Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The God Question

I grew up going to church.  Although my mother became a minister a few years back, she has been a church musician, and choir director since she was a teen.  Both my parents worked for the national offices of our denomination.  And my mother is now the minister of a small church, while my father is a church business administrator at another church not far away.

To say religion and faith are a big part of my life is an understatement.  The funny thing is that for many years now I have called myself spiritual, but not religious.  I believe in a God, but I haven't found a religion that depicts God in the way I feel.  You see personally, I'm beginning to wonder if the closer you get to religion, the further you get from God.

Around 1999 I began to question my faith.  I was 16, and like many teenagers I was trying to find out who I was, and where I belonged in this world.  My parents were loving and accepting of my faith exploration. A bit more than they had been about my fashion exploration several years earlier when I dyed my hair with Kool-Aid and wore all black. (Story for another day, lol.)  But the fact was that my parents allowed me to ask questions, buy books about faiths they knew little about, and even when they didn't like the one I chose, they accepted my weekly change of faith.  That same year though my entire life was turned upside down when just before Christmas, my mother became very sick.

Thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura (TTP) is a rare blood clotting disorder causing small clots to form in blood vessels throughout the body.  My mother was diagnosed with TTP the day before Winter Break my Junior year of high school, on December 18, 1999.  At the time the fatality rate for TTP was around 80%, and because of how rare it was few doctors knew how to treat it, or diagnosis it.  By pure dumb luck though, my mother happened to go to a local hospital that was one of only a few in the US at the time that was familiar with the disorder and equipped to treat it.  Within hours of getting to the hospital, she was being treated using plasma exchange.  This didn't guarantee recovery, but it definitely was a good thing.

My mother went through treatments of plasma exchange daily, as well as going on chemotherapy, steroids, and basically any treatment they thought might get her body to stop clotting, and return to normal. Daily blood test results gave the entire family anxiety. Were her numbers any better, showing that the disorder wasn't winning? Or were the numbers dropping, making everyone nervous she may never leave the hospital?  Christmas was spent opening gifts at my sister's house, with my mom on the phone from her hospital room because her blood numbers weren't good enough to get a day away from the sterile four walls of the hospital.  New Years Eve, ringing in the new millennium, was spent in much the same way.  For over a month my mom fought for her life, and I spent every day trying to make sense of what was happening.

The night my father took my mom to the hospital, I saw a woman I had never seen before.  My mom was pale...REALLY pale.  She was in and out of consciousness, vomiting, and when she spoke she didn't make much sense.  Her body was shutting down, and she was literally dying in front of me.  Our parents are superheros, they're always there for us, and even when they get sick, they still take care of you. As a kid, your parents are invincible, and nothing can stop them.  You never expect to see your parent so vulnerable, and when you do it's horrifying as a child.  That night I prayed.  I didn't care if it was a Christian God, or a Jewish God, or a Muslim God, or a "Higher Power".  The name and label didn't matter.  At that moment I needed the comfort of knowing that I wasn't alone, it was alright to be scared, and at a time when I felt entirely helpless, it gave me a purpose.

The days I spent at the hospital after school were often spent in the hospital chapel.  A small room with stained glass doors, six pews, and a cross hanging on the wall at the front of the room.  Although a message outside the room stated the chapel was non-denominational, a hospital with a Christian denomination in it's name was going to be a little bias.  I spent many days sitting in that chapel, not necessarily praying, but just trying to find God in everything that was happening.

Although many of the days I spent visiting my mother meld together in my memory, two days stand out, my birthday and the day after.  I had been picked up after school by my father and we had gone straight to the hospital.  They had been speaking with my mother about removing her spleen in a last ditch, hail Marry attempt to get her blood numbers to even out and hopefully send her into remission.  A surgery that can be seen as routine, had high risks for my mother in her condition.  Because of the blood clotting issues the disorder caused, and the high levels of blood thinners she'd been on for a month, it was very possible she could bleed out and die in surgery.  This also wasn't a sure thing, and if it didn't work she would most likely be in the hospital for the rest of her life, dependent on plasma exchange to keep her from clotting and dying.

They had wanted to do the surgery on January 20th, but my mother refused because that was my birthday.  She had lost her father at 17 to cancer, and hated that I was going through a similar pain at the same age.  So reluctantly the doctors agreed to move the surgery to the 21st as long as her blood numbers seemed to be in a safe range.  My birthday was bittersweet, with surgery happening the next day.  When my sister got off work and arrived at the hospital that night I opened gifts, even one my sister had shopped to find from my mother.  Comedy and Tragedy mask earrings, I still have to this day.  That night as we readied to leave, I hugged my mom, kissed her and told her I would see her the next day.  I didn't sleep well, and when my alarm went off for school, rather than getting ready to go take English tests, learn about the invasion of Pearl Harbor, or the square root of 93, I got ready to say goodbye to my mother.  Because it very well could have been the last time I saw her.

That morning before they took her into surgery my mom hugged me, still unsure if she wanted to go through with the surgery.  All night I had been praying, and my prayer had been selfish, but at 17 years old there was a lot I still needed my mom for.  So I prayed that my mom would be all right, that she would survive the surgery, and things would go back to normal.  That morning was emotional, and as I hugged my mom she asked me if I thought she should go through with it.  I knew I couldn't answer that, so I answered in the only way I could through my tears.  "I just want my mom back."  The same prayer I'd been saying all night.

She did go through with surgery, her blood numbers returned to normal and remained that way, and 42 days after she had entered the hospital as a practically lifeless individual, she came home.  Ten years later, she got to stop going back for blood tests, and they considered her in remission.

During this time a lot happened, I had to grow up rather quickly. I realized my parents are not the superheroes we all think they are.  And my faith faltered.  You would think the fact that my mother survived such a grim outlook, would mean that my faith would be stronger than ever.  The fact was that I had a difficult time understanding why God would have my family go through such a difficult time.  Since then I've found myself asking that question a lot.  When a good friend who was only in his twenties died from cancer.  When my grandmother passed away unexpectedly and quickly.  When a friend lost her child.

There have been so many times I've found myself asking "What kind of God allows this pain to happen?!"  I don't have an answer, and I still falter in my faith and ask "why" often.  I never expect to get an answer, and I'm all right with that.  For me, quite often, simply asking the question brings me peace.

Someone once explained to me their belief when I shared my faith question with them.  They said that God has granted us free will, but with free will comes pain and hurt that we can't always prevent or control.  It doesn't mean God wanted us to have that pain and hurt, but by giving us our free will that meant those things couldn't always be avoided.  The important thing to remember was that when we hurt, and we are sad, so is God.  At the same time, when we are happy, and we celebrate so is God.  If we ask God how such pain could happen, we also can't forget to ask God how such happiness happened.  And we need to remember to thank God for both, because we were given both with our free will.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

I May Not Know How To Flirt...

I'm a horrible flirt...and no I don't mean that in a good way. I'm seriously bad at flirting.  I have this awful habit of only knowing a guy likes me if he tells me point blank.  And on the flip side of that, most of the guys I've liked only knew I liked them after I told them so.  Their response has consistently been, "I had no idea".  Somewhere along the way I missed the "How To Flirt" portion of my teenage years.  Now as an adult attempting to put herself out there more, I feel like a total idiot, and totally stupid when I flirt.

I've been having several discussions about my love life recently with people.  At *cough*thirty-one*cough* with no suitors and none in my recent past, I've been asked if everything is all right...A LOT! My simple answer has been that bringing someone into my insane life at this point would be unfair to this individual. I need to get other things in my life in order before I go giving my baggage to another person.  But to be honest, this isn't an entirely truthful answer.  Yes I don't think it would be fair to be in a relationship with someone while I'm still struggling with finding out who I am.  After a lot of psychological analysis though (yeah I know I shouldn't psycho analyze myself!), I don't flirt with men, because I have a bit of anxiety around men.

Social anxiety is a condition I have heard a lot lately.  Let's just say my insurance company believes in five quick visits you can be cured! (Don't get me started on the US health care system and mental illness...a rant for another day.)  In any case, it's something I've discovered I've struggled with my entire life.  This is no ones fault, but the fact is that I suffered several traumas when I was growing up that involved men.  Everything from doctors that physically pinned me down to put drops in my eyes (I have panic attacks going to the Optometrist to this day!), to neighbor boys who abused me, and more recently men who have just vanished from my life rather than confronting me about difficult topics of discussion.  Whether I like it or not, my brain resorts to being six years old again around men.  I think I'm an intelligent person, I think I'm mature, and I hate when I feel looked down on, or stupid. Men make me feel this way, intentional or not.  So there's a serious lack of ability to flirt with them, or even hold conversations with them sometimes.

I have to admit that I've come a long way.  There was a time when I would literally not be able to talk to a guy, even friends husbands, who should have been non-threatening in every way.  When I worked for Radio Disney though I was forced into a situation where I had to be comfortable around the men I worked with...so I learned to put on a face at events for the sake of the kids we were around.  At Disney I was a character, NSpired, and she was the more outgoing, fun, and carefree version of myself.  When we were riding to an event in the van, or at holiday parties, I was quiet, introvert, anxious, Liza.  Certain guys pushed me though, they challenged the introvert and I began to come out of my shell, and get more comfortable around men in general.  As a matter of fact one of those men I still consider a close friend to this day.  But I still have a hard time flirting, something about "playfully being silly" just doesn't work for me.  Feeling stupid, acting stupid, and being silly, just makes me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable...and I hate that.  And maybe my inability to flirt is why past relationships have fallen apart.

So I'm single, and my lack of flirting probably means it's going to take a very particular guy to be persistent enough for me to even know he's interested.  Social anxiety aside though, I'm not sure I'm ever going to be the flirty girl.  I have a hard time being playful...playing in general. And maybe that's my bigger problem, I don't play, and never really have.  Maybe it's time to learn.  As an adult, do you still play?

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

There are Up's and Down's in the Journey

I know it's been May since I last wrote a post, but to be honest things have been rather difficult again.  Although a gigantic weight has been lifted off of my shoulders that has been there for almost three years now, I am still struggling with other aspects of my life.

One big dark cloud that has been hanging over my head has been employment.  In case you didn't know the position I took in March didn't pan out for various reasons, meaning I'm back to working my two independent businesses, Wildtree and Handmade Heart.  Although I'm becoming more active with these businesses by doing things such as selling at Farmers' Markets, I don't believe these businesses will ever be my sole sources of income.  This means I need a bill paying job as well, and the search has been less than promising unfortunately.  Over qualified, under qualified, not bilingual, problems with background checks, location of the job in relation to me, and over saturation of the job market have all been stumbling blocks.  This means that I've had to place an expiration date on my Colorado life.  Come January, when my lease expires, if I am not able to support myself, I will need to move back to Kentucky and live with my parents again.  It's still not a guarantee that I'll find employment in Kentucky, or that I'll be able to live on a smaller income there.  It'll just mean that I won't have the concern of how to pay rent, or utilities every month hanging over my head.

Running, and healthy eating have also fallen a bit by the wayside.  Running has fallen out because I just haven't been motivated, and because of a recent scare with a woman being assaulted on the path I normally take.  My healthy eating has fallen by the wayside primarily because I've gotten a bit lazy in my eating habits.  Making a box of Mac and Cheese is faster than making curried chicken salad with creamed spinach and carrot juice.  I'm the first to admit that I really do enjoy eating healthy, I just don't enjoy doing the work to eat healthy.  I also need to stop telling myself that just because it's Organic, Whole Wheat Mac and Cheese it's not as bad for me. I recently noticed this lazy tendency in my eating, and I'm slowly trying to correct myself but stress doesn't help healthy eating.

As a result of my stress, I've had anxiety attacks. For those of you who have never had a true anxiety attack allow me to explain.  It's not just an overwhelming fear, it's not crying, or feelings helpless.  It's literally your body locking up in fear.  Your heart beating so fast you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, shaking so much the floor is vibrating, nausea, numbness causing you to literally fall to the floor, muscles tightening so much you can't move them for hours after the attack, and shortness of breath so bad it feels like someone is smothering you with a pillow. There are other symptoms for anxiety attacks, but these are the ones I know from experience.  These are the ones that give me paralyzing fear.

I haven't had an anxiety attack since I got home from a trip back to Kentucky to see my friends and family.  Before I went back to see them though I was having them pretty regularly...almost weekly.  Out of nowhere every emotion hits you, and then you panic, and then the attack begins.  For me tears were the first sign, then I couldn't breathe.  Living alone, having a panic attack, and not being able to breathe only make the attack that much scarier.  Of course your first thought is "I'm dying!" when you have an attack, so being alone you begin to think "I'm going to die alone, and no one is going to know I died till the neighbors call the cops because my rotting body is stinking up the apartment!"

I never said you're rational during these attacks.

Because of these attacks I have sought medical help, and my focus has been on my emotional health and well being.  The good news, I have confirmation I'm not crazy!!!! ;-)   The bad news, until I gain more control over my emotions and deal with things I need to deal with, having another attack is a real possibility.  I've been told I need to reteach my body how to relax, massage, meditation, yoga, hiking, movies, etc.  I also have to reteach myself that even though some of these things may cost money, my health is worth the time and money to do them.  Again that's hard since money is one of the primary triggers for a panic attack for me.

The point of this post was to give you an update, to remind us all that we're not perfect and always have to keep working at what we want, it's okay to admit that you need help, and sometimes we need to "spoil" ourselves for our own health.  I'll try not to be so much of a stranger, but forgive me if I take some me time from the blog-o-sphere to take care of myself. :-)

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

It's A Lonely Island

I know it’s been some time since I’ve posted a blog, but believe it or not I’m rather active online.  When I say active I should probably clarify, I’m active on social media.  Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram are checked as often as 10 times a day.  I’ve discovered that this has become quite the problem for me, it’s a massive distraction, which is one of the reasons I’ve been considering leaving them for some time.

We live in a world where phone calls, and letters, and even emails are obsolete.  Facebook messages and tweets are how we keep up with each other’s lives.  This has advantages and disadvantages.  For instance, I live in Colorado, and my family lives in Kentucky.  I’m able to post photographs and news stories I find interesting on Facebook, and they are able to then connect and see what I’m doing.  I have friends who literally live all over the world, and regardless of time zones we are able to keep up with the others life, and communicate.  I also run a business strictly online, and if it wasn’t for Facebook I wouldn’t have a lot of the customers I’ve gained in the past year.  So there are some definite positives to social media and being connected.

There are also the disadvantages of this type of communication as well though.  Recently the disadvantages have outweighed the advantages for me.  When your life isn’t following the “normal” path that is socially acceptable it can be difficult to see how others’ lives are so different than yours.  I would say that 97% of my friends and family have at least one of these things going for them, they’re either married/in a serious relationship, have jobs they enjoy, and/or have kids.  I’d like to point out; I have none of those things going for me right now.  Some of the reasons for that are my choices, but some reasons are beyond my control.  I’m not going to get into those reasons, and why I can’t change them right now, but know that I can’t simply “fix” them.  I’m okay with being single right now, I’m okay with not having children right now, and I’m even okay with working jobs I don’t necessarily enjoy just to pay the bills till I can find a job I do enjoy.  My life is moving in a different way than other people’s lives are, and as I’ve said in the past, I’m okay with that.

Sometimes though it’s difficult to see the posts all over social media about someone having another baby, or how happy they are with their spouse who is wonderful, or how fulfilling their job is.  Sometimes seeing those things, and knowing that you want them and don’t have them yet, is painful to see.  That’s the place I’m at right now.  I love my friends and family, and I love that they’re happy, but I also hate how seeing them happy makes me feel jealous, and unhappy in my own life.

I really am glad that my life has not followed the traditional road, but sometimes I wonder if the traditional road would have been easier.  Easier to explain to extended family why I don’t have a boyfriend (and let’s clear one thing up, just because I’m single and happy doesn’t make me gay!).  Easier to wake up and go to work when it’s something you want to be doing, not something you have to do to barely get by.  Easier to not feel like the creepy lady smiling at the baby at the store, when you have your own child you can smile at instead.

Yeah, yeah, all things come to those who wait…and things happen in their own time for every person…and when it’s meant to be it will be.  Save me the platitudes, because honestly it’s all right for me to feel this way!  There is nothing that says I can’t feel jealous sometimes, or unhappy sometimes, or even angry sometimes over the fact that those things aren’t part of my life.  It’s only a problem when you feel like you can’t talk to someone about it and so it weighs on you, becoming toxic.

I admit that because of all of these things, I’ve become distant to many people in my life.  I don’t stay in contact, and separate myself both physically and emotionally.  In essence I have put myself out on an island with those I felt like I could talk to, and relate too, because they were in the same situation as me.  Eventually though I ended up on that island alone.  I hate that, and I want to fix it, but I fear that I’ve burned too many bridges in the process and can’t repair some of the relationships I let go of.  I’m also afraid that I don’t know how to change.


I’m not deleting my social media because this would only separate me further.  Maybe it’s time that I stop checking it 10 times a day though.  Maybe it’s time we all stop comparing our lives to other people’s, and saying if it doesn’t match up then it’s wrong.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Miss. Independent

I've always been an independent person.  Even when I was young, I remember telling my parents I wanted to do things by myself, and on my own.  I think independence is a good thing, especially in a day and age where you often have to be.  I mean I began my own business when I couldn't find work in grad school, I became an independent sales rep for a food company when I was having trouble finding work here in Denver.  I'm finding ways to make ends meet, I'm attempting to pull myself up, and I'm doing these things on my own for the most part.

Can a person be too independent though?  This is a thought I've had for a while now as more and more people have been telling me I've become distant.  I've thought this as I realize I don't get invited out by people anymore.  And I've thought this a lot as I look back at my previous romantic relationships.  Sure I can provide for myself, I can take care of myself, I can do what I have to do...but it's sure nice to share the load.  Have I become too independent for my own good?

For so long I haven't had a choice, I've had to do things for myself.  Being away from my family, and many of my friends meant that when I got sick I had to make my own tea.  When my car's battery died, I had to either find someone willing to give me a jump, or call AAA myself.  When the trash needed taken out when it was snowing, I had to take it out.  I've only had myself to rely on for a long time.  When people ask to do these things for me, I find it weird, because I've had to do it myself. And often when they don't do it the same way I would have it's hard for me to see.  So letting go of some things that I've been doing for so long, can be difficult.

I was recently told that one of the reasons a past relationship fell apart, was because as we both dealt with a difficult situation I turned into myself for comfort, when they tried to comfort and share their pain with me.  Now this was not the only one reason that this relationship fell apart, trust me there were other reasons too.  It made me think though, how many people have I unintentionally hurt, and turned away, who were trying to help me, and I was being my independent self not seeing their offer.

Don't get me wrong, the idea of not having all the weight on my shoulders is a nice idea, but very difficult for me to grasp.  It would be nice to have someone to take care of me, friend, family, significant other, etc., but the concept is foreign to me so when people try, I guess I inadvertently push them away.  Does this make me too independent?  Am I too set in my ways?  Can I change?

My paternal grandmother was a rather independent woman.  She divorced her husband in a time when divorce wasn't acceptable, and she never remarried.  She supported herself, and my father in a career that was male dominated. But growing up I noticed things like her lack of social relationships, her strict ways things had to be done, and her her general "Curmudgeon-ness" as my family referred to it as.  I swore that I never wanted to be like her in those ways, I wanted to not only enjoy life, but enjoy the people I spent it with, and be flexible.  Part of me now fears that I'm becoming exactly like her.

I know people can change, and I'm hoping I can change.  I just don't even know where to begin this time.  I guess when you have a fear of being so far on one end of the spectrum and being totally reliant on others, you may take things too far and become too independent instead.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

What Tomorrow Brings

Two years ago today, I began one of the strangest, scariest, most wonderful journey's I've ever been on...and it seems to all finally be coming full circle.

Two years ago today I packed up my car, and began the two day journey from Kentucky, to Colorado.  I didn't have a job lined up, I didn't know where I was even going to live when I got here.  All I knew was that I felt like I needed to be here, so I had to follow my heart and give it a shot out west.  I can only imagine this is what the settlers felt when they went west.  Hopeful for new opportunities, and better lives.

The past two years have been challenging.  I've struggled with financial issues, and employment problems, and building a life here from the ground up.  But the past two years have been fairly awesome at the same time.  I've done things I never imagined doing like snowboarding, and learned to step out of my box every once and a while.  I know that without the struggles, I wouldn't have had the chance to do some of those things I've done, and enjoyed doing.  I also know that I wouldn't have grown into the person that I have become.

It only seems fitting that tomorrow, two years after arriving in Denver, I will begin at my first full time job since 2007.  Although it's still not my dream job, and still not enough to completely live on, it feels like the first real opportunity I've had in a very long time.  It will give me the chance to finally complete my Master's, and at the same time, become certified in early childhood education here in the state.  At first it was difficult to see this place as the opportunity that it is.  Let's face it, we all want the dream right out of the gate if we can get it.  I'm beginning to see though that this is a chance for me to finally grow, and complete some roads I stopped building a long time ago.  It's also a chance for me to gain more experience, and continue learning.  It's a chance!

Many people have often told me that picking up and moving across the country without much of a plan was brave.  My response has always been in jest that it was that or stupid, I'm never sure of which.  The fact is that there is a thin line between bravery and stupidity, and sometimes we need to skirt that line more than we often do.  Moving to Denver was both brave, stupid, and a huge gamble.  I finally feel like in that gamble though the house isn't winning every hand anymore.  Sure they're still winning a hand or two, but I'm finally winning some hands too.  Sometimes you have to take a risk, and you won't know how, or when, that risk is going to payout.  You just have to keep trying, not give up, and hang on for the ride sometimes.  I don't know if this new job is going to be the "breakthrough" I've been waiting for the past two years, but I'd be a fool to not hang on and see where it takes me.

One of my favorite sayings is, "Don't give up on today, for you never know what tomorrow may bring."  Here's hoping things are finally coming full circle, and my tomorrows keep getting better and better.  :-)

Friday, February 7, 2014

Victories

Throughout this journey there have been small victories, but on January 22nd I believe I had a very big victory.  Monday the 20th of January, was my birthday.  As I've gotten older my birthday's have become just another day, and I believe this is true for many people.  You begin to not celebrate the small victory that is making it to a year older.  We often view this day, not as a victory, but as just another day to push through, only with cake.  This year I almost did the same thing, pushed through the day like it was no big deal, but instead I chose to make something big happen.

As many of you have seen I have my bucket list posted on this site.  There's nothing special about my bucket list compared to other people's, it changes, morphs, and adapts just like I do.  In the beginning of this blog though I tried to be sure several things got marked off every year.  In the past few years that's kind of gone by the wayside.  When I moved to Colorado, and was able to mark that off I kind of stalled with my goals and dreams.  For some reason just being was enough for a while.  I think we all need to do that sometimes when things get overwhelming, but we also need to pull ourselves out of that and get back to doing things that make us a bit uncomfortable sometimes.  So since I didn't do much last year for my big landmark birthday...I decided I needed to do something this year.

In March I will have lived in Colorado for two years, and one of the most common questions people ask you when you tell them you moved here is, "Do you ski/snowboard?"  I laugh because winter sports like skiing and snowboarding are such a big thing here, and sports of any kind have never been a big thing in my own life, with the exception of a soccer stint in Middle School.  I've always wanted to learn how to ski though, even before I moved here.  So after talking to some people about where to go to get lessons (I was not just going to strap some wood to my feet and hope for the best, I wanted to really learn how to not kill myself, lol), and learning about the differences in learning to ski and snowboard I signed up for a lesson at Winter Park Resort with my friend Leigh Ann who was also a novice to learn the basics of snowboarding.

Let me just say first of all that they sure as hell make it look easier than it really is on television!!! I felt like a toddler learning how to walk all day. And yes I even had to learn how to walk in snowboard boots which was a challenge!  After almost six hours of help, I found myself not only standing and going down a hill on a snowboard, but I found myself loving every second of it, even if I still wasn't able to let of of the instructor without falling.  Something that once seemed like an impossibility was not only happening, but was turning out rather well.  I didn't break any bones, and although I fell quite a few times (the chairlift is the bane of my existence!!!!) I found myself laughing each time as I laid in the snow.  I may never end up being an Olympic Snowboarder, and I may not even be able to do more than just keep my balance going down a hill, but I actually did it...and plan to do it again in the near future. (At least once more this season!!)

My very first attempt to move with both feet strapped in!
Getting off the chairlift may be the most difficult part about snowboarding!

Trying to go down the big hill for the first time!
Just taking a break because my legs were Jello!
I think every snowboarding trip should end with s'mores!!

My new goal is to be able to snowboard for at least 5 feet solo, without having to have the instructor hold on to me.  I have a feeling if I go back to the Ski + Ride School in Winter Park that will happen no problem.  (Seriously if you want to learn, go there they're amazing!!)  Many people would say that I didn't actually accomplish what I had marked on my bucket list, I didn't fully learn how to snowboard in one 6 hour day...but I disagree that it shouldn't be marked off.  Not only did I accomplish getting up on a snowboard and learning about heel side, and toe side and how to do them. But I think that by getting out there and trying it was a huge accomplishment.  We have to remember that we aren't going to be experts at everything, but that doesn't mean that by trying we didn't accomplish it.

I decided to put my thirty-something year old self out there and try something new.  Something many people will never try in their lives due to fear, or use their age as an excuse.  Not only was it a victory for doing it in the first place, but it was a victory for doing something many people wouldn't have.  This year I remembered that age is only a number, and only holds us back from the things we allow it to.

Thanks Leigh Ann for going with me, and for the pictures of me snowboarding (and the closing photo and quote which is perfect!). Thanks Winter Park Resort's Ski + Ride School for the awesome day and great instruction (I'll be back as soon as I have the money again!). And thanks mom for not freaking out too much at the thought of me going down a mountain with nothing but a piece of wood strapped to my feet. ;-)