2009 in Review.

It’s that time again. The time that I sit down for a while and purge my thoughts and feelings on the soon to expire year. Did I succeed? Did I fail?

2009 was the year of successes for me. I went from sitting in the stands to playing in the sunshine and exploring the world. My job pushed me harder and made me better, faster, and stronger. I overcame obstacles with employees, fattened my resume, and soaked up more knowledge than I ever thought possible. I traveled the world and taught almost 75 classes. I learned to be patient, to loosen my tightly gripped fists, and to gently remove my heart from my sleeve. I furthered my knowledge of the company and the field by stepping into facilities and asking questions.

I flew 17 hours to Australia and New Zealand. Twice.

I held a koala bear and played with kangaroos in Brisbane, where I spent a week sleeping in the 65^th floor penthouse suite overlooking the city. I watched a fashion show and toured the Brisbane River. I explored the city and came across a casino that resembled a palace.

I snorkeled in the Indian Ocean, rode the Ferris wheel, and got lost in downtown Perth. I bought a handmade ring in the shopping district, where my coworker/tour guide pointed me in one direction, sent me off, and let me wander around the shops for a few hours. I laughed at street performers, explored a remote island and bike-toured its coast.  I ate amazing food and learned about Australian beer, that Foster’s is a mockery to them as Lone Star is to Texas. I saw the effects of a disastrous fire along King’s Park. I was amazed by the thousands of jellyfish in the river coming into downtown. I learned the train system within minutes and hopped on as often as I could.

In New Plymouth, I stepped onto the edge of the livable world and got lost in the sea’s mystery. I became friends with the cab drivers – all 4 of them.  I played hard with my newfound Kiwi friends/coworkers. I met a guy from Fort Worth and his coworkers from Canada and Australia. On my second trip I met up with them again and we danced the night away. I overslept and nearly missed my flight. I watched the presidential election from the Auckland airport.

I flew to Germany.

As the most frustrating of my trips, I learned more about my company and how to conduct myself in a more professional manner. I went to a Chinese buffet with a German, an Indian, and a Mexican. I drove the autobahn. I met a girl my age who, in exchange for English lessons, provided me with a free tour of Hannover. I watched an art show/celebration with coworkers and wandered around the streets, in awe of the old architecture. Another coworker took me to a street market on Saturday morning. I learned that BBC is the best thing to help me sleep on lonely nights; that following a painted red stripe on the ground will set me in front of the opera house. I took a scenic train ride from Hannover to Amsterdam, staring out the window at the blooming tulips. The 6 figure priced tag horses in my country played like children in these places.

For 14 years, I promised myself that I would make it back to Norway, where I spent many childhood years.  I rented a car in Oslo and drove to Stavanger, despite my exhaustion over the stressful trip – a man had died on the flight. The tunnels spliced the mountains and I held my breath as I drove through them in my little stick-shift Skoda. I took my time walking the cobblestone streets, orange leaves sticking to the damp roads, a sign of the traditional Stavanger winter about to arrive. The project manager of Norway took me to an authentic Norwegian restaurant, where 10 of us suffered through eating lutefisk – dried cod soaked in lye – and drank too much Jul Ale.

I found my houses, both Tananger and Oslo. I found my dreaming tree, the place as that I would escape to after a bad day at school. One of the branches had been cut off, but the tree itself still stood proudly, its open arms welcoming me back like an old friend. The Norwegian Sea called my name and I dipped my fingers into the clear water. My houses hadn’t changed except for a new coat of paint and some overgrown bushes.

I logged over 45,000 miles of air travel in one year. I grew up emotionally and released past demons that haunted me. I learned lessons about my behavior and my personality. I made changes and cleared my universe of the ones that carried nothing more than dead weight or old memories that, looking back, were rather silly and trivial. I look back on my heartbreaks and now laugh at the immaturity, my wounds finally sealed, finally healed.

I bought my first house – by myself. Every evening I come home to my house and take pride that I didn’t follow others’ advice that I should live with my parents until I save $50,000. The investment has already paid off, with my health and happiness, and my neighborhood a tight community of neighbors who care about each other.

I was heartbroken by the loss of my best friend, who simply chose another path to walk down that I could not follow, due to my own blindness. To this day I regret the loss, and have confronted them about my errors, but they don’t wish to return to the friendship. I bear that cross silently and have resigned to my own paths.

I was devastated over the betrayal of a friend. I handed them my trust and my heart, my love and faith, all to watch them as they tossed me aside once their needs were satisfied. Despite my confrontation, they refuse to acknowledge their mistake and live their life as if I am just another face to have lunch with once every few weeks. However, as I sat across from them a while back, I realized that my heart had truly healed from their burns, and that I would never desire their attention again. Now they are a face, someone I used to know whose importance in my life I can’t quite place anymore.

Finally, I stumbled upon someone that I wasn’t sure existed for my world. Every night I curl up to him and smile as he sleepily kisses me into my dreams. Everything is where it belongs, from a knock-down, drag out fight to a date night where we don’t think about work or problems. He isn’t a secret I have to keep, or someone that tells me what to wear and how to talk to people. His idea of support isn’t comments about how I should work out at a gym instead of being with him – he’d rather take our dogs on a walk and play Wii with me. He pours over healthy recipes with me and smiles through his second portion, no matter how bland my experiment turned out. He cleans the house, bathes the dogs, sends me love texts, and always asks about my day. I am not afraid to go shopping with him, nor does he expect me to offer any explanation about my purchases. I feel no guilt about my house purchase, or fear that my money isn’t enough. He accepts me for me and thinks I’m beautiful, whether in a sweatshirt or my stilettos.

In summary, 2009 was a year of learning, of heartbreaks, and of happiness. I wouldn’t trade a day of it for anything. Here’s to 2010.

You'll follow my back with the sun in your eyes.

14 years.

I distinctly remember the day I crossed the ocean.

Nestled in my first-class window seat, I stared out the window and watched as the world I knew passed away, shrinking as the plane gained speed, cruising down the runway and finally taking off, carrying me across the world and into the place I now call home. I remained quiet, scribbling passages in my diary as I curled up next to my mother, who was already anxious to get as far away as possible. Promises of hot summers, long sunshining hours, a large home and old friends were flashing through her mind. She held onto me as I mourned my loss. My favorite tree down by the coast that I would hide in after a bad day. Its branches reached out horizontally, a wood hand cradling my tears. The horseback riding, the cold sea salted air. The frightening 4' troll figurines outside stores. Even the Chinese restaurant above the market down the street. The day we left, I was determined that someday I would find my way back.

In that time, I have grown up, yet memories do not fade, especially if we cling to them tightly and desperately. The sweet taste of the water and the smell of wet grass are still fresh in my mind. Both houses, down to the color of the cobblestone driveways and the hideous maroon Saab sitting in them still repeat in my imagination. A white picket fence in Oslo, an overwhelming wildflower garden in Stavanger. Terrifyingly beautiful thunderstorms that whined off the coasts and the haunted house down in the small valley we crossed to get to school.

My boss, after requesting that I pack my things and head up to the cold country, listened to my thick pause. "Are you okay?" his voice ringing through my ears, yet I only hear "so the dates you'll need to be in Stavanger are...."

After the silence had passed, I responded in the affirmative, giggling at my schoolgirl emotions. He laughed as I informed him I'd set the phone down and performed a cartwheel, startling my coworkers in the process. As the tears flooded my eyes, I listened to other instructions, jotted down notes, and attempted to force my heart down ito my chest, out of my throat.

14 years of waiting. It's been too long.

Did you think I’d forgotten about you? The impossibility of this ever occurring is simply unbelievable. I know you still read this blog, desperately seeking out specks of information about my intricate life. Please, come in, sit down, and enjoy.

I closed on my house at the end of July, packed up all of my belongings, and moved in. With over 1500 square feet and three bedrooms, a master suite that I couldn’t possibly fill up if I tried, and a bathtub that calls my name every night, I am blissfully comfortable in my home. My house faces a creek, and with no distractions or roads in close proximity, Cyrus is allowed to roam freely around 10 acres of undeveloped land. He chases birds, tramples through the tall grasses that tickle his belly, and trots back to our small yard once his energy has been sucked out of him. I have never seen a larger smile on my Bulldog. While the house has several cosmetic things it continues to beg me for, such as wood floors, new countertops, paint and crown molding, it is sturdy, aesthetically appealing, and perfect for me.

After the closing, I fell into an argument with an ex-friend and horse trainer. Names will not be given as she has threatened me, and the Google toolbar has been able to pick up my blog with discreet keywords. Confusing. I must look into that.

Before I purchased my home, I looked into obtaining a Thoroughbred to start my show career and get back into the circuit. I switched to my original discipline of hunter/jumpers and was overcoming obstacles that had faced me since my accident almost ten years ago. However, the horse wasn’t a good fit and I cancelled the sale, eventually and ultimately buying my home. My trainer, if discouraged, said nothing to me about my change in plans. A close friendship began to fray at the edges, and my keen eyes and heart immediately attempted to repair the tear. A confrontation occurred and I felt pushed into the corner, as her career was succeeding and she no longer needed me as her crutch. For nights I would sit over margaritas and listen to her mourn her old life, lament of her abusive boyfriend, and struggle financially to make it back into a world very prejudiced against new trainers. My goal was to save her, as it has always been – to save the world.

I scheduled a riding lesson a few Mondays ago and came out to find her boyfriend sitting in the stands, and immediately felt anxious. Already a fearful person and in flight mode, I avoided him until another student approached me, “He told me not to talk to you because you are psychotic…you are crazy.” My backbone awoke and I confronted him, all to be shouted at by my trainer. I left, discouraged and angry for the immaturity. Emails between the three of us were shared, nasty comments were flung at me like horse manure in the sun, and I sat on my hands, taking it. It was as though I once carried a baseball bat and handed it to her to abuse me with, beating and smashing bits of my spirit. I was accused of stalking (I hadn’t been to the barn since the incident over a week ago at that point) and of slander (I had sent an email to the barn owner requesting information about something unrelated). While I wanted to correct her accusation of slander – it would’ve been libel, I said nothing. A string of curse words and a threat of a lawsuit were fired at me. I deleted her number, blocked all contact, and crawled into a corner to allow my wounds to heal. I haven’t ridden horses since, debating on selling my tack and resigning from the industry altogether.

During the healing process, I discovered someone in an unrelated event. While I had known him from previous encounters during games of volleyball and through mutual friends, I had given him nothing more than a passing glance, chalking him up as ‘not my type’. He caught me in my own game of fight or flight, grabbing my hand and keeping me from bolting out the door. Each night he takes a small hammer and chisel and gently erodes the cement wall that I had carefully erected after my last heartbreak. The strong exterior is several feet thick, but I await on the other side, hoping and praying for a beam of light to pierce my darkness. The wall has weakened; his strategy of chiseling the right places at the right times to make it crumble. At any moment he is aware I am prepared to run, but at any moment I could push my own wall down. I cannot fathom how I didn’t see him for so many months, as he saw me. And at night a cloud settles around us, withholding our secrets and strengthening a small yet powerful bond. I have not felt this awakened since…well…again, we know who reads this thing. Memories of past heartaches and  beatings are erased with every kiss. Scars, once bright red and glittering, are dulling and healing.

The first grandchild in my family is expected, my sweet sister in law glowing, carrying a long-awaited gift. We anxiously await, watching smeared images and listening to heartbeats. She grows carefully, a delicate and intricate life within her, and my brother’s chest protrudes with pride. This miracle is due to arrive in February, a simple Valentine’s gift from them to them. We place bets on eye color – the startling green of my handsome brother, or the liquid chocolate of my lovely sister in law. Pizza nauseates her, her belly moving about with the new addition. This grandchild is the first on both sides of our families, the first great grandchild for my father’s mother. How can seven pounds weigh so much? We count days until we hear the gender, pick out names, take pictures and giggle over ice cream. My brother hurries to finish his master’s degree, determined to offer his first child everything that our father gave us. If only he realized what a father he already is?

Life is at a magical moment this year.

Oh, by the way...

 I bought a house.

After two years of residing in small shoe boxes and gnashing my teeth at the poor maintenance teams, cigarette butts scattered about the property, and sighing as my car's paint fades in the South's heat, I started looking.

Then I stopped, memories of being told that I couldn't afford a home, let alone live in an apartment. Who did I think I was, spending my hard-earned money?

A few weekends ago, my mom and I were in the midst of a typical Saturday afternoon - shopping. We passed a neighborhood near my current residence (the shoebox property from hell), and on whim, stopped by the sales office.

The home I found was perfect. Perfect location, brand new, attractive - though not perfect price as of that day, and twice the size of my apartment. I brought my father (the logic) in. We bartered and bargained.

Long story short, I close on July 31st. I'm nervous, ecstatic, anxious, and hopeful. There are paint samples and wish lists spread about the place, and boxes soon to be trickling in.

Tile floors, brand new appliances, my own backyard, two stories, three bedrooms, a large kitchen, 2 car garage, and so much more. :)

Change

Manipulation is a powerful science.

I have discovered that I am pliable, bendable, shapeable, moldable, and flexible - all simple arts to perform. However, one thing I have also learned is that it is easy to manipulate me. I have been walked upon, treaded over, pushed aside, and dismissed. The insults have underlined me to the point where I completely missed the overall discussion.

In this realization, change has begun to occur within my soul. It began with a simple conversation several months ago between me and the owner of the team I work for:

"I want to move into the project team." I stood in his office, firm in my convictions, taking pride in all of my accomplishments.
"Why do you want to do that?" he leaned back in his chair, exposing his protruding stomach after too many beers in too many foreign places over the years.
"I feel that I would be an excellent asset to your team."
"Well, you do have a nice ass......et."

Stunned and suddenly aware that I was wearing a form fitting dress and knee high boots, I understood exactly what this man, the manager who earns six figures per year, thought of me. I understood that I was nothing more than the project's Barbie Doll, the eye candy of the group. The conversation only tumbled downwards from there.

"Why don't you take courses at a community college?" he smiled at me.
I stuttered in response that I have a degree in Technical Writing and in English, that I obtained two internships, and the success and streamlined ease of my department since my mentor had moved into another department. My lack of confidence bled into the conversation, and I was politely dismissed.

The embarrassment remained within me, and for a while I settled with myself that I was resigned to my position for the next five years. Building tenure was my only option.

Lately, the embarrassment has turned into determination. Past memories of being informed that I should 'take a $30,000 per year job', wear certain clothes and act a certain way, eat what I was told, live where I was directed, even buy the car that was the most sensible - and the feeling I felt run through my veins when I snubbed it all - have been nudging my mind for a few weeks.

I decided to go back to school. For the next six months I will be working on obtaining my Project Management Certification for IT. At this time I am preparing for the GRE to apply for Texas Tech University's prestigious Master's program. My boss is ecstatic. My coworkers do not know, as the one I am most at odds with will attempt to stifle my determination for success.

If you walk into my home,  you'll note a picture of a beautiful Victoria's Secret model in a gorgeous pink swimsuit (she's on the cover of SELF magazine). I am going to look like that model, just not as a blond. I've started a body boot camp, eating program, playing volleyball weekly, and am still riding. Being stagnant is not in my blood. Happiness and self-determination are.