a city would lead to more excitement, more work, more friends, more life. Very naive, but yes, it's what I felt. Not so much what I thought, because I am a smart person and I rationally know that moving doesn't just make those things happen. But somewhere, deep down, it was what I felt.

My mother calls me a true introvert. Not just an introvert, a true introvert. She would hold me up as the classic example if someone asked her to define the word. A few summers ago, I worked at a summer camp for the entire summer, living in a house with 11 other people, the people I would work with for two and a half months. Before camp started, we all took personality tests as a way to talk about how we would deal with each other and any problems that might come up. There were 10 questions that, we found out at the end of the test, corresponded to introversion vs. extroversion. I got 9/10 for introversion. Curious, I checked to see on which answer I leaned toward extraversion. The question was something like, "If the phone rings, do you want to be the first person to pick it up or do you wait for someone else to answer it?" I chose to be the person to pick it up. Here was my thought process:

Well, ok, we can't be talking about my personal cell phone because obviously, no one else is going to pick it up. Either I answer it or no one does. But this is talking about a group phone, like the house phone. OK so when I lived at home, what did I do? Ugh, no one answered the phone at home. If I don't pick it up, no one's going to. And then it will just ring and I'll wonder if someone's dead and we don't know because no one is answering. So, I guess I'd answer the phone.

So, my need for control was masquerading as extroversion.

http://www.takenseriouslyamusing.com/
2013/04/15/introversion-and-me/

When my phone (or any other phone) rings, I don't want to answer it. I do, these days, because I'm a freelancer and there's no distinguishing my work phone and my personal phone. But I don't want to; I don't want to start a conversation without knowing what it's about. If it's a number I don't recognize, I wonder who it is and if there's any way it could be something bad or if it could be someone who's going to make me feel awkward. If it's a friend, I wonder why they're calling. Are they going to keep me on the phone for a long time? Are they gonna just feel like chatting when I want to be reading? If it's a number associated with work, I'll answer with my heart rate increasing, wondering if I've done something wrong. If it's my mom, my sisters, or my boyfriend I'll answer every time. They are the only ones whose calls I answer every time. The sound of the phone ringing gives me anxiety, and I'd rather wait to get a voicemail, find out what the call was about, and call back when I've had time to prepare. Or better yet, just speak to someone through texts.

Social situations make me uncomfortable. I don't like asking for help, because it usually involves having to a) speak to people and b) admit I don't know something. When I go to the library, I look up the book beforehand to make sure they have it and that it's not checked out, and I write down the call number so I can easily find it. So that I don't have to talk to anyone. I don't want to start conversations with random strangers. Small talk makes me uncomfortable and I'm not good at it. I never mastered the art of a quick answer that tells the truth while glossing over anything I don't want to talk about and leaving the asker satisfied. Most of the time, if I'm going to a party or other large group social scenario, I have to psych myself up for it. If it's with people I like, or if I can find a small group of people I'm comfortable with, I can have a great time at the party. I do enjoy being with people, after all. But at some point during the event, I'll hit a wall and it is time to go home. Too much social interaction. Must recharge. All systems shutting...down...now.

I know all this about myself. So why did I think that moving to a city would change it? I don't know.

I am an introvert, maybe even a true introvert. But I still like spending time with other people. I just have to remind myself that in order to see other people, I have to be the one to go out. I have to send out texts to see whose available. If I want to meet new people, I have to find out what's happening around town and go out to new events. It will never be easy for me. It will be mentally and emotionally exhausting and it will take time. But it will be worth it. And true introvert or not, I can do it.

Homemade Feminist Debates: Chopping My Hair

I have been thinking a lot about returning to the pixie cut and it has sparked a bit of a debate at home.

Last night, the boyfriend and I were surfing the Internet searching for the latest information on Syria. We started watching a clip of Rachel Maddow's show from August 29. At some point, he said, "Rachel Maddow is sexy!" Still thinking about all the arguing we'd done about my potential haircut, I muttered, "She has short hair."

Thus began an hour-long debate (I don't think I'm exaggerating the amount of time) in which we talked about Rachel Maddow's specific type of sexiness, sexism, the narrow definition of beauty in our culture, whether or not the boyfriend's preferences are shaped by societal and cultural forces or not, and (way too) much more.

My main debate with myself has been, "How much does his opinion matter? He is my partner, I love him, but how much should I consider his opinion when thinking about a haircut that I really want to get?" I don't want to discount him completely, but I don't want my decisions to be swayed more by his opinion than my own. Aaron wanted his opinion to matter.

At some point, out of frustration and curiosity, I turned (where else?) to Google. Aaron started playing his video game while I searched phrases like "should boyfriend's opinion matter on haircut" and "men's opinion on pixie cuts". What I found, of course, was a huge heap of sexism.

The first articles I read were pro-pixie cut, written by women. One was written by a woman who hadn't believed her boyfriend when he said he didn't like short hair, and she was surprised by how much he disliked her new cut. Another was by a woman who loves her cut, but admits that reactions from men are pretty extreme, and that if you're going to do it, you just have to accept that people will think you're a lesbian. And, as always, my favorite Bitch media pitched in with Who's Afraid of a Pixie Cut? This was probably the most encouraging article to read: it ended with It's scary that a woman with short hair is still seen as some sort of questionable rebel. Hooray for the young women in the spotlight who rock a pixie cut with no apologies. Chop, chop.

It was also the article that started the downward spiral of my argument with the boyfriend.

As he was playing his game (which he played throughout this conversation, so his attention was divided), he asked, "Whatcha looking at?" I told him what I had Googled, and he laughed. "So what'd ya find?" I read him this quote from the Bitch story about the "retrograde notion that says that cutting your hair short makes you somehow less of a woman." Aaron was suddenly defensive, arguing with me about his opinions being his own and not all based in cultural ideas. I argued back that of course our opinions are shaped by cultural forces. 

I bet you didn't even realize that Emma
Watson looks like a short squatty man, did you?

Then I found the website that hit the nail on my argument. I almost hate to link to it, but this particular post is two years old, and it's so ridiculous, you just have to see it. From the Alpha Game blog (with the subtitle 'Breaking the chains, winning the game, and saving Western civilization') comes the post "Women: don't cut your damn hair". (It's interesting to note that this post came up first in the Google search.) This post argues for long hair on women, because men prefer it, and notes that women who cut their hair "look like short squatty men" and that other women praise the pixie cut because secretly they know that short hair makes women unattractive and they want other women to be less attractive than they are, so they conspire to get other women to chop their hair. The comments of this post are where it gets really crazy, where readers say things like: 

   "Long hair is absolutely THE signature stamp of femininity and female beauty"

   "It's really not that complicated. Long hair good, short hair butch." 

   "Now that it's growing again I hear from women 'oh, I just loved your hair shorter.' I don't believe it. They also try to convince me to go back to my natural color (dark "dirty dishwater" blonde) instead of the color my husband prefers (platinum). Again, a suggestion I think is insincere and catty. Of course not all men prefer blondes but mine does, and women should not be taken seriously when suggesting hair styles to each other"

   "Practical, 'soccer-Mom' hair styles are, well, indicative of frigidity. No thanks." 

Of course, none of these men considers that women get their hair cut based on what they want to do; these men (and women) assume that women's hairstyles should be solely aimed toward pleasing men. 

I tried to use this article to point out how so many people are still wrapped in old-school notions about beauty and femininity and what makes a woman a woman. Aaron thought I was blaming him for thinking the same way.  When I finally said, "Aaron these people are ridiculous. I don't believe you are anywhere near them, and the argument started about a quote from one of the articles," he looked sheepish and said, "Oh. I was playing my game...I thought you were saying I was like that." 

So even though this hour-long debate could have been avoided by a little more communication and a little less Playstation, I'm glad it happened. It was a great discussion about the definitions of beauty and how women with short hair are still seen by many people as turning their back on femininity or beauty, and about whether pretty should even matter when getting a haircut. 

I'm still a little nervous about the chop, but I'm going to do it. I've made a collage of pixie cuts I like, and a collage of those I don't, to take to the stylist. I really want to maintain it for a while, work with styling it different ways, and have fun with a new hairstyle. 

And if men think I'm a lesbian, or lament the loss of my hair, I know who not to hang out with. As one of the commenters on Alpha Game said, 

"I'm thinking of cutting my hair now just so I can weed out people like you!"

Stumbled Upon Feminism at a Reading

Aaron and I went to our first reading in Seattle and it was so much fun. I convinced him to go even though neither of us had read the book, because the reading was held at The Richard Hugo House. The Hugo House is sort of like a writers' community in Seattle: they hold writing workshops for adults and adolescents, they host events (like the reading), they constantly bring in new writers-in-residence, and they have resources like the Zine Archive and Publishing Project. I'd heard of The Hugo House while job searching before we moved, and I was dying to see it in person.

But when I heard about my first opportunity to go to The Hugo House, I was also intrigued by the actual event. Nicole Hardy was reading from her memoir Confessions of a Latter-Day Virgin. Before going, all I knew about this book was that she was a Mormon girl, and then woman, planning to stay a virgin until marriage. So she made it through college as a virgin, and into her 20s, and out of her 20s, and into her 30s, and began to wonder if it was really the right life choice for her. As you can imagine, the little feminist in me (why did I make her little? I don't know but I'm rolling with it) was jumping up and down with excitement. Go to this reading, Genie! You'll love this book and it'll make for a great discussion after. So we went.

The reading was so much fun. I recommend going to a reading without knowing anything about the book. When we walked in, it seemed like an average reading at first. There was a table set up for selling books right in the front. There was a bar and people were lining up to get the alcohol in their systems (we'd enjoyed happy hour margaritas, so I skipped the bar). There were two or three employees walking around with appetizer options, and there was also a table of cheeses and crackers set up.

But then we noticed, over in the corner, there was a woman getting her hair done. In a beehive. That's weird. As we looked around, it became clear there must be something in the book about beehives, because they were everywhere. Women were lined up to get their hair styled, and when she appeared, Nicole Hardy had clearly gotten the first beehive of the night. There was even a man who came wearing a long wig for the sole purpose of getting his hair done, so this must have been advertised. We had no idea why this was happening but we enjoyed watching.

After watching the creation of a lot of beehives, we moved into the auditorium area for the reading. I immediately liked Nicole. She stood up and expressed appreciation for Seattle, The Hugo House, and supportive readers. She started to tear up and then laughed at herself, "Oh no I'm emotional already?!" She read two short excerpts from the book, one telling about church classes as a young Mormon girl (the beehives--there it is!--was the name of the group) and the other about being an adult, unmarried woman in social settings with women of her congregation.

The second story is the one that really struck me. She was at a party, excitedly telling a friend about a book of her poems that was getting published. A woman who knew both Nicole and her mother saw the look on her face, the price and excitement, and rushed over to look at Nicole's left hand. That's right, because she saw the excitement and realized Nicole must have gotten engaged. Nicole quickly told her, "No, it's my poetry, it's getting published." She went on to say how much this hurt, that everything she had done, a bachelor's degree, post-graduate degrees, working on creative writing, and now getting published, all this was seen as biding her time until her life, her married life, started.

I did not grow up as a Mormon. The one time a church leader talked to me and a group of peers about staying a virgin until marriage, I was at my friend's Baptist youth group, and I was horrified. To be clear, I wasn't horrified by the idea, I was horrified by the powerpoint presentation full of phrases like "sinful desire" and "young woman's purity" and "going to hell if...". (I was also horrified that not everyone's youth group involved games like dodgeball or scavenger hunts.)

But I still relate to Nicole Hardy's story. I relate to the confusion of being told that you're supposed to be this pure being, responsible for how boys react to you, without being told that you are going to have desire or feelings of your own. I relate to fielding too many questions about marriage and too few about career.

It was during the Q&A session that I realized I didn't just want to read her book, I wanted to be her best friend. The guy asking her questions jumped back-and-forth between asking "serious writerly questions" and questions from a Seventeen magazine quiz. After asking a question, something about a guy you think of as a friend trying to kiss you and you turning your cheek to avoid him, and giving her the three options for how to handle this situation, she laughed and said, "Those answers are terrible! I'd say, 'That was awkward, let's go get a milkshake.'" (Just look at this picture and try to tell me you don't want to be her best friend. I won't believe you.)

I know a lot of people say that there are too many memoirs out there these days, and maybe that's true. But I will jump on any opportunity to read a well-written memoir by a strong woman pushing back against social and religious conventions to find a way in this world that works for her and her goals. I can't wait to read Confessions of a Latter-Day Virgin.

Found this picture of the reading on Twitter
 and you can see me and Aaron!
Check out the closeup for proof!

Feminist Influence: The Movies of My Childhood

When I was a kid, I watched a lot of movies that all the other kids were watching, like The Little Mermaid and Homeward Bound. But I also watched a lot of movies that weren't made for kids, simply because my mom was watching them. And since my mom was 5 or 10 years older than many of my friends' parents, the movies we watched were a little different.

I didn't give a lot of thought to having been exposed to these movies at a very young age. I loved them, and loved watching them with my mom, so that was all that mattered. I have often teased my mother about the fact that we were so young when we watched Pretty Woman that my older sister thought the colorful condoms were candy, but my mom's response is, "See? You didn't even know what was going on. You were fine." But recently, as I thought back over many of the films we watched, I realize that for my entire life I was exposed to movies about strong women, working women, the challenging of gender roles, homosexuality, and more. I was exposed to feminism and forming feminist ideas before I ever heard the word.

So, here are some of the movies that helped form my ideas about the world while they entertained me through multiple viewings.

Baby Boom, 1987: Diane Keaton is a high-powered businesswoman (which we know because she wears skirt suits all the time) who suddenly inherits a baby and her world is thrown completely off-course. I don't remember all the details, I haven't seen it in a while, (don't ask me how someone simply inherits a baby), but here's what I remember: babies and board meetings don't mix, babies and city life don't mix, but sometimes a woman who thought she was meant to be a CEO is also meant to make homemade baby food. OK, based on my sketchy memory, this movie could potentially have a lot of problems, but it was still a movie about the difficulties of being a working mother, and it shows that "having it all" doesn't really exist unless you change your definition of "it all".


9 to 5, 1980: Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Dolly Parton and Dabney Coleman. Fabulous film about working women, sexism and sexual harassment in the workplace, and sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigots. What I learned: working women are awesome, sexism is gross, flexible workplaces make for happier employees, smoking pot = fairy tale murder fantasies, and mixing up the boxes of coffee sweetener and rat poison is terrible but hilarious. Seriously, though, this was one of my absolute favorite movies as a kid, and it still holds up today. The three female leads are incredible and hilarious, and watching them succeed against sexism and a workplace that didn't allow for flexibility was inspiring. Bonus: it has now been made into a musical.

Tootsie, 1982: Dustin Hoffman plays an actor who can't get any work, so he decides to pretend to be a woman and go after a woman's role. And he gets it! And then, as a woman, he experiences sexism and sexual harassment, and becomes a better man for it. I can't decide if it's a little insulting, or a brilliant commentary on our society, that it takes a man pretending to be a woman to call attention to all the difficulties women face every day. I like to think it's a brilliant commentary on a sad state of affairs, showing that even when it comes to women's rights, it takes a man's voice to get the issues heard.


Pretty Woman, 1990: As I said, my sisters and I have been watching this since we were very young. And thanks to watching it on TBS and USA with commercials, we didn't even know there were sex scenes until we were older. We all know the story: prostitute gets rescued by rich, rich, rich man but then "she rescues him right back." It's a movie with pretty traditional roles, the female damsel in distress and the male hero, but I picked up on some little lessons along the way, like sometimes women can know more about cars than men, and assuming someone can't afford what you're selling in your store is just rude. And of course, no matter what your job, you should be in control of your profession: "I say who, I say when!!!"




To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar, 1995: Drag queens. When I first saw this movie, I thought John Leguizamo was an actual woman (I must not have been listening to any dialogue). Anyway, I honestly don't remember what I thought when I first saw this movie, it was so long ago, but it quickly became a family favorite. My sisters and I loved watching drag queens trying to pass for women in a small town. This movie had a lot to teach. Thanks to a speech by Wesley Snipes, I learned the difference between a transvestite, a transsexual, a drag queen, and a boy in a dress. I learned about the horror of domestic violence (at least as much as a PG-rated comedy can teach), that discrimination is good for no one, and that being yourself is always the best way to live your life, no matter what anyone else thinks.
"Your approval is not needed."
"Approval neither desired nor required."

So, thanks to my mother, for exposing me and my sisters to more than just movies made for kids. They affected us more than we knew, and we are better for it.

We Made It!

I know I haven't posted much lately but that should be changing soon because...the move is over! We made it and we officially live in Seattle.

Things I learned from driving across the country:

1. The biggest motorcycle/biker rally takes place in Sturgis, South Dakota at the beginning of August.
2. Montana is huge.

Happy to see the beautiful view,
but also terrified.

3. I am scared of mountains. Apparently very scared. I had a near panic attack driving (yes, as in I was in the driver's seat) up to Mount Rushmore, and was very nervous for most of the mountainous drive after that. We have dubbed it "the mountain panic." (OK, a friend came up with this name, but we've adopted it.)
4. A car with good gas mileage is a blessing.
5. Rearview mirrors are not that necessary. (The car was packed full.)
6. IKEA is wonderful. But the actual store is overwhelming.

Things I've learned from a week and two days in Seattle:

1. Recycling is serious business. Look at all the signs before you throw anything away. (The recycling dumpster at our apartment building is bigger than the trash dumpster. There's also a compost bin.)
2. People do not understand why someone from Mississippi would move here.
3. People do not understand why someone from Mississippi would have an Obama sticker on their car.
4. I don't have much of a southern accent (according to people here. I shudder to think what their expectation is, though).
5. Air conditioning practically doesn't exist here, at least in homes. It's just not needed. This is still blowing my mind.
6. Microwaves are strangely expensive here. I don't know if this a new development and I just hadn't bought one in a while, or if it's because Wal-Mart doesn't exist here, but I just cannot pay $88-$110 for a microwave.
7. Mt. Rainier is huge.

So far, I love it here. We've got a great apartment in a great neighborhood and we have a wonderful landlord. In one hour, he walked us through our entire lease to make sure we understood everything, checked the apartment to see what the move-in condition was, and fixed a short-circuit in our bathroom. We've gotten our apartment mostly set up and unpacked. From home, we can take a short walk to a couple of bars, a couple of restaurants, one coffee shop + sandwich house, and Goodwill. A slightly longer walk gets us to the library, more coffee shops, and the main strip of our neighborhood that has record stores, a bookstore, and a small movie theater.

I've found some freelance editing work, and I'm looking for more (or other work). Aaron has a part-time job with a furniture store. He actually walked into the store, mentioned he was looking for a job, got hired, and filled out a W-2 form on the spot. So far it's not a lot of hours, but we were both happily surprised that at least one job was that easy.

I'll get back to regular blogging soon. But until then, I'm going to keep exploring!

A Year to Improve, Day 1

This woman, Karen Cheng, learned to dance in a year. When I watched the time lapse video, she looked okay to me at the beginning, but she really does look like a pro at the end.

When you go to her website, it's not all about dancing. It is about achieving goals. She talks about setting milestones and reaching them. She talks about determination and practice. 

So it got me thinking: what would I like to learn or work to improve in a year? 

Dance? What kind? Aaron and I have talked about going to ballroom dancing classes. I would also love to learn hip hop. 

Musical instrument? I've always wanted to play the cello. But I would have to buy, or somehow get daily access to a cello. 

I'd like to work on creative writing. I used to write stories upon stories when I was younger, but at some point I decided I wasn't a creative writer and it was silly to keep doing it. Maybe I decided that, because making a living as a writer was unlikely, I had to stop all together? I don't know; I don't remember. But I'd like to try again. 

I like the idea of setting a goal to work on something, one thing I want to be better at, for an entire year. While I've always been a person who enjoys schedules, routines, and color-coded planners using different pens for work, fun, and whatever else, I've never been great at doing something every day, no matter what.

So I want to do it. I want to write every day. Every day. Maybe one day will be a paragraph about something I saw or a blog post. Maybe one day will be a great sentence or phrase that came to me, and another day will be an outline for a story. 

I don't have one concrete project in my head that I want to work on (other than my vague, naive dream of writing a YA novel). So for now, I will just write. Fiction, nonfiction, whatever. Just work on my writing skills and my discipline, and commit to working on every single day. I'd like, by the end of year, to have started (or be ready to start) a concrete project, to have a goal for year 2.

And my secondary goal is to read every day, something for pleasure. An article, a chapter in a book, a blog post--but I'm going to make sure I'm reading for fun outside of work a little bit every day. As Stephen King said (and has since been quoted a million times), 

"If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write."

Ready to start!

When I started this post, I was planning to write, "and I'll start this sometime in August after I've moved to Seattle and gotten settled." But isn't the whole point of this to commit and start immediately? Isn't the point to decide that you can find the time, that it's worth making the time, no matter how busy you are? So scratch my original plan. Today is day 1. July 20, 2013. I am going to write every day. And I'm going to tell people (obviously, this is the internet...) so that I'm held accountable. 

Today is day 1.

My (New) Obsession with Giving Away Books

In preparation for our move to Seattle, Aaron and I quickly realized that the books we own could almost fill the back of my little car. And since our plan is to go with only my car and what we can fit in it, we had to prioritize. As much as we love books and have prided ourselves on our collections, we are really going to need clothes, bedding, and dishes when we first arrive in Seattle. So we began the task of cleaning out our collections.

To my surprise, this process was mostly easy for me. I developed a hard-line policy (Will I ever read this book again?) and stuck to it. And I found myself enjoying the process.

I'm getting new ideas for books from this picture! 
White Cat sounds like awesome YA fiction.

To start, I pulled the books I wanted to give away off of my shelf and stacked them on the floor. I knew I could only take a minimal amount of books with me, so I decided I had to end up with one shelf of books or less. I found myself tossing out favorites like Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and sequels, Gregory Maguire's Wicked and the rest, even some of my Margaret Atwood books. I let go of my copies of the A Song of Ice and Fire series (though I might have kept these if I had all of them, but I only had physical copies of the middle 3; I have e-books of A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, and A Dance of Dragons). I gave away some of the classics, even ones I loved, like Jane Eyre. As much as I loved reading it, it's available for free (or very cheap) from e-book sellers, and my physical copy doesn't hold much meaning by itself.

The really (unexpectedly) fun part came when a few of our friends came over to take books they wanted. As we went through our books with other people, we were able to talk about which ones we loved and why, which ones we never finished, and why certain authors are our favorites. It was invigorating to see our friends inspired to read some of our most treasured stories.

The books I ended up keeping probably say something about my personality; you may tell me what you think it means. This can also serve as your reading list. If you read my blog and don't hate it, you should probably read some of these books.

The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins

The Blind Assassin and The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood (plus I think her novel Cat's Eye is in Aaron's go-to-Seattle collection--bonus!)

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake and An Invisible Sign of My Own by Aimee Bender

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safron Foer

Into the Wood, The Likeness, Faithful Place, and Broken Harbor by Tana French

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink (DVD of the film adaptation also made the cut for the move)

Atonement by Ian McEwan

The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel by Amy Hempel

Shakespeare collection by William Shakespeare

The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan

Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser

Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti

Feminism and Pop Culture by Andi Zeisler

The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women by Jessica Valenti

Drift: The Unmooring of American Military Power by Rachel Maddow (haven't read yet but it's on the list!)

Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions by Gloria Steinem


So there you have it! The books that will stick with me across the country. The books that you should read.


You're welcome.

Wanted: Writer's Group

I need a writer's group.

My boss, who is a publisher and an author, has a writer's group. I don't really know what they do, but I assume it involves encouraging each other and reading each other's material to provide feedback. And I want that!

I like to write. But I also like to watch episodes of Grey's Anatomy or The Walking Dead. I like to read fiction. I like to read magazines. I like to clean the house. I like to exercise. I seem to like anything and everything that can and will distract me from writing.

I do want to allow myself the time to relax after work, give my brain a little time off. But I need encouragement and reinforcement to make sure I'm focusing on my own work too. I need people to hold me accountable. I need someone who will say, "You have to have something written for me to read by the end of this week, or you owe me five dollars," or "You have to publish a blog post in the next two days, or you're buying me dinner." (I think losing money might be a good motivator for me.)

As much as I would love to take the easy route and use my sister and my boyfriend as my writer's group, I don't think that's gonna cut it. My sister lives in Chicago, so I'm not sure what our consequences for not completing work would be. My boyfriend is laid-back, and would just say, "Naw, it's okay, I don't want to eat out tonight anyway."

I'm gonna have to suck it up and get over (some) of my introversion. I'm gonna have to find people who write things I'm interested in, and who might be interested in my writing, and see if we can become friends, or at least colleagues of a sort. I need encouragement and I need to be pushed.

Now I just have to find these people.

Because sometimes Google image searches just don't cut it.

My Obsession with Young Adult Fiction

I love young adult fiction, I really do. I have always loved Harry Potter. (Does it count as young adult fiction? I mean, did the category even really exist when Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was published?) I read, and did not love, all 4 Twilight books, and I have a bit of an obsession with The Hunger Games.

Two years ago, when my boss's wife brought us all lunch during a busy day, we were talking about books. I admitted to having stayed up very late the night before finishing Mockingjay. And then I explained that it was a YA book in a series about kids fighting to the death. They all looked at me with blank faces. I couldn't shake the feeling that my boss, a publisher and an author himself, was judging me for reading something so childish.

But lately, YA is getting more recognition as a genre, and it's less of a childish thing we old adults (ha! I called myself an adult) should be embarrassed by. Maybe my boss would still find these books silly, but plenty of people don't.

And thanks to Bitch magazine and its accompanying blogs, I've been discovering so many more YA books! Actually, I think I discovered The Hunger Games thanks to a Bitch article comparing the strong and independent Katniss Everdeen to the whining, lackluster Kristin Stewart, I mean, Bella Swan. Victoria Law has been writing a guest blog series for the Bitch site, Girls of Color in Dystopia, exploring YA books dealing with dystopic visions of the future. More mainstream books, like The Hunger Games, tend to be pretty much whitewashed (except for Rue, and I'm still recovering from her death); Law seeks out the books with a wider range of characters and experiences.

So far, I've read one and a half books that she discussed. I read, and loved, Cinder, a retelling of Cinderella in the future with cyborgs, alien threats, and, of course, handsome young princes. (Princes, apparently, will be sticking around, even as governments rise and fall and go to war and destroy each other. Princes are the cockroaches of fictionalized dystopic worlds.) I'm currently reading, and loving, Ash, another Cinderella re-telling, this one with a lesbian twist.

I was an English major and sometimes I do feel a little embarrassed for reading books with a target audience of 15-year-olds. Shouldn't I be reading literary novels? Shouldn't I be tackling that Gloria Steinem book like there's no tomorrow? Yes and no. I should, and do, read National Book Award-winning novels like Salvage the Bones (which I highly recommend) and I do read feminist nonfiction whenever I can. But since I've been out of college and working every day with no summer break like an old adult, I've started to understand why my mom has been reading trashy romance novels for so long, and why I'm craving YA books more often.

They're easy. They sweep you up in a story that you can move through quickly. They give you the good story and the drama with simpler language. And as YA is becoming more legit, the books are getting better. Recently, I had a very heated (and I do mean heated) debate about the merits of young adult fiction, specifically Harry Potter, Twilight, and The Hunger Games. Some people thought it was ridiculous to count these books as literature, or even as legitimate. Some thought there was no purpose to books with "literary merit". (Some people also never explained how they might define "literary merit".)

The truth is, I don't care if these books qualify as literature. How do you qualify anyway? There are plenty of books, young adult or not, that are terrible, and plenty that are great. The fact that anyone could try to debate the quality of Harry Potter and Twilight in the same conversation is ridiculous: one is a brilliant series with a vast, detailed world, and one is...not. But The Hunger Games brings so many provocative topics to the young reader: government censorship and control, relationships, violence as entertainment. Cinder shows them the problems with discrimination and Ash asks them to think more broadly about sexuality. How is a book that gets more kids and teens to think and form opinions a bad thing? Why don't teens deserve that opportunity?

YA novels allow readers to explore big ideas in language they understand. They can get non-readers interested in reading. They can open the door to higher brow books, or to poetry, or to literary non-fiction. And they provide anyone and everyone with a story to get swept up in after a long day at work.

That's enough for me.

Moving and Clean Slates

Y'all. I am a little too excited about moving.

I love Oxford, I love my job, but it is time to live somewhere else. And now that we've decided on Seattle, and started making serious plans, I am soooo ready! Aaron found a video about all the great stuff in Seattle, thanks to Expedia, and after watching it (twice), I want to be there and do everything. So I've made Seattle my computer background.

If you hadn't already figured this out, I'm a planner. Big time. It's very frustrating to me that people don't already know which apartments will be available in August--I want to plan 2 and a half months ahead!

Yes, I have asthma, and yes, I Googled the best
cities for people with asthma.

I'm also just really excited about the opportunity for a clean slate. New place to live, new people to meet, new jobs to find (and get!), and, we've decided, new furniture! It hadn't even occurred to us not to rent a U-Haul or use PODS or something to move all our stuff across the country. When talking to my Aunt Genie (yes I'm named for her) about prices, she finally stopped me and said, "Is the stuff that you have worth $1,500 or $2,000 plus the hassle? Or could you just sell it and buy new stuff when you get there?"

Honestly, her suggestion kind of blew my mind. How had this never occurred to me? Well, probably because we are all pretty attached to our stuff, and when we picture new apartments and homes, we imagine the stuff we have going into them. But we are 25, with no kids and no expensive furniture; why should we bother with the expense and difficulty of moving everything? We were all planning to leave a lot of our books in my mom's attic (because we just assume we won't have space for them and the bookcases). I'm pretty sure we can find another $90 couch. And my dresser, which I've moved to three different living locations now, is too small and has had a broken drawer all four years. It's probably easily fixed, but I sure as hell haven't fixed it. So why do I still have it at all?

So now we begin the process of cleaning everything out. For those of you who live in my area, be prepared: we'll be selling some good (and some just okay) furniture at the end of the summer. And this process is really exciting to me. For one thing, it gives me an outlet to focus my excited moving energy while I'm waiting for time to move a little faster so I can get serious about apartment hunting. Plus, it feels really good to finally let go of a lot of the stuff I've been carrying around with me for years.

Books I put aside to keep without taking,
by storing them in Mom's attic

This is a step on the way to not becoming a hoarder. That's always a good step to take.














I will, however, miss this beautiful catalpa tree from the Ole Miss campus.

I just wanted to share this awesome picture.

Defending My Time

This past weekend was the Creative Nonfiction Conference in Oxford. My company was part of the group putting it on, so I spent most of the weekend working (and fighting off a sudden allergy attack). As I watched all the attendees, panelists, and workshop leaders talking about their work, I was disappointed in myself. People were talking about waking up at 4:30 every morning to write, staying up late to write when their families have gone to bed, finding time between work and home to get that 45 minutes of writing all to themselves. What happened to my discipline about writing?

I've been amazed at how hard it's been to become disciplined about my writing, mainly because I'm disciplined in almost every other aspect of my life. I buy new groceries before the old ones have run out. My office is over-organized with folders for everything. I have no problem spending my Saturday mornings cleaning the house and doing laundry. But when it comes to finding time to write, giving myself the time to write, it's almost impossible.

This weekend, I was able to listen to one of the final panels; the topic was "Balancing Work, Life, and Writing". The writer River Jordan said something that really struck me. She said, "This may be totally sexist but I think women have a harder time carving out that time to write." She talked about offering to take care of her grandbaby on a day she knew she was supposed to be writing. Even her husband was reminding her that she was supposed to be writing, but she said, "I can do both." My first thought was, That's not sexist. That's just true.

And it is. It's true. It's a truth that stems from living in a sexist society. Women are made to feel that they can and should do everything. We are supposed to be the baby nurturers, the cleaners, the decorators, the cooks, the caretakers. We work outside the home and are still expected to manage the home. In a world where women are still largely expected to live their lives, first and foremost, for their children and families, a woman taking time for herself often feels selfish.

It's no wonder that women have a hard time giving themselves that alone time for writing. We feel guilty about it. How can I take the time to write when there is laundry to be done, dinner to be cooked, someone else's needs to be attended to? River thought, "I can do both." But she couldn't, and she knew it.

We can't do it all or have it all. No human can. We have to be protective (another word a writer on the panel used) of our writing time. We have to take it. We have to block it off in our schedules and defend our right to use it. Women writers like River and others from this weekend have found a way to do it, and I'm going to be better about doing it for myself. We owe it to ourselves. And to the world of writing. Because otherwise, all writing would be done only by men.

And wouldn't that be boring?

Bedtime for Bunny

Once I won a contest for songwriting.

I'm not joking. I was in the 3rd or 4th grade, and my piano teacher offered music composition classes during the summers. To get us out of the way, my mom always signed us up for these.

I remember being in music class at school, sitting 2 to a keyboard, and the teacher asked us to come up with a note or a short tune that sounded like an animal to us. I reached out and quickly hit a black key followed by the white key directly to the right of it, a half-step up. I repeated this a couple of notes higher, then again a little higher. I said it was like a bunny rabbit hopping.

In my summer composition class, I must have remembered my bunny sounds, because they ended up being the basis for the song I worked on. I called it "Bedtime for Bunny" and said it was about a mama bunny trying to calm down her hopping baby at bedtime. (The mama was played with the same type of tune, but going down a half-step instead of up, and in a lower octave.)

My piano teacher had fancy computer technology (for the time) just for these composition classes. We could play something on her keyboard (actually, I believe it was a harpsichord) and the computer picked it up and wrote it out for us. We could fiddle with the notes, the timing, the tempo, and the computer would play it back to us. To me, this was a really cool toy. What it meant, though, was that I finished the class with a composition, written by me, that I'd never actually played all the way through with my own two hands.

My teacher got permission from our mother to enter out compositions in a contest. Before we knew it, my sister and I had both won awards (I'm guessing there weren't many entries in this competition). I thought it was cool that I had won something. Then my mother told me that the winners had to play at a recital.

That's when it hit me. I had to get up in front of a crowd and play my song. A song I had supposedly written. A song I'd never really played.

I know I probably had moments of anxiety earlier in my 8 years of life, but this is the first one that I remember so clearly. I can still feel it the panic and fear. My mother tried to work with me, sitting at the piano to practice my song. The music sat in front of me, with my name printed on it, and I felt like a fraud. You can't have written a song if you can't play it!

My memory of the concert is in flashes. I remember the drive, I remember what the location looked like, I remember the immense relief when it was over. But I don't remember how I played. I know that I did. I even sort of remember the view of the audience from the piano. But I don't know how I played. Did I pull it together and play the song well? Did I flop, destroying my own composition? I truly don't know.

But I know that I didn't cry or scream or run away. I know that I didn't fake sick and skip the whole concert (something Leslie girls have done on an occcasion or seven). I know that I got up in front of the crowd, sat down at the piano, and played something. I guess that's all that mattered.

A Constant Struggle

Thirty seconds. Twenty-eight.

I hate running. I hate this.

You can do it.

Fifteen seconds.

Ugggghhh!!! I'm so tired!! Even my inner voice is capable of whining like a 5-year-old when I'm tired enough.

Ten seconds.

I can hear Amber in my head. "You can do anything for ten seconds!"

Time! I push the down button the treadmill's--what is it? Dashboard? Control panel? I feel the belt slowing and I am walking again. Finally.


Why do I put myself through this?

I say it's all in the name of health, that I want to still be exercising when I'm 90, like my grandmother was. I don't have a body image problem, after all; I'm one of those smart girls who knows how absurd the beauty standards of our culture are. I know it's all but impossible for me to get six-pack abs. I know that, unless I manage to grow another 7 inches, I'll never look like a Victoria's Secret model. And I know that I am a perfectly healthy and average weight.

But there I am on the scale, just about every morning. There I am on Sunday afternoon, feeling grumpy and seeking comfort in food, then feeling guilty about it later.

It's not about intelligence, or being a smart girl, or being aware of the impossible standards. It's not about how many gender studies classes I've taken, how many magazine ads I've looked at and analyzed. It's not about understanding what is or is not a healthy weight for my height.

It's about what I've been told, over and over and over, since I was a little girl. And I've been told, in ways subtle and not, that my body, my appearance, my attractiveness as decided by men is what makes me worthwhile. And then I've been told that I'll never be enough, that I'll always need another product, another diet, a new exercise, in order to be perfect. And that's what I should want, and strive for. To be perfect. Perfectly attractive as defined by someone else.

I'm not saying that I want to stop exercising. I actually enjoy it, most of the time. I do want to be healthy and I like feeling strong. I want to be able to spend a day outdoors, moving and playing, and not be exhausted immediately. I do want to still be exercising when I'm 90. And if nothing else, I want to be able to run away from a murderer, or fight back against one, should I ever need to. I don't believe that exercising is inherently bad, or anti-woman, or anti-feminist, and it doesn't mean that I have an eating disorder.

What I do have is a constant fight. And I think many women these days do. I have to fight with myself and all the inner voices every day. I fight over how much exercise I need to maintain my healthy weight and how much exercise I need to look "hot". One voice tells me I've gained a pound since yesterday, or three since last week, and I need to watch out, while the other one tells me I'm fine and I'm healthy and fuck looking hot, those french fries last night were delicious!

I have to fight to remind myself that it's my life, that I can, that I should, look how I want and spend my time how I want. I have to fight to remember that, no matter what the magazines say, I'm not working out for a bikini body. I'm working out so that I can live a long and healthy life. I'm working out so that sitting at a desk doesn't ruin my body's ability to function. I'm working out so that I can live an active life (hopefully, more active than my current one). I'm working out so I can have time to myself when I can think and not have to talk.

It's a struggle, but ultimately, I'm fighting to define who I am in a world that wants to tell me who I should be. And even when it's hard, or I lose sight of it for a minute, I'm getting there.

Organization = Sanity, Part II

So remember when I wrote about loving organization, and wanting to carry all my things with me always? Well, I've taken this to a new level.

I decided to invest in a good backpack. This is because, as much as I love tote bags and shoulder bags and messenger bags and all their semi-professional looking cuteness, I have started having back, shoulder, and neck pain in the past year. I'm sure this is not solely due to carrying my computer and other things on one shoulder (I also sit at a desk all day, then go home and mostly sit, and I don't think the way I sleep is ideal for my neck) but it can't be helping. Plus, I will be moving to a bigger city soon, and might need to carry my stuff not just to the car and into the office, but walking several blocks to the bus stop or, if I get over my fear of other cars, maybe even while biking.

I'm also kind of sick of carrying a purse, especially when I have to carry a purse along with my computer bag. Feminspire, one of my new favorite sites, has a great article about women, purses, the social pressure to carry a purse, and the lack of legitimate pockets in clothing designed for us. When examining my purse, there's really a small amount of things that I absolutely need all the time (debit card, driver's license, cash, insurance cards, phone, keys, inhaler), a few things I need some of the time (tampons, checkbook) and the other things in my purse are occasional use/no use items (hairbrush, notebook for writing, iPod, sunglasses, etc.). I decided that I can carry a small wallet that also holds my phone, and can be tossed in the backpack or used on its own, and everything else can just live in the backpack.

Plenty of reason to invest in a backpack.

But the real reason I'm super excited about this purchase? The real reason I can't wait for my package to arrive today?

COMPARTMENTS!!

This backpack is the epitome of organization. 

So. 

Many. 

Pockets. 

And. 

Compartments!

It has a specific computer compartment. An iPad compartment. Pockets for cords. Pockets for little notebooks and pens. A key chain. A pocket for your phone. Probably a compartment just for extra pockets.

I'm way too excited about this purchase. I've already gotten my little phone/wallet (it's called a wristlet, which is a weird term) and took it out to dinner last night. And when my backpack comes in, I'll toss it into the specific wristlet pocket (I'm sure this exists) and go! Of course, with my luck, once I move I'll probably work somewhere with a designated work computer and I'll never need to carry things with me again. I hope not.

So, here's to my latest attempt at over-organization!

Watching Through My Fingers

Maybe I should stop watching horror movies.

I used to love them. I still do, I guess, but when I was 13 or 14 or 15, we would see a preview for a horror movie and my dad would say "That's a Genie movie." Actually, he still says this, but he hasn't seen me watch one in a long time.

I have perfected the art of peering at the screen through my fingers (which also means that I'm turning into my mother). I'm not covering the screen (usually) but rather, I'm blocking out my peripheral vision so that I see nothing but the screen. I think this is the visual equivalent of hiding under the covers. If I can't see anything around me, I can't be scared by a movement out of the corner of my eye, or by Aaron trying to make a face and freak me out. I can feel as if I've put myself into a safe little hole. Plus, my fingers are right by my eyes, just in case I do need to cover them completely.

I get more scared watching these movies now than I did when I was 14. What's that all about? When I was younger, I loved the feeling of being scared. Now, as soon as the first scary moment starts to happen, I inevitably say, "Why are we watching this? Why do I do this to myself?"

I know part of my problem is a fear of the unknown. Last night, watching Sinister, I finally said, "I'm ready for the big stuff to happen." Once the little ghost children started appearing, I was somewhat better, more able to watch the movie. The reveal is never as scary as you think it will be. It's the creeping down hallways, the hearing little unknown noises, the shadows in which you can't tell if something is in the corner or not--that's what's horrifying to me.

Honestly, I might still be sort of afraid of the dark. It's not that I'm afraid every time I'm in the dark, or that I leave a light on when I sleep. But there have been times when I've tried to go to sleep and thought, what if? What if I opened my eyes and there were a man with a knife staring back at me? What if I felt pressure on the end of the bed, like someone were sitting there, but I looked and saw nothing? What if someone is creeping down the hallway right now? And no matter what, no matter how many times I make sure the front door was locked before bed, no matter how much I don't believe in ghosts (and I really don't), that little voice plants just a little doubt. I feel like one of those people who doesn't believe in God but decides to pray before they die, just in case. I don't believe in ghosts, I don't believe the dark is going to get me...but shouldn't I be prepared in case I'm wrong?


Just about any horror movie can scare me. It doesn't have to be good. I love psychological thrillers, movies with more suspense than shock, but the ones that get my heart rate up are the cheesy ones, the ones with a demon/ghost, who's been haunting since the medieval times, who appears with a red face. The ones where the demon's face appears in the final seconds before the credits. These are the ones that terrify me. The unexpected image that makes you jump, the person or ghost or event that you weren't expecting suddenly appearing right in front of you--these are the fears that keep me up at night.

Time (You Ain't No Friend of Mine)

I worry about running out of time.

I am an organized person. I have no problem scheduling my day. My alarm is already set for 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, my second alarm for 6:15. The plan is to work out, shower, eat breakfast. I hope I'll have time for writing before work but I'm not positive. After work, I plan to spend about 2 hours on freelance work. Then I want to read my fantasy novel, play Mario Galaxy 2 on the Wii, catch up on my magazines, watch an episode of The Following, eat dinner, blog, and spend time with Aaron. But I'll never accomplish all that tomorrow, even if I wake up exactly on time (I won't) and don't nap after work (I will).

One of the saddest things I ever read was "I'll never be able to read all the books I want to read." When I read this, I felt like I'd been slapped in the face. This had never even occurred to me! Even if I made it through my entire list of books I want to read, by the time I finished, sooo many more books would have been published. And I would want to read them! And that's not even mentioning the magazines, and the blogs, and the newspapers. It's impossible.

But recently, Aaron said something even more terrifying. He said, "My nightmare: waiting until too late in life to start something, like writing a book, and not being able to finish." Aaahhhh! Another thing to worry about!

I want to have time to live my life the way that I want. But what do I want? I want to live somewhere cool, working any job and not caring about a career, just enjoying my place and time in the world. But I want to have a full career doing something I love and that I'm good at. I want to raise children and love them, but I also want to live a long, childless life, full of travel and free from worries about school systems and the effect of technology on developing brains and rocks stuck inside little noses.

Maybe I'm so afraid of running out of time because I don't know what I want. I don't know if I want to live in one place, or have the opportunity to move around. I don't know if I want children. I don't know if I'd prefer to have a long-time career path or not. I don't know what my life should be, and I don't want to miss out on it while I'm trying to decide.

But I do know that I want enough time to read all the books.

Less is More: Walking the Line

A move is in my near-ish future and I'm getting excited. OK, maybe I don't know where I'm going, and maybe I don't have a job to go to, but still, I'm excited. This is my first big move away from Oxford (other than a semester and a half at a college in Tennessee) so it's a big deal. And I am really interested in living in a big city, for both the professional and social opportunities.

There are plenty of reasons to live in a city: more places to apply for jobs, more people to hang out with, more stuff to see. But one reason I'm excited about a city is the possibility of going without a car.

I may not actually sell my car if I move. It will depend on the city. But even if I take it, I'm hoping for a place where I can walk and/or take public transportation to most, or all, the places I need to go.

When I was in college, I lived in a couple of places close to town and campus that allowed me to walk around. And thanks to campus parking craziness, I could actually leave my house later on days I was walking than on the days I was driving. I loved walking to class! My route took me through the Oxford Square, down a very pretty street with a mix of old and new houses, and in the spring, beautiful green trees and bright flowers. Since my classes were in the morning so that I could work in the afternoons and evenings, my walks were often in the cool early morning air, with the sun still working its way up in the sky and the streets not yet full of cars.

My walks allowed me to rediscover parts of this town I've lived almost my whole life in. One morning, as I passed the same yard that I passed every day, I realized there was a pony in the yard! This wasn't a farmhouse out in the country. This was a regular house, on a regular street, right in the center of town, with a pony in the yard. I started seeing the pony regularly. It's gone now, and I don't know who lived there, or why they had a pony in the middle of town, but I enjoyed seeing it on my walks.

I love walking to get places. I relish that time to myself to look around, think, and mentally prepare for wherever I'm headed. I like having a closer view of everything that I can't get in my car. I like the slower pace of walking, allowing plenty of time to get to my destination, and not getting the rushed or flustered feeling that traffic can bring.

This is how I want to explore my new city. I want to spend a lot of time walking around, both simply for pleasure and in order to get places. I can't plan on going without a car, at least not yet, since I have no idea where I will live or work or if those places will be close to each other or close to anything else. But maybe I can get there, park my car, and use it sparingly.

Here's hoping that I can discover my new city the way I've rediscovered my current one: one step at a time.