Independence Day

Independence is a slippery word.

Once I was known as wife. Once I was known as girlfriend. Now I am known as me. 

Today would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Now it is the one year, one month, and fourth day anniversary of my divorce. I find I like this anniversary better. It feels significantly more relevant and there isn't anyone sitting on the couch that forgot to buy me flowers.

Once I was a homeowner. Once I shared a house with a husband and then a boyfriend. Now I live for the first time in a place that is all mine. Well, mostly mine...Iona remains the welcome constant.

It is only right and fair that I now live on a street called Independence Place. That slippery, slippery state of being is actually a place. My place.

Where Did I Run To?

I did the disappearing act again and feel that it is worthy of an explanation. Where the heck have I been for the past 5 weeks? Halfway through a major freaking fundraising campaign for one. But that's not even the half of it, and as of this weekend it will be time for me to slow my roll down for a bit. This means that for the next few months this girl will be running for her health and for her sanity, and not for cash and notoriety.

Over coffee last Sunday morning, Jason looked at my weary frame and reminded me why I was feeling a little deflated. I had just come off a flurry of amazing activities that had literally zapped the energy out of me. Over the course of the past few months we had launched a huge new initiative at work and partnered with an company offshore. I had also traveled to the Philippines twice, Mexico once, Florida for a conference, and a couple fun trips to NYC and DC. Then I was granted the Triangle Business Journal's "40 Under 40" award, and still managed to toss in my 39th birthday...all while conducting a 10-week flurry of fundraising emails, calls and activities for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's (LLS) "Woman of the Year" campaign. 


Everything culminated last Saturday night at the LLS Gala. We won.

I have to say though...that winning felt fabulous. Winning the LLS "Woman of the Year" campaign was both unexpected and thrilling. Don't get me wrong, I do just about everything with the intention to win, but there were some hurdles along the way that made this fundraising endeavor more challenging than I anticipated. It is with sheer humility that I say I couldn't have done this without everyone that contributed time, effort, auction items, and money. To each person that offered up cash...I thank you. To all that donated auction items or helped secure them...I applaud you. To everyone that tolerated my exhausted rants and short temper...I appreciate you. To my dear friends Carl, Brad, Mike and of course Jason...thank you to iContact, Dante, Emily, and Valerie... bless you. (And not in that Southern slightly harpy way.)


It was an absolute honor to run this campaign on behalf of Josh Paryz and his incredible family. Every time I encountered them I was reminded why this campaign was so important. "Boy of the Year"? Seriously, this kid is going to be President someday. Just wait, wait, and see what becomes of this articulate, kind, and already brilliant young man. And Mae, Josh's counterpart in this campaign? She is a beautiful and delightfully elegant girl that will grow up to be an absolute stunner in every sense. That these two children have gone through the pain and turmoil of cancer, is almost beyond words. So to them, their families, to everyone involved...thank you for letting me be a part of this. I am forever changed by knowing you. You now have a warrior on your side in this fight against blood cancers. Just don't be alarmed if I disappear for a bit and take a little nap in the sand. I will return to help fight the good fight.

A Little Reminder

A dear best friend lost his dad this morning. Sometimes we just need to be reminded how gloriously amazing this life of ours is. Be known, be present, be loved.

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body. 

From Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855
Walt Whitman

Storm Troopers

I would be remiss to classify any of the weekends I have with Jason as normal. Even during our anticipated downtime, we somehow manage to instigate things and converse about things that set the day delightfully topsy-turvy. Nothing is ever expected and nothing is ever, ever dull. Perhaps some of our inability to prophetize is due to our excitement and newness with each other, but it seems more likely that it is simply our two complimentary beings colliding. This weekend was of course, no exception.

On Saturday afternoon we found ourselves gallivanting through Raleigh with our dear friend Amy. She and I are known throughout the Philippines as "The Twin Towers" and also seem to attract chaos, complexity and entertainment at every turn. This human trifecta could only be interesting.

We three had all watched the weather report earlier and knew that precipitation was our future. Sure, there were talks of severe winds and inclement storms and tornadoes, but we took that news with a light-hearted attitude. The last time that the three of us were together in NYC, we experienced unprecedented winds, so we figured there was little that could get blown at us that we hadn't felt before. HA! As Amy later said, our combined personalities seemingly fuel and anger the weather gods. We three have a little Dorothy in us.

With that said, we prepared for the threat of historic storms by bringing coats. 

We should have realized that things were turning for the worse when the outdoor festival we were attending was suddenly dismantled and people began fleeing. The organizers were literally yanking the chairs out from under us. So instead of going home and seeking shelter, we wandered on over to Hargett Street and the Raleigh Times. The skies opened up during our one drink there, and then there was an eerie clarity and silence. Now I grew up in Wisconsin and have spent many a time cowering in a basement, so I know what that means. The tornadoes are a coming. So we used that little break as a sign that we should walk down to The Landmark Tavern. 

Now the Landmark holds a special place for Jason and me. We never fail to be memorable there and I seem to find my relationship courage at the bottom of their glasses. Most nights find us huddled together and animatedly discussing the future of the world and our place in it. I've had some of my most lucid and life-changing conversations within those walls.

So it was rather apropos that on those barstools we sat watching the weather on the TV and on our phones. We were still in denial of our doom, so we kept laughing about the pending non-event and telling tales of our prior weather adventures. Then it actually began around us. 

We could physically feel the pressure change, and then the winds picked up, the electricity went out, and there was debris whipping around past the windows. All of a sudden the doors blew open and needed to be bolted shut. It was slightly past 4pm and became pitch black outside. Dorothy and her merry men be warned. Once the tornado sirens began, the bartender calmly and loudly ushered us all into the women's bathroom where we stood together under candlelight with drinks still in hand. Of course everyone brought their drink. If you are huddled in a bathroom with people you love, you might as well have a good cocktail to toast with.

The storm went past quickly and left its path of destruction through downtown and throughout North Carolina. 22 people died and 13 counties are now considered to be in a State of Emergency. For all those that lost something or someone on Saturday, you have my thoughts. 

I certainly don't discount the severity, but I can't help but think...just a typical weekend...just a typical Sarah Saturday. And I love you both for sharing it. 

Technicolor Daydream

A little over a year ago I received a Match.com email that changed things. It changed everything.

It is fair to say that at that point in time, my allure with online dating had begun to wane. Initially I had jumped into the process with great trepidation. I had tested the waters in Fall of 2009, retracted my profile at least 5 times, got involved, got confused, recovered, and had then decided to wait out the holidays away from the Internet. Dating for the first time in over 17 years was unexpectedly complicated. I had somehow gotten entangled in several relationships that were each proving to be unfulfilling, and that was making me a tad crazy. I wanted what I didn't have. So back online I went. 

In January of last year I reactivated my Match profile and hoped for the best. I was immediately bombarded with emails and winks, and soon became overwhelmed with the entire situation. It seemed as if I might have to quit my job and disown all my friends in order to have enough time to properly wade through the correspondence and weed out the crap. Instead, I just started pouring through the masses. Initially there was a feeling of obligation and I actually attempted to respond to each request. After awhile, I simply started ignoring everyone that obviously didn't read my profile.

It was apparent that many men looked at the pictures and maybe my occupational/salary level and thought I was worthy of a discussion and perhaps a date. Other than the fact that we were both breathing, our compatibility ended there. Seriously. If I say, and I quote, "I run fast, work hard, talk openly, and thrive off learning and doing new things. I am very much IN THE MOMENT. I want someone that can keep up with me, as I have apparently limitless energy and require little sleep!". 

If I say these things...and I DID say these things in the first freaking paragraph of my profile...If I say these things, do not think that we will get along if you love your couch like a brother, find solace in silence, and want a "good little quiet Southern woman". I am not these things. Not now, and not ever. 

So after a couple months of a lot of email exchanges, many first dates, more than a few uncomfortable or bizarre encounters, I had become rather ambivalent with my Match.com affair. As my friend Rain so eloquently said, "I've had enough learning and character building. I want fuzzy warm things now".

And then the email came. It was short, it was succinct, it was obvious this person had read what I wrote. I liked what he said, and I liked the pictures that came along with the words. But I was more than a tad suspect. He lived more than 2 hours away, he was much younger than me, and he had a son. Perhaps I thought I could still learn a few things. I was obviously still willing to risk for love, so I responded and the dialogue with Jason began. 

Shortly thereafter we met for the first time over brunch. 368 days later I am living the most intense technicolor daydream. It's been fast, and furious, and aggressive, and volatile, and absolutely without question...amazing. It's NEVER boring. It's calm when it should be, and complicated when it needs to. It's everything flamboyant superimposed on everything mundane, and I've never known anything else like it. I remember each of the last 367 days clearly. I remember because they are vivid and bright. 

They are a rainbow in my head and they are in Technicolor.

The Incredible "Boy of the Year"!

Purposeful Progressions

Studies have shown that people with a purpose live longer and happier lives than those that don't. While I feel I have a very fulfilling life, I have often longed for that "thing", that someone or something that is outside the bounds of my good place. I've participated in volunteer events, I've been a positive influence on my community, and I've donated my fair share of absurdly expensive clothes that I really, really thought I needed and never wore. But I never really felt that I was giving back to the extent I knew I could.

So when a couple people I trusted and liked brought me a purpose on a platter, you might think I would have readily jumped. Instead, I faltered. I stalled, I hemmed, I hawwed, I paused. Then I considered. Did I really want to undergo a massive endeavor that would take up a big part of my life for 10 weeks? It would force me to depend on others for assistance! It would cause me to reach out and ask for help! I could possibly not raise the most money and thereby fail! And I would be making a big difference in the lives of others, be able to get all my friends and family and local community involved, and potentially be personally impacted in a major way. Got it. Not such a hard decision.

Here we are three weeks into a competition that will last until May 19th. We've done a lot, and have tons left to do. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) "Woman of the Year" campaign really is like a second job. You think about it all the time, and find yourself strategizing how and where you can do more, find more, and get more people involved. Most of the time, we just have to ask.

Throughout this process, I've had an opportunity to honestly talk to people that I hadn't before. I've heard stories about how cancer has literally changed their lives. Thanks to the LLS I have also met Josh Paryz and his delightful family. Josh is 7-years-old and will soon be celebrating his one year anniversary of cancer treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I am fortunate to be sponsoring Josh as part of the LLS campaign. He is a remarkable survivor with a protective and supportive family that truly inspires and energizes. They provide a purpose.

Earlier this week I recieved a beautiful letter from my paternal grandmother wherein she recollected the moment she learned that my grandpa had chronic leukemia. I was so taken aback after reading that. How do I not remember this? Yes, I was just a child when he died, but how do I not have top-of-mind knowledge of this? I was initially mortified; then I was motivated. Yet one more piece of the purpose.

I am so touched by the support of all those who have already generously donated to my campaign on behalf of LLS!  Thank you for helping me improve treatment options and save lives!  If you have not yet donated, it’s safe and easy to do so here.  Every single dollar makes a difference. Be part of the purpose. 

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Florence is the Machine

It was a year ago that I borrowed the words of Florence and the Machine and posted them here. I remember that I felt so good at that moment; I felt so liberated from the clutter and the nonsense that had permeated my existence. I had made some tough decisions that week that absolutely turned my mood and my outlook in the forward direction. Most of those decisions had to do with self-respect, and personal appreciation. You have to have it, to give it. You also have to be willing to take some risks. And I believed I was ready.

"Happiness, it hurts like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it will kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run." - Florence and the Machine

It was during that March week of a year gone by, that I started the process of extracting myself from relationships that wouldn't move forward, I re-engaged with the gym, food, and work at a healthier level, and I updated and re-posted that bipolar beast known as my match.com profile. Those few things started a chain reaction that propelled me forward to today... 

So with a grin of relief and delight, I accepted the song that came blaring out at me around 6.15a this morning. There she was. There was Florence and the Machine reminding me to remember what I have done and where I have come. Reminding me of where I am. Right here. Now. Happiness. Just accept it and run. Some things are not worth hiding from. This is happiness.   

2010 is a blur...an awesome technicolor high-voltage blur. I will divulge much of my indulgent sojourns and moments of reckless abandon in good time. But let's just say the past 12 months have been life-changing, and I am no longer wanting to turn back. Let those horses come, because I am a'running.

 

Where Is Your Encouragement?

Most days, my initial shot of encouragement arrives by 6am. It comes fast and hard and without apology. It comes faster on days when my cycling instructor also happens to be a triathlete and training for something. Like this morning.

There were no breaks "out of the saddle" today. There were no subtle increases to gently move you from your flat road into a progressive hill. There were no intervals to shift the pain from one muscle group to another. No, no, no. Today was about endurance. Painful, long, fast, steady, seemingly never-ending endurance. Get on, get in, and get moving.

Why do I want to start a Wednesday with such an assault? It's only at this time of the day that I can effectively push my often running brain back far enough, and let my legs and lungs take over. My head is rarely quiet, so it is during these times when I can finally concentrate only on the task at hand. Periodic peace is not a bad thing.

I hear the music; I hear the faint yell of instruction behind it. My legs burn, my shoulders ache, my brain hums...there is no better way for me to start a weekday. Encouragement.

I admit that this is not for everyone. There is a certain breed of human that arrives at the Y around 5.30am to hurt and get yelled at. We are not like those that show up for the evening cycle classes. We are not there to socialize or to just get a requisite workout in. (And yes, I am generalizing.) We see each other every day, yet we know no names and barely speak to each other. We are not casual observers and there is rarely a novice in the room. 

There was one exception today. There was a woman in the corner that I had never seen before. She was very overweight and visibly struggling with the intensity of the class. But she hung in there. She stuck with the class until the end, and this was not a class to be taken lightly. She made me recall my first cycling experience and how I thought I might die from exhaustion, pain and embarrassment.

I hope she is there tomorrow. I hope that she comes back on Friday. I hope she knows that she is doing a great thing, and that she has support amongst the focused group. I hope she knows that she was awesome today. She was encouragement.

A Perfect Day

"There's something sinister in place; it leaves me restless with no peace. 
So it's a perfect day to turn away and run; it's a perfect day to go and tie one off.
It's a perfect day to waste away a perfect plot to play.

"It's a perfect day to hide down in my house; it's a perfect day and it's taking its toll.
It's a perfect day to waste away your perfect part to play.
Just another perfect day, but before you know it's gone." - A Perfect Day - The Constellations

It's a perfect day to play this part again.
It's a perfect day to get these words out of my head.
Just another perfect day.

There are so many reasons why this is the day...the day that I resume this little venture. It's the 2nd Month of the Year of the Golden Rabbit, it's been almost a year since I inked my left wrist, it's been way, way, way too long since my voice wasn't simply playing to an audience of one.

More importantly though, I feel like I again have things to say publicly. Ah, that's wrong. I should say, that I once again feel like it is RIGHT for me to say things aloud. In 2010 I felt it was best to stay silent. I felt raw and judged and often emotionally reckless. I tossed myself with abandon at things and people, and finally accepted how and who to let in, and when to let go. I was awaiting my long-overdue divorce, and was entering into a new and surprising life that I wasn't sure how to properly explain without exploitation. I did these things in an ultimately gratifying way. It was not always a perfect day.

Well, my hesitancy is gone, my friends! My new life and my new love have been forewarned that things often get screamed to the masses. It's been almost a year now...so the rants, the raves, the passion, the pounding on car hoods, and the  drunken revelations still probably arrive in a sometimes unexpected flurry...but I doubt they are taken poorly, and I know they are never taken with angst or anger. I no longer feel misguided or misjudged. It's a perfect day. 

I have good things and good people to talk about. I have stories that seem endless. I have heartbreaking recollections that now often sound amusing. I have inspiration from a 7-year-old with leukemia and a cause. I have motivation from a stunning man that challenges, protects, defies, and is at all times an equal. That he also provides wildly entertaining material that keeps me laughing in surprise, is my pinnacle. I have a purpose-driven life. I have this perfect day; I will not waste this perfect day.