Make a Decision

As I was out hiking this morning, I had an epiphany. Well, not really, but sometimes a productive thought passes through this noggin of mine, so I thought I'd share it.

When I started hiking my mountain regularly, I made the conscious decision to not take the road more traveled. Granted, it's the same trail everyone else uses, but I don't take the smoother path - the path that has been ground down to dirt and pebbles from all the foot traffic. I choose to walk a couple feet over, where the larger rocks have been kicked 'out of the way', where the ascent/descent is a little steeper and takes a little more coordination to navigate through.

Now, my entire life I have been a frontrunner for the imaginary title of 'Miss Uncoordinated', so choosing this option was a surprise even to me. But I wanted results. I can hike a little slower and get my muscles more toned by the extra motion and lunges that I need to perform. It has now become second nature to take the rocky road less traveled during my hike.

This morning, I realized * light bulb moment * that this is an analogy for how I want to live my life.

That easier path...what happened when I took that route? What did it ever do for me? Well, for starters, it got me up to 265 pounds. It made me comfortable. I had my immediate family and I had my best friend. I never did anything without at least one of them. I was unhappy, but I was set in my ways and not willing/too afraid to try something new. It was smooth; it was (for the most part) drama-free.

Now, drama-free is fine and dandy and is something I definitely want to strive for in the future. But I'm not ready for the dust to settle on my rocky road just yet. I need to work towards something. During this difficult journey, I will trip and I will stumble. I will skin my knee and come across roadblocks. I need to prove that I can adapt to the elements. That I can overcome anything and everything life can throw my way.

I still have my immediate family and I still have my best friend. But now I want so much more. I WILL move back to California this year. I WON'T be afraid to go to the several parties I get invited to. I WILL get on the dance floor. I WILL ride that mechanical bull. I want to get out. I want to enjoy life. I want to meet new people. I want to go back to school.

Until then, I will continue to ask myself one thing. And I pose this same question to you:

It's decision time - which path are you going to take today?

Finding ONEderland

I went straight from kids' clothes to the Misses section for my apparel. It's 1996 and I'm in the 8th grade, standing in line to get weighed during PhysEd physical time. Dreading getting on the scale up on the stage. 200 pounds. Ouch. Then the next girl got on the scale. A girl who was as tall as me, but wider. I was positive her weight would make me feel better. No such luck. She was 180. How is that possible? I felt defeated. So embarrassed. So ashamed. But I made no changes.

High school slowly dragged on. My weight was anywhere from 200-220 lbs throughout those four awkward years. I played softball one year, so my body changed, but my weight didn't. I was your classic 'smart girl'. The chunky, frumpy clothed, bespectacled, freckled nerd who didn't know how to manage her hair. I was also the funny girl, the tomboy. But boys only noticed me when they needed help in Honors classes.

College followed. Then work. I never took care of myself. I ate whatever was in front of me. Whatever food was in the house. Whatever fast food Dad sent me out to get. We didn't have a kitchen table, so all meals were devoured in front of the TV. Plus, the seconds and sometimes thirds.

And there I was in 2007. 265 pounds on my 5'10" frame. Unhappy. I didn't love myself. I sort of just existed. Watching the people around me living their lives and thinking, 'That could, no, that SHOULD be me!'

I started using the Alli system and was able to drop 30 lbs with the assistance. But all I did was take the pills. I didn't change one bit. I was eating the same. I wasn't exercising. I was relying on something other than myself.

I met a boy in 2008 who lived here in Arizona while I was living in California. In 2010, I moved to be closer to him. He kept stringing me along, but his 'affection' was all I knew. So I held onto the hope that I just had to prove I could be good for him. I kept fighting for him.

Until January 2, 2012, that is. I had had enough.

I said goodbye. I started the journey to loving myself. I am worth so much more than what he could offer me.

I deserve a healthy life. I deserve to only have healthy relationships in my life. I will not be held back any longer by poor decisions (or indecisions) I've made in the past. I am living in the right here, right now to build a better future.

Then, this morning it happened...



I haven't seen a 1 at the beginning of my weight in at least 16 years. What a crazy feeling!

My friends and family are leaving unbelievably supportive messages on my facebook page and via text messages and phone calls. I can't tell you how important it is that I came across SparkPeople. I wouldn't be having the success I am without the tools on this website and the support of my SparkFamily.

State of Confusion

A state of confusion. This is where I am currently living.

I desperately want to move back to California, but I find myself economically trapped in Arizona. Without a decent paying job, no substantial vacation time to cash out and credit card debt from my last move (and subsequent 9 months with no job), I don't have the luxury to move home until I have a job lined up.

My old job in California has remained unoccupied since my departure in 2010, but the governor has instituted a hiring freeze, so attempting to get it back is pointless. But who else is going to hire someone who lives out of state?

I have put myself in quite the predicament. Happy to have a job, yes. Unhappy to be away from my family and friends, definitely.

I received a phone call today about scheduling an interview for another position with DES. I called back to set up the interview for next Wednesday. I'm conflicted, though. There's a slight pay increase, so I'd be able to save just that much more money towards my move. But I'd feel (sorta) bad if I got the position and then was given the opportunity to move home.

I don't know. I'm just ready to be home. It kills me every time someone back home asks when I'll be back for good. Oh, how I wish I had an answer. I have missed so many things. Illnesses, celebrations, girl talks, Giants baseball and things I'm not at liberty to discuss.

Do I regret my move? Not at all. I will never have to ask myself, 'What if?' and that's good enough for me, because thinking about the possibilities would mess my head constantly. I still haven't found the OFF switch to that part of my brain.

And I'm not sure that I would have wanted things to work out differently here in Phoenix. I'm still young enough (haha) that I'll rebound from this adventure with nothing more than a few battle scars.

I've learned a lot about me, but it's time. Time for love. Time for laughter.

Time to go home.

Forever and For Always

Today would have been my grandma's 80th birthday. All I can think of is how proud of her grandchildren she would be if she were here. It reminds me of how she would call and then stop by on each of our birthdays. How we'd be given a card that contained her perfect little cursive handwriting inside.

Left column, top to bottom: Corey, Shelby, Nick

Right column, top to bottom: Cameron, Brandi, Will

We have all changed quite a bit. When she left us, we were 19, 18, 17, 14, 9 and 9. Now, we're 31, 30, 29, 27, 21, 21 and 3, respectively. Grandma never had the pleasure of meeting my three year old cousin.

Top row: Will, Nick, Cameron, Shelby

Bottom row: Corey, Brandi, Gunnar

We all miss her so much. It's interesting how fast time seems to fly by, but some things never change.

I was 17 when she passed away and suddenly I am 29 years old. Since she has been gone, I've graduated high school, started driving, had a whole bunch of firsts and moved 800 miles from home. I know she's in Heaven, smiling down on me. I know in her adorable Norwegian accent, she would say something to the effect of, 'You go, girl!' Some days that softens the blow. Most days I'm too selfish to see the good in that, though. Some days it just hurts. Some days I just want to hear her voice. Some days I want it to be her chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Some days I wear her Harvest Wine lipstick and it makes me feel close to her.

This day, though, this day is a good day. I know she loved me like crazy. And that will always make me smile.

Happy 80th birthday, Grandma. I love you. Forever and for always.

To Shed Some Light…

I have this posted on my personal facebook page and decided to share it with you, my audience here on BlogSpot.

There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.

On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.

We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.

Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.

Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.

When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.

I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.

I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.

None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.

The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.

So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.

My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.