A world of opposites

It's crazy how back and forth things can be. Only yesterday, the world seemed like a different place. The temperature near boiling point, the stresses and confusions of my quest for employment and housing and some drama surrounding current familial relationships, it seemed the world and everything in it was about to explode. Literally.

Closing up shop at the Habitat office and heading to my car, today's cool breeze blew away the worries of the previous day and afforded the opportunity to drive with the windows down. What a relief! It's like someone pushed the reset button. And it's about time.

Gazing out the car windows when I should have been focused on the road - I hope they don't ticket for that - everything seemed so clear - like the haze had been lifted and life restored to normalcy, whatever that looks like.

The full white moon shone down through the lavender painted sky as bikers and couples strolled along the Franklin Ave bridge. The greenery on the banks was somehow greener, leafier, more natural. Even the squirrels who are usually running rampant in my neighborhood were still for once. Nature was finally at peace with the city - for a night anyway.

All this led me to my moment of clarity amidst all the chaos in my life at the moment. The moon in the sky, the leafier leaves, the bikers in their lane, all is as it should be. All is where it needs to be. I'm right where I need to be. It will all work out. I just know it. And I have to believe it.

I've had these moments before in my life and I'm always amazed by how simple things really are. Each element in life, by itself isn't as complicated as it seems - but when all the issues pile up is when the milk of life can turn from sweet to sour. Managing all the elements of life is the key. Still have some growing up to do around that.

Do people ever really reach a final stage into adulthood where they can still keep calm while juggling work and personal schedules, moving, job hunting, grocery shopping, visiting friend, exercising and sleeping? Isn't there a magic imaginary hoop that once you metaphorically leap through it, you are officially an adult and you have all this stuff all figured out? Where is my magic hoop darnit?!

Maybe it's still a ways off in the distance. Right now, I'm still figuring this stuff out. Stuff that you can't learn in school and that nobody really ever teaches you. You just have to experience it for yourself.

I'll tell you what though. If that hoop is the metaphorical carrot at the end of my stick, I am going to make it my life's mission to jump through it, knowing that I may never get there. And that is a beautiful thing. I'll take the experiences I'm getting now. And I'll reread this post and remember the walkers, cars and bikers crossing the Franklin Ave bridge all telling me the same thing: Sometimes, it's not about the destination. Sometimes it's about the journey.

Just because I can write

I'm a huge fan of reading my own work. That might sound a little narcissistic, but I enjoy rereading and reliving particular moments of my life, feeling each emotion as if I were actually there again, in the moment of inspiration. A sense of pride overwhelms me after finishing a passage I find particularly invigorating, thoughtful, emotional or sensational. Admittedly, I love my writing style. But who doesn't love to toot their own horn sometimes?

For every instance of self-praise, there is definitely an element or two of my writing that I feel require more attention.

As I carefully pore over the words in a post, I critique each line and paragraph and wonder how I could better incorporate more powerful and impassioned words to express myself and to entertain my readers. I wonder if the words, the emotions and the sensations that confronted me during my moment of inspiration come through to my audience: if I'm telling the whole story, offering a complete pictures of the scene I describe or the story I relate - the physical aspects as well as the emotional ones.

So while very entertaining, reviewing my posts means a lot of mental stimulation too, which can be exhausting!

Today, I sit down to write some thoughts out. Put the pen to the paper, as we used to say. Nowadays I suppose it's put the fingers to the keyboard? Anyway you choose to do it, writing can be a therapeutic activity. But it's also just plain fun! So leaving introspection and deep emotional content for another day, I branched out and let the fingers dance as they pleased on the keyboard to see what would come out! And there it is.

Should I stay or should I go?

As much as I love the song which the title of this blog refers to, the answer to the question has become pretty obvious to me in recent weeks.

I've always struggled with the plethora of opportunities open to people my age these days. Everyone in my life is always doing something different: corporate, non-profit, teaching and volunteering abroad, grad school or part time jobs; it seems there are so many varying styles of 'making it' today. Life is a never-ending opportunity to experience as much as one can.

Which makes me a little anxious about my own future. What do I do? Where do I want to go? I often feel overwhelmed by these questions to the point where I've definitely lost my fair share of sleep tossing and turning in my bed. But, why worry?

Well, I'm just trying to make my life sound exciting. Right? Is that it? Or is it that I want to wander far from where I grew up to make a better life for myself or for someone else? Or gain international experience to someday have an awesome corporate job? I'm not really sure.

At any rate I feel some peer pressure to do something 'amazing' and 'international.' There's also an element of regret that I'm afraid of feeling someday of 'not doing it while I had little commitment in my life.' While considering the intercontinental option or even inter-state option, I've found myself discounting my current experiences and the place I already know and love: Minnesota.

I can't help smiling when I see the perfect letters all in a row, picturing the lush valleys along the Root River and the endless biking adventures I've had in this lovely state: my home. If it was a physical object, I'd be the dork who hugs it!

What's so wrong with staying here? There's economic opportunity, friends and family. My other high school classmates, friends and connections have chosen this place for themselves, so why not me? What am I so afraid of?

In the coming months, there will be a lot of transition in my life. From new job to new social groups, new living situation. Eeks! What I think, though, is that I'll be sleeping better. Minnesota is a great place to be and I'm not quite over her just yet.

Snowshoers Inspire and Motivate

"Runners, take your mark! 3, 2, 1, Go!" The piercing shot of a starting pistol was all it took for the freshly fallen snow to fly as runners stormed across the start line.

This was the scene at the 2011 United States Snowshoe Association National Championships at Lakewoods Resort in Cable, WI, a sprawling resort town 20 minutes north of Hayward. This area seems be known for its awesome winter activities. Hayward, for example, is home to the infamous American Birkebeiner nordic ski race, and the Wisconsin Northwoods draws countless visitors to ice fish, snowmobile and snowshoe in the abounding natural beauty of the region.

The latter is what more than 200 trained and ready athletes of all ages and abilities showed up to do on Saturday March 12th. The course brought the racers down sloping valleys, up grueling hills and across a frozen lake with challenging turns along the route. This path was far from easy. Even if you attempted to walk the 10k path, you might find yourself clutching your chest, gasping for breath and cursing at your aching muscles.

The breathtaking scenery of snow-covered trees and heavily wooded trails made the trip worth all the effort. At least, that's what I'm guessing the runners who completed this course would say: the fastest in 41 minutes!

No matter who you cheered for, these competitors were quite the inspiration to any spectator. Particularly, the oldest woman to compete: Roddie Larson, a fearless 74 year-old who appears much, much younger. If she's able to get up and go, why am I sitting on my duff? Needless to say, she took the top time in her age category.

This sport is relatively new as far as competitions go, but the group of passionate athletes have formed quite the intricate system of races, categories and aspects of the sport. There's a junior's division, age categories spanning 5 years in both women's and men's, relay races, a citizen's race for those who simply enjoy snowshoeing as leisure, numerous awards and memorials for those who have given so much time and effort to the sport, t-shirts and of course, door prizes from generous sponsors. And the winners stand atop some pretty creative award podiums of sliced sections of ancient tree stumps. Oh the grandeur to be atop one!

At the post-race dinner, I casually mentioned to my uncle that if I happened to win a pair of snowshoes from the raffle, I would run a race with him next season. As fate would have it, my ticket number was drawn and I'm destined to put my money where my mouth is next winter. At least I'll have something to train for over the summer.

Watching such dedicated and passionate athletes from all walks, ages and backgrounds of life, I have to say I'm more motivated than ever to train for my upcoming summer road race. Get in Gear is happening April 30th. Hopefully, I'll maintain this positive momentum and be ready for my first snowshoe race when the first snow falls again.

Until then, I'm looking forward to green grass, sunshine and fresh, warm air.

The weekend at Lakewoods Resort was one of the best, most relaxing and quite honestly most invigorating weekends for me in a long time. The attitude and atmosphere of friendly competitors is something I'm looking forward to at future events, even when the snow melts.

Snowstorm Coffee

In the midst of a Minnesota Winter's infamous "gotchya!" snowstorm, I found myself with a little extra time on my hands. My plans for the day having been canceled, I decided to visit one of my favorite coffee places in Minneapolis.

Sinking into the first over-sized chair I spotted, I let the sheer size of the piece overwhelm my mind and body. What a relief! After a long week and working weekend, it's nice to take a load off. Cupping my warm mug of coffee never felt so good on such a snowy day. The ambiance at this place is so peaceful. Silently flickering flames and light piano music floating in the air creates the perfect atmosphere for reading a book, blogging (of course) or just soaking in the scene and the natural light streaming in through the windows.

The smell of fresh baked whole wheat bread lingers in the air from the morning's baking crew and it mixes and mingles with the scent of roasted baby red breakfast potatoes. This place has tasty offerings to suit any taste buds.

Not to mention the best part: you don't have to look fancy or important to come to this coffee joint. Sweat pants and a sweatshirt suit you just fine. You blend right in with the locals.

At this place, the staff don't rush you to open up more spaces at the tables. There is no distinct coffeehouse clink and clank, no rush of cold air when someone opens the front door and no one to interrupt your quiet thinking time.

Where am I? Cafe Chez Moi, of course: the comforts of my own apartment. The coffee is on, the bread is in the oven, I'm in the chill out mood. For these few precious hours on Sundays, the world is perfect in my eyes.

I feel lucky to have a safe, healthy and stable place to come home to after a long week: a place where I am able to enjoy the silence, the peacefulness of lit candles, the smell of coffee in the morning and the comfort of a tried and tested overstuffed chair still willing to melt away the stress of the week.

Coffee shops are always neat to visit and hang out at, but nothing quite compares to the comfort of home.

Dirty Laundry Speaks Loudly

As I loaded up the rickety and often cranky washing machine in my basement, I couldn't help but notice that an entire load of my laundry consisted of college-themed clothing. A "Bennie" t-shirt from each of my four years, in a rainbow of colors, each bringing back memories of the particular year I received them. A dark grey St. Ben's athletic sweatshirt. It's funny, you know. I still wear these things - mostly to the gym - and they define much of my recent history.

I think life tries to speak to us using subtle yet noticeable themes that often occur in mundane situations - laundry included. Case in point: my laundry is not the first time this week that my Bennie roots have surfaced.

I was at a corporate networking event on Wednesday and sat across from a Johnnie. I received an email from a soon-to-be graduate of St. Ben's seeking career and post-college advice. And she was a Communication major, like me! It seems everyone I talk to these days has either gone to my school themselves or at least knows that their friend's neighbor's cousin's daughter went there. Catch my drift?

It used to be quite thrilling for me to see that connection when these happy coincidences came up. But as I've moved away from central Minnesota's college town, moved into somewhat of a career track and have had additional experiences away from that small-town campus and those lake-side classrooms, my enthusiasm seems to have dwindled.

I still find it fascinating how life brings you people with connections like that when you aren't even looking. And there is obviously value in making such connections. But I think I'm moving on from the novelty of college. I haven't even been to campus in over a year. Yeesh. I'm getting old.

So what is it exactly that my laundry is trying to tell me? I don't really know, honestly. I'm not sure what I'm even listening for at the moment.

What I do know is that in less than a year, I'll be on the job hunt, building new relationships, seeking new experiences, looking to grow personally. It will be another big change. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. One thing that won't change, though, is my past.

My diploma will still say College of St Benedict in partnership with St. John's University. I'll still have many more Bennies and Johnnies to meet in the Twin Cities or around the world (it's a small world, after all!). And I'll have those precious things called memories of days riding the Link or working at Clemens library at St. Ben's.

Don't worry. I'll still be sorting my Bennie laundry, too. Maybe then I'll be able to decipher what it's trying to tell me.

Saying Goodbye to Grandma's House

Over break Mom, Aunt Barb and Uncle Jim and I ventured over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house, we went. My grandma, that would be. My Mom and Aunt's mother.

The house had been on the market for awhile and we were having trouble locating a qualified and eager buyer. Finally, the call came and the wheels have been in motion since, getting all the necessary paperwork filed and taking care of the final physical details of the house.

Visiting my Grandmother's house as a child was always something spectacular. I always marveled at the fancy furniture Grandma kept in the living room, the comfy beds we napped on and the delicious food she served up in the kitchen. And she was an amazing cook.

In the basement was where Grandpa and I hung out. I spent endless days drawing, spelling and completing math problems on the school-room sized chalk board that hung in the basement. Grandpa would give my brother and I a problem or two to solve while he sat on the green wicker patio furniture in front of the T.V. and watched whatever college basketball game happened to be on. Next to the massive green player piano, Grandpa kept his mini-fridge, always stocked with Shasta Moon Mist, Cola and of course, Old Milwaukee Light for he and my Grandma who always shared a beer before bed. The brick style basement walls always made me nostalgic for the 70's despite not even haven lived through them!

Grandpa's humor and fun attitude earned him the title of "The Funny Grandpa" in my mind and I would always inquire if we were visiting "The Funny Grandpa" or not. He was an active part of my life while he was around. We always played the magnetic fishing game, or sometimes, if I was extra good, I got to type on the typewriter. Wow.

Not to mention my Grandpa's penchant for polka dancing in the kitchen. I can't remember any happier time as a kid then when Grandpa would lift me onto his feet and whirl me around the kitchen while he taught me the polka dance steps. All while the music of the local polka station drifted about us.

There have been so many good memories of my grandparents and their house. They were the original builders and owners and took great pride in maintaining what they worked so hard for.

Visiting Grandma's house over break brought back these flood of good memories, even as I stared at the now blank walls, the once brightly colored orange framed chalk board (now tan) in the basement, and the empty master bedroom where Grandma's signature bedroom set once resided.

Most of her possessions have now either been collected and redistributed among family members, donated to GoodWill or, sadly, discarded. But I can't help feeling that none of the furniture that we've acquired will ever feel the same. The green wicker patio furniture now lives in my mother's basement; the side tables from the den, the guest bedroom set and even things like glassware seem out of place in my own mother's house. As separate pieces, they feel less powerful, less homey, less grandma-like. I feel that they'll always bring a piece of Grandma and Grandpa back whenever I see them, yet they'll never belong or 'fit' nicely into a new living room, a new bed room or a new den outside of the hallowed walls of Grandma's house.

Leaving Gilbert, MN on New Year's Eve, I said my final goodbyes to Grandma's home: the place that I longed to visit when I was a child. That house always gave me such good feelings and warm memories of my mother's childhood, simply because she and my aunt would reminisce about boys they snuck into the basement, family dinners around the kitchen table, adult card parties in the partitioned living room, and the family dog that ruined so many places in the plush carpet.

The new owners are very sweet and seem to understand how different things are going to be for us now that the house will no longer be ours. "The invitation is open to come back and visit any time" Mrs. Palazarri told us. But I think I might pass on that generous offer.

Grandma's house is and always will be a special place in my heart and I want to keep things the way they were. The chalk board orange, the green wicker furniture in the basement, the dog-ruined carpet adorning the walkways into each bedroom. In my mind, I want to visit "Grandma's House".