For a lot of people, this is a big deal, but in my family, I now see it as sort of a pivot point – the point at which my parents’ lives went in this new and totally interesting direction. At the time, of course, I did not give it proper credit. I was pretty wrapped up in that whole “I’m 18 and my life and where I’m choosing to go to college is pretty much the most important thing that has ever happened in the history of all mankind, forever” thing. I remember seeing him lying on the couch at home afterwards, wrapped in a blanket, because even though it was April, Ohio had decided it would be an awesome time for some snow. I said congratulations (I think), but really, I should have celebrated more. Up until I was in high school, my dad had always been moderately overweight. Not horribly, like a Biggest Loser contestant, but I would never have called him skinny, and I didn’t give that a second thought. That was just how my dad was. Then, when I was in high school, my dad started losing a ton of weight. And he started running. It culminated in his running a half-marathon. Again, I gave this very little thought at the time.

A year later, I was in college at BU, and I got to watch my uncle as he passed by my dorm in mile 25 of the Boston Marathon. My uncle had never run a marathon, but a series or circumstances – him being the weatherman on ABC and having the chance to run for a charity close to his heart – allowed him to do it, and he did. He finished the Boston Marathon.

His running Boston and my Dad running his half then inspired my mom to start running. When I went home the next fall, she would be out doing intervals in our neighborhood. When she started, she couldn’t run a mile.

This year, she ran her third marathon.

Again, at the time, I did not give any of this much thought, except that when my mom came up to Boston my Junior year of college to run the Tufts 10K, I felt vaguely guilty and out of shape. A year later, after several visits home during which I would roll out of bed at 10, only to encounter my parents coming in from a ridiculously long run, I finally felt guilty and out-of-shape enough to try to start running myself. I went with the Couch to 5K program, and it went pretty well for about a month. I would go running along the Charles, congratulating myself on how fit and dedicated I looked. I got up to jogging for about 5 minutes. Then the knee pain hit. Debilitating knee pain that made me limp home in shame and made walking up and down stairs for the next week or so extremely difficult. Bye-bye running.

For the next few years, my parents continued to kick-ass at running. When they moved to Delaware, my mom got a job at a gym, which led to her becoming a personal trainer and starting a local running club. My mom began to inspire adults to run, giving them tips, helping them train, and giving them the inspiration to start. She also started coaching Girls on the Run, a program to help girls in 3rd-5th grade build confidence through training for and running a 5K. My parents ran several half-marathons before they needed a new challenge and decided to take on a full marathon – the Marine Corps Marathon, which my dad used to help run (as in facilitate) during his years as a Marine. At this milestone for my parents, my guilt kicked in again, and I thought I’d give this running thing another try. Maybe that knee thing was a fluke, and as I’d been using my knee as an excuse to not run anymore, I thought, why don’t I just do it again to see what happens. I got four weeks in for the 2nd time before the knee pain popped back up again. I gave up again, and frankly, I was sort of happy to have an excuse as to why I couldn’t do it to use every time people would say “So are you a runner like your parents?”

I used that excuse until this past Spring, I suddenly, and happily, became extremely close to Christina. Christina is a runner – a logs Daily Miles on facebook daily, has run 3-marathons runner, but she hasn’t always been. She only started three years ago when we started teaching. She ran the SRLA program at her school and ran her first LA marathon. She reminded me of my mom in that way.

Around this time, I also heard that Nicole was training for a half marathon, and I know that Nicole was not a runner before this.

Suddenly, I felt stupid and lazy with my excuse. My knee hurt. So what? My parents had several injuries that they had gotten over. So has ANYONE who has ever run, ever. My excuse felt flimsy, and I was suddenly tired of telling stories of my parents’ awesome running lives to my friends with awesome running lives, instead of having any of my own besides “Oh, I don’t run. You know…knee pain and all.”

So I started the Coach to 5K again, for a third time. I pretty much had the first 5 weeks memorized at this point. And at about a month and a half in, without fail, my knee pain came screaming back, but this time, I wasn’t secretly relieved. I was pissed off. I wanted to join this elusive running club of which I had never been able to gain entry. I wanted to punch this knee pain in the face. So I did.

I finally went to see a sports doctor who diagnosed my injury in 2.5 seconds and gave me a way to fix it. Two weeks later, I was easing back into running, pain free. Four weeks later, I ran for 20 minutes without stopping – the longest I have ever run in my life. And I couldn’t wait to call my mom and tell her.

This week, on the eve of attempting to run for 25 minutes, I signed up for a 5k and had my mom make me a training plan to work up to running a half-marathon in the Spring. Christina has been cheering me on all week. When I get back, I’ll probably ask Nicole to show me some running trails by our apartment. I finally feel part of the club.

I didn’t write a post this week about what I’m thankful for because it felt like it would be cliche and sound like everyone else’s. I’m of course thankful for my friends and family, but today, I am specifically thankful for having such inspiring, motivating, helpful and encouraging friends and family. If my dad, my uncle, my mom, Christina, and Nicole hadn’t put on shoes, walked outside and started to run, despite the fact that they had never done it before, despite the fact that it was hard, I never would have done it…three times. I would have given up and been fine with that, but seeing them do it and keep doing it, I realized I wasn’t fine with giving up. I wanted the joy, the frustration, the pain, and the triumph of running too. So, thanks you guys! I wouldn’t be doing this without you.

Wednesday (my actual birthday), I’m going out to dinner with the boyfriend, and probably getting a chocolate cake from one of my students who came to me the other day to ask me, and I quote, “chocolate questions,” to determine my cake preferences.

Friday, my boyfriend organized a dinner with our awesome and amazing co-workers at one of my favorite LA spots. (In fact, I was just there enjoying buttery garlic balls with Andrea and Amy!)

Saturday, my roommates organized a dinner and small get together for my outside of work friends.

Today, my sister told me she is getting me tickets to go see a taping of “Big Bang Theory,” something we’ve been talking about wanting to do for months.

All in all, I’m feeling overwhelmed with the amount of love and general awesomeness in my life right now.

After my last post, I’ve been trying to live in the moment, to stop thinking about how my life looks and to start focusing on how happy I am at this juncture of my life.

In thinking about this coming birthday week, I went back and read what I posted last year on my 23rd birthday, and this one line in particular hit me:

“While my 23rd year most likely won’t seem as life-changing on paper as my 22nd, I’m thinking that by my 24th year, I’m going to be an entirely different person, and for today at least, I feel kind of OK with that.”

This hit me, because of how right I was in my assumption. On paper, my life is almost exactly the same as last year. I live in the same apartment. I have the same job. I have the same friends, but this year, I feel, somehow, more whole. I feel much more grown up, more settled. Despite stress, I feel good at my job, where as last year I felt, at times, like I was drowning. Last year, though I would rarely admit it, I felt utterly, emotionally alone, and now I’m with someone who constantly surprises me with understanding and with exactly what I need at the end of a long day. Last year, I still missed my “homes” in Boston and with my parents, and while I still feel a little ache for that, I now feel like when I come to my apartment, I’m home. I feel like LA is where I live, and when I fly into LAX, I feel like I’m returning instead of just staying for a bit.

My prediction came true. My 23rd year was not life-changing like last year was. I’m different now, and I’m still very OK with that.

The problem with this, and with me, really, is that I have terrible “grass is greener” syndrome. Even as I’ve been happy with my life, I’m always seeing the awesome, cool, interesting, and exotic things OTHER people are doing. I see people eating at amazing restaurants, going on hot air balloon rides, creating a ball-pit in their living room, traveling the world, staring their own businesses, decorating adorable apartments, getting married, going to grad school…I see all these things, and I think, THOSE are the types of things I want – the interesting lives with the new, small adventures, with the adorable outfits and the Etsy adorned apartment and the fun, entrepreneurial new job….

Lately, I’ve come to realize, however, that what we see on blogs is SUCH a small slice of people’s lives, and not just any slice, the slice people *choose* to share with the world. We sometimes see the struggles, but always protected and monitored, always as a small chunk of the image. We don’t see the daily grind, the annoying traffic, the family frustrations, the utter heartbreaks, and the boring days. The more bloggers I’ve met in real the life, the more evident this has become to me. As much as we know and share with each other, we don’t know that much *just* from reading blogs. People are doing these fun, cool, adventurous things, but they are also living real life. Just like I am.

With this realization, it has been my mission to think about how my life could (or would) be perceived (if I actually blogged about it on a regular basis, that is), and what people may see in me, when you take away all that daily grind crap.

My blog would show that I love my job, stress and crazy kids and all. It would show that I have a great adorable teacher boyfriend who loves me. It would show that I do go on some crazy adventures, like hitting up Disneyland with these lovely folks and having a heart attack on Space Mountain, like going with my best friend to see Maroon 5 at the Greek theater, and like going with my hilarious co-workers to Drag Bingo in West Hollywood. It would show that I do have some cute Etsy jewelry. I do go to fun restaurants that have been featured on “The Best Thing I ever Ate,” and even though it isn’t super decorated, I do have a pretty sweet apartment.

Someone reading would look at my life and not see the disorganized room, the hour of me in sitting (and screaming) in traffic, the pain of getting up at 5AM, and the lack of decoration in my apartment, but they would see someone who has a pretty good life. And it is definitely the life I want.

When I say I’m “going home” for the week, what I really mean is “I’m going to where my parents live.” Right now, that is Delaware. I lived here for a couple months after graduating last year, but I don’t have any friends here. I have no old hang-outs to visit, and I basically hang out with my parents and work-out at the JCC when I come here. It’s not home, except for the idea that home is where my parents live.

When I told people I was coming to Delaware this week, I said I was going home for the week, but being here and in Pittsburgh at a family reunion for the weekend, I realized, I’m not at home. I love my parents more than anything, and emotionally, yes, whenever I am in their house, I will feel some sense of home, but I had a surprising realization last night.

When I fly back to LA on Wednesday, I’ll be going home. I’ll be going to the place I feel like I truly belong at this point in my life. I’ll be going to the little home I’ve created with my best friends in our apartment. I’ll be going to the place where I can grab dinner and a movie with my sister at a moments notice. I’ll be going to the place I can drive around without thinking. I’ll be going to the place I feel comfortable and happy and settled. I’ll be going to the place I can’t imagine moving from any time soon, which is exactly the opposite of how I thought I would ever feel about Los Angeles.

The first time I lived there, I thought it was pretentious and loud and too spread out and too sunny. (Odd, I know.) Now, I’ve embraced and conquered (at times) the traffic. I’ve made amazing friends who always keep me busy when I want to be. I’ve found a job I’m (almost) really good at and that I feel fulfilled in. I’ve learned to love the constant sunny and 70 degree weather. I’ve found an apartment that feels cozy and comfortable and (almost) decorated, and I’ve found (for now) a guy who indulges me in seeing Toy Story 3, takes me to Dodgers games, enjoys hanging out and doing nothing but watching movies and eating pizza, and who doesn’t make me feel nervous or self-conscious or crazy about anything I do, say, or feel.

I’ve had a great weekend with my family, revisiting my favorite childhood theme park, Kennywood, hanging out at a waterpark with my cousins, and dancing to a super local Pittsburgh band at a hotel bar with all my aunts and uncles, but I am really excited to go home.

(Photo stolen from Andrea.)

So….Vegas happened.

It was, once again, ridiculous and magical and full of hugging and laughing and inside jokes and and and me looking FREAKISHLY good in hats (and also a bit like Jason Mraz when I quickly glance in the mirror after several afternoon drinks).

(FYI I look good in all hats. I feel I may have mentioned this in a post before…oh yes, here.)

So, there was my ride with Ev’yan and Andrea, during which we stopped for SONIC, which I have not had in years and which made me flash back to sitting in the back of my boyfriend’s truck after Battle of the Bands when I lived in Alabama in 10th grade. Yes, that happened.

Then there was the mad sprint Nicole and I went on while trying to get to the Planet Hollywood “I Just Came from a Theme Party” Bar Crawl before everyone else, caused by the fact that instead of actually, you know, walking towards the giant hotel marked “PLANET HOLLYWOOD” we walked in the opposite direction, forcing us to haul ass back the correct way in order to beat the large group slowing converging on the bar and causing me to almost knock down a small child.

A little later was the time I fell asleep (also known as passing the eff out) only to wake up to Kerri to shouting that she needed to go out and “live my life!”

The next day, there was us getting free stuff by the pool before  Chelsee and Michelle (and husband) ran around the strip like crazy people looking for a giant statue of David and taking some photographic evidence.

After that there was a ridiculous amount of laughter, Kori teaching us that life is never that bad when you’ve got a jaw and that hooker cards are meant to be organized, me rediscovering I look great in hats, a delicious meal that was made “breader” by bread, Amy and I discovering we are clearly soul-mates, fountain-jumping, 60-year old brides belting out “Simply the Best” (“Maybe her husband IS simply the best…”),  insane amounts of dancing at Margaritaville (but sadly, NO Ke$ha!), AND a tiny penis straw.

Lastly there was an incompetent cashier, creepes covered with bacon, (finally!) champagne, and more carbs than I care to mention.

And after that, I went home and  there was LOST. OMGLOSTICRIEDFORFOURHOURSANDSTILLCANNOTPROCESSWHATHAPPENED….

But, yeah…Vegas. Vegas was awesome, as I knew it would be. The end.

It was madness. There were huge pictures of her lining the lobby. There were little girls dressed up as her milling in the lobby. There were audible gasps as she entered the stage in her iconic yellow dress. I feel like I just was one of those little girls gasping at Disney Princesses, now one of my best friends IS one. What is my life? When did this suddenly happen?

We went back stage. She showed us around her dressing room. We had dinner with the cast, and I grabbed drinks with her after the evening show. We reminisced about all the bastards that were bastardly to us our senior year of high school, who were jealous of her freakish talent and angry that I sided her her, and who now have babies, and ex-wives, and apartments next to our old high school. I feel like it was just last week when we were wandering around the mall in Ohio, gossiping about people we hated and how awesome our lives were going to be some day, and now…they kind of are.

*cue bragging*

I’m living in LA. I’m a part of a nationally recognized organization that takes about 4% of the people that apply to be a part of it. I make good money (for a 23-year-old). I have health insurance. I drive a pretty sweet little Prius. On weekends, I run into Mathew Perry and Elizabeth Perkins on the street. (Note: I love the UCB theater for that…) I have friends who feed my passion for fancy food and mash-up parties. I can vacay in Vegas. (Note: I GOT MY ROOM FOR VEGAS! yesYesYES!).

And my friend? She moved to New York last Spring, and got called into this audition a mere two months later. She ran into Julie Andrews in the bathroom at her temporary job in Macy’s. She’s touring the country, with her ensemble boyfriend in tow (with stops in San Fran, Chicago, Florida, LA, and HAWAII) as an effin’ princess and when she waves at little girls? They spontaneously combust into tears.

And those bastardly bastards from high school?  Living in central Ohio. Raising babies alone at 22. Working dead-end retail jobs. Performing in local theme park shows. I mean, maybe that’s what they want. Maybe they are truly happy, and maybe I’m overly judgemental, but (and you are free judge to me for it) the inner 17-year-old in me (and in her) who had to deal with side-long glances in the hallway, bitchy comments during my monologues (Note: I went to a performing arts high school), and snickers at the posting of cast lists is taking great pride and happiness in the fact that I’m “successful” and happy and awesome and they…to me…are not.

But that is not what I wanted this post to focus on, while it is fun to focus on that sometimes. What I meant to focus on is that sometimes I don’t recognize  my life at all. I’m used to changing and moving and doing new things, but sometimes I find myself flying down the 405 or walking around the Farmer’s Market or standing in front of a classroom of 14-year-olds or watching my friend waltz in a giant yellow dress in front of 3,000 people that I stop and think “When did this become my life?”

I love Saturday night dinners with my sister where even after spending 4 hours together we still have endless things to talk about while splitting gnocchi in four cheese sauce and spinach ravioli in sage butter sauce. (Food swoon.)

I love Friday nights spent waiting for the valet, complaining about reruns of “The Office” while standing behind a cast member from “The Office”, after seeing my favorite actor from “Friends” in an improv show and before seeing my favorite actor from “Parks and Recreation” walk past with my second favorite character from “Will and Grace”. (“I feel like I’m living Must-See Comedy Thursday!”)

I love scrapping plans to go out in exchange for playing “Lost” drinking games during which mind-blowing first season episodes send everyone running into the kitchen for refills.

I love annual Sunday morning coffee dates with my three best LA friends when I realize how much I love The Farmer’s Market, Coffee Bean Hazelnut lattes, and the fact that my three best friends live in LA.

I love endless texting and impromptu dinner outings with new LA friends that remind me that surprising things can still happen to me.

I love how I’m at a point in my life where Facebook stalking makes me feel insanely good about myself and my life choices rather than the other way around.

I love that even though I spent 5 hours working today, I’ve been insanely tired for a week, and I still feel that stress creeping over me, I’m weirdly happy right now. Love.

(PS I love all of you, who continue to read this on-again, off-again blog of mine. Although I suck at responding, my heart leaps a little bit every time one of you comments! <3 I’ll try to stop sucking.)

January

I rang in 2009  in Australia, a trip which I recapped past the point of necessity. After I got home and moved in with my parents (since I technically graduated from school in Jan. 2009), I celebrated the Steelers going to the Superbowl (if only they were on the same path now…) and (shamefully) found myself sitting inside a thick Twilight haze.

February

I started the month by taking my first of many trips to Boston for my best friends birthday. I decided to lose 15 pounds by graduation. (I got to 10, so win?) I hit a wall with temporary unemployment, then quickly was given a big project when my 10 pounds of Teach for America reading material arrived in the mail. I freaked out about being an adult and vlogged for 20SB vlog day (which I’ve since remembered I deleted out of embarrassment.)

March

Things perked up in March when I got my Nikon D90 (AND STARTED WRITING ONLY IN CAPS! Clearly, it was necessary) and immediately replaced television with photography. Then, instead of recapping my trip to LA or my weekend in Annapolis, I mentally decorated my future apartment and made Bakerella’s Cake Pops.

April

I was a little lazy with posting until I had a dilemma in car buying, wavered, then finally bought my beautiful blue 2005 Prius (which I’m still obsessed with. 45 mpg? $20 to fill up? iPod hook-up? Yes, yes, and yes.). I then celebrated Passover with some help from my non-Jewish father, failed at blogging (a common trend, no?), fought about gay marriage with a ridiculous pageant queen, and started a new photoblog (which I also failed at). Then, I finally figured out and listed the things that were causing me to fail at blogging.

May

I headed up to Boston for Senior Breakfast at my college and finally decided I was ready to move on from Boston and from college. (I’m starting to doubt that in retrospect…) Then I headed back to Boston a week later for Senior Week. And, you know, for my official graduation from college. Still bizarre to think about.

June

I was officially hired by a school in LA and decided things were going a little too well. I said good-bye to my parents (and learned later I made my mom cry). I took a little trip to Vegas you may have heard something about. I got to San Diego and hung out with an “old” college friend. I finally arrived in LA and started Teach for America Induction and met my future co-workers on a two day trip back to San Diego.

July

I wrote my first and last edition of quotes from the always stressful, sometimes funny Institute and wrote my first of MANY posts about balancing the stress of teaching with just about everything else in my life, in this case, seeing Harry Potter at midnight, a very important priority in my life.

August

I finished Institute and wished I had time to actually document what was going on in my life (which should be the official theme of this year.) Off-line, I started work and started school. I became a teacher.

September

More of the same. I wanted to blog. I wanted to be a normal person (by making a list of things I was going to do, none of which I did until about 3 months later). I wanted to not be tired all. the. time. Things weren’t bad, but they weren’t (that magic word) balanced.

October

After a major downer of a week, things weren’t bad for the moment.I reflected on my 22nd year as I moved into my 23rd, and I  played a little high low game in order to reflect on the good things that were happening in my life.

November

I took a trip to Berkeley to see American Idiot and came back with a severe case of grass is always greener syndrome. I had a week-off for Thanksgiving and was thankful for my awesome co-workers and my Gilmore Girl-like dinner situation. I then promptly discovered I have no idea what I want out of life. At all. Still awesome.

December

I started attempting to reminisce (and again promptly failed at the attempt), thinking back on my trip to Australia. I wondered if I would ever simply be happy and reflected on how my life right now is my biggest challenge.

So that was my year: a whole lot of boredom and family bonding into a whole lot of working and complaining about balance. I still don’t know what I want. I still don’t know how to feel about where I am right now. I still don’t know where I’ll be in a year and a half when this whole TFA thing ends. In this moment, I’m thinking about scrapping the whole regular job thing and giving this photography thing a go, but that’s just today. I can’t trust I’ll feel this way in a week, but that isn’t today’s discussion. Today is looking back. Tomorrow, I’ll be looking forward. Let’s go, 2010.

This was an unbelievably tough decision. This was a year that had me traveling to Boston for my college graduation:

to Vegas to meet some ridiculously amazing bloggers,

but as crazy and fun as those trips were, one trip definitely stands up above the rest (even though it technically started in 2008), which would be my trip to Australia. (Insanely long recaps here, here, and here.)

Despite the 14 hour plan ride and the mild homesickness last Christmas, my trip to Australia was three weeks of bliss. It was sunny, warm, exciting, fun, and comfortable. Half-way around the world, I got to feel at home with one of my best friends and her family for the holidays. Millions of people visit Australia, but I got to feel like I lived there, as I celebrated Christmas with a remarkable family that made me feel a part of theirs and hung out with some ridiculously cool Australians, ringing in the New Year in a house by the beach. My friends Sarah, Sharon, and I hopped from Melbourne, to Mount Martha, to Sydney, laughing the entire time. I left $1800 richer (Impluse gambling, FTW!) and filled with memories that will last a lifetime.

Let’s hope 2010 brings me closer to my return to Australia and my reunion with my two amazing friends who made it the best trip of this year, and probably of several other years as well.

So…that is my excuse. That is my mea culpa. I’m tired and busy and sad that I’m not keeping up with everyone online or even keeping up with myself. I’m told it will get easier. I’ll adjust to the sleep schedule. I’ll set up an organization system that works. I won’t wake up some mornings wondering how in the hell I’m going to get through the day. I won’t be close to tears on the phone with my mom as my students start coming in the door.

No, things aren’t that bad. My kids are ridiculously fantastic. They’ve already done some great work, but I’ve also seen how much I have to do with them to get them where they need to be. We went on an overnight as a school last week, and while it was a tiring 30 hour trip, our school has such a community now. The people I’m working with are phenomenal, smart, dedicated professionals. I honestly couldn’t ask for a better situation, but still….it it’s so hard. It is so ridiculously hard.