Journey.

Okay, folks...be gentle with me...this is probably the most embarrassing blog post to date...even though I'm incredibly proud of my progress in my weight loss journey.  I've had a couple of friends ask me how much I've lost thus far, and how much more I have to go, and how have I changed in the process?

Well, first off, I have lost roughly 80 pounds...I say roughly because I cannot seem to locate my original weigh in record when I started Weight Watchers what seems like forever ago.  I'm thinking the number is closer to 90, but I'll say 80 to be on the safe side.  

Yes, the progress has been thanks to Weight Watchers.  It has worked for me, but only when I allowed it to.  I'm starting to fall into a great rhythm with it, though I have not been faithful, and have quit and restart a number of times.  

I'll gladly give specific 'numbers' (weight, sizes, etc.), but not until I am at 'goal'.  I've lost 80+ pounds and 6 dress sizes in a matter of years, but still have quite a bit to go.

In addition to the food tracking portion of Weight Watchers, I am also going to the gym regularly:  weight training, running, and a variety of cardio are my go-to's.  

I love seeing my body change...and then I don't...

I know that sounds crazy, but I've struggled with my weight since I was 8 or 9.  I've yo-yo'd dieted throughout middle school, and high school, and my entire adult life.  

But now, I'm starting to face the psychological aspect of my weight, hand in hand with dealing with anxiety, and how that has affected my life, and my daily choices.  

So, while I love seeing the change, and the scale reflecting new numbers, it's hard...and scary.  As strange as it sounds, I wonder who I'll be when I'm no longer labeled 'the fat girl.'  Even the compliments aren't as easy to take as I anticipated:  the heartfelt, well meaning gestures of kindness, people asking me if I've lost weight, and how much, and keep it up.  It makes me feel encouraged, and strangely exposed in a way I've never been.  But, I'm learning to embrace this journey, and to like my body along the way...flab and all.  

Anyway, thanks for the encouragement and support, my friends and readers.  

Sometimes you don't realize just how far you've come until you look back and see where you started...

2005

2009

2013

How Far I've Come {Weight Loss}

{This post was supposed to go up yesterday!  Happy Easter everyone!  Easter post coming up later!}

Howdy folks!  It’s April!  Um, where did March go?  Seriously.  Easter is already here!  Before we know it, it will be summer!  Time is flying!

Anywho, I’ve been thinking about my weight loss, and the long (ever so long) journey I appear to be on regarding it.

I joined a gym last Fall, and love it.  Well, love it and hate it, but mostly I feel affectionately towards it.  Working out has really helped me manage stress, stay balanced, keep my focus, and maintain energy. 

And yet…

Sometimes I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.  I want to quit.  There I days where I see the progress.  I days where I look in the mirror and criticize my appearance. 

But, then I remember something.  I often forget about it, because this has been such a long, winding, rough road. 

I’ve come farther than I realized.

Behold:

I’m so grossed out by this photograph.  I hate it.  I’m embarrassed to share it.

But, it reminds me:  I’ve lost 50 pounds since it was taken.  50 pounds. 

I really forget sometimes that I was that much heavier.  That going to the gym really would have been humiliating, and painfully difficult.  Now?  I am aware of how I look, but don’t care.  I’m there to get fit, to get healthy, just like everyone else. 

Some days, I feel stuck in the rut of the weight loss sojourn.  I went to my meeting yesterday, and lost 3.4 pounds (not in one week, rather 3 weeks.  See?  I could have done better), but I still felt down about it.  That it wasn’t enough. 

But every pound lost is a pound that separates me from that girl. 

Yes, I am aware that it is not a full body photo.  However, I have spent years and 50 pounds perfecting 2 things:  1.  Posing for the camera to look my absolute best (hiding my double chin, finding my ‘good’ side, angling my neck to give it the appearance of length, and positioning my shoulders to accent my shoulder blades, because the slightest appearance of bones instantly gives the impression of thinness).  2.  Refusing to have full body photos taken unless absolutely necessary (as in, out of my control).

I will post a full body photo eventually.  I will search for one from that time as well, for a fair comparison.

Here’s the point of this post (at least, the epiphany I had regarding it):  Sometimes, we HAVE to look back, in order to move forward.  This is a cringe-worthy photograph, and I’d rather not see it.  And yet, in looking at it, I can see how far I’ve really come, and exactly where I am going.

I can only hope that this simple little blog spot will encourage you to look back on something, see where you have been, embrace it, and move forward.
Until next time, have a blessed day!

Success!

Success!

Fourteen days, chocolate free, has officially come to an end!

I did it! It wasn't easy at first, but it got easier as the second week moved along.

I'm pleased with myself, for sticking to it.

Now, what should I try next...hhhhmmmmm....

Chocolate Free: Update.

I have officially completed one week without chocolate!

As it just so happened, I planned my chocolate break during 1. PMS 2. Daylight savings.

I know, I know, daylight savings has nothing to do with it, but maybe it does a teeny tiny bit.

As in, I'm exhausted from my hormonal issues, and now they've taken away an hour? I'm getting up at (what feels like) 5 a.m. instead of 6? Seriously, where's a chocolate granola bar for breakfast?

You know how it is. When you're already pooped, the last thing you want to do is be creative. About anything. I didn't want to be creative regarding chocolate. I just wanted it. Period. (Ha! No pun intended, but that was a good one)!

Alas, I was strong. I turned away from a piece of Ghiradelli mint chocolate (it was mocking me, by the way). I stared Easter themed Whoppers square in the face (cooking activity at school). I politely declined the M&Ms that managed to make their way to the staff table.

I did it.

Week 2? That will be a piece of cake. Chocolate free, of course.

Just wanted to share an update!

14 Days Chocolate Free.

Chocolate.

Love.

Chocolate.

Vice.

I have a slight addiction to chocolate. I admit it. All chocolate (except white, because...well, it's just pretending to be chocolate, and makes a mockery of the real thing.): brownies, candy, cookies...all that junk food that we know is so wrong, but tastes so.darn.RIGHT.

As many of you know, I am a member of Weight Watchers, and it's all about tracking points, moderation, and no restriction. Cool.

However...

I will gladly swap my WW points for chocolate anything, any day. I've noticed it has become more than just something I enjoy. The cravings are out of control. I'll use it to reward myself for good things, like working out for 45 minutes at the gym. Awesome logic there: Work your hiney off, sweat like a beast, change your body, and in return, you get...junk food? Um...maybe not the greatest strategy in the world...

More importantly, I have realized that I am choosing it over what I really want, and often crave: fruits, veggies, lean proteins. You know, the good stuff. By doing so, I find my WW tracking journal is rather unbalanced. More junk than healthy options fill my journal pages. If my leader ever asked to see my journal, I'd be embarrassed.

Someone should make a sign: Will Cheat for Chocolate.

Because that's what has been happening.

I'm not just cheating...I'm cheating myself.

So, I've decided, albeit rather begrudgingly, to cut out chocolate for 14 days. Two weeks, chocolate free. Really, just to prove to myself that I can do it, and beat it, and hopefully extend the cut.

Why 14 days? Because a month sounded too daunting. Two weeks sounds doable. I want to succeed, not set myself up for failure. Please, if you are doing something similar for a month, awesome!! I don't want it to sound like I'm bashing you. I originally wanted to start with a month, but for me, 2 weeks is the best starting point. For me.

So, tomorrow (yes, tomorrow. Tonight, I have a date with Hershey. We are going to have a fabulous time), as in Monday the 5th of March, I will begin my 14 day fast from chocolate. I have 2 exceptions: my whey protein powder and my calcium supplement. I use my protein shake for workouts, and it is naturally flavored and low in sugar. It's very expensive, and I'm not willing to give it up. Besides, though I love it, it does not compare to chocolate milk or shakes. At all. And my calcium chew is taken once a day, and tastes like a chalky tootsie roll. I'm pretty certain that it won't be my downfall. But everything else is going.

Anyone want to join in? Perhaps for you it is not chocolate, but something else? Leave a comment here, and let me know! You can do it!

I'll check back in with my progress in a week!

Let's do it together!

Just One of Those Days.

Have you ever had 'one of those days'?

It's a silly question, I realize. Everyone has had those days.

Today was one of mine.

Let me elaborate (I'm pretty sure you'll find it amusing):

I have started attending a new church (the Rock) in Point Loma. It's such an amazing, large, ecclectic, friendly group of people. And by large, I'm talking thousands of church goers.

With 5 Sunday services to choose from to boot. I have been going to the 10:00 service, which is generally the busiest. As in, overflowing outside from a sanctuary that seats (roughly) 3,000 people in one service (don't quote me on that, I got the stats from a 3rd party website). Regardless of the number of people inside the church, there is typically 60 + people milling around outside the church: going in for the service, leaving the previous service, talking, drinking coffee, praying, etc. It is one busy, bustling place. I have to give you all of this information for you to truly appreciate this story. Just saying.

Anywho, I planned to go to the first service, but stayed up to late and opted to go to the 10:00 service again. I got up and decided to take a quick shower. It was cold this morning; foggy, and overcast. And, the ongoing water heater issue at my place is still in full force. I get blazing hot water, or freezing cold. This morning = freezing. It was rather dreadful.

I dressed, got ready, and totally spaced out on the time frame I needed to travel to the church.

I left late. I arrived late.

I was so flustered, because I hate being late, and naturally the volume of people at the church also meant traffic, and having to park really far from the building.

I began the trek, cursing the shoes I had chosen (cute, semi-high heeled wedges with a buckle back strap). They were pinching my toes, and for every 10-15 steps, I had to stop and fix the strap that kept slipping off my heel. I finally made it to the front of the sanctuary, and decided to remedy the shoe situation before proceeding into the church, where I was already about 10 minutes late. I moved out of the way of the surging crowds of other late comers, removed my shoe, and tightened the strap.

I began to replace my shoe, while balancing my purse and Bible in one arm. In my rush, I failed to notice that my balancing foot wasn't on the sidewalk, as much as it was in the outlying, uneven mulch. You see where this is going?

Yup.

My foot teetered, my ankle twisted, and down I went. Like a big, clumsy bafoon.

I went straight down on my rear (thankfully it is well padded) in the middle of a huge crowd of people.

In a dress. Wearing one shoe.

Sure enough, I heard a resounding gasp, and I was surrounded by very kind, concerned strangers.

I blubbered out "I'm fine, it was my shoe!" and began laughing, and feeling my face burn with embarrassment. I quickly put on my shoe, and a gentlemen offered me his hand. He helped me up and a girl scooped up my purse and Bible for me, declaring that she has done that quite often. Everyone asked again if I was alright, and we walked into the church.

If the ground could have opened up and swallowed me, I would have been relieved.

Additionally, thanks to my tardiness, I had to go up to one of the balconies, nearly in the nosebleed section.

It was alright. I prayed and asked God to help me focus, and stop being so flustered. I enjoyed the worship and the sermon, took deep breaths, hoped that nobody remembered the fall, and was extra cautious on my sojourn back to my car.

Lessons learned:

1. Leave early.

2. Where cute, yet sensible shoes if I have to park far away.

3. Wear underwear that blends in with your clothes (check! I had a black dress on, with black undergarments!) Why? While not always eliminating the possible panty-gate exposure, it will lessen the shock value if it all blends together.

4. Don't fix a shoe in a crowd when it clearly can wait until you've made it to your destination.

5. Just laugh. Nothing was hurt (though I can feel my sprained ankle now), and it was pretty hilarious.

Today was just 'one of those days'. In a randomly funny way.

Oy.

Blogging.

I don't know what is up with Blogger today, but it has been driving me nuts.

I finally added my custom header, after uploading it over and over, to get it not to look pixelated.

(I painted the sparrow image in acrylic on illustration board. The lettering was added in Photoshop).

Then, I had to switch my post editor to the old editor option just to type a post.

Sheesh.

Regardless, I had fun creating the header, and really like the new blog look!

I'm slowly getting back into the blogging routine, hurrah! I've realized I kind of missed it.

Do you blog? Follow me here! Comment and let me know what your blog is, too!

Until next time...

Forgotten? No.

Oh, hello lovely readers.  May I share my heart with you?  I’m trying to be real, and honest.  It’s harder than I would have thought, but I want this blog to be a place of openness. 

Because, this past week, I’ve never felt more small.

More lonely.

More single.

It started with the birthday.  Oh, friends, how I was dreading it.  In absolute anxiety over it.  Because, this birthday was to be my first, alone.  My dad had to work, my mom was getting over a heinous ear infection (she still took me out for coffee for 30 minutes after work, which was so kind, considering how poorly she was feeling), my friends were busy.  My coworkers cheered me up with some yummy homemade cupcakes, and lots of well wishes.

After coffee, I bought myself some take-out for dinner.  I had no appetite, so I tossed it into the fridge when I came home.  I wrote this blog post.  I had a cupcake.  And I went to bed.  I wanted to sleep, and be blissfully unaware of the day, or my longing to have been with people, or my childish wish of a surprise celebration. 

I felt like Alice, falling down the dark rabbit hole.  Only at the end of it, there was no Wonderland.

I felt so alone.  Heartsick.

Forgotten.

As the days have gone by, I’ve been crying out to my Savior for strength and healing.  I have been leaning on Him for comfort.  Asking Him to help me remember that I am not alone. 

And then (cue the ghastly ‘dum, dum, dum, dum’ music notes here):  Valentines Day.

The single girls nemesis.  Oh, why, why must my birthday fall so close to this day?!? 

The day was busy, with Valentine parties for the kids in my class.  I was showered with cards, flowers, and candy.  They had such fun passing out their treats to each other. 

I didn’t think much about it.  Then the day ended, and I went to the gym.  I went home, cooked some dinner, and checked in on Facebook.  And then, it hit me.  How happy I am for all the people sharing their Valentine excitement:  the dates, dinners, balloons, flowers, love notes, and romance.  And yet...How much I long to celebrate this day with someone special.  To be showered with attention.  To feel like a princess.

Rather, I simply ate dinner, ate some chocolate, and went to bed.

I felt so alone.  Heartsick.  Forgotten.

Again.

Would this week.never.end?  I woke up every day in a funk.  I would lay in bed and just say ‘Jesus help me.  Give me strength.  Forgive me for feeling...funky.’

I would go to work, and enjoy the mental break.  I laughed with the kids, with the staff, and went to the gym regularly.  But, driving home, the sadness and anxiety would creep back up.  I couldn’t shake it.  I would just cry out to Him.  'Help me not feel alone.' 

At last, the week has come to its end.  I feel raw, and exhausted.  Emotionally exhausted.  Because, all week, I’ve fought  the autopilot need to masquerade.  To smile through the loneliness, to keep my heart protected.  I’ve walked the fine line of wanting desperately to share with people how I felt, so that I wouldn’t feel like my head would explode with my thoughts, and wanting to push it away and press on.  Remember here, where I mentioned the me that fights anxiety?  Yeah, did I mention occasional depression?  No?  Oops...

Regardless, this week it wasn’t a fight.  It was a battle. 

And Team God and I?  We kind of kicked the 'funk's' booty.  I'm taking it one day at a time. 

Regardless of how I felt, I know this truth:  with Christ, I am not alone.  I am not forgotten.  And He will heal my heartsickness. 

And for you:  you are not alone (Jesus is always with you).

You are not forgotten (Jesus holds you closer than you could ever know).

Heartsick?  Do not be down trodden.  (Jesus will lift you up).

Please, readers, I want to close with this thought:  this blog is my place to share my life experiences.  This weighed on my heart all week.  I am not seeking sympathy, or trying to diminish the serious issues that others are facing.  I just know that I, personally, feel like I am quite often the only one in the world who feels the way I feel.  But I know that’s not true.  I want to share these small stories, such as a lonely birthday, or a sad holiday,  because I have a sneaking suspicion that somewhere, someone has felt the same way, or had a similar experience.  I want to be the voice that is willing to speak on behalf of the person who may not want to share.  That’s what this post is about.  Helping someone, anyone, who felt alone this week, or any other time.   

Also, I am not 'dissing' single-ness.  This is the stage that I am at, where God has me.  Generally, I am okay with it.  But, sometimes, it hits harder than others.  This week was a prime example of one of the tough times.

And, lastly, I'm anticipating my next post to be more cheerful. 

Thanks for sticking around to read my posts! 

   

Heart Flow: The Real Me.

Folks. Blog readers. Friends. This is going to be a tough post, I’m telling you up front. But, I’ve been mulling over this post for…oh, I’d say, less than a week. And I really want to share it. But it's hard, because I'm going to let myself be vulnerable. So, I’m taking a cue from one of my favorite Bloggists (that’s not a real word, awesome as it may be) Summer. She is so honest and open. She seriously inspires me to share my thoughts, my heart, in a more honest, and real way.

Allow me to begin...

Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to go to an amazing church (The Rock), and hear an amazing word.

And, can I just tell you? God was there. You could just feel an energy, a vibrancy, a presence.

The sermon was about worship, and how we can worship God wholly...uninhibited.

Pastor Miles M. eloquently stated that worship is akin to your heart flowing directly to God. Every.bit.of.it.

All emotion, fear, joy, love, worry, thoughts. We need to break free from the things that hinder us from worshipping our God, and have an open heart flow. Like a river of water, from us, to Him.

Personally, I take worship to mean more than singing praise to Him. It is prayer, attitude, thoughts, words. It is every part of every day. It's our relationship to God. This is what this post is about. Not just the act of worship in church, with music, and song, as important as those things are. It's about me, and my daily worship, and my heart.

Here’s where it gets real.

For well over a year, I’ve struggled immensely with my relationship with God. I mean, I have NO words to describe how deep the struggle and the pain has been. Anger, bitterness, frustration. It was Bad, with a fat capital B. I kid you not. As in, church was something I went to, to avoid feeling quilty, my Bible was MIA, I had no motivation for any spiritual growth. I could care less. Period.

And, as I listened to this sermon, and pondered his words, I felt my heart start to beat faster. I felt uncomfortable. We were led into closing worship. I stood. I raised my hands. I sang.

And suddenly, my heart began to break.

It broke for all that I’d missed. For all of my sin. For all of my anger that I refused to give to Him.

I closed my eyes. I imagined a brick wall. The bricks were made, one by one, from my own hand:

Anger, fear of being alone, resentment, jealousy, sorrow, disappointment, and on, and on, and on. Neverending. Disgusting. And as the music carried on, I kept imaging this wall.

Until, a beam of light shot through.

I opened my eyes, singing, amazed. I knew.

He was tearing down my wall.

Friends, I have to admit something. I am terrified of people seeing the real me. The me that I sometimes wish I wouldn’t be. The me that is vulnerable, raw, and broken. The me that I tell to ‘go away, you are worthless.’ The me that is frightened of being abandoned by those I love. The me that feels too deeply, fights anxiety, gets depressed, gets hurt too easily.

Oh, dear friends, I know I must not be the only one. The only one who hides behind humor. Who tries to be the best at everything (because God forbid anyone sees me fail). Who smiles when I want to cry. Who wants to make others happy, even when I can’t seem to be. Who gets tired of the great pretend.

I want to tell you, I have a blessed, wonderful life. I need to make that perfectly clear. A huge percentage of my days are filled with joy and happiness. But these feelings and thoughts sometimes linger under the surface. And when I peel back the layers and find them, I, myself, am often shocked to discover them.

However, I had convinced myself, somehow, that this wall I built around my heart, was my ultimate protection. That, if God were Superman, my heart could be his Kryptonite. He could never reach me. I could love Him on my own terms.

And now I see. I’ve been so lost, because I wandered away. I’ve been in the dark, because I turned off the light. I’ve been afraid, because I refused to be comforted. I’ve been walking through the motions, because I didn’t want to feel. I’ve been so weary, because I didn’t want to seek rest. I hid behind this wall, only to find myself in a war zone.

Yet...slowly, over this week, I’ve been allowing Him to tear down the wall, brick by brick. To change my heart. To romance me. To bring me back to Him.

The remnants are still there. There is loads of work to be done. Yet, I am so encouraged. I’ve thought all week about my heart flow, and how I can be right with my Savior again.

He wants the real me. That me that I sometimes hate. He doesn’t want the fake smile, or the flippant prayers and attitudes. He wants the raw, bruised, honest me.

"I've been wicked and wild and wrong, and I've wondered the price of my shame

I've been hiding my face for so long, it's a wonder that You know my name." {Saving Jane}

He knows my name. He knows the real me. And loves me the same.

My heart is beginning to flow again. To Him. To my faithful, loving, forgiving God.

I want to leave you with this, the greatest revelation, and sweetest encouragement I can offer:

After imagining that brick wall, and the realization that He was trying to reach my heart, I fought it. I opened my eyes, got distracted, and refused to focus on the worship. But, as hard as I resisted, I was pulled back.

I closed my eyes again. I felt the tears stinging, and the lump in my throat.

And instead of that wall, I saw Jesus.

Clearly, beautifully. Smiling.

You know what else?

He was dancing with me.

And my heart was happy.

Right Now.

Right now, I have the heater cranked up, my warmest jammies on, a blanket draped over my lap, and one draped around my head, a la little baboushka:

{Source}

I am also, right now, nursing a fever, a cough, and some uncomfortable chest congestion.

(Please read that last part carefully:  chest con-gest-ion.  If you are like me, and quickly skim blog posts, and accidently read a work, mistaking it for another, note that says congestion.  Not constipation.  Because...well, ew.  This is not that kind of blog).

Oy vey.

Nothing some medicine, liquid, and Anne of Green Gables marathon can't help, I suppose.

I hope you, rad readers, are enjoying your MLK Jr. day in a much more pleasant fashion. 

Happy New Year!

What?  I have a blog??

A blog that has been sitting here, unattended to, since October?? 

Well, I've had every intention of wandering back into my corner of the web, but, you know, life sometimes gets in the way of intentions...

How about this?  A recap!

HappyHalloweenHappyThanksgivingMerryChristmasHappyNewYear!!!! 

A lot of holidays sure have gone by since I was here! 2011 finally ended!  Yippee!  I'm so glad!  It was...different.  Not bad, but not neccassarily great. 

I am looking forward to this new year, and what it will bring.

I'll pick up where I left off:

1.  I finally joined a gym, and am slightly obsessed with it.  I love knowing I have a place to go and workout, and unwind, and relieve the days stress.  It's simply fabulous!

2.  I signed up for my first 5k!  I'm super excited about it, but nervous as well.  I opted for the timed run, and have started training.  I have until March, so I'm feeling pretty confidant so far.

3.  I paid a professional logo/marketing designer to create my new logo at the photography blog.  I love it.

4.  My grandmother fell ill at the end of the year, and is currently living in a full care facility.  Many of my readers don't know the whole story behind my relationship with her.  It's pretty strange, and not great.  I feel sad for my mom, who has to work through the inevitable:  losing a parent, regardless of the relationship.  Maybe someday I will share the condensed version.  But, for now, she is under excellent care.

5.  Christmas was very simple.  I spent Christmas Eve with my parents, and we all ended up sick, which pretty much derailed all of our plans.  At least the illness hit while I was on break from work, right?

6.  New Years Eve was spent with the friendlies, and we had a blast as usual.  We participated in a random Egg Nog drinking contest, because none of like it, and we thought it'd be funny.  It was, in fact, rather disgusting to chug a cup of nog. 

7.  My dear friends nephew, Simon, who is 18 months old, slipped while getting out of his bathtub on December 29th.  He hit his head and suffered a brain injury, and is currently at Children's Hospital.  My group of friends and I have been praying for his full recovery.  God is good, and Simon is in His Hands.  Will you please pray, too?

That should catch us up!  I am itching to change the look of the blog, and maybe paint my own 'header', so that will be in the works! 

I hope you had a great time celebrating the arrival of 2012! 

I promise, I will be back soon... :)

Harry Potter: And Then They Grew Up.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, a little book was written and set in motion a worldwide phenomenon. 

If J.K. Rowling had any idea what would come of her novel about a boy wizard, and the impact it would make in our world, then she was brilliant.  Seven novels, eight full length feature films, and one theme park later, Harry Potter has become a brand.

I have read every book, and seen all of the movies.  Today, I watched the final installment, and was blown away by a number of things.

***SPOILER ALERT***

I will try not to give away any of the specifics of the film, but if you have not seen it, you might want to exit this blog post…

First off, I was floored by the sheer cinematic impact of the film.  The effects, as in the previous movies, were stellar, and utterly breathtaking.  I’m sure most people would agree that the creative team behind the scenes were spot on in their portrayal of Rowling’s wizarding world.

Secondly, I was greatly satisfied in the book-to-film crossover.  Yes, I fully agree that the books explain much more, and a few things obviously had to be given a hard edit in the "book verses movie" spectrum, but I feel that the film stays as true to the novel as it could.  I am certainly not a screenwriter, and give them props for taking the latter part of a 36 chapter book, and turning it into a relevant and stunning film that lasts less than 3 hours.  I’m just saying…

Thirdly, I personally felt that the books, and the films, especially the final conclusions, left the viewers and readers with a good feeling of good conquering evil.  If it had been the other way around, I would have been terribly disappointed.  I, myself, am not opposed to the books or the movies.  I know a debate has surrounded Harry Potter since its release, as I am sure you have known too, and I do not intend to get it rolling again here.  Everyone has the right to their beliefs, and that is mine. 

Lastly, those Hogwart’s kids.  The first movie was released in 2001.  A decade has passed, believe it or not. 

{image source}

And then they grew up:

(Hey, hey, HARRY POTTER, child wizard, cover up that chest hair.  This is not that kind of blog.  Oh, wait, you're an adult now?  Fine.)

Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint are excellent actors, and have made the literary  characters come to life.  It has been fascinating to watch them grow up before my eyes. Most films stop with the sequel, or maybe a trilogy, but eight films?!  That’s amazing.  I will miss the anticipation of seeing them act together as Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but I look forward to seeing what they may become apart from those characters. 

As odd as it may sound, it was bittersweet to see them in the final two films, and to know it was coming to an end.  That a decade has passed for them, but for me as well.  I admit, I was choked up a number of times throughout the movie, and would most likely have wept like a baby if it weren’t for the fact that I was fully aware of the people sitting around me.  I bucked up, and took it like a big girl. 

Yes, Harry Potter will remain:  books, movies, merchandise, and the like.  What is over now is the waiting and excitement for a new book, a new movie.  It has reached its final chapter, and the Harry Potter insanity will eventually settle into its place in history. 

But, is it completely silly to say that I am happy that I got to experience the past 10 years of Harry Potter madness? 

Because…well, I am. 

Now...if only I could find an invisibility cloak...

Then no one would see me cry during the inevitable jags of Harry Potter withdrawals.

Nostalgia.

The other day, I had a pang of nostalgia, and wanted to look through my old high school yearbooks.  Yes, I was one of those students who bought a copy every year.  Freshman-Senior.  I wanted to savor the memories at the time of purchase, and loved passing the books around in those last days of school, trying to think of witty things to say in the blank signature pages.  And then reading them, those platitudes that seemed so important at 15, and again at 18.  “You are so sweet, such a great friend, I will miss you, remember Mr. So-and-so’s class, wasn’t he a nut, K.I.T., 555-6798, etc., etc.”

This morning, after not being able to find them for a bit, I unearthed the 4 books from an unpacked box, and began to peruse them.  I reread the signature pages, and found myself not quite remembering some of the inside jokes, wondering when I had a class with this person or that, chuckling at the pictures of myself, laughing out loud at what my closest friend wrote, still, and smiling at the vast youthfulness of my peers, grinning in black and white, behind the pages of a 16 year old yearbook. 

We were once 16, they and I.  And I, at 16, would giggle at the faculty staff photos, thinking of how absurd it seemed that these ‘old’ people would sit and pose for a picture, when it didn’t really matter for them. 

But today, I was struck by the fact that they weren’t old after all.  Most of them, it would appear, were in their 30s.  Not much older than myself.  I remember my biology teacher talking about her young children.  My play productions teacher, pregnant with her first.  The new, very young teacher, obnoxiously trying to be everyone’s ‘friend’ rather than respected elder.  The spunky, single teacher, happy with just her career.  They were merely the looking glass to our own futures, but we didn’t see the image quite as clearly then, as we do now.

On the flipside, I was struck by how young we were.  We looked like children, but tried to act like cool adults.   The friendships that were sworn to last forever.  The cool ones and the nerds.  The jocks and the drama crowd.  The best and the worst.  The school contained us all, those children embarking on a journey to adulthood.  Somewhere along the line, life crept up on all of us.  And the yearbooks tell a story of the past, musings of days gone by.  Today, there is no printed book to document the changing seasons:  The high school sweethearts are married now.  They have children, and have settled into suburban life.  The one who dreamed of stardom lives happily in a new career.  The crushes you wonder about.  Those who have followed their ambitious desires, those who have not.  The smiling baby faces of peers, gone from this world, and laid to rest. 

I see the pictures of my closest friends, and see how we have gone our own ways, and how time has changed the surface of our camaraderie.  I see the pictures of those who I barely knew then, who have become like family now.

It’s surreal to think that I am a full- fledged adult, not the teenager I once was.  But I am still that person, the same, but completely different.  We all are.  It was bittersweet to reflect on the past, now that the shoe is on the other foot.  It’s like an endless loop, youth and age is.  The way we once viewed our teachers is the way we are seen.  And someday, it will be how they are seen.  And we all stop being 16, and start being grown up.  And our children grow up, and theirs do as well.  I’m relieved that those teenage angst years have come and gone, great as they were, yet I love having a reminder of their existence. 

If you have one, go find your yearbook, or books, and wander for a few moments down memory lane.  Those were certainly the days, but the best is yet to come.

Wouldn’t you agree?

Glee(k).

I have a confession:

I'm a Gleek. 

{source}

Completely.  Utterly.  Hopelessly.

For you non-Gleeks, that just means I'm a fan of Glee.

I won tickets to see their live concert, so my friend and I got dolled up, had a wonderful dinner, and screamed our heads off for the talented cast.

You never really know how some singers will sound live, but....

they were  UH-MAZ-ING. 

Like, out of control A.W.E.S.O.M.E.

Those kids (well, adults) are truly gifted.  Lea Michele (Rachel) is as spectacular in person as she is in the studio.  But, to hear Amber Riley (Mercedes) and Naya Rivera (Santana) hit some incredible notes was fabulous.

And when Chris Colfer (Kurt) sang his first solo, I was literally breathless.  He is the next Michael Crawford (Broadway legend who starred in the original cast of Phantom).

Oh, and resident hotties Cory Montieth (Finn), Mark Salling (Puck), and Chord Overstreet (Sam)?  Let's just say this...you think they're cute on T.V.? 

Well, add about a gazillion times more cuteness in person.  Just saying.

It was an incredible, experience to see them perform, one I won't soon forget. 

Thanks KYXY Radio for the rad win!!

I wish every weekend could be a GLEEKend (hehe)!

Unread Letters. {Personal Musings}

My fabulous readers, it has been so long.  I apologize (again, again).  Life has been hectic, and blogging here often takes a backseat to blogging there.  I am working on building up my photography business, and it is taking baby steps, but I am blessed and excited to see how God is making it grow.

But I digress.

Even with my lack of written words, there have been a few blog topics mulling around in my brain. 

Today, I want to share, and (hopefully) encourage you.  I’ve gone back and forth about sharing this…whether it is right to put it here. 

And yet...I will.

I’m sure you have heard, as I have, that writing letters is therapeutic.  And by that, I mean writing letters to those people (or a person) who has hurt you, who you have wronged, even who you have lost touch with.  Etcetera, etcetera. 

And you know what?  It is. 

It began four years ago.  (On a side note:  this post goes hand in hand with this one).

A journey of heartbreak that I know God allowed me to walk.  In the midst of questioning, feeling utterly foolish (still do sometimes), dwelling on silly hopes and trying to understand what was not meant to be understood by me, God came along side of me and began to heal me.  Sometimes my emotions run deep, I don't release things easily, and I let things affect me more than I should.  Let's just say this was one of those situations. 

 It was what it was. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

Mostly, nothing at all.

And still...significant.

I don't want to go into detail, but, looking back, I am glad I walked that journey.  It strengthened me in a way that I don’t think I would have been otherwise.  It taught me to trust in God’s will for my life and to wait on Him.  And to keep waiting on Him.

I began writing letters to that person on the other side of the heartbreak.  Letters I knew, and still know, I would never send.  Letters to that person, and letters to God.  48 in all, the majority written in 2006.

Letters destined to be unread.

I poured out every thought, emotion, question, sorrow, joy, prayer and regret in those letters.  I wrote out my heartbreak in detail, because I didn’t feel like I should (or sometimes could) openly share it. 
I felt like I had set sail on uncharted waters, and writing was the only way I could create the map to the shoreline. 

And now I know this for certain:  those letters are proof that I made it to the other side of a broken heart. 

I can read them now, (though not without occasionally cringing at my own stupidity) and see each step I took, each prayer answered, every silver lining, and every dark cloud.  I have them filed away, doomed someday for the trash.  But for now, they serve as a reference, a reminder of what's finished, a chapter ended.  It may seem silly to some to save them, but I will until the time comes that they should be discarded.

If you are experiencing something:  heartbreak, sorrow, questioning God;  something big, or small in your life, I encourage you to write letters.  To the person, or to God.  It’s not quite the same as journaling about a situation.  It’s pouring your thoughts into words with the intent of somebody reading them.  Journals are often written for ourselves alone.  But letters are written for the intent of being read by another.  Whatever you are facing, try to write a letter.  Short or long.  Simple or wordy.  Keep it.  Or mail it.  I found that letter writing was more honest in my situation than keeping the little purple journal.  Those letters filled in the gap of what was missing in the journal. 

Does it ever bother me that they were never sent?

No.
Because I acknowledge my greatest mistake: refusing to accept that the whole situation meant nothing at all.

{And yes}.
Because they should know that I'm thankful.

Regardless, I am so glad I wrote them. 

If there was one small quote that could summarize all 48 letters, I suppose it would be a line from one of my favorite songs:

"Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
(I do believe I have been changed for the better).
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good."
...

In some ways, those unread letters are priceless. 

... 

In other ways, they are nothing more than words on paper.

He is Risen.

Image Source

'Til on that cross, as Jesus died,

The wrath of God was satisfied.

For every sin on Him was laid,

Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground, His body lay

Light of the world, by death was slain.

Then bursting forth that glorious day

Up from the grave He rose again!

And as He stands, in victory,

Sin's curse has lost it's grip on me.

For I am His, and He is mine,

Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

I hope you had a wonderful Easter, celebrating with loved ones. 

I am thankful that I have been made righteous through the death and resurrection of Jesus.

He has conquered death.

He is risen indeed.

I spent the day with one of my best friends, and her awesome family.  We ate a delicious breakfast, went to church, and then my nieces enjoyed hunting for Easter eggs.  It was lovely.

Finding My Stride.

Okay, lovely readers, I have a short post for you about weight loss.  The dreaded term.  The battle of most women.  The ups, the downs, the cravings, the willpower, the fight. 

You can check out some of my past posts here.

Recently, I took up running.  Understand, I am not a runner…yet.  I think I can only average slightly over a quarter of a mile, nonstop, at a steady pace.  It’s not much, I know. 

And yet…

At my current weight,  I never thought running was something I could do.  I was concerned about excess weight on my knees, injuries, heart rate, etc., etc., etc.

I wanted to run, though.  Sometimes, I have an overwhelming urge to run.  To feel the freedom of childhood.  The sound of feet pounding the pavement.  The feel of the wind blowing against me.

So, with the encouragement and sound advice from some great friends who are HARD CORE runners, I began doing walk/jog intervals.  I’ve increased my distance, my stamina, and my terrain range.  I’m kind of proud of myself.

To those who live here in beautiful San Diego, specifically North County, you might be familiar with Lake Hodges, and the bridge that crosses it.  A hard core runner may look at the bridge and say, “easy!”  I can say that in regards to walking it.  But, running?  Forget it.

Image Source

This last week, I mastered the bridge run.  Additionally, I ran from my parked car which was up the hill.  My legs were killing me, and my lungs felt like they’d burst at times, but I found my stride, concentrated on breathing through it, and did what I set out to do. 

I ran the bridge. 

I see it and feel accomplishment.  I see it and know it’s the first of many steps of becoming a runner. 

Running has proven to add extra weight loss to my typical Weight Watchers regime.  But it also provides stress relief, mental clarity, physical benefits, and, most importantly, for me, it’s something I enjoy.

In regards to physical activity, I’d like to encourage you, as I was encouraged, to push yourself.   Step outside of your comfort zone, be safe, and

be brave

(believe me, it takes bravery for me to run along a busy road where I can be seen by so many people.  I am still very self conscious about how I look while I run). 

The first step is the hardest. 

Get past that, and it’s cake…

…Mmmm…cake….

{wink}

xoxo