Enough of This!

I originally started this blog because I like to write, but the only way I know how to write is from the heart. I figured, being a 20-something gal, going through the motions of all that life as a 20-something has to offer would be the easiest way for me to write about things that inspired me, things that shook me and things that mattered to me. Given the topic I’m about to address is something that has been a highly debated topic throughout my 20’s (and before and unfortunately, likely after) I figured my opinion, albeit an opinion- is worth sharing. 

Let me start by saying- enough. Enough questioning whether or not it is okay to “be gay”. I’m tired of the debate. I’m tired of the fact that it is even considered a debate. This is 2013. We have overcome so much over the years (thank, God)- racial rights, women’s rights, various wars,  (I could keep going), and yet in 2013 we still haven’t figured out how to accept homosexuality and similar subject matters, as a whole in our culture? It’s absurd and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.

The majority of arguments I hear out there (besides those who are just plain honest and say, “It makes me feel uncomfortable”) at this point are ones that typically involve religion, which is ironic because I’m quite certain that heterosexual atheist’s are allowed to marry and aren’t questioned for being together. Sometimes it involves reproductive opinions, which I also find funny given there’s (sadly, for those trying so hard and deservedly, wanting so badly) heterosexual couples who are physically unable to conceive for a variety of reasons, or even some who choose not to, and yet no one ever makes anyone who is heterosexual feel bad for not being able to reproduce (which they DEFINITELY shouldn’t be made to feel bad for). But, at the root of it all, as far as I can tell at this point, it’s typically a religious tie holding this topic back.

Another very common argument and debate I hear is whether or not “being gay” is something you’re born with or something you become. It’s a slippery slope. Truth be told, I think it might swing both ways (pardon the bi-sexual pun).

I guess this would be a good time to tell you all a story. A story that changed my entire thought process on this argument and will forever keep me supporting gay rights.

When I graduated college, I went on to be a teacher. Unfortunately, my teacher’s salary wasn’t quite enough to pay the bills and feed myself and enjoy a night out with my friends, so I chose to be a nanny on the side. I met a family, a Catholic family, mind you- who I immediately felt connected to. I’ll never forget walking into their beautiful home, in a prominent neighborhood and meeting the mom.

She was the kind of person you just knew had a good heart- from the moment you said hello. You just knew it. She had kindness in her eyes and in her voice. She was like many moms out there in that moment- focused on her kids, trying to juggle 3 of them with a looming dinner hour and an interview for a new nanny so she could work part-time.

We talked about the kid’s routines, what the expectations throughout the day would entail, how I handled various situations and then she had me play with the kids for a little while to see how we interacted with each other. Needless to say, the kids had my heart immediately.

There were three kids; a 9-month old boy, a 4-year old girl and a 7-year old boy. I played with each other them, but there was something about the 7 year old I noticed right away- he was playing with Barbies and he spoke with such passion when doing so. He showed me around his room, showed me his dress-up clothes and collection of other toys that I would have guessed belonged to his 4-year old sister. The only thing that I could see this boy was into that had anything to do with “gender appropriate” toys, was his fascination with snakes.

When I came back to finish my interview with the mom, she had a talk with me about their eldest son. She informed me that their son had been diagnosed by a psychologist as Transgender. A person who is transgender is, by definition someone who identifies with a gender other than their biological one. She told me that from a very early age, she knew her son was a little different than your average boy.

He had always gravitated towards female-centric colors, toys, objects. At 16 months old he often walked around in his mom's nightgown and high heels. At around the 3-4 year old mark, to no one's surprise, he would play mermaids in the pool, rather than shooting water guns like the other boys in the pool. He even insisted that his younger sister refer to him as, "sister" rather than brother.

To top it all off, the most significant moment of all that she shared with me was when her son came to her at the age of 4, with painful tears rolling down his cheeks and said, "Mommy. God made a terrible mistake. I was supposed to be a girl." If that doesn't shake you to your core and leave you wondering if perhaps you really can be born a certain way- then I don't know what can. 

This mom carried on to share with me that in the beginning, their family assumed it was a phase. They continued to encourage boy behavior, activities, toys and even friends. But, despite their efforts, the more they encouraged it, the more he objected. They could see a distinct difference in his general happiness and approach when he had to participate in things he didn’t care for or feel connected to, versus things he did, which were typically female-centric things.

After coming together, as a family and discussing the matter with professional psychologists who specialize in the transgender community- they decided it was best to embrace who this little boy felt he should be and give him the support, as a family, he needed to be a happy and healthy child. 

The mom told me that they were raising their son as transgender. As a boy who identifies with being a girl; then she asked me if I was okay with being a nanny in that situation. I couldn’t have been more on board if I tried.

Being a teacher, I knew how important it was/is to honor children for who they are; to embrace their quirks, to work through their troubles and their issues and their strengths.

Now, don’t get me wrong, if this woman told me her son was a sociopath, I would have most certainly hoped that he was getting the psychological help he needed to work through being a functioning human being in society without hurting others. But, we aren’t talking about a person who could potentially harm others- we are talking about a boy who deep down inside somewhere, feels he is and should be a girl.

We finished our interview and the mom offered me the job, which I happily took and I spent the next year being a nanny for a 1-year old darling little boy, a 4/5- year old sweet and determined girl, and a 7/8-year old intelligent and kind hearted transgender boy. They have forever stayed in my heart, because they forever helped me see this topic differently.

After our year together, I decided to take a new career path, which also meant I had to give up my side-nanny gig with them. But, after I left, the mom shared with me something her son told her when I first interviewed.

He told his mom, “Mommy, I like that girl because she didn’t make me feel weird for playing with Barbies.” To this day, even just writing those words fills my eyes with big, watery tears. Their mom told me that in other interviews, the people who played with this boy questioned why he played with Barbies and one person even told him it was weird. At 7-years old, an adult woman told this little boy that his choice in toy-play was weird.

It's important that I note that transgender doesn't mean "gay". Gay is a sexual preference, transgender is the gender you truly feel you are, despite your physical attributes. However, transgender and homosexuality can sometimes merge together, depending on the person. This is a subject that shouldn't be taken lightly and can be hard to understand. In fact, I still find myself wrapping my mind around how it is all intertwined, yet different. But, both subjects, are equally important. Regardless of how much or how little they connect to each other for the individual, this stuff matters and we need to stop hiding from it just because it can be confusing or even uncomfortable. 

I tell you this story, because it is this story that truly helped me understand the argument between whether you’re born gay or you become gay. If someone really wants to argue that even a 16-month old just “becomes” transgender out of nowhere, despite all the odds stacked against him- a Catholic family, a family who in the beginning tried to get him involved with boy things and activities, a heterosexual family and a boy who didn’t spend time around many gay people and you’re going to tell me he just became that way- then you are going to have to do a lot of convincing and a heavy amount of research, because I’m not buying it.

I suppose there are acute times in a person’s life, where perhaps they evolve into being gay, or perhaps they become curious. I really don’t know and I don’t have a ton of evidence for it and I’m definitely not against that notion either.  

What I am against, is this notion that in 2013, we are still having this debate. We are still telling people who were literally BORN with the feelings they have that they aren’t allowed the same rights as those of us who are heterosexual.

These days, we don’t look at a person’s skin tone and question whether or not they should vote or marry (and we SHOULDN’T and NEVER should have), we don’t (and NEVER SHOULD) shun someone who is intellectually challenged because they were born or became that way (through an accident, etc), so why, why would we do this for so many who are born gay or transgender or bisexual or maybe even decide over time that they want to be or are?

Why do we decide it’s our right to make that choice for others? Because religion supposedly says so? Because we’re uncomfortable with the idea of it because it’s not how those of us who are heterosexual spend our every day life being?

Listen, I get it. When I was younger, it used to make me feel uncomfortable looking at National Geographic photos of women in parts of Africa with their tops off, because I just wasn’t accustomed to seeing that. But, eventually I learned that in their culture it’s okay, therefore, why should I judge that?

Tell me how being gay or bisexual or transgender is any different? Tell me how being these things is wrong without brining religion into it. Tell me how someone isn’t born this way when you have so much evidence from people who from early ages showed signs that they are and as intelligent, functioning adults in society, are telling us they always knew from an early age that they were/are gay or are a different gender intellectually. Please, help me understand how this is still an argument.

Let me tell you one last thing about this family- this boy that I was a nanny for. He is no longer being raised as a boy. He is now being raised as a girl. This is a family that has stuck together through a very challenging subject and supported their son/brother/sister as well as each other, along the way.

Together, they decided on a girl name for him. They support him in his choice to wear his hair long like a girl, and if I never knew he was a (physically) boy, I’d never even give him a second glance. With long hair, he looks like a girl. He always talked like a girl and always connected more with girls. This boy, somewhere in the process was given a penis and everything else that as a female, he/she connects with.

Her family embraces her and loves her for exactly who she is and how she is. They support her and while there are no doubt, struggles, they embrace those, too and they do it together, as a unit. The best part of all, she is happier than she has ever been. Now tell me, how can you argue that? How can you argue someone’s genuine happiness by allowing them to be exactly who they are and always knew they were?

I recently read a quote from Madonna regarding gay discrimination in which she said, “I don’t know about you, but I can’t take this shit anymore.” I couldn’t agree with her more.

I’m tired of the debate. I’m tired of the lack of rights and for the continual discrimination homosexuals, bisexuals and the transgender community deal with. It needs to stop. It needs to change. With gay marriage being legal in a few states, it seems like we are on the verge. I just hope it stays headed in that direction and hopefully much faster than the track it’s been on, because it’s been too long.

I’ve had enough. I hope you have, too. 

Perfect Imperfections

I have a friend who is battling a tough battle- anorexia. Through her battle, she’s been brave enough to not only come out and admit her struggle to her loved ones, she’s also found the courage to share her story and her everyday difficulties with the disease for anyone who cares to read it. It’s both inspiring and heart wrenching.

In reading some of her posts, it got me thinking about self-image and our culture’s obsession with “perfection” in the way we look. It made me think about how many of us have things about ourselves we obsess over and wish we could change about our physical appearance; I then began thinking about the things I see as physical “imperfections” about myself.

I don’t think I have a bad body image. I think that at times in my life, I may have, but as I’ve gotten older that’s disappeared. But, I do know that there are things I see in the mirror and think to myself, “that sucks” or “I wish that wasn’t there”. So, I’ve spent some time seeing if I can start looking at those things in a different way- find ways to appreciate them rather than dismiss them as flaws. Here’s a few things I came up with:

-I, like most women, have a few stretch marks. I have a couple on my chest, a couple on my booty and a couple on my hips. I don’t love them, but they are reminders that I am a woman and a woman’s body goes through change and change can be a good thing. Sometimes these little reminders are stuck with us and that’s ok.

-I have a tiny hole in my right nostril and one visible hole above my belly button. I often find myself wishing they’d close up and be invisible, but 8 and 10 years since removing the rings that once filled the holes, they’re still there. I have chosen to one day use these as examples to my children that decisions you make when you’re young can stick with you for a lifetime. These holes will be part of my, "Mama Tool Kit".

-I am naturally very pale. My darkest natural “tan” is most people’s base tan. This, above all things is without a doubt one of my biggest insecurities. Perhaps it was because I was teased as a child about my fair skin or maybe it’s because the media puts a lot of hype around being tan. Or, maybe it’s just that most people do look better with a tan. Either which way, I spent years in tanning beds trying to cover up my natural skin tone- ivory! This past year, I’ve finally begun to embrace it. I still dip into a spray tan from time to time, but I have learned to find ways to love my skin. Hopefully, when I’m a little old lady, this will only benefit me.

-I have a deep scar on the side of my wrist that looks as though I may have attempted to harm myself. I didn’t. The scar is from a puppy I helped raise this past year who scratched me with his 12 week old puppy claws while we were playing. He was the best thing that happened to me in 2012. Even though I may no longer have him, I will always have that scar to remind me of my favorite little buddy.

-I’ve never had a pack of abs. I’ve have/had a flat tummy, but I’ve never had defined muscles in my abdominals. I’ve tried. I’ve tried hard. I’ve slaved away at the gym, crunched my heart out, did more cardio than I can remember and ate healthy (still ate carbs; I refuse to use fad diets). Despite my best efforts, I’ve never had defined ab muscles. And to that I finally say, “SO WHAT?” Sure, they’re sexy, but who cares? Everyone has something sexy about them, abs don’t have to be it. It’s important to develop your abdominal muscles to an extent to support your body, but to obsess over the physical look of them is just plain silly.  I might not ever have them, in fact, I’ve accepted that I likely won’t and I’m totally cool with it. Furthermore, I learned it was time to be thankful for a flat tummy. That in itself is hard work and I'll be lucky if post-kiddos it stays that way. I'm choosing to enjoy it while it's there.

-I have 4 grey baby hairs. I’m approaching 28 in a few months and I have F-O-U-R G-R-E-Y hairs! WTF. WFT. WFT. How? Why? These four little pests are all located in the exact same spot. I can only assume these little strands that accidentally popped out 40 years too soon were put there as a reminder that with age and life experience comes wisdom and Lord knows I’ve gained a dash of wisdom in my life. I’ll assume that’s what those are there to remind me.

These are just a few examples of the things I know I haven’t always loved about myself. But, I’m learning to love them. I’m learning to see their value and learning to embrace them as physical character rather than flaws.

There are some things we can change about our appearance if we choose to. Some things we can enhance medically, some things we can make better health choices towards. Some of these things we should change for our health and some of these things we don’t really need to change at all and might not ever be able to change.

It’s your body, so you get to decide. But, I hope that this post inspires you to take a close look at yourself, completely naked,  especially in the morning when you’re free of any kind of product on your body and find the things you may not love and learn to find something good about each thing. I bet you might just learn to love yourself a little more.

You only get one you and who you are is perfect- we are all perfect imperfections. 

26 Acts of Kindness

I have always believed strongly in random acts of kindness. I think they are hands down one of the best things you can do not just for someone else, but even for yourself. There is really no better way to lift your spirits than to see a smile come from a stranger after doing something nice for them- for no reason at all except to be nice.

While I enjoy giving random acts of kindness whenever possible (truthfully, it’s always possible and I probably don’t do it nearly enough), I feel that they are gestures that should be shared between you and that stranger. It should be done without the need for attention, without the expectation that you will receive anything in return. They should just happen and you should go on keeping that between you, the stranger and whoever the stranger decides to share it with.

However, I am going to share with you my most recent random act of kindness experience- not because I want to gloat about the good, but instead share with you just how much these little things can do for others in hopes that maybe it will inspire you to the same.

After the Sandy Hook Elementary shootings in Newtown, CT occurred, Ann Curry of  The Today Show encouraged people via social media to participate in 26 Acts of Kindness in honor of the 26 fallen victims at Sandy Hook Elementary. The idea was to find a way to highlight goodness in the wake of horrific tragedy and spread good around, especially during the holidays (although, we really should be doing this all the time).

I, much like I assume every single person who reads this post, was shaken by the tragic events in Newtown. A devastating tragedy that I still can’t really wrap my mind around- so I felt instantly inclined to participate in this 26 Acts of Kindness. Perhaps, in some way I saw it as a way to help, even though at the end of the day I wasn’t helping anyone involved in the shooting at all.

I read about 26 Acts of Kindness on a plane ride from SF to Seattle and couldn’t wait to land and get started. I decided that for this, I would keep it, “simple”. So, I went to Starbucks, bought 26 $5 gift cards and happened to find a holiday greeting card set that fittingly had 26 greeting cards in it and handwrote the same note to 26 strangers and inserted the gift card.

I spent the next few days handing them out in various ways. Most of the cards I left on the car windows of people I parked next to, a fair number I handed to the people who checked me out at registers when I was doing my holiday shopping and a few of them went to homeless people I crossed paths with.

I’m not sure why, but every time I physically handed them to strangers, I felt shy about it. As soon as the register transaction was over, I would awkwardly take the card from my purse and say, “This is for you” and walk away. But, even in the split second between handing the card over and walking away- each time the card took the person by complete surprise and every single person smiled. When I handed them to homeless folks, they gave me the biggest smile of all and excitedly said, “Thank you!” without even knowing what was in the card! It was as if they were just happy to receive a card. The thought of some of their smiles makes me well up with tears as I write this- what an awesome thing to witness.

When it came to the cars, I never got to see the faces of the people I left the cards for, except for one woman. I left it on a car in front of me as I went in to get a coffee from a local coffee shop. When I walked out, the woman was in her car reading the card. I tried not to make eye contact, but she immediately jumped out of the car and said, “Are you Ashley!?” I admitted it was me who wrote the card and she burst into tears over the card and the purpose of the card, which in turn caused me to burst into tears. So, there we were- two complete strangers sharing a moment of kindness and expressing our sympathies for what happened in Newtown. It was truly unforgettable.

While I can’t promise I will always be purchasing gift cards to hand out to random strangers every single day, one thing I can promise is that doing this reminded me just how important it really is to treat everyone, even strangers with genuine kindness. It can truly make someone’s day and it can literally change yours for the better.

Whether you, too choose to participate in 26 Acts of Kindness or simply walk away from this and decide to do something nice once- whatever you do for another that is positive really does make a difference. Big, small, material or immaterial- it all matters and it is bound to make someone’s day.

Well… What are you still reading this for? Go do something nice! ☺

The Best Wrong-Right Decision

“The problem, simply put, is that we cannot choose everything simultaneously. So we live in danger of becoming paralyzed by indecision, terrified that every choice might be the wrong choice.” –Elizabeth Gilbert

It’s no surprise to me that upon looking up quotes about decisions, the one I ended up loving the most comes from one of my favorite writers, Elizabeth Gilbert. After all, it’s her way of writing that prompted me to embrace my love of writing a few years ago. Writer love or no writer love, her quote struck a chord with me, for recently I came to a place where I couldn’t make a decision to save my life and for a while I looked everywhere but inside to find it. This is the story of indecisions, wrong decisions and new decisions and learning to look within. 

I moved to San Francisco two years ago. With drive in my eyes and fire in my soul, I was ready to take on a new adventure and every challenge and new beginning that came my way. My first year in San Francisco was everything I had hoped it would be and everything I never imagined it could be. Opportunities, new friendships, new experiences, new love; everything one hopes for in life all seemed to be coming my way. It was good. It was really good.

2012 showed up. My New Years Eve started off rocky. Maybe I’m a little too superstitious (perhaps it’s the baseball fan in me), but I remember wondering if it was a sign of what was to come. Knowing what I know now of the last 10 months, I think I was onto something.

Despite the rough NYE, it seemed like the New Year was going to turn out okay. In the first month of 2012, I received a promotion at work, moved into a new place with my boyfriend, I had the opportunity to spend time both in the Bay Area and in Seattle for work. It all seemed right. The suddenly, everything new and exciting began to feel unsettling. Personal things became less than ideal. The new role had unexpected challenges. The travel back home to Seattle for work began to feel more daunting than exciting. It all began to unravel.

As luck would have it, I had to start making some decisions much of which circled around two key choices: to stay or to go. While there were a number of decisions that I had to begin making, there was one major one that impacted me in a way I never thought it really could.

When my job afforded me the chance to live in San Francisco and travel frequently to Seattle for work, it seemed too good to be true. Live in one of the best cities in the world and travel to my hometown (an equally great city) on a monthly basis… really? Then one day my company gave me an opportunity that doesn't come around too often: move back to my hometown of Seattle and be a part of a brand new office there. It all made so much sense on paper. My hometown. My family. My old friends. My roots. My networks. Work in an entrepreneurial environment, be a trailblazer in the company, have office and work from home flexibility, keep a San Francisco salary in a Seattle market. Where do I sign?

That was the problem. I couldn’t decide whether or not to sign. Granted, I had a number of factors weighing in on my decision to move back to Seattle- a relationship, family in Seattle, friends in San Francisco, bosses who needed answers. Everyone had an opinion; everyone knew what was in my best interest. There was no real wrong decision, but there was no real right one either and depending on whom you asked, wrong and right could be argued for both cases.

I did what seemed like the most logical thing to do- pick up the shiny penny and take the opportunity in Seattle. But, as I made my decision official, everything inside fell apart. My stomach ached as I told my bosses I would move. Every time I went back to Seattle for work, I felt irritated by the fact that I was there. Every time someone asked if I was excited to move, I couldn’t find it in me to simply say, “Yes!” But all the while, I tried to stay positive and look for all the reasons why it made sense to go.

As my move date neared and more and more people learned that I had decided to go, I literally began to physically respond to my decision. I didn’t sleep for weeks and could barely eat. The girl who once finished everything on her plate could barely finish a string cheese. Hours of sleep and too much weight lost, I finally began to realize what was really going on: I had made the wrong decision.

While there were no doubt a lot of factors weighing in on my initial decision to move to Seattle, the one thing I struggled to do was drown out the noise and chatter of what everyone else thought I should do and what everyone else wanted and listen to my own internal self. Then one day, I finally put everyone and everything else on mute and from that point on things became much more visible.

It became clear to me that although a great opportunity was in front of me, I wasn’t ready to leave what I came to San Francisco to do. I came here to try something new. I came here to spread my wings. I came here for opportunity in a new place. I came here to meet new people, experience new things, face new challenges and learn more about me in a new environment. I came here because I wanted to and because I could. I did it on my own, without anyone else telling me I should or had to. I did it because it felt right and because it was right.

It’s been over a month since I told my bosses that I would no longer be moving to Seattle. Ever since that day, I have felt the biggest sense of relief imaginable. I sleep again. I eat full meals again. I smile again. I feel light again. Not a day has gone by since then that I haven’t thought to myself, “I am so glad I’m staying.”

I’ve had a lot of time in the last few weeks to think about how I came to the decision to move to Seattle and then the decision to stay in San Francisco, but tonight I enjoyed something that put it all back into symbolic perspective.

As I took myself on a solo romantic date through the city that’s captured my heart. I found myself alone on a grassy hill, devouring a pint of ice cream, soaking up the warm Indian Summer air in October and reflecting on that fact that my two year SF anniversary is nearing. Not a cloud in the sky, stars shining, the Bay glistening and the sounds of the city echoing while I sat there alone with my thoughts and my ice cream. I thought about how thankful I was to be there. I thought about the fact that if I hadn’t listened to myself, I wouldn’t even be sitting there enjoying that ice cream and the stunning view in front of me. Then all of the sudden in the corner of my eye a shooting star shot through the sky that is normally clouded with SF’s notorious fog. It was literally like something out of damn Disney movie!

I smiled, finished my spoonful of ice cream, made my wish and walked back to my apartment with the reassurance that I really had made the right decision.

I can’t say for sure if I’ll ever have the same kind of opportunity that I had with the Seattle job. It’s not lost on me that I turned down something great. But, what I can say for sure is that I made a decision that was right for me. Not for anyone else, but me and there is no wrong in a decision in that.  

Lesson learned: When something inside of you is "speaking"- listen. It might just be a good decision after all. 

What is LOVE?

Love is not forced or demanded.
Love is not jealous or impatient.
Love is not one-sided.
Love is not fearful or insecure.
Love is not deception or mistrust.
Love is consistent and dependable.
Love is natural and safe.
Love is honest and open.
Love is uplifting.
Love is kind and compassionate.
Love is strong and deep.
Love is to be spoken and shown.
Love is giving and allowing.
Love is grateful and soulful.
Love is real and pure.

Love is the song that makes the heart dance, the wave that makes life worth the ride, and the gift that keeps on giving.

The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

There’s no good way for someone to tell you that a loved one has passed away and these days it seems like they come in the most technological forms. When I received a text message three months ago that a very close college girlfriend had passed away, it felt as if the entire world around me, every part of the 5pm weeknight hustle and bustle all became paralyzed at the sight of the words, “Lindsey Passed Away This Morning.” As my stomach sunk and my throat became tight, my reality felt like a nightmare- only this time I was awake.

A few weeks ago, I received a similar note, this time in email form as I learned that one of my most favorite aunts had lost her very sudden battle with a disease no one knew she had, a battle that she suffered for only a month and only after 60+ years of living, thus leaving all of us who loved and continue to love her so dearly, completely stunned.

Since the passing of both of these phenomenal women, I have found myself in deep reflection. I think it’s normal when dealing with death to find yourself in a reflective state- there’s something about knowing a life/person you loved so much on Earth has come to an end that gets you wondering about a few things, but there’s something especially soul scorching about losing loved ones, both unexpectedly and too soon.

Ironically in all of this, living in 2011 has allowed me to look into the world of those who also share the same grief. Things like email, Facebook and grief websites have given me the opportunity to read the memories and love that many others also feel for these women, which leaves my heart both broken more and yet oddly relieved to know just how loved these people were and always will be.

As I’ve thought back on memories of these women, I’ve also gone through the normal, yet heart-wrenching thoughts about last conversations, wondering if they knew how much they meant to me and to everyone else in their lives here on Earth. I know they must know now, but it’s been a bit of a morbid reminder of how important it is to share with your loved ones just how much they mean to you. I even find myself humbly wondering, “Can they see Facebook wall posts? I really hope so!”

Knowing my friend Lindsey lost her life before she had the chance to experience things like marriage and children, and that my aunt lost her life just days before the celebration of 40 years of marriage to my uncle, and before having the chance to watch her grandchildren that she adored dearly grow up into adults really tears me up inside. Having to watch my uncle grieve and her children and grand children grieve, and having to imagine what Lindsey’s family must feel sends chills of sadness down my spine. But, in all of this sadness of losing people too early, it also keeps at the forefront, a few things.

These losses have shown me how deep the power of love really is. At the core of all of this loss is love. The love that everyone who mourns these deaths is what I have found to be the most inspiring part, no matter how painful the loss may feel. But, if you think about it, that’s what makes the pain so hurtful. The more love you have and feel, the harder the loss feels. But, what would our lives be like without the love? If you ask me, I’d rather have the deep love and deal with the sadness at some inevitable point, than the alternative.

There’s a song out there called, “If I Die Young”. It’s a very honest and real song and if you listen to the lyrics, it almost makes you wonder, “Why would someone write a song like this?” But, despite it’s shock factor, it reminds you that a short life lived really does hurt, just like the lyric says, “The sharp knife of a short life”. Luckily, there’s love that is stronger than any loss that can help heal the wound.

The Comfort of Your Own Company

I’ve always thought Buddha was a wise guy. I have a book full of quotes that I love and a fair number of them come straight from the famous round bellied, wide-smiled zen master himself. But, there is one quote of his I read recently that has really been resonating with me, “You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire Universe, deserve your love and affection.”

It’s been a belief of mine for quite some time now that in order to truly give the best of your love to others, you must first learn to love yourself. I know it’s a common thing you’ll read in any book that touches on the subject of happiness and I know that for me personally, this has been true. But, I also think that in addition to loving yourself (in the non-egotistical sense of the meaning, of course) you also have to learn to not only love yourself, but also be content being alone with yourself- which is in and of itself an entirely different can of worms.

When I lived in Seattle, there were plenty of times I found solace in the stillness of, “me” time. I found myself having no trouble taking long walks alone, sitting in a coffee shop alone, eating lunch alone, going to a movie alone- you name it, I was content. But, even then, I was in a place that was home. A place where even if I was alone, I almost always found myself comforted by the run-in of a familiar face or simply the comfort of familiarity.

When I was preparing to move to San Francisco, I knew there would be plenty of times when I had to prepare myself for venturing out on my own. Hell, the move itself was one I did solo (aside from a dear friend in the passenger seat on the drive down), my entire move was done with very little aid and very little assurance of what was to come outside of the job I had waiting for me- I just did it all on the belief that whatever was meant to happen for me, would all work out, and it has- perfectly, in fact.

That being said, it was the past few weeks that really brought back to the forefront of my mind just how important it is to not only love who you are, but also be comfortable being alone with yourself. Over the last few weeks, I had the opportunity to do everything from spend a week in the beautiful North Bay, nestled inside a comfy home on the water all by myself, to taking a work trip to New York where I was going for the first time and knew very little people, to coming back to San Francisco only to find myself longing for something that I didn’t have and reaffirming to myself what a blessing everything within my life has been.

Between the nights spent in the North Bay sipping my favorite wine while immersing myself in a documentary, or jumping on my hotel bed in excitement over being a 26 year old single girl living what felt like a Sex and the City episode for two days or making the choice to eat at a nice restaurant on a Sunday night, all alone back home in San Francisco- it all had one common theme: unconditional happiness and contentment.

Would I have enjoyed doing those things with the company of a good friend or a significant other? Sure! Who doesn’t enjoy sharing an experience with someone special? But, there is something so utterly empowering and rewarding about knowing that you can have your own kind of fun without the need of someone else being there.

While I’m by no means suggesting we should all forego human interaction and do everything alone, as I still prefer to engage in fun activities with friends and still hope to find that right person to share life moments with- one thing I can say for sure, whenever that person does come around, he won’t be meeting a person who needs completing, he’ll be meeting a person who has plenty to share.