As I approach the two-year mark of living in Chicago, I am once again at a crossroads in my life.
My lease is up in 30 days and my future living situation is uncertain. I'm stuck in a never-ending internship, and while it pays, it barely covers the bills (although I am grateful for at least that). I have been hard at work looking for a permanent job but any solid leads have fizzled.
So what's a girl to do?
Perhaps my mom is right, and the fact that everything seems to be going wrong here is a sign I should listen to, or acknowledge, the nagging feeling inside of me begging me to move home. I've pondered this idea over the last few months, and after an amazing trip home, I'm more homesick than ever. Every time I think I'm getting past it, I am reminded of the life I could have on the East Coast. For example, I just sorted through my vacation photos and the pang of loneliness was overwhelming.
I feel like I'm at a standstill in my life here, and something has got to give. I feel like I am living the classic "chicken or the egg" argument: what comes first, a job or an apartment? What do I focus on first? Perhaps I need to decide where I want to be, what I want to do, and most importantly, WHO I want to be before I can do anything else. Simple, right?
In the wise words of my friend Erin, maybe it's time for another bold move. Everyone tells me to follow my gut, but I don't know what that is. Sometimes it's Chicago--like when I walk around my neighborhood on a beautiful day or enjoy dessert while sitting outside on a patio in Little Italy. Then sometimes it's Massachusetts--like when I talk with friends back home and think of how much more fun it would be to reconnect in person over brunch or coffee.
I've always been a planner and not having a plan right now is driving me crazy. Thank goodness I have the half marathon to distract me from stressing myself out over the reality of this situation. Sometimes a crossroads is needed in life. It forces you to make a decision that scares you because the comfortable, sure-thing option is no longer available.
When I peek down each road I could possibly take, I am both scared and excited. I can do whatever I want, live wherever I want. But sometimes having too many options is a bad thing, especially for a girl who takes at least 15 minutes to decide when I want to eat for dinner. I tend to over-think the ramifications of every decision I make and as a result have the hardest time making one. All I know is that there are positives and negatives to every situation, and I wish I knew what the right decision was... if there even is a right one. My biggest fear is choosing a path that takes me on a detour and in a backward direction.
I believe in signs--I just wish there was a road map, a bread crumb trail or even a rusty weather vane pointing me to the right path.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Summer Vacation: the Only Rx for Homesickness
Here we go, the annual post about how much I miss summer on the East Coast. I am homesick and the only cure is the beach, Sam Summer and illegal amounts of lobster and Scoop Deck ice cream.
Everyone always wonders why I get so homesick in the summer despite all of the great things Chicago has to offer. It's because for me, summers hold the best memories.
Growing up, my family spent summer vacations camping in the woods--fishing, digging for worms, riding bikes, picking blueberries, going for canoe rides, toasting marshmallows over dad's fire, exchanging ghost stories, playing basketball at the court and putting on plays to earn money immediately spent at the candy store.
Back in Worcester, we'd spend full days and nights swimming in the backyard pool (that we put together ourselves--I remember I was stung by a bee one day during the process), sucking on homemade Kool-Aid popsicles as we dried off, and watching tennis on TV during days it was too hot to move (thanks Sean, if you hadn't hogged the television I would never have seen Andre Agassi, Boris Becker or Pete Sampras play).
When we got older and outgrew our days at the campground, we started vacationing in Maine--my sister and I walked the Old Orchard Beach boardwalk like a couple of cool teenagers who knew better than our parents, making the most of our 10 p.m. curfew. Our over-sized fleece hoodies covered up our fresh sunburns because we didn't apply sunblock when mom told us we should.
Soon, my parents had a place of their own in Wells. Days at the beach were followed by lazy afternoons sipping wine spritzers on the porch, which usually led to nights spent in line waiting for homemade ice cream from Scoop Deck. Some days the idea of a lazy weekend in Maine was all that got me through a stressful work week. As soon as I breathed in the ocean air, I could feel my problems melt away under the heat of the summer sun.
I never fully appreciated the icy Atlantic saltwater, the fresh seafood or the family time when I was a mere 1.5-hour drive from paradise. I took for granted that when I looked up into the night sky I could see millions of stars--although I could never find the Little Dipper.
I will always associate summer weekends with family and the great outdoors. Sometimes the idea of spending another weekend at the crowded lakefront or Chicago (insert street fest name here) makes me miss home more than I ever thought I could. I don't expect anyone to understand--it's the kind of appreciation you can only learn through leaving and living without.
Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can feel the hot sand in between my toes and taste pieces of salty hair that have escaped my ponytail as the ocean breeze whips them in my face. I can hear the crickets and smell the bug spray used to guard against preying mosquitoes.
I can see it now. And all that stands between me and my summer vacation is a plane ride. Let the memories begin.
Everyone always wonders why I get so homesick in the summer despite all of the great things Chicago has to offer. It's because for me, summers hold the best memories.
Growing up, my family spent summer vacations camping in the woods--fishing, digging for worms, riding bikes, picking blueberries, going for canoe rides, toasting marshmallows over dad's fire, exchanging ghost stories, playing basketball at the court and putting on plays to earn money immediately spent at the candy store.Back in Worcester, we'd spend full days and nights swimming in the backyard pool (that we put together ourselves--I remember I was stung by a bee one day during the process), sucking on homemade Kool-Aid popsicles as we dried off, and watching tennis on TV during days it was too hot to move (thanks Sean, if you hadn't hogged the television I would never have seen Andre Agassi, Boris Becker or Pete Sampras play).
When we got older and outgrew our days at the campground, we started vacationing in Maine--my sister and I walked the Old Orchard Beach boardwalk like a couple of cool teenagers who knew better than our parents, making the most of our 10 p.m. curfew. Our over-sized fleece hoodies covered up our fresh sunburns because we didn't apply sunblock when mom told us we should.Soon, my parents had a place of their own in Wells. Days at the beach were followed by lazy afternoons sipping wine spritzers on the porch, which usually led to nights spent in line waiting for homemade ice cream from Scoop Deck. Some days the idea of a lazy weekend in Maine was all that got me through a stressful work week. As soon as I breathed in the ocean air, I could feel my problems melt away under the heat of the summer sun.
I never fully appreciated the icy Atlantic saltwater, the fresh seafood or the family time when I was a mere 1.5-hour drive from paradise. I took for granted that when I looked up into the night sky I could see millions of stars--although I could never find the Little Dipper.
I will always associate summer weekends with family and the great outdoors. Sometimes the idea of spending another weekend at the crowded lakefront or Chicago (insert street fest name here) makes me miss home more than I ever thought I could. I don't expect anyone to understand--it's the kind of appreciation you can only learn through leaving and living without.Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can feel the hot sand in between my toes and taste pieces of salty hair that have escaped my ponytail as the ocean breeze whips them in my face. I can hear the crickets and smell the bug spray used to guard against preying mosquitoes.
I can see it now. And all that stands between me and my summer vacation is a plane ride. Let the memories begin.
This Month's Struggle: Staying Focused and Getting Past the Propaganda
There it is again. Another women’s fitness magazine telling me I can lose eight pounds this month without working out or starving myself.
I see the issue sitting on the ground by my front door. I catch just enough of a glimpse of the bikini-clad celebrity gracing the cover to know I might have the urge to puke in my mouth several times while reading this issue.
There it is, another celebrity saying they don’t believe in diets or scales. I would love to meet anyone who believes these famous women when they say “I eat whatever I want” and that their size-0 frames simply come from sweat sessions with their trainer and by drinking a glass of wine every night.
Call me a skeptic, a non-believer, cynical, bitter, whatever you like. I’ll admit it: I’m a dieter in a weight-loss rut and pretty frustrated. For three months, I’ve worked my butt off (figuratively, because if it was literal, I wouldn’t feel the need to even write this post) and have lost a total of 9.5 pounds. I cut my calorie intake, wrote down everything I ate and increased my workouts to four times a week, give or take. I can’t think of anything else I could have done to speed up the weight loss process other than starving myself or working out all day, every day like those celebrities.
I guess that’s why I only read these magazines and never get to be on the cover of them.
Now, please tell me, in regular working-class woman terms, how I can lose eight pounds , about what I’ve lost over three months, in a third of the time. By tearing out your little workout cards and spending $100 a week on fancy ingredients so I can make your recipes? I don’t have the time or the money for that.
Maybe it just comes down to the fact that some women can lose weight easier than others-- I must be in the latter group. I feel like the words splashed across the cover of this magazine undercut the effort I have put in over the last three months, like I didn’t work hard enough so I didn’t lose eight pounds in a month. I’ve started to get jealous—not inspired—when I read those weight-loss success stories inside each issue; it seems as if the weight just fell off those women as soon as they decided to put in the effort.
I have a Master's in Journalism, I understand how it works. This stuff sells magazines and if they included my story, the issue would be collecting dust on the shelf.
Maybe I’m just mad because I want more than anything to see the scale down a full 10 pounds and it hasn’t budged (it’s fluctuated up and down a few pounds, but never below my lowest). I have been so close to my goal for weeks but just can’t seem to shed the last half pound no matter what I do.
Unfortunately, I know what I can’t do. I can’t slip back into my old ways of binge eating when I feel bad for myself or ready to give up because nothing seems to be working. I caught myself doing this yesterday: as I stood in the pantry shoving Marshmallow Treasures into my mouth I thought, “Who cares if I count or measure them? It doesn’t seem to matter anyway.” I ultimately do care, and that’s why I accounted for the snack in my food journal right after I finished pouting.
Losing 9.5 pounds has been such a struggle for me. While I’ve learned a lot about myself and have made a lifestyle change as a result, sometimes I just wish it was as easy as the magazines make it seem.
Now excuse me while I dive into this issue—I might uncover a secret weight-loss weapon to get me over the hump!
I see the issue sitting on the ground by my front door. I catch just enough of a glimpse of the bikini-clad celebrity gracing the cover to know I might have the urge to puke in my mouth several times while reading this issue.
There it is, another celebrity saying they don’t believe in diets or scales. I would love to meet anyone who believes these famous women when they say “I eat whatever I want” and that their size-0 frames simply come from sweat sessions with their trainer and by drinking a glass of wine every night.
Call me a skeptic, a non-believer, cynical, bitter, whatever you like. I’ll admit it: I’m a dieter in a weight-loss rut and pretty frustrated. For three months, I’ve worked my butt off (figuratively, because if it was literal, I wouldn’t feel the need to even write this post) and have lost a total of 9.5 pounds. I cut my calorie intake, wrote down everything I ate and increased my workouts to four times a week, give or take. I can’t think of anything else I could have done to speed up the weight loss process other than starving myself or working out all day, every day like those celebrities.
I guess that’s why I only read these magazines and never get to be on the cover of them.
Now, please tell me, in regular working-class woman terms, how I can lose eight pounds , about what I’ve lost over three months, in a third of the time. By tearing out your little workout cards and spending $100 a week on fancy ingredients so I can make your recipes? I don’t have the time or the money for that.
Maybe it just comes down to the fact that some women can lose weight easier than others-- I must be in the latter group. I feel like the words splashed across the cover of this magazine undercut the effort I have put in over the last three months, like I didn’t work hard enough so I didn’t lose eight pounds in a month. I’ve started to get jealous—not inspired—when I read those weight-loss success stories inside each issue; it seems as if the weight just fell off those women as soon as they decided to put in the effort.
I have a Master's in Journalism, I understand how it works. This stuff sells magazines and if they included my story, the issue would be collecting dust on the shelf.
Maybe I’m just mad because I want more than anything to see the scale down a full 10 pounds and it hasn’t budged (it’s fluctuated up and down a few pounds, but never below my lowest). I have been so close to my goal for weeks but just can’t seem to shed the last half pound no matter what I do.
Unfortunately, I know what I can’t do. I can’t slip back into my old ways of binge eating when I feel bad for myself or ready to give up because nothing seems to be working. I caught myself doing this yesterday: as I stood in the pantry shoving Marshmallow Treasures into my mouth I thought, “Who cares if I count or measure them? It doesn’t seem to matter anyway.” I ultimately do care, and that’s why I accounted for the snack in my food journal right after I finished pouting.
Losing 9.5 pounds has been such a struggle for me. While I’ve learned a lot about myself and have made a lifestyle change as a result, sometimes I just wish it was as easy as the magazines make it seem.
Now excuse me while I dive into this issue—I might uncover a secret weight-loss weapon to get me over the hump!
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Dieter's Delight (and Savior)
Extra Dessert Delights gum is like Nicorette for dieters.
Today there was an influx of pastries, sandwiches, bread, cookies and other desserts in the kitchen at work today—all day they would just keep coming!—and I felt my willpower waning as time went on. I had already planned out my calories for the day and extra snacks, not even a fiber snack bar, were not allotted to help sate my 4 p.m. snack craving.
It came hard and fast, this afternoon craving. It kept screaming at me to just have at least a piece of a cookie or a slice of a cheesecake brownie. What harm could it do? So I ate a couple of the stray mini M&Ms that had fallen off some of the cookies. I immediately wanted more.
I booked it across the street to Walgreen's and paid $1.49 for a pack of the Extra Dessert Delights gum, mint chocolate chip ice cream flavor. They also have key lime pie and strawberry shortcake. My brother’s girlfriend, Monika, told me about this wonderful product months ago but I never came across it in the stores. Thank goodness Walgreen's had some in stock.
I immediately shoved a piece in my mouth, prepared to pop another one if needed. Almost instantly my craving for something disgusting and high in calories vanished. The gum pretty much tastes just like mint chocolate chip ice cream, but the flavor doesn’t melt away with the ice cream, and this version is just five calories. I felt like a smoker shoving Nicorette gum into my mouth to stop the craving for a cigarette. Anyone who says chocolate isn’t a real addiction is wrong.
The next time I walked into the kitchen, with mini lava cakes staring at me as I approached the water cooler, I thought about grabbing a chunk of the bread sitting out next to the pasta salad to have later. Then I thought that when bread is in my possession it never lasts more than five minutes, and if I did indeed eat it, I’d ruin the taste of the delicious gum I was busy chomping on. I walked away.
I can only hope that 5 p.m. gets here sooner rather than later. I can’t be held accountable for my actions when this gum wears out!
Today there was an influx of pastries, sandwiches, bread, cookies and other desserts in the kitchen at work today—all day they would just keep coming!—and I felt my willpower waning as time went on. I had already planned out my calories for the day and extra snacks, not even a fiber snack bar, were not allotted to help sate my 4 p.m. snack craving.
It came hard and fast, this afternoon craving. It kept screaming at me to just have at least a piece of a cookie or a slice of a cheesecake brownie. What harm could it do? So I ate a couple of the stray mini M&Ms that had fallen off some of the cookies. I immediately wanted more.
I booked it across the street to Walgreen's and paid $1.49 for a pack of the Extra Dessert Delights gum, mint chocolate chip ice cream flavor. They also have key lime pie and strawberry shortcake. My brother’s girlfriend, Monika, told me about this wonderful product months ago but I never came across it in the stores. Thank goodness Walgreen's had some in stock.
I immediately shoved a piece in my mouth, prepared to pop another one if needed. Almost instantly my craving for something disgusting and high in calories vanished. The gum pretty much tastes just like mint chocolate chip ice cream, but the flavor doesn’t melt away with the ice cream, and this version is just five calories. I felt like a smoker shoving Nicorette gum into my mouth to stop the craving for a cigarette. Anyone who says chocolate isn’t a real addiction is wrong.
The next time I walked into the kitchen, with mini lava cakes staring at me as I approached the water cooler, I thought about grabbing a chunk of the bread sitting out next to the pasta salad to have later. Then I thought that when bread is in my possession it never lasts more than five minutes, and if I did indeed eat it, I’d ruin the taste of the delicious gum I was busy chomping on. I walked away.
I can only hope that 5 p.m. gets here sooner rather than later. I can’t be held accountable for my actions when this gum wears out!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Anixety Rising, Mileage Isn't
It's official: I'm starting to freak out about the half marathon I'm supposed to be running one month from today.
That puts me in Week 8 of a 12-week training schedule, and according to all the training programs I have read about on the interwebs, I'm supposed to be up to nine miles already. Yikes. The most I've run is 6.2 on a few occasions. With a bum knee bothering me most days and a constant awareness of my injury history, I've been trying to take it slow-- a little too slow apparently.
Mother Nature has also impeded my progress: as the temperature rises, so does my anxiety level. What if race day is horribly humid and has a heat index of 105 degrees like it was the other day? That day I could barely walk the two blocks from the L station to my apartment without wanting a break, let alone running 13.1 miles!
However, there is one category of the race I'm prepared for: clothing. Thanks to the urging and advice of my friend Meg and the extremely hot weather--I decided to invest in a pair of running shorts, the kind with the underwear built in so the shorts don't ride up or cause too much "chub rub" on my inner things when I run. Mother Nature has also impeded my progress: as the temperature rises, so does my anxiety level. What if race day is horribly humid and has a heat index of 105 degrees like it was the other day? That day I could barely walk the two blocks from the L station to my apartment without wanting a break, let alone running 13.1 miles!
I had been holding off on getting a pair of these shorts because they retail for about $25 a pop, but I found them for $7.99 at Marshall's! The day I finally tried them out, my running world changed-- I felt so free and light without all the extra fabric of capri pants weighing me down. I even shaved time off my run, finishing my 3.5-mile run in 35 minutes (I usually run a 11:30-mile pace).
Unfortunately, I know I'm going to need a little more than a fancy pair of shorts to help me on race day, which is 30 days from right now.
I think I just puked in my mouth a little.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Skinny on Losing Weight
Over the last couple of days, a couple of people have told me I look wicked skinny. Well, maybe they didn't use the exact word "wicked" seeing we're in the Midwest and all, but they did use a modifying adjective like "so" or "super." Four months and 9.5 pounds ago, I would have rolled my eyes. But this time, I just smiled.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been placed in the "skinny girl" category. I've always had curves and belly fat and worn clothes in double-digit sizes. My sister was always the skinny one with the slender dancer's body. I had stubby legs and a pretty face.
In fact, just last fall I was at an event with a live band and requested a song from the lead singer, who in turn told me that instead of singing the song I had asked for, he was going to play "Brick House" because I was "indeed a brick house." At the time, I had no idea what that meant until my brother looked it up on Urban Dictionary--it basically means a thick and voluptuous woman: think Beyonce or J.Lo. I guess if I was as rich, as talented and as black as them it would work out for me, but as a white girl, it's not exactly a compliment.
I've always been my own worst critic, but for the the first time in my life, I'm starting to feel like the skinny girl. After losing 9.5 pounds and buying a dress in a size 10, I feel better about the way I look and a lot more confident.
My "a-ha" moment came after looking at the pictures from my friend's wedding this weekend and I actually looked at a photo of myself and smiled. And didn't delete it. It really is true--nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I've been eating a lot less and smiling a whole lot more. Hearing my coworkers tell me that I look skinny is amazing and I'll take that over a candy bar any day.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been placed in the "skinny girl" category. I've always had curves and belly fat and worn clothes in double-digit sizes. My sister was always the skinny one with the slender dancer's body. I had stubby legs and a pretty face.
In fact, just last fall I was at an event with a live band and requested a song from the lead singer, who in turn told me that instead of singing the song I had asked for, he was going to play "Brick House" because I was "indeed a brick house." At the time, I had no idea what that meant until my brother looked it up on Urban Dictionary--it basically means a thick and voluptuous woman: think Beyonce or J.Lo. I guess if I was as rich, as talented and as black as them it would work out for me, but as a white girl, it's not exactly a compliment.
I've always been my own worst critic, but for the the first time in my life, I'm starting to feel like the skinny girl. After losing 9.5 pounds and buying a dress in a size 10, I feel better about the way I look and a lot more confident.
My "a-ha" moment came after looking at the pictures from my friend's wedding this weekend and I actually looked at a photo of myself and smiled. And didn't delete it. It really is true--nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I've been eating a lot less and smiling a whole lot more. Hearing my coworkers tell me that I look skinny is amazing and I'll take that over a candy bar any day.
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