Resolutions

Resolutions are never something I've taken seriously. I'll half ass a list of intangible goals with no end date in sight... so it's no wonder I inevitably fail. This year is different.

I know, I know, people say that every year and nothing changes. But I'm betting on myself for once and I refuse to fall into the category of "resolution drop outs."

For starters. I aim to get my license. Let's skip past the judgement and Q&A portion, shall we? I currently have my permit, and I am learning to drive. It's a slow process and I don't ever plan to enjoy driving. But I am doing it (and with limited tears, I might add).

Next, I want to continue with my daily work outs. I've actually been working out every day for almost two months now, and I don't plan to stop. A small work out is better than no work out, so even when I have a busy day, there's no excuse.

The doozy: no alcohol. WHAT?! Anyone who has ever met me knows that I love my Jack...probably more than I love most people. But for all of the obvious, and not-so-obvious reasons, I have decided to take a year of sobriety.

There are a couple others, but I'll let y'all pick your jaws up off the floor and recover. Wouldn't want to shock anyone TOO much before the new year begins.

And for anyone who doubts that I can do it, or has something negative to say, save it.

"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year"

After the whistle of the kettle dwindled to a whisper, she poured herself a cup of hot chocolate. With the warm mug in her hands, she made her way over to the window. Looking down on the city below her, she couldn't help but smile. She wasn't used to seeing the ground embraced in a white blanket of snow. Despite the weather, she opened the window. As she took a seat in the alcove of her apartment, she admired the glistening streetlights. She then pulled a blanket up to cover her legs and closed her eyes to listen to the music drifting into her little home. She hummed along to her favorite seasonal song, breathing in the cold crisp air. Catching a whiff of gingerbread, she made her way back into the kitchen to make sure her cookies hadn't run away. 

(What better way to work on a writing exercise that focuses on engaging the senses, than to dream up my perfect winter evening. I hope y'all are having a wonderful holiday season.)

My Heros

We all have our heros. Some of us look up to figures in time who made changes in history, while others might look up to an artist, writer, or some sort of celebrity. My heroes are the people in my life who inspire me on a daily basis.

To the one who pushes herself: You are my biggest inspiration. You take on challenges with little hesitation. You accept defeat, but never lose momentum. You can move mountains when you put your mind to it. I admire you so much.

To the one who admits her faults: You are the reason I have faith in this world. You deal with inner-monsters on a daily basis, yet you fight through. You have one of the most demanding schedules, yet you make time for yourself and for others. You have so much faith in others, even when they try to bring you down.

To the one who tells it like it is: You have never apologized for who you are and what you say. You're a true definition of "tough love." I wish more people had the courage to speak their mind the way you do.

To the one who is unforgivably herself: You struggle with self confidence, but you don't let that stop you. I've been lucky enough to see you grow into the person you are now, and I see you strive to grow even more, accepting more and more of what makes you you.

To the one that I can tell anything to: I don't think "judgement" is even in your vocabulary. I talk to you and know that not only is it a safe space, but more often than not, you can identify with my secrets. When you can't identify, you try your best to understand.

To the one who tries: We are not as close as we used to be but you've worked at keeping our friendship alive. Every time we talk, you remind me of why we became friends in the first place. You are a constant reminder that friendship is a two-way street. 

To the one who can empathize with anyone: No matter what you are dealing with in your own life, you will take the time to listen and to comfort others. You are the one person I can go to to express my most controversial thoughts, for I know more often than not, you'll agree. You have always been there for me.

To the one who believes in me: You've have more faith in me than I could ever have in myself. Not only do you hold dreams for me that I've never imagined, but you have dreams for yourself that are nothing short of inspiring.

To the one who values my life more than I ever have: I've been my most vulnerable with you. You have seen me at my worst, yet you constantly remind me of my best. Thank you for reminding me that my life is worth living. 

Thank you all for reminding me that there is good in the world. You are the people I look to when I'm down. And you all inspire me more than you know. 

I'm Not-so-low Key Obsessed

I have my favorite go-to artists when it comes to music, and Demi Lovato has never been on that list. Sometimes I would find one or two songs that I would enjoy off of her albums, but none of her work every really swept me away. Until now...

This song captivated me. Her vocals are incredible and the lyrics are poetic. And it's not the only awe-inspiring song on that album. This, "Yes," and "Father" are my favorites. But in reality, I have had the entire album on repeat since purchasing it a few days ago.

Meet Riley

As she paddled, body numb and muscles weak, she knew she had a decision to make. Was she a survivor? Someone who pushed beyond her physical limits in order to live? Or was she someone who gave up because it was easier? She found that the answer came in spurts. “Maybe it would be easier if I just stopped swimming and gave up.” Her arms and legs would slow, and she’d take a breath as her head bobbed below the surface. A calmness would wash over her as she sank, along with a peace of mind she hadn’t felt in a long time. But just as she started to feel a weight on her chest, her mind would shift gears, “But what if someone is close by? What if someone can rescue me? What if I am strong enough?” And just as easy as it was to give up, her head would resurface, and her muscles would be back to working overtime. Each breath she took seemed to fill her lungs with the sweetest air. The burst of adrenaline made her feel alive, alive in a way that was more precious than the time before.

This was a reoccurring dream that often had Riley waking in cold sweats, gasping for air...

(In the beginning of last year, I posted a blog post called "Meet Lucey," in which you were able to see a glimpse of a writing project I was working on. This is another snippet from a story I started recently. Hope you enjoy.)

"It's not simple to say...

...that most days, I don't recognize me."

{Go listen to "She Used to be Mine" by Sara Bareilles. She wrote it for a new musical, Waitress. Some of the lyrics perfectly describe me... and I can't stop listening to it.}

Let's Get Intimate

{I must start with a disclaimer: I am not an expert when it comes to LGBTQ topics...no where close. I try to learn as much as I can about different sexual orientations and genders while being considerate of the people within this community. If I get something wrong, please teach me so I can correct my mistake.}

I have never been one to shy away from controversial and personal topics on this blog. I tend to share my most intimate details here. From my struggles with depression to my guilty pleasures, I've never had trouble writing them here for all to see. For some reason, it's where I feel safe.

I am a strong believer that sexuality is fluid. Our emotional, romantic, and sexual relationships can differ and change when it comes to the sex or gender we are attracted to. I also subscribe to the idea of the Kinsey scale. (For those of you unfamiliar, this is the notion that instead of fitting into the two categories of "straight" and "gay," everyone places on a continuum in between the two, allowing varying amounts of hetero and homosexuality.) And although it's not perfect, for it does not take certain sexualities into consideration, it's the best way for me to describe my own, personal relationship with sexuality. 

All of my life I have identified as heterosexual. It's never been a question in my head. I'm attracted to men sexually, therefore I am straight. It's almost a societal default. How I felt about women was irrelevant, because I liked men. Even when I was talking to girls on dating sights, it didn't matter, because I liked men. The fact that I was attracted to both men and women was inconsequential, because I liked men. And because I liked men, I was heterosexual. 

How convoluted is that? 

I've always known that I didn't lay at one specific end of the Kinsey scale, but it never truly occurred to me that I might not be straight. Not until fairly recently. 

This is not a post about me "coming out." (Or maybe, in a way, it is...) I don't identify as gay, but I also no longer identify as straight. Perhaps I'm on the road to identifying as bi...but I don't feel like I'm quite there yet. I guess I'm embracing the Q in LGBTQ, and I am 100% okay with that.

My name is Cami. I'm 25. And I'm questioning my sexuality every chance I get. 

I Got Up Today

Not only did I get up, but I made brownies, hung a picture, wrapped a present, and started a project. I was out of bed and productive. And it felt good.

For those of you unaware of why this is such an amazing accomplishment for me, I have been suffering from a fairly severe case of depression. I've been almost bedridden for a little over a week now.

Depression is something I battle on a daily basis. Ever since my sophomore year of high school, where it was trauma induced. There are some cycles where it's almost nonexistent and I am able to carry on as "normal." But there are also cycles where I'm so overwhelmed that I can barely move.

Lately, it's been the latter. I've been canceling plans with friends, crying for the majority of the day, and unable to leave my bed.

But I got up today.

Because of the optimist in me, I would love to say that this is a step towards recovery. And maybe it is. But it's equally as likely for me to revert back into the depression that I've been all too familiar with.

Either way, I am choosing to celebrate the fact that today, I got up.

Here's to My Girls

Everyone has seen "body positive" messages. It could be geared towards curvy girls OR skinny girls OR those who fall in between. And today, while scrolling through some of these posts on tumblr, I felt the need to say something. 

Here's to my girls, whatever your body type. Whether you're skinny, overweight, disproportionate or somewhere in between. You're perfect. Everyone has things they want to change about themselves. You could want to change your stomach or your eyebrows, your arms or your ass. It's okay to want to change things about yourself; it's also perfectly okay if you don't. But guess what? That doesn't mean you don't matter. It doesn't mean that someone else can't view you and your body as perfect. We all have different bodies, and we all admire different bodies. 

So instead of seeking out a specific group of women based on their body type, I'm calling on ALL women: you're perfect. 

Time to Try

Over the past few days, I've been telling myself that my lazy days of sleeping in and watching crappy television were well deserved. That because of "everything I've been going through," I needed some time to relax. Because after quitting my job, giving up a career in teaching, moving back home, and traveling, a girl needs some time to rejuvenate and reconnect with old friends. 

Today I had a wake up call. 

I've been telling myself all of those things because I'm afraid to try. Because if I try, there's a chance I could fail. So if I let myself sit around and pretend I need the space to figure things out, people will understand and they won't push me to put myself out there and give it a go...

I'm not saying I have a clue as to what direction I should be going in, but I can't sit still anymore. It's time to pick myself up, get my ass out the door, and start trying. 

I miss you.

You did a really shitty thing, and I'm not sure I can ever forgive you for it. But I miss you.

I miss the friendship I thought we had. I miss the trust I instilled in you. I miss the way you made me laugh. I miss the self confidence you brought out in me. I miss our dumb conversations.

I miss having someone that knew me...all of me.

I miss you.

Queen of the Hills

I recently got back from a trip to Portugal. We stayed in Lisbon and that city unexpectedly captured my heart. So much so that I made sure our last day there was a day I could use to explore on my own and take in whatever I could before leaving. 

That day, my goal was to wander around the oldest part of Lisbon and eventually make my way up to the castle area for lunch. Here's the thing about Lisbon, it's a city built on many hills. And when I say "hill," I mean big-ass, incredibly steep, mountain-like hill. There's a myth about a sea serpent searching for love in the city, but unable to find it, she dies and her seven tentacles become the seven hills of Lisboa. Truth be told, there are actually eleven hills throughout the city. None of them small. 

Heading off on my own, I decide to take the road less traveled, a road I'm not sure was even on my map. Within an hour, I was lost. With no known roads to reference and no common language with the locals around me, I continued on. Knowing that the castle was atop a hill near the water, I figured if I could get close enough to the sea and head up, I'd get there. Trekking on, with no other tourist in sight, (a clue I should have picked up on) I made it to the top of the hill...well a hill. Proud of myself for getting to the top, I took a deep breath, looked around and noticed that the castle I was walking towards was on top of a different hill...

This next part of my story is going to get extremely cheesy and self reflective, so you may want to stop here.

At the top of my hill, with where I needed to be in plain sight, yet incredibly far away, I should have felt discouraged. I was anything but. I was not only extremely proud of myself for getting to where I was, but I was more determined than ever to get to where I needed to go. And then I realized that this was a symbol for my life.

I got to the top of where I thought I wanted to go. And once I had that, I took a look around and realized that teaching wasn't what I wanted to be doing. 

And just like in life, I will keep going. I will make goals and climb to the top of many hills. I may struggle or need to stop and ask for help, but what I refuse to be is discouraged. If I can make it to the top of the right hill on my own, in a foreign country, with no map, and unable to speak the language, I sure as hell can make it to the top of my metaphorical one.

No Calm Before This Storm

This past week, I have been a mess. Between the packing, teaching, saying goodbye, and the upcoming changes, my emotions have been on a roller coaster. When I'm not sad about leaving L.A. and my friends, I'm incredibly excited to be going to Portugal. And when I'm not soaking in the last moments as a preschool teacher, I'm fearful for the unknown ahead. 

Two years ago, I started this blog to mark my journey in Southern California...and that journey has come to an end. 

I don't know what lies ahead, so I will not be making any promises when it comes to this blog. If I feel inspired, I may take to writing, however I might not be making regular posts. 

It's Official

If you're at all close to me, you are well aware of the mess that my life has become. Between quitting my job, taking a break from teaching, and deciding to move back home, it feels as if my life has turned upside down. 

Let's start from the beginning.

Growing up, I fought every urge to become an educator. Because my mother was a teacher, it was ruled out as a career option fairly early on. While I had an interest in dance, I babysat for extra money. Although I was more interested in paleontology, I tutored and nannied. And when I was majoring in psychology, all of my classes were geared toward child development and education. Looking back, you can tell that all the signs were pointing towards teaching. I finally gave into this path when I realized that I, too, had the teaching gift. 

That gift is still in me, as is the love and respect for the education of children. What's changed is the passion I have for the craft. Despite the fact that education and teaching is all I've ever known, I'm not happy. As explained to my boss, I have too much respect for the profession to pretend I am happy when the education of children is at risk. And perhaps, down the road, I will return to the profession. But for now, I need a change. Which is exactly why I quit my job. 

So, with no job, and a needed break from the only profession on my resume, I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do. It certainly was not an easy decision to make, but I decided to move back home. It's time for me to go back to my roots and explore what life has to offer. I don't have a job lined up, nor any idea of what kind of job I want to pursue. I don't have a time table or a plan for how this is supposed to play out. I have me, my stuff, and a moving date. 

And I'm ready for my next adventure. 

"Your laugh is like taking a shot of whiskey...
it warms you up."

Someone once said this about me. And I really hope that it's still true. 

"Happy" Birthday to Me!

Birthdays are funny things. Some people love them, some despise them, all the while others pretend that they're no big deal. Normally, I have a mix of excitement and dread. I'm sure that if I stopped to think about it, I could explain the psychological reasoning behind my lack of enthusiasm. But I'll save you from the inevitable chaotic aftermath that would come from psychoanalyzing myself.

Before I continue with my thoughts, I feel like I need to add a disclaimer. You are not allowed to tell me that my feelings are invalid just because you are older than me. There is such a negative phenomenon that occurs when I voice complaints about my age. Anyone who is slightly older than myself seems to be compelled to convince me, just how fallacious my feelings are. As my preschoolers would say when encountered with people like that (a.k.a. bullies): "No thank you, friend." 

There was something about the idea of turning 25 that scared the crap out of me. Perhaps the fact that I still need to find a place to live come July and that I currently have absolutely no idea what I want to do career wise has something to do with it. Maybe if I had my shit together in other departments, I wouldn't be having panic attacks over something as trivial as a birthday.

But people keep asking how I'm doing and it's getting harder for me to lie. Each day, it's getting harder to put on a smile. I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm just done giving untruthful answers. 

Am I okay? Not really. But I will be. 

A Deceivingly Good Revelation

Today, at work, I had the best realization: I don't care. 

I need to preface this with saying that, of course, I care for the children I work with. I love them and I wish them the best. The moments I spend with them are precious and I know that I will miss them once I do actually leave. 

However, these children, as well as the ones about to enter the classroom, deserve to have a teacher that cares. One who has a passion for teaching, and the excitement for the milestones they meet. These kids deserve to have a teacher who celebrates their accomplishments on a whole new level. These students deserve to have a teacher who gives a shit....

And as of late, that teacher is no longer me.

Toxic

Today, it became very apparent that there is someone toxic in my life. I've been dealing with them for quite some time now, but I've always been able to shrug off their hurtful words. 

Today was different. Today, this person crossed a line. 

And they will no longer be a part of my life because of it. 

The Middle

I was bewildered. The lines he created with splatters of paint depicted movement in the pieces of art that were new to my eyes. His people resembled stick-figures. But these stick figures could tell a story in the way they curved on the canvas. It's true that Chihuly isn't known for his paintings, but they captivated me.

It wasn't just the way he conveyed movement through deceivingly simplistic lines, it was the use of color. I could have stared at this artwork display for hours. Each backlit painting was about my height, maybe taller, and wide enough to where my fingers would barely touch the edge on either side. These specific paintings are the reason I have a newfound appreciation for abstract art. I always scoffed and make a comment about how "the children I teach could duplicate those" under my breath. But this time, when my aunt was the one who whispered those words, I couldn't find it in me to agree. This time, I understood that there was more to these than splattered paint.

Some of you may be a bit confused at this point. There's a simple explanation: I started my story in the middle. We're always taught to start from the beginning. Beginning, middle, end. This is a no-brainer to most of us because that's how life normally works. But over the break, I read a book* that starts from the middle. It completely changed the way I thought about writing, and I figured I would try something new.

Now that you've seen the middle, let's go back to the beginning. When taking a tour of the University of Puget Sound, I looked up to see a gorgeous glasswork display in one of the buildings. I remember listening to the tour guide spew facts about the famous glass artist who was born and raised in Tacoma. After getting to see that spectacle quite frequently, Dale Chihuly quickly became my favorite glass artist. 

Knowing this, my aunt decided that when I was back in Washington, the bridge that leads to Tacoma's Museum of Glass was a must-see, for his designs are sprinkled across it. 

THIS was the Chihuly I knew and loved. The bright and colorful glass, the whimsical shapes and twists. I could have walked this bridge, turned around, and headed home ignorantly happy. It wasn't until we entered the museum did we realize that there was a special exhibit named "Chihuly Drawings." This showcase features Chihuly's concept art for many of his glasswork. It was amazing to get to witness the beginning steps of completed artwork I had previously seen. 

As you walked deeper into the exhibit, each room seemed to be peeling back layers of his artistry, making it's way to the core, where he first started, and where I fell in love with his art all over again. 

*The book that challenged the way I think about writing is titled We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, written by Karen Joy Fowler.

Spring Break

I didn't fully realize how stressed out and unhappy I was until tonight. It's a Sunday night, which normally fills me with dread. 

Tonight is different...I feel relaxed and hopeful and excited for this next week! I have the next week off, and I could not be more thrilled. 

In a couple days, I will be taking a trip up to Washington to visit some family and get some well-deserved isolation from everything. 

(So, if you need me, that's too damn bad, cause my phone and computer will be off for a while.)

Just a Little Anecdote

On a fairly regular basis, my best friend and I get together for a date night. This week was shopping and dinner. I forget exactly how the conversation went, but we ended up talking about work and getting stuff on our clothes. Then this came out of my mouth: "I end up coming home from work with chalk handprints on my ass." Kelsey chuckled, and then we both look up to see our waiter with his jaw practically on the floor. 

Anyone who knows that I work with kids wouldn't have given it a second thought, but this poor guy just overheard a part of our conversation knowing nothing about me. The look on his face was priceless.

In order to restore any respect in his eyes, I then had to explain that I work in a preschool and there are a few handsy boys in my class. I'm not quite sure he believed me...

When the meal was done and paid for, we started out the door, waving goodbye to our waiter. As I turned around to walk out, I could tell that he was checking to see if there was, in fact, chalk handprints anywhere to be found.

Adjusting My Sails

Those who are close to me will have caught on to the fact that I've been feeling really lost lately. I've been unhappy and not quite myself. And a big portion of that has to do with my job. Without going into detail, instead of fulfilling and joyful, teaching has become almost dreadful. Which, in turn, is extremely terrifying. 

I have been working with children since I was thirteen. In 2003, I became CPR certified, made business cards and coupons, went to every door in the neighborhood leaving little babysitting packages that had my information and rates. I also managed to book my first job, and even though they left me with six kids, babysitting came naturally to me. 

In high school, I worked at the San Francisco Zoo in the Children's area for two summers. It was my job to inform the children, as well as their parents, about the animals I was holding. Also, in high school, I worked in my mother's classroom as often as I could. I would assist her in the planning, the teaching, the prepping...anything she needed, I was there. And once again, all of this felt natural. 

When college came, I wasn't completely sure that teaching was what I wanted to pursue, but as I continued, I was drawn to child development and education classes. I not only excelled in them, but thrived in that environment. 

It was only natural for me to seek out jobs that involved children and teaching. Over the course of three years, I've worked at multiple after school programs, been a teacher's assistant, taught reading intervention classes, worked with English Language Development programs, and finally secured a job as a teacher in my own classroom. It was everything I thought I wanted. 

As you can see, working with children and teaching has always been in my blood. So for me to be unhappy doing what I thought I loved is confusing. The passion for educating kids that used to burn within has dwindled. So, I've decided to take a break, in hopes that my passion will be rekindled or I find something new to be passionate about.

I have absolutely no idea which direction I want to look into, for everything outside of child care and education is beyond my expertise. And although I feel intimidated and am having a hard time figuring out where to start, I'm also excited to see what options lay ahead of me.

"I feel just like a sailboat, I don't know where I'm headed...

...but I'm not giving up, I will move on forward.

I'm gonna raise my sail, god knows what I'm headed towards."

-Ben Rector

The butterflies are back...

...and it's the one thing that's been able to put a smile on my face lately. 

Got Hope?

Every time the new year rolls around, I have this hope that everything will renew itself. I end up believing that every problem or unsatisfactory situation will go away on it's own. It's a fairly naive notion, but somehow, every time the end of December rolls around, I get my hopes up once again.

This year, like each year before, I was let down. The same issues of 2014 have trickled into 2015. 

What's worse: normally, the optimist in me still has hope that things will get better as the year continues...but this year that hope is missing and I'm at a loss of where to go from here. 

(And if any song could describe how I've been feeling, it would be "Sailboat" by Ben Rector.)

New Year, {god I hope this does not reflect the} New Me

My new year eve's are pretty low key. I normally stay home and countdown with friends. Maybe pop open some champagne and make a little noise, but nothing extravagant. This year was planned to be no different. One of my close friends came over, we opened a couple beers, and set out to catch up and bake until the countdown. I didn't want to go all out or stay up too late because I had an extremely early flight the next morning with my mom. 

I'm not entirely sure how to explain this next part, because before I knew it, the two of us were getting ready to join a few friends in the city and ring in the new year at a party in Fort Mason. All I can say is that the idea of unlimited alcohol with the purchase of a ticket seemed to be all the convincing we needed in our already tipsy state. 

Anyway, we get dolled up and go. We walk in, my feet already hurting because they're not used to heels like they used to be, and are in awe of the decor. There was a huge sandcastle, a recreation of the golden gate bridge, a giant stage with a DJ and a plastic dinosaur, and multiple bars with "free" booze! Not before long, my shoes came off, my alcohol intake spiked, and my inhibitions gone. 

Between conversing with friends, drinking champagne, and dancing, I seemed to have lost my shoes. (I will insert now that these shoes did not make it home with me...they were probably found in the middle of the dance floor and thrown directly into a trash can.) The next thing I know, it's midnight, we're counting down, and...

Black.

I wake up to my mom scurrying around my room, trying to finish packing my suitcase, telling me that I need to get up. My hair is wet, dress is on the floor across the room, and a I have the horrible realization that I am still incredibly drunk. 

Begrudgingly, I manage to get up, get myself dressed and get out the door. We arrive to the airport at 5am, check my mom's bag, and get into line for security. It wasn't until the TSA officer has my boarding pass, that I realize that I don't have my ID. I panic. I shoot an anxious look to my mom, apologize to the TSA officer, and pull off to the side, ripping through my purse to see if I stupidly placed it somewhere it didn't belong. I let out a "FUCK" when I remember that my friend was the one who had my ID, credit and debit card, and keys in her purse. Instantly, I start to cry. It was then that the supervisor was called. He asked me if I had anything else that had my name on it. Still crying, I pull out my gold member Starbucks card. (Apparently my drunken self didn't think to use my employment card, annual pass for disneyland, or insurance card...)

By some incredible miracle, and after a fairly intense round of questioning, I was let through security and ready to get on my flight. It wasn't until after my flight, when I needed to use the bathroom, that I became aware of just how drunk I still was that morning. I managed to put on my boots (with no socks), jeans (with no underwear), a top (with a bra I'm not even sure is mine), and make up that has lasted through a shower and about an hour of sleep. To say that I looked like the epitome of a bad night would have been an understatement. 

The rest of the day was spent with nausea and a pounding headache...with my mother...in Disneyland. 

(And for those of you wondering what happened in the time between midnight and the next morning: Apparently, I had some nice drunk text conversations with a few of my friends, took pictures of myself and the stage at the event, danced and made out with a cute stranger, got lost, then found, threw up, took an uber home, showered, and fell asleep around 3:30am.)