Posts Tagged friends

A happy life … One daydream away

Here’s a late-breaking addition to the list of things that are different as an adult: daydreaming.

It just isn’t the same. Without classes to space out in and without assigned reading to have open while falling deep into thought, daydreaming feels different. It’s not any less satisfying, but it’s certainly less common. I’ve realized, I miss it.

As a teen, I’d daydream about getting asked to the homecoming dance or getting to wear a football player’s jersey to school on game day as his girlfriend. (Such meaningless, stupid desires to aim for, I know now, but they were on my high school mind nonetheless.) In college, I’d daydream about getting an internship with the Chicago Tribune or having a fairy-tale romantic ending to what was best left as a great friendship. I’d daydream to relieve the stress of desiring it all — my dream job, the ability to write for pay, the continued closeness of family and friends, and love, a relationship to bring it all together — but having none of it at the moment. Daydreaming was an escape.

It still can be, but I find myself using it as a strategy less and less often. When I space out during boring budget meetings I’m covering for work, my daydreams are far more shortsighted. Usually I’m just pining for sleep or for the dinner I didn’t really get to eat because the meeting started at 6 p.m. and I had to fight the slow annoyance of suburban rush hour traffic to get there on time. Or I’m impatiently waiting for the next weekend, can it please mercifully come! My daydreams have shrunk in imagination, and at the same time, in relief. Whoops.

Maybe this means I’m a little more present in the world at the moment. Maybe it means I’m closer to “having it all” than I was in high school or college, so my brain can live in the now without having to look forward to having things like a hard-fought career and a wonderful relationship of teamwork. Maybe.

But maybe it also means I’m not thinking far enough in advance. That I’m not dreaming big enough. That I should be expecting more from myself now that I have earned the securities I have in my job and my life. I guess I just need practice. Daydreaming practice.

It’s easy to let daydreaming fall by the wayside when the constant nature of adulthood weighs you down. Each day you have to wake up, work out (if you’re active, which is a good thing), prepare food, commute, work, prepare more food, try to do something more productive than just watch TV and go to sleep with enough time to generate enough energy to do it all over again. It’s exhausting.

But it’s life. It’s our gift. And we can see it that way if we just allow our minds to expand on it and take us elsewhere in a nice daydream every once in a while. Starting now.

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Growing up … One song at a time

If you’re like me, you’d love to find a band that gets you. A band whose songs speak to you — lyrically and musically — throughout your life no matter your mood or age. Whose music reflects you and enriches you and surprises you, no matter how many times you listen to it.

And if you’re like me, you’re not sure you’ll ever find that band. Blame it on father time. Blame it on growing up. Both are unavoidable.

Music is personal. Even when it’s pop tunes or anything mainstream produced for the masses, music is different for everyone who hears it because of our backgrounds and mindsets, our influences and preferences, and this is one of the miracles that makes us human. It’s originality in a nutshell.

But since we’re all so different, finding that perfect understanding with any one band and maintaining it for more than a couple of years is like finding earbuds that actually stay put — practically impossible, but worth a try all the same.

I won’t bore you with a historical listing of my favorite bands and why and how they’ve spoken to me at different times in my life. You all have your favorites. The ones that brought you through the awakenings and coming-of-age moments of middle school, the awkwardness and uncertainty of high school, the pressure and desire of college, the newness and overwhelming freedom of twenty-something life. Insert them here.

Then look at that progression. Try listening to your middle school favorites now. It might be good to reminisce for five minutes, but then I bet it feels pretty laughable. High school jams might seem shallow, hollow. And college tunes likely still resonate, but in a way that feels like something’s missing.

And it is. But it’s not the band, it’s you. It’s all of us. We’ve changed. We’re not the us we were 5, 10, 15 years ago — even if we’ve retained a lot of the same friends, hobbies, interests, habits.

The same can be said for any artist that ever sang a song. And that’s why it’s practically impossible to find a band whose progression through life and lyrics and notes will match ours. Because as we change, bands change too, and no one does it the exact same way. Originality in a nutshell.

But let’s not give up; there’d be no fun in that. We can keep progressing through artists and enjoying songs as they come to us and as they speak to us. There’s nothing wrong with that. And we can comfort ourselves with people who see our changes and change alongside us. Because better than a band, the ones we love can always find a way to understand us.

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Why it’s OK to love the Christmas music station

‘Tis the season for a lot of things and Christmas music certainly is one of them. It’s in car commercials, on radio stations, pumping through shopping malls and serenading office parties. It’s unavoidable, and yet, I find myself seeking it out.

It seems every passing year I listen to more and more Christmas music and I do it more and more on purpose. I can’t figure it out. Unless it’s just another one of those things that’s attributable to adulthood and the passing of time. It must be.

Growing every little bit older and more mature makes us want to appreciate things more. It’s like we realize time flies by too quickly, so we need to enjoy it consciously. It’s as if we realize life is fleeting and limited by nature. And that drives us to act differently, to show more gratitude, kindness and understanding, to live with all of our senses, to appreciate everything. Even hearing “Sleigh Ride” a minimum of three times in one day.

Overplayed tunes aside, there’s plenty to appreciate around Christmas. There’s the changing of the seasons, the pumpkin bread at Starbucks, the lights on houses and apartment balconies, the excuses to go see family, the free food at holiday parties, the unexpectedly light traffic, the classics like “It’s a Wonderful Life” constantly on TV, the simple feeling of warmth people seem to exude despite the impending months of cold, the silver bells and jingle bells and gosh darnit the Christmas music.

Maybe unabashedly listening to Christmas music makes me feel like a kid again. It could be that enjoying “Frosty the Snowman” without embarrassment brings out the snow-loving explorer in all of us, even as we grumble about scraping the fluffy stuff from our windshields and fighting traffic as drivers forget how to steer in it. Christmas music is nostalgia incarnate, good times past packaged into a simple song. It’s a time machine, in audio form, so why not cram as much of it as possible into the month leading up to commercial America’s favorite holiday of Christmas.

So as Dec. 25 approaches, I’ll continue to have the Christmas station on and you’ll often find me jamming out to seasonal songs – even if for no other reason than this: it can’t be Santa’s big day until I hear “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” at least once!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all some festive tunes.

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The contradictions of the Christmas list

It’s right around this time of year when an assignment comes due. This isn’t an assignment at work or at the career center where I volunteer — it’s one I owe my family.

Thanksgiving hasn’t even hit, and it’s Christmas List time in my think-ahead family. When I complete the assignment of emailing my mom some things I’d like as gifts, I’m sure to feel the same way I’ve felt each year after sending that email: materialistic.

There’s no avoiding it. I will have just sent a message about, you guessed it, material goods. And I will have thrown out the window the idea of need and listed a bunch of wants, unnecessary yet fun things like new Ugg boots, expensive running tights and back massage certificates.

Listing what I want for Christmas makes me feel selfish and spoiled — things I’ve worked hard throughout my twenties not to be. I’m blessed to have a supportive and stable family, but I try not to take advantage of that.

Throughout the year, I pay all my own expenses and try to do little things, like send real thank-you letters, keep in good touch with close friends, share candy and goodies at the office and call my grandparents occasionally, that show my appreciation for all the fantastic advantages and privileges in my life. In my heart, I’m thankful.

On Thursday when we go around the table and list things we’re grateful for, I’ll have plenty to say — my mostly enjoyable, challenging and important job, my reasonable and understanding boss, my simple ability to move all of my body parts and function fully, without disability, my enjoyment of physical activity and healthy eating, the friends I know will always be in my life, my faith, my fiancee and plenty more. I have so many things to be thankful for, but I know I don’t show it enough.

And then Christmas rolls around. And there are so many celebrations. Believe me, I’m not complaining. Just listing all the occasions for which people want to buy me gifts, even if I don’t need them, makes me see the blessing and the curse of it all.

There’s the real Christmas day, on which my family still has managed to celebrate with gifts in the morning despite three twenty-somethings working new-kid schedules that often include holidays. Then there’s Christmas afternoon, when my fiancee’s family gathers for a gift extravaganza that hasn’t scaled itself back to a Secret Santa or a cards-only occasion. Before the big day, my mom’s side of the family gathers over the weekend for a variation on the Secret Santa theme, and it’s a grand fiesta of family and festive foods. Before even that, it’s my fiancee’s family at it again, gathering for the German tradition of St. Nicholas Day.

It’s a first-world problem, for sure, but the spectacular celebrations of Christmas always make me feel materialistic along with blessed and loved. I’ll make some donations, but somewhere inside I’ll still feel selfish. I’ll give plenty of gifts to others, and I’ll put as much time and thought into them as I can. But I’ll still feel some guilt about the nice things I’ll gladly receive regardless of need.

Christmas isn’t supposed to be a time for materialism. So it’s time to change the focus. When my Christmas list comes due, I’ll find a way to complete the assignment — I am a rule follower, after all. But maybe, gradually, I’ll also find a way to work less material goods into the picture, leaving more room for what the season truly is all about: love, family, support, charity and a fresh start. Wishing you all that and more this holiday season.

Speak soon. Stay lucky.

Marie

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Why it’s awesome to have no plans on the weekend

It’s Saturday morning and I wake up just after 7 a.m., thrilled that I’ve gotten to sleep in. It’s midday Saturday and I’m making brunch after a six-mile run, leisurely sautéing veggies before adding eggs to make a breakfast burrito. It’s Saturday afternoon and my laundry is almost done, so is my cleaning. It’s Saturday evening and I’m outside on the balcony, reading a book in the surprising warmth. It’s Saturday night and I’m taking a walk on the path by my apartment.

It’s Saturday night, and then I realize … when did it become so awesome to have absolutely no plans on a weekend?

When I officially reached adulthood, I guess.

Growing up, weekends were family time, filled with activities governed by the parents, the park district soccer schedule and whatever the siblings or extended family might have going that day. In high school, weekends were important friend time to do a whole lot of nothing — watching movies in someone’s basement, piling into someone’s car and driving around aimlessly, or better yet, wandering to that reportedly “haunted” road on one of the many edges where suburbia meets a rural abyss and hoping something creepy happens.

Some anxiety entered into high school weekends, too. What if if was homecoming time and you had no prospect of a date? Or what if it was any old Saturday night, and you had nothing to do but stay home with your parents, listlessly chat on AIM and watch the 9 p.m. news on TV? Disaster! Weekends became something to be filled with friends to prove you had friends, with adventures to prove you had adventures, with plans to prove you had plans for your social success, and therefore, your life.

College was a vast improvement, but those few weekends when it was tough to find anything real to do still posed a challenge. Huddled with a few friends from the dorms on a cold Friday night, you’d scroll through your phones, wondering if you could scrounge up anyone who was having a party, anyone old enough to buy alcohol, anyone willing to bring you warm cookies without requiring you to walk outside to the late-night cafeteria. The weekend remained something to be filled — until Sunday afternoon became mandatory homework time, which blended into all of Sunday night and at least two hours of early Monday morning. Ahh, the 2 a.m. sleep cycle … Now that I don’t miss …

But when I suddenly realized, at the soundly adult age of 27, that it’s glorious to have a free weekend, I knew times had changed. When I admitted I don’t care if I have plans every Saturday, because me-time is important, it allowed me to place a little more value on having a moment. And really, we all need a moment. Maybe it’s a moment to chill, sleep in, catch up on some TV; to read, relax, get organized, clean; even to make plans for future fun-filled weekends and be active on our own terms.

A free weekend with a blank calendar stretching out before you with 48 hours of unoccupied bliss isn’t a social snafu, a popularity fiasco. It’s something to be thankful for. And maybe, just maybe, one of these fantastic free weekends could be coming up … in as few as three more days.

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A twenty-something’s Halloween secret

Last year, I was nothing for Halloween.

Kevin and I wore khakis and white shirts and told people we were the “boring couple.” But we only made the joke a couple of times and it mostly just looked like we were in a plain outfit instead of a costume.

That wasn’t how the other twenty-somethings at this party in Chicago handled the annual ritual of costuming. Luckily, these weren’t people who went all-out in intricate zombie makeup, expensive and extravagant costumes or quirky full-body suits.
Everyone told us they found a simpler solution to what to be for Halloween: Last year’s costume.

One friend was a flapper for the second year in a row, in a flashy red dress and a feather headband. Another was wonder woman. One guy went as a repeat pirate, and he wasn’t even any pirate in particular. My brother borrowed my old soccer referee shirt and went as an official for the second year and I think a cat costume I encountered was a repeat, too.

None of them had any shame. They still looked festive and rocked their re-run costume, whatever it was. They knew they had saved time and money that they could put into other things, like more coffees with friends, longer bike rides and a new sweater to wear lots more times than the average Halloween costume.

If I only had went back into my stash of previous costume ideas, I could have been something much better than one half of “the boring couple.” I could have been a boy scout, a hippie, a garbage can — complete with candy wrappers taped to a black plastic bag. I could have dressed up as Avril Lavigne and rocked a cheap checkerboard tie and thrift store Dickies pants I bought a few years ago for the occasion. I’ve worn that yellow soccer shirt and been a ref, before, and I could have borrowed a set of my sister’s scrubs and been a nurse with no trouble at all.

Now I know the trick. When your mid-twenties hit, and if that means you no longer feel the urge to put much effort into Halloween, the secret answer is in the past. Dig back as far as you want and unearth something vintage. As they say, wait long enough and the old will be new again! Happy candy day!

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If the shorts don’t fit … be glad you’re out of high school

It feels weird to say this, but I think I’m growing out of my old athletic shorts from high school.

The weird part is the shorts are huge. They’re the super-long, basketball shorts that were my identity in high school. I didn’t wear the booty shorts of cheerleaders or pom pons girls; I shied away from the spandex of volleyball players and the loose but short shorts of runners. I didn’t wear those tight dancer capris, either. Just my basketball practice shorts, which practically went to the knees, and my soccer shorts, which were maybe a little shorter, but wider, roomier and airier.

The other weird part is it’s not just the size and shape of the shorts that doesn’t seem right – the identity they represent no longer seems to fit, either.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love to watch basketball (give me free tickets to a Bulls game and I’m a fan of yours for life) and I still love to play soccer (so much that I’ve considered refereeing on the weekends just to get back into the game). So it’s not that my sports identity has changed. It’s the high school connection between my sports of choice and my social self that I’m shedding as I approach my ten-year high school reunion.

In high school, wearing long, large basketball shorts was a sign of belonging. It identified you as a basketball player, a hardworking athlete, and not a super-girly one at that. It was a hard-nosed identity and it was the one I chose, despite also being a clarinet player in the band and a high school newspaper reporter/editor, among a few other club affiliations. Soccer shorts were the same way. Big. Not pretentious. Serious about sport, not necessarily about showing off to the guys – unless they happened to be impressed by your corner kicks or your status as junior varsity leading scorer.

All of that is in my past and I’m not ashamed of it, not running from it, not wishing I was someone or something else. I’m just saying it doesn’t fit anymore. And no matter how much I think it through, that’s weird.

It was the literal fit of the shorts that clued me in to this change. Seriously, they’re huge. I’m primarily a runner now, and I’m getting more used to shorts that are actually designed for running. They’re little shorter so there’s not too much fabric sloshing around between your legs. And in some cases, they’re a heck of a lot tighter so your legs won’t rub and chafe directly against one another. I still run pretty frequently in my basketball and soccer shorts, but I’m finding myself leaving them at the bottom of the pile more and more often in favor of the ones meant for running.

All I can do is let it be. Someday, my running shorts might not feel like a fit anymore, either. Maybe then I’ll have to move into old-lady shorts, super-long again to hide ugly veins or extra leg fat. Maybe I’ll become more of a bicyclist and choose those spandex shorts with a padded butt. Or maybe I’ll stay a runner and eventually wear those short runner shorts that made me so uncomfortable in high school. Only time will tell.

All I can do other than that is take stock of my identity and realize it’s shifted from where it was and who I was in high school. At my core, I’m the same, as are many of us in our twenties, but the adult is coming further to the forefront of what makes me who I am, and the teen is fading away. If I ever need to remind myself of who I was a decade ago, I’ve still got just the shorts to do the trick. So I say they’re worth keeping around.

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