A New Year

Once again, it's been a long time since I've written. This time it's because the goal of my blog actually worked. The whole idea was to write these journals until I felt confident and comfortable enough to begin writing fiction again. One of my favorite writing professors used to constantly tell me that writing was a muscle, and if we didn't stretch it often it would turn into useless flab. I thought this was crazy. And then I graduated college, became a teacher, and found myself worrying more about grading than creating. When I sat down to write, I realized she was exactly write. My muscles had turned to blubbering flub.

Well, the blog worked in getting me back in shape. I actually finished a young adult manuscript. I should be working on editing it- but the prospect of analyzing all of my words, realizing I'm not as talented as I thought, opening it up to be rejected- well those are scary things. Tom and Kristen are pushing me to do something with it- and I will. I just have to let my irrational fears settle again.

The end of this year has been pretty incredible. Tom and I got engaged! I'm so thrilled to begin the wedding planning- though that is scary too. Getting married means a whole new me. A new name, a new part of my identity. There's really nothing I want more, but if you've been reading, you know that I'm a wimp when it comes to change.

So a new year. I'm going to be celebrating with my fiance (doesn't that sound crazy!) and my best friend and her fiance. I'm excited to be surrounded by people I truly love- people who have helped me over come so many fears in my life.

This year, I think I should resolve to overcome my fears on my own. Overcome the fear of a messy apartment, of planning a wedding, of teaching 8th grade, of failing-- or maybe even succeeding with my writing. It's time to stop being paralyzed by the thought of change- I have to take hold of my life, realize I'm in control. I can change what needs to be changed, and I can find good in the change I can't stop.

My happiness journey is turning down some unchartered roads. I'm excited to be venturing down these new paths.

A New Summer

It's been a while since my last post. There's really no excuse besides that I had nothing new to write. For the last few weeks (months really) I've been in the same rocky waters, trying to stay afloat. It wasn't until the Friday before school let out that I knew I would be coming back to TJ in the fall. With that, I also found out I'll be teaching this summer- something I really wanted to do. Tom and I moved into our new place two days ago. I'm trying to settling in- trying to mold the bare, white apartment into a home. It's taking some time, and I'm trying not to feel rushed or panicked that nothing is up on the walls, the dishwasher and washer aren't working, or that Tom can't find the cables for the T.V. Moving, as much as I looked forward to it, is always a stressful and emotional experience.

I always cry when moving out. I hate seeing my belongings stacked into the back of a rental truck. I hate being in a room devoid of furniture, filled with boxes. But I do love moving in- it holds the same sort of emotions, just flipped. I felt better once the couches were in the living room, boxes stacked waiting to be opened, kitchen beginning to be organized. I think I'll be happy here. It's a small apartment, but it's bright and clean and it's enough room for the two of us.

I feel like moving in opened the next chapter in our lives. We have our own space now- and we can begin to make this really our own. I am looking forward to that. But as always, the unknown and the swell of change make me nervous. I'm trying to embrace everything- my new schedule at work, the new place, our new year in our relationship. I think I'm going to make this summer about new starts, not being afraid to take a different path on my journey.

Water

My life has been an ocean lately. Sometimes I'm swimming against this strong current. No matter how hard or fast I kick I never get further from the shore. Other times, the riptide wraps around my ankles and pulls me out to sea before I have time to realize I can't get back to the beach. This week, the two tides have been playing tug of war. One minute I feel like I'm being washed up on shore, unable to get anywhere. The next, I'm drowning somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.

I've written quite a bit about my need to plan. I like to have blue prints for my life carefully excavated and understood. However, it seems that everytime I construct a plan I feel comfortable with, a tsunami of "what-ifs" and new develops destroy it. I can't even get my feet on the ground without getting the wind knocked out of me.

I'd like to just stop planning. Really, I would. But letting go of control is scary. Thinking that life could just happen, without my hands wrapped tightly around it, well that's petrifying.

I don't have control over my employment for next year. I don't have control over Tom finding a stable and enjoyable career. I feel like I don't even have control over where I'm going to live come June. I need something I can grasp. Something that I feel like I'm creating, controlling, molding- instead of having everything the other way around.

So, Tom and I have decided to wait till May 15 to make any moving plans. I have to wait to find out about my contract till next year. Wait to see how the next few weeks play out for Tom. It's hard to float with all this waiting on top of me. I think I could use a little advice- though I'v been known not to take others ideas too well.

Some good luck and a few breaks wouldn't be bad either.

Plans.

Plans. I spend a good portion of my life planning things out. I am most comfortable when things are stable, when I have an understanding of what's to come, when I'm in control. However, I'm beginning to realize that creating a solid plan and seeing it through don't always fall on the same page.

For the first time in my life, my job is in danger, and for nothing of my own fault. I try to go to work every day with a fresh outlook. Every time a child walks into my classroom, no matter what they did or said the previous day, they have a new page in my book. I work hard to make my lessons meaningful. I work hard to go beyond what's expected. But I, along with many other fabulous teachers, got a letter stating that our positions were up for discussion at a closed door board meeting.

My principal told me at my final evaluation (the same time as I got my rice letter) that I would be recommended for next year, however under the current circumstances she didn't know if that really meant anything. I asked her what I can expect next. A riff letter? A contract? When would these things happen? When would I know? She just shook her head and said she didn't have any idea.

But this does not fit in to my plan. Tom and I are supposed to start apartment hunting. We're supposed to move in June. We're supposed to go forward, not stay still.

A few weeks ago, I was in Atlantic City with two good friends from work. We were talking about the current climate in New Jersey schools. They were talking about their wonderful, exciting back up plans. Making invitations full time. Creating a DIY bakery. It was then I began to realize that I don't have a back up. I don't have anything else. Teaching is the end of the road for me.

It took me longer than others to discover that my calling was in education. And maybe that's why I haven't discovered what I could do if teaching doesn't work out. I just never planned on having it not work. At the same time, I don't want it to be my dead end street. I don't want teaching to be the only thing that defines me.

I was on the phone with Melinda, crying about this among other things, not too long ago. Since she is the best friend a girl could ask for, she calmed me down and made me feel a small sense of stability again. "You have your writing, Sam."

Do I? The writers group is going great but I'm still not past page 13 and I still can't stop comparing myself to everyone else (don't yell, Melinda). This blog is great too- I get out my crazy emotions, feel renewed after- but I only have a handful of readers (only 7 that I know about) so I wouldn't say it's going anywhere fast. I don't have anything concrete. I don't have anything that feels like a real plan.

And, on top of all this, I'm terrible at waiting. I get agitated, crazy, even a little mean (poor Tom). Needless to say, this maybe one of the toughest times I've ever experienced. I'm dealing with the things that make me feel the weakest- instability, self-realization, and waiting.

So the question stands, what am I supposed to do now?

Rantings

So, its Sunday night and I'm in a mood. I wouldn't categorize it as bad, but it's leaning closer that way than it is to good. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's just the daunting prospects Sunday nights usually bring. I have to begin thinking about my week. Ironing my clothes. Planning dinners. Making lunch. Setting up coffee. Trying to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. All those minute tasks that seem to take up so much of my evening.

This Sunday marks the close of a very pleasant weekend. The weather was stunning. Bright blue skies and 70 degrees. I cleaned out my car and drove around with the roof down. There might not be a better feeling than the first convertible ride of the year. It reminds me of waking up after a very long, very boring sleep. Today was spent outside, watching Tom coach soccer. The first win of the season and a delicious lunch. Not too bad.

Kristen, one of my oldest and dearest friends, came up for dinner Saturday night with her boyfriend, Brian. Kristen is a fellow writer-actually she's a big part of my writing roots. We found our voice at the same time, sitting on the floor of Mr. Azarch's writing class, junior year of high school. We liked to think we were defying authority with our dirty stories that could have gotten us into heap loads of trouble. (I think my innocent reputation and quiet appearance was always our saving grace.) Back then, we went for the gut-spilling our teenage angst on the paper.

Kristen followed her dreams to opening her own shop in Jersey City, and like myself began to loose sight of her writing goals. Through my blog and Facebook, we decided to start a small writers group to get our writing back on track. Right now, it's just three of us: Kristen, Melinda, and myself.

I'm hoping having the ideas and inspiration of two fabulous writers and friends will push me forward. I know I need writing as much as I need books and air.

Back to my mood. Tom and I are moving sometime in June. I know this is a major part of my cranky spells. I am a planning-addict. I like to feel like I know what's coming a year in advance. We don't have any sort of plan. We have a lot of ideas, but nothing that feels stable. I know it'll come together, it's just the waiting that kills me. Just like work.

With all the talks about cuts, budgets, and riff letters, its pretty hard not to loose sleep. I'm not tenured. This is technically only my second year. I think I've been doing a pretty good job of looking calm, but really, it would be impossible not to worry a little. There's nothing I can do about it. I do the best I can every day. I try to go above my average duties. I try to make it count. But if it all comes down to money, well, that just makes me sad.

There's so much uncertainty in my life right now. I'm o.k with changes. I feel like I need them at this point, but I want to be sure I'm making all the right changes. That I'm in control of these changes. I'm hoping that the writer's group helps me-gives me a more concrete outlet for my creativity, a little purpose outside of work. I guess we'll see.

I'll keep you posted.

Writing Woes

I'm slowly beginning to over come my writing fears. I started a narrative project and, for the most part, I am enjoying the slow, arduous task of piecing my ideas into story. I do love the feeling of rereading a paragraph I constructed and thinking "wow, I wrote that". However, I don't always elicit such reaction.

Over the years, I've become acutely aware that, at times, I am my own worst enemy. I beat myself up over the smallest failures. Just last night, I was brought to the verge of guilty tears because I had scorched the rice. Often, I hold the guilt for my students failing a vocabulary test, or forgetting to hand in a composition, whether or not it was my fault. I burry myself under tasks and expectations-to be the best possible teacher, girl friend, daughter, friend I can be, and then feeling defeated and injured if I make the slightest mistake.

Writing fits in with these perimeters.

In high school and college, writing was a release. I wrote long winded poems about the winding Pennsylvania roads or cold, New Jersey beaches. I emptied out my broken hearts on the pages of my journals. I felt pure bliss as I wrote beautiful, non-sensical proses on pieces of loose leaf. My favorite nights were spent at an open mic with Melinda at The Uptown Coffee House in Kutztown.

But, like everything else, my feelings towards writing has changed since I've gotten older. Back then, it was like a whimsical love affair. Romantic, passionate, head spinning. Now, well, I'm not sure just how to describe it.

Writing is not as easy anymore. I spend a lot of time scrutinizing my words, obsessing over my unknown readers, and wondering if there's a chance in hell I could get published. It feels impossible to write just for me anymore. I find myself thinking about a market, wondering if the three pages I just wrote are worth anything, if I'm kidding myself completely.

I find that I write slowly these days. I'm working on a young adult story now, and I haven't been able to get past page 4 in a few hours. Truth be told, I've never finished any story I've ever written (except for one or two I wrote for Karen Blomain's short fiction course). When I was 18, my only goal was to publish a book. How am I supposed to do that if I can't even finish 10 pages?

Deep breath. Writing has been my passion as long as I can remember. I just have to remind myself that this isn't about anyone else. I have to remind myself that there's no use in bruising my own ego over a case of writers' block. And sometimes, you have to stop thinking about who's going to read it, and just let the words do their job.

Hours Off

My ultimate goal, right now, is to repair the pot holes and roadblocks that are dirtying up my happiness journey. I will admit that it's been a struggle. If I'm to be perfectly honest, I know that I have a hard time handling any stress. I'm overly emotional. I'm not a good fighter. And sharing my feelings usually ends up with me broken down in tears. I'm impatient. I'm stubborn. I'm a complete worrier.

On the other hand, I've never claimed to be perfect. It's so vital to know yourself, to be truthful with every little particle, hormone, and flaw that come together to make you who you are. I tend to believe, that despite these little quirks, I am a good person. Good deeds make me feel inner joy, so I try to do them often. I think of others before myself as much as I can, especially concerning the ones I love.

It might be because of these traits (both good ones and not-so-lovely ones), that I often neglect my own needs. So tonight, I reclaimed myself.

I went to dinner by myself- indulging in green tea, miso soup, seaweed salad, and a delicious caterpillar roll. I treated myself to a pedicure and manicure (which really I needed-- I'm in my roommates from college's wedding this weekend). I read my book. And thought about no-one and nothing.

Suddenly, the fog that had settled in my mind feels lifted. My shoulders a tad lighter. The knots in my back loosened.

So maybe, as I struggle to clear the road ahead, I need to remember to take a few hours off from my own brain and try to enjoy myself.

Birthdays

I turn 27 tomorrow. Birthdays have always had a strange effect over me. I think it's the very concrete notion of change- even though nothing ever really changes, at least not within the few hours from going to one year to the next. Yet, just knowing I am one year older, one year further away or closer to what-ever, leaves me feeling unsettled.

One of my favorite short stories is "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros. In it she writes, "What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when

you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four,

and three, and two, and one...

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk

or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one.

That's how being eleven years old is."

So here I am, on the cusp of turning 27, but all of my other years are still nestled inside of me. As a writer I always seem to go back to my sixteenth year and the time I spent in the coffee house in Belmar. Or when I was eighteen, ready to leave for college, feeling like I was already gone, and the hours thinking, staring at the ocean.

I read a poem with my class the other day. The poet said something about writing about the time in your life that was the vividest. Could that be those years I spent trying to figure out who I was and where I belonged? In memory, they always seem black and white, sepia toned and washed out. What about now?

Now. It seems sometimes between working, worrying about money, taking care of a home, trying to rush the next stages, that I loose sight of who I am. Overly emotional, overly sensitive, creative, loving... I need to paint this time, make it vivid.

Where does happiness fit in?

This is my happiness journey. The changes I fear are now the ones I want to embrace. I don't know where the next years will take me and the unknown is unsettling. But there's comfort in knowing that my sixteenth year is still inside me, like the rings inside a tree trunk, helping to shape the years to come.

Another post about moving

So I know I've been on this moving kick for a few blogs now, and I'm sure some people are thinking "Sam, stop with the moving- crap! We know you're not going anywhere!" And this might be true. However, something keeps making me browse move.com, comparing what I get in my beloved state to what I get else where.

The more I think about it, the more I begin to believe that buying a home here might be the dumbest thing we can do. I keep weighing the odds. Friends? Room? Taxes? Schools? Stable job? What are the most important things? I'll let you take a look at what I'm comparing.

For 200,000

3 bedroom, 3 bath 2,724 square feet in Noblesville, In

1 bedroom, 1 bath in Westfield, NJ

I know what my New Jersey friends are thinking: "Sam, that's Westfield!" Of course, Westfield is a super expensive area but even down in Howell I'm probably only going to get a small townhouse, or a single family home with repairs that'll double the cost of the house. I know friends in Jackson spent much more than this on a townhome, though beautiful, has no yard and astronomical taxes. (Ang, coming with me?)

If we buy what we can afford in New Jersey, we'll have to move by the time we have more than 1 child. That is if we can even afford to move. In Indiana, we might be able to buy home and just stay. Not having to move again? That's also pretty tempting.

I know, I know. Pipe dreams right? Maybe, maybe not. The more I think about it, the more tempting this move sounds.

Rules of Engagement

My new years resolution was to stay positive, stay in the present, and stop trying to measure myself to other people's standards. I don't understand why this is so difficult. Really, my life is pretty good. I have a great career, a loving and attractive live-in boyfriend, a big apartment, and a fabulous group of friends. Yet, at times it's as if I'm only capable of seeing what's missing instead of what's there. I see the gaps, the weak spots, and I press on them so hard that they begin to cave in.

I see every other girl in the universe engaged. My left hand remains ringless. And no matter how many times my friends tell me it will come in time- no matter how many times he tells me it'll come in time- all I can see is my bare finger. It's stupid. Ridiculous. I have a boyfriend most girls would kill for. I'm not saying he's perfect, because of course he's not. However, if I'm having a bad day he's the first to tell me to sit down and relax. He always tells me how much he appreciates my home cooked meals, and my attempts at making our first apartment feel like home. And at the same time, when he knows I'm burning out, he's the one making dinner, cleaning up the apartment, doing a bit of laundry (all without being asked). He listens to my detailed accounts of everything. He brings me flowers just because he saw them in Shop Rite and thought of me.

We can talk for hours. We can sit on the couch, tied up in our own worlds, without saying a word and I feel comforted and safe. He can look at me and know my feelings. Touch my neck and measure how I tense I am. At times, he's the only person who can talk any sense into me at all. Yet, still there are days when all I can see is what's not there.

I hear you, it'll come. So I won't be part of the slew of engagement announcements that have decorated this years faculty room. And that's ok. As Tom continues to remind me, we'll have fifty years to be married but only a handful to date.

To Write or Not to Write

I used to consider myself a writer. In high school and college, I always knew I'd create a book-- it was my one goal, my dream. How could I give up on that?

But then, things change. I grew up. Got a job. Realized it takes a lot of time to take care of an apartment, cook dinners, create lesson plans and grade papers- and some how still find time for a social life. And with those realizations, writing began to slip away, slowly at first, and before I really had a chance to think about it, it disappeared completely.

Tom's been getting on my case. "You have a book in you," he tells me, "you just have to write it."

I'm reading this mediocre best-seller. The story is "eh", the writing so-so. It's mellow dramatic and the characters are only half way developed. Laying on the couch with Tom, I look up every few pages to complain. "I could do this," I say.

"So do it," he responds.

But it's not that easy. I recently read The Kite Runner. This book blew me away. I've heard arguments that the story was somewhat cliche, with the smart, noble servant and the weaker privileged boy. However, I feel if you were focusing on the cliche than you missed the point. Khaled Hosseini crafted an amazingly intricate, well woven story. The plot was so rich it stayed with me weeks after finishing it.

Same with To Kill a Mocking Bird. I've read this book so many times that the cover of my paperback copy is starting to rip. I know the story almost by heart, yet every time I delve into it I discover something new, something that amazes me all over again.

And then I think, could I do that? Could I create something so robust, so powerful it clings to the reader? Could I write something so moving it's read over and over again until the pages are almost falling out of the binding? If I can't, if I don't have that sort of talent trapped inside of me, is there a point to even trying?

I know, I know. I'm going against everything I teach. I'm constantly telling my students the only way to get better at writing is to write constantly. If one of my students told me they didn't want to write because they thought they'd never be good enough, I'd lecture them on the benefit of positive thinking, motivation, and the importance of practice. I would never let one of my students just drop their dream for fear of failure.

So what am I doing? Maybe I'll never be Harper Lee or Ernest Hemmingway. But what's stopping me? I'll save you the cliche- you know what will happen if I never try.

The same thing will happen that's happening now... nothing. I don't think I can accept nothing as good enough anymore.

Change

Maintaining a constant sense of happiness is challenging. This week has been straining and ended terribly. I’m hoping I can refresh this weekend, get Monday over as quickly as possible, and get back on the happiness track. However, I’m not sure if it’s that easy.

I consider myself to be good at what I do. I’m a good teacher, a good girl friend, a good daughter, a good friend. I can play all my roles equally well. Balance life and home, put equal efforts into both. I try hard not to let anyone tip my scales, make me feel like I am any more or any less than who I know I am. But sometimes I feel like people are the catalysis for everything I feel, and unimportant people at that.

This is just rambling. Stream of consciousness that I’m following to lead to what I really want to write about. Change. A strong desire to be some place new is starting to take over. This happens to me a lot. I never act upon it. I guess the want to change is always trumped by the need for stability.

In my last post I wrote about moving. Friends and family, a stable job are the things that keep me nested in my three bedroom apartment in New Jersey. New Jersey is the only place I really know anyway. Sure, I spent a few years in Kutztown, P.A, but honestly college doesn’t count as living. Not real living at least. College is a microcosm, alter-reality where your responsibilities allow you to sleep till noon, skip classes if necessary, and go to your part time job too hung over to really speak. So, as far as true reality goes, New Jersey is all I know.

There are things that I truly love about where I live. I can’t imagine being far away from the beach, or The City. And I love my job. It’s stable and challenging and I feel confident that I do it well.

But couldn’t I easily do it somewhere else? What if there’s a great opportunity for Tom away from here, but I’m holding him back from it because I don’t want to leave my friends? Is that fair? Ugh, circles. I talk in endless circles. Could I throw my own stability into the fire? Would he do the same for me?

I think secretly, I want him to be offered an incredible job away from here. It would give me the catalyst to move- give me a reason to indulge this desire to change. At some point, I want to wake up somewhere else. I want to be completely certain, that if I die in New Jersey, that this was where I belonged.

Winter Musings

The world seems as if it's been washed so many times that all the color has been lost. The bits of snow left clinging to the side of the road has lost it's sparkle. Whites are turned to brown, drained to gray. I miss bright blues, white puffy clouds, and strong sunlight.

Winter is only a few weeks in, and already I find myself longing for the feeling of sun on my skin.

Tom and I took a walk a few weeks ago through the park in our town. The cold air slapping against our faces, we talked about why we live in New Jersey. There is nothing pleasurable about the cold months. Our price of living is astronomical. It will take Tom and I years to afford the house we dream of, taking the vacations we long for, have the wedding we imagine. Our state is made the butt of every bad media joke. The latest poster-child for the garden state is a grown man who refers to himself in third person as "The Situation." Seriously? Seriously?

We could easily move somewhere else and trade in these terrible, bitter days for a slower pace of life, longer warm months, and cheaper housing. South Carolina perhaps, Florida maybe. Even back to Indiana- sure they have long winters too, but wouldn't they be easier to swallow in a 4 bed room, brand new home that we payed less than 150,000 dollars for? I'm suddenly imagining our two labs (not yet adopted) running through our fenced in back yard. Tom and I enjoying one of my cooking master pieces in our sparkling gourmet kitchen... Back to reality, back to New Jersey.

But we're here. And really, underneath it all I know these are just pipe dreams. Dreams I probably wouldn't want to ever become a reality. It's easy to muse over changes when I know they're not going to take place. I do love New Jersey- and my Jersey Shore (not the drunk, teased up, MTV version). There is no place on earth that makes me feel more at peace than LBI in summer, or Belmar on an empty, fall day. And of course I don't know if I could be far away from my friends or family...

I'll hang on. Bundle up and do the only thing I can under these circumstances... Wish for a snow day.

Thoughts Taking Over

Today was the first day back at school after a long, relaxing winter break. I was happy to find my patience restored and raring to go. Though, most of my students seemed comatose, I had one interesting interaction in my inclusion class.

At the end of reading periods I have a student give a book talk on a novel they're enjoying. It's a wonderful way to get 7th graders excited about reading. Today, a child presented a book who's protagonist suffers from ADHD. Two students raised their hand, connecting with the main character's disability. Though I've had a lot of experience with students with attention deficit disorder, none of them have ever spoken out on how it effects their lives. The girl explained that when she takes her medicine she feels grumpy and quiet. When she doesn't she can't control her actions and feels like jumping instead of walking. The boy who raised his hand said he felt the same. The medicine made him lose his appetite and put him in a bad mood. But without it, he felt like he couldn't concentrate.

A bright light was cast into my classroom: It's so easy to get irritated by students who can't focus or concentrate. However, it's vital to remember the challenges they face day in and out.

I went home after work, made a delicious dinner (read my recipe post!), did a little grading and then went to Yoga. Every time I'm asked to clear my mind and focus on my breathing, on the present, I feel a lot like my students. My brain begins to clutter with wasteful thoughts: did I pay that bill on time? how am I going to afford all these weddings? I'm hungry... I try my hardest to breathe them out. I try to do as my yoga instructor advices-- acknowledge the thoughts as fleeting, and just let go. However, the harder I attempt to release, the harder my thoughts cling to my brain, force their way in and attempt to take over.

I try simple things, like reminding myself that this hour is for me and no one else. That those thoughts are useless-- I obviously can't pay a bill while folded into downward dog. But these day dreams are strong, stronger than my will to silence them. And sometimes the only way to let the thoughts go is to let them win.

Keep breathing.

Dinner Post- Pork Chops and Apple Slaw

http://thisweeksmenu.blogspot.com/2009/08/business-time.html

I found this recipe on FoodGawker.com (thanks to Lisa). This recipe is for pork chops with an apple slaw side. The pork chops are lightly coated in cumin, flour, and salt and pepper. They came out incredibly moist and tasty. The apple slaw was delicious as well and tasted even better when eaten on the same fork as the pork chops. Yum!

Tom loved it! He said it was one of his favorite meals yet.

Let me know what you think.

Winter Break is Slipping Away

12pm. Sunday. Last day of winter break. Sitting on my couch, listening to music, sipping on cold coffee.

I'm thinking about the difference between this journal and a pen and paper journal. I can't decide how I feel just yet. I'm wondering if this change will mean anything? Will people read this? Do I want people to read this? You write differently when you anticipate an audience. I never really thought about blogs before, never looked through them. I started clicking on a few today. It's really interesting. Putting your life on the internet. Still not sure of my motivation but something is telling me this a good idea. A good change.

Today- my goal is to feel ready to get back to school. Tom's been sleeping late all weekend. For some reason, his sleeping makes it harder for me to start my day. Like today. I'll finish this post, clean up the apartment, put away laundry, get dressed, go food shopping. Maybe I'll cook something big tonight. Something warming and delicious. Hmmm....

Not going to obsess over time today. Not going to think that the day is going too fast. If I'm thinking that I'm not really enjoying the day. It's time to just breathe, relax, and enjoy.

Small Change or Enjoy This Now

As an English teacher, I usually shun cliches. But I think this one is appropriate. Small change. My New Years resolutions revolve around being happier. I'm learning that the keys are small changes I need to make in my every day life.

1. Enjoy.

Enjoy things that aren't usually not enjoyable--like laundry, cleaning the apartment, food shopping.

The challenge is injecting these mundane tasks with enjoyment. Maybe thinking about the outcome. Listening to music. Smiling. Finding humor in everything.

2. This.

I'm abandoning my pen and paper journal for a little while. I feel like I'm loosing part of my roots. But change is good. I need to embrace change.

3. Now.

I've spent a lot of time obsessing over the past and the future. I think it's time to embrace the now.