Yesterday, I turned thirty. It is one of those milestones that’s supposed to mean a lot. I’m supposed to have a list of things I wanted to accomplish by the time I was thirty and spend yesterday going through that list, checking off items and leaving a large chunk unchecked and feeling depressed all day. Isn’t that what those ‘significant’ birthdays for after all?
After a really long week at work and an even longer weekend before that, Jake and I had decided to drive up to Santa Barbara for my birthday. His thirtieth was a week ago and since I was rolling out my new system, I could only take a day off so we went to Cleveland National Park for the day and figured we’d celebrate both of our days in Santa Barbara this past weekend. We ended up sleeping much later than we planned to on Friday and woke up way too late and struggled to get out of the house on Saturday morning. Despite the late start, we made it into the city well before sunset and managed to stay in a beautiful, simple hotel, see some sea lions, watch the sunset from the pier, eat a delicious Italian dinner, have several romantic walks and see a lot of the city.
I used to make a big deal about birthdays. I had to have candles and presents and people calling. A few years ago, I gave it all up. Now, all I need is a simple, wonderful day with my wonderful husband and I am glad for each friend who remembers and don’t keep track of the ones who don’t. Friendships aren’t built around remembering birthdays; they are built on being there day in and day out. So are relationships. I feel like I may not have accomplished a long laundry list of achievements by my thirtieth birthday but I am in a truly loving relationship with a man I adore, I have a job that keeps us sustained and gives me the luxury of working from home, I am healty, and out family is about to increase by one. I don’t think there’s much more I could have asked for my birthday.
Thank you to all of you who remembered and thank you to everyone else for stopping by.
The last two months have consisted of hard work, a collection of trips to the bathroom to pee or to puke, and napping every free moment I found. Now that we’ve passed the first trimester and our baby’s results came clean, I am looking forward to writing all about this journey here. I apologize for having been gone for too long and hope to make up for it in the coming days. Thank you for sticking around.
There have been many of you who’ve visited my site in the last few weeks and you’ve left generous, kind, and helpful comments. I normally respond to all comments and I try to post a new photo every day. The last few weeks, however, have been quite dreadful. Thanks to a bout of food poisoning and quite a massive jetlag, I have barely been functioning. I sleep about 14 hours of the day and when I’m not sleeping, working, or in the bathroom, I sprawl on the couch and watch stupid TV shows. My brain seems fried and I haven’t taken a photo since I’ve been back mostly because I haven’t even been out since I’ve been back.
The last few days have been a bit better and I’m waking up around 4-5am instead of 1-2am now and I think things are going to get better soon (they’d better…) and I am hoping to take some photos very soon. I still haven’t even finished going through my photos from Turkey so I have a lot of work ahead of me.
I just wanted to thank everyone who keeps coming back even though I haven’t updated or said a word in a while. We’ll be back to our regular site updates really soon. I promise. Thank You.
The trip back started Sunday night at Dalaman Airport. Thanks to a lovely NATO conference in Istanbul, our 7:05 flight didn’t take off until 9:00pm. With an upset stomach and a pounding headache, we arrived at the Airport Hotel in Istanbul at 11:30pm. Since 192 roads were closed in Istanbul, my mom had set us up at the new Airport Hotel to ensure we wouldn’t miss our flight the next morning. I went to sleep the minute my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, we arrived at the hotel three hours before departure, as instructed. Since we had two connecting flights, it was imperative that the flight to New York take off on time, which, by some miracle, it did. The 11-hour flight to New York didn’t grant me even 20 minutes of sleep and was peppered with several trips to the bathroom thanks to a bout of food poisoning from which I hadn’t fully recovered. We reached New York slightly early, causing Jake and I to have a moment of wishful thinking thank we could make it to the earlier, direct flight to San Diego. After six flights landed simultaneously and formed a line that went on for miles at the customs counter, we picked up our bags and made our way as fast as possible to the terminal at the other end of JFK. After waiting in the AA line, we were told there wasn’t enough time for our baggage to clear security and we were stuck with the LA flight after all. The LA flight granted me with some sleep and it was Monday night at 10pm that we arrived in LA.
At this point, I figured getting home was a piece of cake. The flight from LA to San Diego is a commuter propeller run by American Eagle. The tiny plane carries no more than 30 or so passengers. We sat on the plane, looking out the window as they loaded the bags. I worried that we hadn’t seen our bag but assumed we must have missed it when I saw it coming at the distance. The men loading had already lowered the loading ramp and so I asked the steward to please check on it since my bag was now sitting by the side of the plane. She nodded but did nothing. Ten minutes later, the men took my bag and one other bag, and put them back on the cart they came from. By now, I had been sleep deprived for three days and hadn’t showered in two. I was in no mood for a joke. I yelled for the stewardess to come back and told her that my bag was sitting there and not loaded on the plane. She finally called someone and talked for a while. She then came over and said that the plane was too heavy and they were going to put our bag on the next flight to San Diego, leaving in 30 minutes. “If you want, you can leave to travel with your bags but you have to get off now.”
She then proceeded to remove four passengers off the plane. When the gentleman in front of me asked me what was going on, she said, “The plane is too heavy. You have too many bags so we’re taking some passengers off and we’ll take some more bags off and then we’ll leave.” He asked if they were sure the plane would be okay after that and she said, “Yes, but you can leave if you want.” Literally.
Another set of passengers in front of me asked how they would be sure their bags made it to the plane since they heard that mine weren’t. The stewardess said, “It was just her bags, you should be fine.” Which I knew not to be correct since there was as least one bag sitting next to mine that also wasn’t making this flight. After another ten minutes of complaints, some official came on board and told everyone that when we arrived in San Diego, if our bags weren’t on board, they would be on the next plane and to wait for them. Of course, after twenty-some hours of flying all I want to do is wait at another airport for half an hour more for my bags to arrive.
Several of the passengers asked the stewardess to give her name so they could complain but she wouldn’t. I don’t even mind the fact that they couldn’t arrange the flight properly, with all the connecting flights it’s hard to gauge how many pieces might make it to a plane. What I did mind was her rudeness and assumption that it was no big deal for me to wait more. She wouldn’t have even told me that my bags weren’t on the plane had I not been looking out the window.
With this kind of service, the airlines deserve to go out of business.
When I called my sister yesterday, her boys, who are now five, were still up. They asked if they could talk to me so she put one on. He told me that he had just lost one of his teeth. Then the other one wanted to get on. “I’m going to the same school next year,” he tells me, “they opened a class just for us and my best friend is going to be there, too.”
“Oooh, ” I said, “Who’s your best friend?”
He told me a name I never heard before.
“I don’t know him.”
“That’s right, you never met him.”
“Will you introduce me to him?”
“Yes, I will,” he exclaimed and then put my sister back on. Then the first one had more to tell. And then so did the other one. I could tell they are just as excited as I am that we will be seeing each other very soon.
It almost makes the twenty-two hour flight worthwhile.
Ps: I will be gone for a little over a week and will try to post photos from Fethiye, Turkey.
I arrived in the United States almost twelve years ago to attend college. By that time, I’d been studying English actively for seven years and had had once-a-week lessons for two years before that. When I arrived at school, I had a distinct accent and didn’t know any of the colloquial terms kids used.
One of the first people I met in Pittsburgh was Jon, who walked up to me while I was opening a bank account with my father and gave me his phone number. I remember being baffled by his repetition of the word ‘cool’ during our conversation. Cool meant between cold and hot, to me; I had no idea of its other, more colloquial usage.
People used to often ask me where I came from during Freshman year. I remember when my friend Laura and I noticed that my accent disappeared if I sang. We didn’t know why but it happened each time. Somewhere along the line almost all of my accent did evaporate but I have no idea why or how.
Most of the Freshmen at my school had a dining plan that confined them to one cafeteria, Highlander, for all meals. You could have unlimited food but it had to be from Highlander. I don’t need to tell you how the food tasted. It appears there was a long-standing tradition with the Highlander trays: people claimed the trays for their own purposes. Each time we ate a meal, we’d real aloud our tray’s owners. “Tray of the Itchy Freshman,” “Tray of Late Night Phonecall.” During our many trips to the cafeteria we’d laugh at the variety we’d seen.
A few months into the school year, I got “The Tray of Constipation.” I was with my friend Laura and her friend Matt. I asked Laura what constipation meant. From the look of embarrassment on her face, I thought it might be something sexual so I added “You don’t have to show me, just tell me,” which made her laugh out loud. She tried to get Matt to explain it to me but he refused. Finally, she made the face that clarified everything.
Looking back, it seems funny that I didn’t know the definition of constipation twelve years ago. My accent has since then disappeared and my vocabulary and grammar knowledge have grown exponentially. I don’t know how and when the changes came about but remembering “The Tray of Constipation” always makes me laugh and realize how far I’ve come in this country.
A friend of mine and I were discussing honesty the other day. I am firmly of the belief that sound relationships and solid friendships are based on complete honesty. She doesn’t fully agree. She thinks honesty is quite overrated in certain cases.
I believe if I am going out wearing something that makes me look bad it’s my friend’s duty to warn me. She believes that if I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw and my friend’s opinion differed, that doesn’t mean her opinion is worth more than mine. As such, my friend shouldn’t say anything. If I ask, then she can offer her opinion, but otherwise it’s not needed. She claimed that especially in cases where the problem is not resolvable (for example, I meet my friend at a restaurant and she doesn’t approve of what I am wearing) that honesty would only serve to make me upset or frustrated and it wouldn’t help one bit. Wasn’t it better to keep your words to yourself?
I am not sure where I stand. Obviously, my friend and I are allowed to disagree on opinion-oriented issues like a piece of clothing or a career move. Then again, almost every difficult decision one has to face has opinion-oriented aspects to it. I might agree that if it’s after the fact or too late to turn back, my friend maybe shouldn’t share her differing opinion. But even then, isn’t it better for me to know how she feels for next time? Just because she shares her differing thoughts doesn’t mean I will do what she says over how I feel. But isn’t it better to know the thoughts of someone I trust?
I guess it all depends on how strong and well-balanced the friendship is. If I consider this person a true friend and know that she would never say things out of jealousy or competition, and if I can trust myself and my own choices, I would like to know the truth about her thoughts. If she’s capable of being catty or if I am so weak that I would blindly take her choices over mine, it’s best for her to keep her thoughts to herself.
But, then again, at that point, she’s not really my friend, is she?
Happy second anniversary to us! I can’t believe it’s already been two years. To many many more.
The complex where I live has a small movie theater and they show movies twice a week for free. One of last week’s movies was The House of Sand and Fog. I haven’t read the book and I knew the plot was depressing so I hesitated a lot but in the end, I went.
I don’t want to give away anything in case you are reading this and still plan to see the movie, but the basic point of the movie is that this woman’s house gets seized because of some mail she never opened and another person buys the house with the intention of selling it at several times the price. The woman wants her house back but the new owner is unwilling to sell it back to the city at the price he bought it at so the two parties both become obsessed with the house which leads to all sorts of unfortunate events and a very sad ending.
Both parties have their reasons for wrapping up large quantities of hope into the house and it affects their point of view so strongly that they can’t see clearly. The movie is an interesting moral dilemma and I don’t want to talk about which side was right because I know that the original novel goes a lot more in depth as far as the backgrounds of each party and their motivations behind wanting the house. What amazed me was how one thing can distort our lives so drastically. No matter how sensible a person is, some weird event can turn the person into an unreasonable being.
We take our hopes and dreams and realize them in a single material thing. Suddenly that one job is the answer to all of our problems. Or that one partner. That one car. The house. That piece of clothing. It’s a must and there are no alternatives. That’s what we’ve been waiting for all along. The fact is, no one thing will ever solve all of our problems and no one thing is the answer to our future happiness. We, as humans, adapt amazingly quickly and what seemed crucial in one moment becomes ordinary the next. As soon as we achieve, or purchase, it, it loses its value. Now we want the next thing. We lose perspective so quickly.
The movie made me want to teach myself that no one thing in life is so important. There are and always will be other alternatives. There’s no one dream man, no one dream job, no one dream house. Sure some jobs are better than others for me and some houses are more to my liking than others. But if I miss out on the one I wanted, there’s always another somewhere else within my reach. There’s no reason to get so caught up in this particular one. None is worth ruining my life over. None is worth losing my sense of self over. I’m all for trying my hardest to get something that I value.
But I think it’s crucial to keep it all in perspective.
I have a long list of to-dos every day. Even though some of the items on the list get done, there are those few that stay on the list day after day, week after week. They stare at me mockingly, knowing I am frustrated that they are still on my list but not motivated enough to actually complete them. Sometimes, they actually get done and then there’s this huge elevation in my soul, at least for a moment. The joy of getting to cross that item off my list. It lasts a few seconds, but those are precious seconds for me.
Last week started really awfully. Monday night I found myself in an exceptionally bad mood, not motivated to do anything at all. I was angry at myself more than anyone else. I hated the fact that I put so many restrictions on my life. The number of diet cokes I was allowed to drink in a day, the list of foods I had to give up. The books I had to read, the chores I had to complete; they were all swallowing me up. I had no desire to do any of them and yet I made lists on Monday and Tuesday morning as if they were going to get done. After another lousy day on Tuesday, I decided to take the rest of the week off. In Jean Little’s wonderful words I decided I needed a rest. From myself.
I spent the rest of the week eating out, ejoying my meals, drinking soda, walking around, taking photos, read when I felt like it and not when I didn’t. I worked as always, but I spent my free time guiltless. I didn’t even make lists. I didn’t keep track of anything. By Wednesday night I was visibly happier. Even my yoga teacher noticed the change. I had a bounce in my step and a different tone in my voice. You might think I am exaggerating, but I’m really not.
The rest of the week was wonderful and I still got a considerable amount done. With the exception of two slices of chocolate cake and a few extra diet cokes I didn’t overdo anything. But I was allowed to. I gave myself permission to mess up, to overdo, to be lazy, to be irresponsible. Permission to not live up to my potential.
And that made all the difference.
Last year, before we left New York, Jake and I were making a lot of changes in a short amount of time and there were a lot of up and downs between my leaving Teach For America and his quitting his work and our deciding to leave the city that had been our home since college. We struggled with a lot of decisions: professionally, monetarily, personally and emotionally. Some of our choices depended on other people and many of the actions required large leaps of faith. This is when we invented the twenty-four hour rule.
The rule is simple: You’re not allowed to act on a reaction within twenty-four hours of a piece of news. This generally applies to what we consider upsetting, frustrating, or other negative events. For example, let’s say your boss is being a complete jerk and pulls you into his office and lets you have it. Your first instinct might be to say “I don’t need this,” and quit on the spot. No one needs to be treated with disrespect and your boss is definitely wrong, regardless of the context. However, this doesn’t mean giving him the finger and walking out is the best reaction to that situation. Maybe it is, maybe it’s not. It’s not certain.
What is certain is that in that moment, your emotions control you more than your logic does. While I’m generally in favor of making decisions with the help of our emotions, I think it’s not a good idea to make them solely based on emotions (this is probably even more true for me than it is for normal, less-emotional, people). In that moment of raging anger or huge humiliation, we tend to see dark and make harsh decisions, utter regrettable words.
Jake and I decided that if we wait twenty-four hours, it gives us enough time to cool off. We’re still emotional after a day but we’re not so emotional that we can’t involve logic in the decision-making. This way, we might explore other options like moving departments or even changing managers instead of walking away. We still have the option of coming in the next day and giving the boss the finger and quitting, of course. That option doesn’t go away. The twenty-four hour rule seems to only add choices.
We now apply it all the time. A problem at work? Wait a day and then resolve it (unless, of course there’s a major immediate repercussion and it needs to be handled immediately). Having a major disagreement with your loved one? Set up lunch for the next day to talk it over. Fighting with a friend? Call her in twenty-four hours. I am not advocating putting off a problem or burying it. I think it’s crucial to address issues and make sure they get resolved. I used to think it was crucial to resolve problems immediately. I don’t anymore.
Now, I wait twenty-four hours.
I just wanted to note that I am head over heels in love with my husband.
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projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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