grown-up things

how running and unemployment have taught me that everything is going to be okay

by ameena on February 23, 2013 · 3 comments

in plight of the twenty-something, so you say you're a runner

The longer I have been unemployed, the more grateful I am for the experience. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely spend a lot of my time shaking my fists at the universe in frustration and panicking about my perpetual unemployment, but the truth of the matter is that prior to my tumble in to the jobless life I was more miserable than I had been in a very, very long time.

I have spent the majority of the past year on a roller coaster of highs and lows. For me, a good week was one in which I only had one anxiety attack. Most weeks I could barely make it two days without calling my mom in hysteric tears. Everywhere I went I was haunted by my future. I felt so much pressure to make big, life changing decisions – even though I wasn’t even the least bit ready to do so. Helpless, I spent the year blindly marching forward like a bull in a china shop, I was frantic to make anything work. Then one day I stopped and took a look at the mess I was creating for myself. I realized that I could really make something of my time in unemployment. That the uncertainty did not have to be my undoing, it could be my greatest opportunity.

Unemployment has offered me the opportunity to slow down and really, truly assess my current situation. For the first time in years I have had serious time to reflect on where I am and where I would like to go next. I know this all sounds incredibly cliche and worthy of the ultimate eye roll, but I really have begun to find myself these past few months and I am honestly happier than I have been in a very long time.

The best thing that unemployment has done for me is that it has offerred me the time to fall back in love with running and adapting cleaner, healthier eating habits. I am finally back to the place where all I want to talk about is running, all I want to read about is clean eating and all I want to do is practice both.

So even though I still face a whole mountain of uncertainty on this job search, I really feel as if I have started to build myself a solid foundation to help me get to the other side.

my highway to success // aka someone get me a hardhat and a jackhammer

by ameena on February 19, 2013 · 2 comments

in plight of the twenty-something

Graduating college gave me The Degree.

Graduating high school gave me The Diploma.

Graduating middle school gave me The Map.

I think you know which map I am referring to here, you probably have a copy stashed somewhere, too. It is the map our elementary, middle, and even high school teachers spent the majority of our education telling us was the map to success. In case you need some refreshing, The Map looks something like this:

1. Hit an SAT homerun.
2. Convince a fancy college to take all of your money.
3. Decide what you want to do with the rest of your life.
4. Study that for the next four years while kicking ass at extra curriculars.
5. Earn the shiny degree of promises.
6. Find a boring big kid job.
7. Work forever and ever amen.

That’s it. There are no detours on this map. No exits. It’s a one-way street to success. Oh, the wisdom of The Map!

Or at least, that’s what my teachers told me. Over and over and over again.

It wasn’t until I was on the stretch of highway between “go to college” and “earn the shiny degree of promises” that I decided to pull my car off to the side of the road. I was feeling trapped and needed some fresh air. I got out of the car, stretched my legs and began surveying the land for an escape route. Deep down I felt that even though I was on the so-called road to success, maybe it wasn’t my road to success.

It wasn’t long after I stalled my car on the side of the Success Highway that the Status Quo Highway Patrol came to my aid. Frustrated and overwhelmed I got back in my car and kept driving. As I pulled back on to the highway my backseat driver whispered “This can’t be it. There must be more.” With the quo po-po in my rearview mirror I told the voice to shut it and pressed down on the gas pedal.

Now here I am miles of road behind me with my shiny degree of promises hastily thrown on the passenger seat, and I’ve pulled over once again. I am surveying The Map for the millionth time trying to see if there is a stop I missed along the way.

Nope. Everything checks out.

This can’t be it. There must be more.

I check The Map one last time in vain.

I begin thinking about the people I admire the most. I think about their paths to success and how none of those paths resemble The Map. Most of them skipped stepped six, some of them even skipped steps two-five, and all of them are skipping step seven. I think about how hard they worked to build their own map and wish I, too, could find work that makes me come alive. These people are changing the world and saying “fuck that” to the status quo.

My backseat driver is back, but this time she has something new to say:

Your fancy map to success? Fuck that. There IS more you just have to fight for it, sweetie. 

With that I tear up The Map and smile. Looks like summer is here early. Construction on MY Success Highway begins now.

image source (pinterest is the best i got)

on passion, real talk, and moments

by ameena on July 22, 2012

in a day in the life, movies, Pop Culture, random musings

Friday night my friends and I watched the first two Batman films while playing the most ridiculous drinking game. Did you know the characters in Batman Begins really like to talk about fear? (DRINK!) And Christopher Nolan is an awfully big fan of showing off that Gotham City Skyline? (DRINK!) We didn’t either. Well, until it was too late. But none of that could have prepared us for the moment we learned that EVIL JOFFREY BARATHEON IS THE CUTE, INNOCENT LITTLE BOY IN THE FIRST MOVIE.

Caption: WHAT?!

(CHUG ALL THE BEAR)

(and maybe cut yourself off because clearly chugging a beer = appropriate reaction, chugging a bear = certain death).

It was while I was sitting there, drinking to the bats and sandwiched between some of my favorite people, that I realized I was in a Moment. The kind of moment you wish you could fold up and carry with you in your pocket. The kind of moment that reminds you how wonderful the people in your life truly are and just how much you are going to miss them.

The highlight of the night, for me, came in the form of several mini-debates we shared throughout our movie marathon (is Christian Bale one of the greatest actors of our time? Just how important is Christopher Nolan’s trilogy? Best Joker moments? How big of an asshole is Jesse for unleashing major Game of Thrones spoilers FOR NO REASON? (just kidding Jesse, I forgive you. Sort of.)). My favorite by far was the Katie-Maggie debate. It turns out that pretty much everyone has some strong feelings on who is the better Rachel Dawes. Alliances were formed. Voices were raised. And of course we all agreed to disagree, as can be the only conclusion in the debate of the Rachels.

(For the record I am team Katie Holmes. TRY TO CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE)

What I am trying to say here is that I am so happy to have found people who love to passionately discuss movies as much as I do. You see, I have been thinking about passion a lot lately and the sorts of conversations that passion can foster. These are the interactions I crave. I strive to surround myself with passionate individuals. The kind of people who use their passions to turn their dream life in to reality and save the world. These are the people who do not fear diving head first in to real conversation.

I find that more often than not these people challenge me to be a better person, and I hope that I in turn inspire them as well. It is in these interactions that I always find my best ideas. Lately I have feared that the majority of my conversations hover in this weird place where the conversation isn’t necessarily shallow, but it doesn’t quite make it to the deep end, either. I miss the real talk.

And not just about television or movies either (even though I am aware that is what 80% of my conversations revolve around). I love getting past the surface and debating views on LGBT rights or debating what is more important – the environment or the economy. I love getting real passionate about the best way to spend a free Saturday afternoon or the top five moments of LOST. I love learning why people do what they do and discussing our big scary dreams and all that we plan to one day accomplish. And I will never tire of explaining why John Cusack sucks and Twitter > Facebook.

Friday night was a wonderful glimpse back in to that world of passionate conversation. Now how do I visit more often?

What about you? What are you passionate about? What kinds of conversations do you crave?

on hot tubs, whiplash, and my inability to understand moderation

by ameena on July 11, 2012 · 3 comments

in a day in the life, plight of the twenty-something, random musings

Having unlimited access to a hot tub is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. I think Olivia said it best when she pointed out that basically we are far too immature for a hot tub.

I realized this was true when I found myself sitting in said hot tub surrounded by empty wine bottles at 4 o’ clock in the morning this past Saturday – or I guess normal people would call it “Sunday” at that point – following a ridiculous game of Truth or Dare: Hot Tub Edition. Which for the record is basically the only way truth or dare should ever be played. And yet, miraculously, this still doesn’t beat the weekend prior when Olivia and I somehow convinced a group of our friends to play Spin the Bottle: Hot Tub Edition.

Yeah, immature might be a bit of an understatement. In other news, we fucking rule at getting our friends in touch with their eighteen-year-old selves. So ya know, high fives for that.

Here’s the thing, my entire life “moderation” is a concept that has been totally and completely lost on me. For the most part I am all, “Look at me! I am sooooo healthy! Boo alcohol! Yay Brussels sprouts! More running please! Eff yeah adulthood!” And then other times – like the majority of this past month – I am all, “Let’s get drunk and make bad choices! What alcohol allergy? I am young! There is time for healthy later! Cake for dinner! Wahoo waking up at noon!”

My inability to find that happy place somewhere in the middle has started to give me severe whiplash. Usually what happens is I get so freaked out by how adult I can be that I start questioning everything and decide that the only answer is to swing to the complete opposite side of the spectrum which then results in me feeling guilty and being a total asshole to myself about how immature I am behaving so then I panic and scurry back in to the patiently waiting arms of adulthood.

And now I am exhausted just having typed that.

If someone could please explain this “moderation” thing to me I would be eternally grateful, until then you can find me in the hot tub trying to convince everyone we should play Seven Minutes in Heaven: Hot Tub Edition while stuffing my face full of carrots. That’s getting close, right??

on giving up and learning to forgive myself

by ameena on May 10, 2012 · 7 comments

in plight of the twenty-something, real talk

A little over a month ago I gave up. Straight up quit everything. I was all, “See you later all of the amazing changes that have been making me feel great! I’m gonna go feel like shit instead!” And I quit. I said goodbye to my healthy eating habits and my half-marathon training schedule. I abandoned my goals for 2012 and promptly forgot about my you-are-moving-to-Florida-so-be-responsible-with-your-money budget. I chose sleeping in over going to class and to top it all off I decided to start drinking again.

I became really great at spending a lot of time in bed and hating myself. In fact, “I felt like shit” doesn’t even begin to adequately describe how terrible I felt. I was just so angry and frustrated with my inability to do the things that made me feel so good. If you didn’t know, I’m really great at the self-loathing guilt trip.

One day I decided my pity party needed some company so I called my mom. I tried my hardest to keep myself composed but I think it took all of ten seconds before I started crying. We’re talking major ugly tears, snot all over my face, fucking bawling. And I just sprung it on her out of nowhere! Luckily, that mother of mine is a treasure because she was able to promptly talk me down from the ledge. Two hours later I found myself taking a crafternoon and watching Friends – guilt free. Clearly, it was time for the baby steps.

And that’s when I realized it was okay to quit. I gave myself permission to put the Joy Equation on hold and to eat whatever the hell I felt like. I told myself it was time to take a break from writing and that if I didn’t make it out for a run every single day it would be okay. I promised myself I would not allow any of the guilty feelings for giving up because I also promised myself it would all be temporary.

You see, I was trying to change so much all at once and it was starting to do things to my brain. And on top of that I was stuck in the middle of a particularly challenging semester and trying to focus on graduating. So I chose one thing and prioritized it.

Earning my college degree seemed like a good place to start. I refused to let myself feel any guilt for the millions of late-night peanut butter cups consumed or the fact that I wasn’t running as regularly as I should have been. I did whatever it took to get myself through one final semester. I still felt like shit. But it seemed more bearable because I had eliminated the guilt.

Except there was one tiny, little problem I hadn’t really foreseen. My temporary solution was exactly that – a quick sweep under the rug. Because all of this is exactly how I found myself on the night of graduation standing in the middle of my messy, neglected room, slightly intoxicated, less than eight hours from my flight to San Francisco, and freaking the fuck out. The thing about sweeping your anxiety under the rug until after finals are over is that as soon you are done the anxiety is kind of still there waiting for you. Suddenly, the thought of getting on an airplane and running 13.1 miles was the actual most overwhelming thing in the world and I realized I just couldn’t do it.

While I am so sad that I missed the opportunity to meet some new blogger friends and catch up with others in San Francisco this past weekend, I know that I made the right choice by staying home. I was also reminded of the overwhelming kindness and generosity of you mighty fine people of the internet. Seriously, thank you.

I am really so grateful for this week as an opportunity to focus on settling back in to my old routine. Baby steps are nice.

{image found here}

hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home

by ameena on March 13, 2012 · 5 comments

in favorite posts, good reads, Pop Culture, quote this, real talk

Have I ever told you about the time I read the seventh Harry Potter book for the first time? After picking it up at the midnight release party, I locked myself in my room and did not re-emerge for nearly twenty-four hours until I had finished the entire thing. As you can probably imagine (and maybe even know from similar experience) reading the final seven hundred and fifty-nine pages of the story that defined your entire childhood just months after you turned eighteen and graduated high school can be quite the emotional experience. Now pack that entire experience in to a very short amount of time and well, you probably understand why I was an emotional wreck.

So there I am feeling all of the emotions and trying to prevent my eyes from falling out from all of the tears I’ve cried and all of the words I have read and that’s when I get to The Chapter. The one in which an important character is finally redeemed and after years and years of believing in him and not wanting to abandon my faith in the inherent good in every one I cried the rest of my tears because it was just so beautiful. You know the chapter I am referring to – the one concerning The Prince’s Tale. Ever since I first read that chapter its beauty has always stuck with me and even to this day I will randomly pick that seventh book off of my shelf and flip to page 659.

There is a moment in this perfect little chapter in which two characters share the following exchange,

===

“It is real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It is real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real for us,” said Snape. “Not for her. But we’ll get the letter you and me.”

“Really” whispered Lily.

“Definitely,” said Snape

“And it really will come by owl?” Lily whispered.

“Normally,” said Snape. “But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.”

“Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?”

Snape hesitated.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

===

It’s. Real. For. Us.

Sometimes people don’t get it. They don’t get my obsession with the boy who lived or what those books have really meant to the past thirteen years of my life. They don’t understand how a grown adult woman can hold on to something so seemingly ridiculous. When I have animated conversations about one aspect or another of the series, I can often feel the judgement coming from others. I’ve dated boys who have never read the books and can only assume it is the reason things didn’t work out (but seriously though). But for all of the people who don’t understand, I am okay with their judgement because then there are the people who do get it. Whether they first read the books thirteen years ago or last month they understand – it’s real for us (even if we are muggle-born).

Whew, is it getting dusty in here? Or is it just me? No?

changes

by ameena on February 29, 2012 · 8 comments

in plight of the twenty-something, random musings, real talk


My favorite part of the day is quickly becoming the wee, small hours of the morning. It’s just such a delightful time. There is a peaceful silence about the world. Everything is still blanketed in a soft darkness as the sun hasn’t quite made its appearance for the day; the early rays of light just beginning to show along the mountain skyline to the east. The Cottage is quiet while the roommates are all still happily dreaming.

My mind feels clear and optimistic for the day ahead. I am able to plan and organize my thoughts for the day while curled up on the couch with my beloved cup of tea. The sounds of Frank Sinatra washing over me.

It’s the most beautiful time of day.

I haven’t always been such an early riser. Quite the opposite, in fact. Waking up used to be a never-ending struggle for me. I have slept through many a 10:30 class because I couldn’t get myself out of bed. At 10:30! Once I finally did get up, I would spend my days sluggish and worn. My motivation was lacking and my mind foggy. Those were some very dark days, friends. And they weren’t even all that long ago.

I’m not sure what brought about this change. I suspect it might have something to do with how in love with myself I have fallen recently. No wait! Hear me out. After years and years of abuse and neglect, I am finally realizing just how wonderfully important I am. I deserve the best. It is finally time that I start taking care of myself. I am eating better than I ever have and taking care of my body – the most important thing I own. And the changes I feel are astounding. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I feel cleaner. purer. happier.

I never set out to make these changes. They started out so small at first I didn’t even realize they were happening. When I started running it was the first time I was working out regularly in my whole entire life. Then I had to cut alcohol out of my diet and I really started to feel a shift in my energy. In order to become a better runner I began teaching myself more about nutrition and gradually my plates were piled with fewer cupcakes and more brussels sprouts. Have you been introduced to the brussels sprouts? If not, allow me to introduce you because those brussels sprouts? Well, they have changed my whole world.

Once I began to feel better physically, I noticed the mental changes that were taking place as well. While I can still sometimes be my harshest critic, I have also become my very best cheerleader.

“You ran thirteen point one miles!” I’ll say, “There isn’t anything you can’t set your mind to and achieve!”

“Don’t quit now! I know you can do this!” I’ll cheer as I do round off back handsprings (in my mind).

“You are beautiful. You are strong. You are enough.” I love to chant.

I used to be terrified of changes. If someone told me I was changing I always took it be a terrible thing and I would panic and try frantically to reverse the trends. Changes in life scared me as well. They meant a deviation from routine, a voyage in to the unfamiliar.

But if I have learned anything over this past year it is that change is the best thing. It’s progress. It’s adventure. It means discovering just how wonderful those wee small hours of the morning truly are.

image found here.

this day was written and directed by the sads. but don’t worry, it was produced by hyperbole.

by ameena on February 14, 2012 · 1 comment

in plight of the twenty-something, real talk

Today was a particularly awful day. One of those no-good, dirty-rotten, can I please have a do-over sort of days. A day I would have much rather spent in bed buried under the covers not thinking about all of the things threatening to break me. Today the Sads were in the director’s chair.

Blast those pesky sads!

But before I tell you all about this rotten day I feel I ought to inform you that it had absolutely nothing to do with today being Valentine’s Day. Except that maybe I was made all the more sad that the Sads were ruining it. Because did you know I rather like Valentine’s Day? I mean, what is there to hate about a day all about loooove??

In fact, it dawned on me earlier today that of my twenty-three Valentine’s Days, I have been single for twenty-two of them. And the one year I was actually in a relationship during Valentine’s Day, I wrote an embarrassingly angry post all about how much I loathed the holiday. It was entirely unbecoming of a romantic like myself. And I did it all because my boyfriend at the time didn’t possess a single romantic bone in his body and I was so afraid of being disappointed that I convinced myself that the holiday was dumb. The tragedy!

Where was I?

Oh, right.

The Sads.

Except this isn’t even really a post about the Sads. And it definitely isn’t a post about Valentine’s Day. I’m not entirely sure what kind of post it is. I think maybe it is a post about hope.

This afternoon as I was sitting at work trying with all of my might to quell the incoming tears, my coworker smiled at me. I don’t think he had any clue of the turmoil going on inside my head, but it was the exact right kind of smile at the exact right kind of moment and suddenly I found that all of my overwhelming sadness seemed like a manageable burden to bear.

In an instant I felt the fog begin to lift. I was suddenly able to think much clearer and face my sadness full on. I finally realized that for months my frequent run-ins with the Sads have pretty much all been sparked by the same things. And while I am far too afraid to write about these things today, I’m really happy to have fully acknowledged them. I mean, how can I ever be expected to come up with awesome solutions if I never even knew the problem?

I think what this whole rambling, overly dramatic post is trying to say is that even though it might take only one sentence to throw me in to the Sads, it also just takes a simple smile to help me back out.

It’s rather nice to remember that.

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