2.0: 21 for Day 12

I had considered putting “buy a bachelorette party shots” or “buy a 21-year-old their first drink” on the list but if the purpose of the list is to better the people around me, would these things be contributing to the cause or simply to their delinquency. The purpose of the list is to get me going everyday. To give each day a purpose and to try and improve my self and others.

There are no rules to the challenge and the list is far from complete, so items can be added as the year goes on, however I don’t want to add items to the list to suit my day’s needs.

Day 12 was a productive day. I woke up at 7:45am, participated in the Yazoo Barely a 4K run with my roommate, and had breakfast with some really terrific people before heading to work. On my commute to work I found myself feeling guilty; while the day was productive and, in fact, had very much purpose, I didn’t actually check anything off the list. Had I let the list down?

I decided that I hadn’t. I had a good day. It was both physically and socially satisfying. Maybe it was okay that it wasn’t an item on the list.

I worked monotonously through my shift at work; smile, greet table, take order, place order, smile, run food, fill water, pre-bus, smile, offer dessert which is inevitably denied, drop check, take payment, smile. For whatever reason this particular shift was frustrating. The people around me weren’t pulling their weight or my customers were pushing my buttons, it just wasn’t smooth. At the end of the night, I was ready to call it. Time of death: right this moment. No mourning, no grief counseling, just leave the night behind! However, I had one final group seat themselves in my section; three girls and a boy. It was a Saturday so they were unusually underdressed for a night on the town. I offered them food menus and they declined. I offered them drinks and they all responded with a server’s favorite responses:

“Water.”

“Water.”

“Diet Coke with grenadine, please?”

The fourth guest paused before she spoke, “I’m going to be 21 in 20 minutes…”

Smile. Wince. Cringe. “Well, then we’ll have to wait 20 minutes to place that order.”

She said, “I know, but I don’t know what I want.”

Wince. Cringe.

“I mean, I just don’t know what I like when it comes to alcohol.”

Oh! Oh wow. I had forgotten what it must be like to only know the frat boys’ refrigerator; Natty Ice and Taaka Vodka. I’m not so far removed from this first time experience that I can afford to be cynical about it. I decide to grab our Specialty Drink Menu and talk her through it.

Realizing that even if she had an alcoholic beverage before that day, her education on what she was drinking may not expand beyond lessons from the Most Interesting Man in the world about Skinny Girl Marga-everythings and Puff Daddy’s Ciroq. I decided it was my duty and I pulled up a chair. I quickly turned from jaded about my last several hours of work to excited about the next quarter of an hour. I recommended my favorite drink on the menu, the Tuscan Margarita, and explained what each liquor would taste like. She scanned the menu a moment or two more and went with my recommendation.

I asked for her I.D. She politely obliged and I rang in the order. A swelling feeling of excitement washed over me. How fun to still have milestones! What a thrill to sit down with your friends to enjoy something for the first time – well, for the first time without fear of being caught.

I remember my first legal beer at a bar where I had shown my real I.D. My roommate at the time, Brent Politico, took me out at midnight to a bar on our college’s “strip” of bars called Charlie Peppers. I think I just ordered a Coors Light or something equally as mundane and unimaginative. Brent bought it. We sat on the railing of their outside balcony and listened to live music. I remember panning through the crowd of summer-time boozers and thinking, “I belong here. I’m allowed.” It was like an exclusive club and I had just earned lifetime membership.

Suddenly, I was glad this girl sat in my section and that I was the one who got to bestow the honor of her first membership drink upon her.

I served her the Tuscan Margarita. She sipped it. Her eyes widened. I imagine she didn’t know alcohol could taste so good. As she sat and talked with her friends and slowly enjoyed her drink, I cleaned and wrapped up my night. When I went back to check on them, they didn’t want anything else. I told her I had taken care of her tab. She was so sweet and grateful, as were her friends.

As we were exchanging our final niceties, I realized one of the girls was wearing a sorority shirt, my sorority’s shirt! “I’m an Angel!” I exclaimed. The Twenty-One-Year-Old squealed, “So, not only did you serve me my first drink, but you’re also my sister!?”

“I guess so,” I responded a little dumbfounded.

When I returned to clean the table, they had left me five dollars on the table. What sweet, baby, Angel sisters! 

Day 7: Skype with Kelia
Day 8: Buy something for someone who needs it and won't spend the money for them self
Day 9: Get a fun new hair cut/color
Day 10: Do something you don't want to
Day 11: Organize ALL bills and loose ends
Day 12: Buy a 21 year old their first drink

2.0: The 365 Day Challenge

I’ve never been one for resolutions. It seems they’re just a way to set yourself up for failure, creating a greater feeling of inadequacy than that which led you set the resolution in the first place. People do it every New Year, though; they promise to seldom drink, frequently call, eat less, work more, stop smoking, or start jogging, and so on and so forth. These are empty promises that are broken within however many weeks, a feeling of failure sets in and the promise falls to the wayside. I appreciate the symbolism of a New Year representing a new beginning. However, I don’t think that the clock striking midnight is a reset button on your life. You’re still the same you at 12:01 am that you were at 11:59 pm. Don’t misunderstand; I think any decision to better one’s life is a good one, a great one, even! I’m simply questioning the way in which we go about it.

Not to discourage any avid resolvers, but statistics will show that anywhere from 60 to 92 percent of people will not faithfully execute their annual pledge. Often it’s because people are unrealistic with their goals. They set goals that would be “nice to keep” but they don’t necessarily need to keep. They set too many goals. They set goals but don’t create plans of action. Or they set goals, not because they feel the need to make a change but because the New Year warrants it. By mid-January they typically fail. How can we combat this inevitable cycle of failure? You could resolve to break your resolutions? But then, you would keep it. I thought about resolving to drink more, eat crap and workout less but unless my sole purpose in life is to keep a New Year’s resolution, that’s not a path to success. My sister’s solution to the resolution debacle is to make a vow each month. What’s 28-31 days? Hardly anything in comparison to 365 days. I’m someone who can abstain from something for so many days, like French fries at work, but once I have one it’s a all over. I’ve ruined my good streak, sullied my name, rolled that first snowball and sent it down the mountainside. Nevermind allowing myself a slip, after all, I’m only human. Realizing this about myself, I’ve decided not to give myself an entire yearlong challenge but, instead, a year of daily challenges. What’s a single day? Nothing in comparison to 365!

I’ve started composing a list of 365 things that I can do each day over the course of the year. The list is comprised of things as simple as “go to lunch and dramatically over-tip my server” or “Skype with my nephew” to more grand tasks like “take a trip to the Ashville Hot Springs” or “run ten miles.” There are silly things on there like “speak in the third person all day.” And I’ve included some gimme days like “write about this endeavor thus far” (Day 6: check!) The list includes random acts of kindness like “pay for the person behind me in a drive thru” or “bake something for everyone at work.” There are also challenges like “make a pot roast” and “run a half marathon.” First time undertakings like “bet on a horse” and “rock climb.” Anything I’ve never done, want to do, or enjoy doing that might make anyone around me, including myself, feel good is list worthy.

Currently, the list sits at 170 items. Initially, I had hoped to compose a list of 365 items to have everyday laid out ahead of time. But that would mean I wouldn’t have room for additions as opportunities arise. And to lie out every day’s task ahead of time leaves no room for spontaneity. I’m going with a “My Name Is Earl” method of checking things off; when an opportunity is presented, I capitalize and check something else off the list! Some days will require advance planning. Others will require a lot of money (I’ve built in days to save and set aside money for this exact reason). Some are hopefully going to make others smile. Others are going to make me feel really foolish. They should all be fun and challenging. This will definitely be an experiment in humility and determination, but character building and fulfilling nonetheless.

So, in light of the New Year and in spite of my anti-resolution resolve, I set forth to do SOMETHING everyday. I will make my life and the lives of the people around me richer through my ever day actions and activities. 

Feel free to contribute to the list. I’ve written in a piece about resolutions before that I don’t believe we need a New Year to become better versions of ourselves. So whether it’s that the New Year happened to come at a time when I am ready to be a better version of myself or that I decided it because it was a New Year, the challenge is accepted and the game is afoot.

Stay tuned for more on the challenge. You never know how I might embarrass myself trying to climb something or where I might end up. I may even be doing something for you! The possibilities are truly endless (well, except that there are only 365 of them). In the meantime, go forth and be great! And Happy New Year!

Day 1: Make a list

Day 2: Do something that’s right even if it hurts

Day 3: Finish Spinning My Wheels road trip blog

Day 4: Pay It Forward

Day 5: Bring goodies to work

Day 6: Write about this experience thus far. 

Rooftop Revelations: Some Final Thoughts on the Journey

“Happiness is a journey, not a destination” – Ben Sweetland 

I have to double back to Austin for some final thoughts. Austin was refreshing, I think because I was with Beth.

Bethy and I are soul sisters. Cut from the same cloth. The original Whole Foods in Austin has a rooftop picnic area. It offers a spectacular view of the city’s skyline and sunset. Beth and I grabbed a six-pack of craft beers from inside, winter lagers, oatmeal porters and the like. We sat at a picnic table and watched the sky melt from day to night between the buildings, like a crayon box of reds and blues left in your car for too long. 

Beth and I are the kind of friends who can talk about everything from sex to sports. From farts to Freud. We can be deep or walk a fine line between childhood and adolescence.

We sat and discussed my trip. The purpose behind it and she told me how proud she was of me. How brave I am for doing it. Which brought up the question of bravery and whether I was truly brave or a coward. Was I venturing out or running away?

They say, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

Is a change of scenery really enough to make the changes you want to see in yourself and your life? I know a lobotomy is extreme and a wee bit too far – so maybe my soul-searching, literal journey to satisfy my wanderlust was a happy medium?

The rooftop opened us up to talking about our lives. Where we stand and where we are going. I had this strange new epiphany – the secret to life’s happiness, if you will. You need three things in your life that you must love to be happy: the location, the people and your work. The Trifecta. Generally, you just need two of three to feel satisfied. But I’ve seen people have all three; that means it exists. I feel like my life offers me pieces of those three, where one makes the others more bearable at any given time. But I don’t love any of them fully. I want to qualify this statement by saying this was my mindset at the time of our conversation – take no offense, my beloved location, people and work.

We talked about how our decisions in life got us to where we were. How it would be our decisions that would get us to where we want to go. And how we both felt like we might, for the first time in our lives, be on the right tracks.

Now that I’m back home, the rooftop revelations haven’t been lost, only slightly altered or melted together. I believe now, more than ever, that happiness is a choice. If you don’t like your life change it. That’s a tough notion to swallow. Life gets twisted. Things go wrong. It’s how you react and what you do after the twists and the wrongs that make you who you are. I know that I will never be happy, until I choose not to be miserable and I will never have a better life, unless I start living one.
The result has been a fresh, positive attitude at work, making my shifts go by quickly and with less stress. Exploring new places in my city, making it new and interesting to me. And making a point to spend quality time with friends, having meaningful conversations, which has made my people more valuable. So maybe I had my trifecta all along? I’m not sure how one might determine the over-under on happiness, but I’m willing to bet I might cover the spread, after all. I’m on the journey, anyway… 

The Beginning of the End: Memphis and Beyond 2

Thanksgiving

The nearly 18 hour drive from Memphis to New Jersey included minor excitements like getting lost in Kentucky – well I wasn’t lost so much as GPS lost me – and a nice three hour nap at a beautiful mountain side hotel in West Virginia – I can’t believe I didn’t take a picture of the view. I arrived home on Thanksgiving just in time for hors d’oeuvres, but a little too late for the dip. No one except my cousin was expecting me, so when I knocked on the glass front door, there was some confusion and quite the commotion. All the men came trucking up from the downstairs football room (it’s actually called the “Rutgers room,” it’s sort of like my parents’ collective man cave re-decorated top to bottom in Scarlet and Black, but on holidays like Thanksgiving, it’s where the football is). My mother emerged from the kitchen, shaken and confused, I’d never seen her look so small as she did when she started crying at the sight of me. I’d never seen her cry at the sight of me (except probably the day I was born, but there was a lot happening that day so I don’t remember all the details). I was showered with hugs and kisses and we all laughed and joked. 

Immediately after all the people who knew what was going on were appropriately greeted, I grabbed for my nephew. I hadn’t held him since he was born three months before and a month early to boot. He was all filled out now, not like the skinny, scrawny guy he came out as. Fluffy and round and all smiles once the dust kicked up over my arrival finally settled.

We sat down for dinner shortly after that. What they’ll never know is I purposefully timed it so I wouldn’t have to set the table, which is usually my holiday chore! It’s funny how you can go home and it’s as though you never left. Sure the faces around the table are different and sit a little higher than they did the year before, or in the case of the shrinking old folk around the table, lower (wink nudge, Old Folk). The jokes are still funny, though some need to be explained due to my absence, and the conversation is still rich with equal parts intelligence and wit. The glasses were full of wine and not sparkling cider, now and the subject matter is more like CNN than MTV, though we’re never too old to talk musical pop culture and make a dig about reality television. When dinner was over, the “kids,” though the youngest of us is 21 now, stole away to the downstairs room, which was now our game room. Every year, we play a “boys vs. girls” trivia game (perhaps it should be “men vs. women” now), in fact, it was the realization that with our female cousin out of the country for a semester abroad, my sister would have to carry the weight of the women’s team alone that made me feel homesick enough to make the great journey from Blue’s City through the Hills [that] Have Eyes to my home. We sat down and played a new game this year, naturally the women dominated. In the men’s defense, they had a screaming infant on their team.

That Saturday night, my father and I decided to go down the shore for a Restore the Shore fundraiser at some of the bars in the Belmar area. Anyone who knows the shore bars in New Jersey can appreciate the interesting experience that was my father and I at Bar A. It’s usually a scene filled with loud music, muscles, and alumni from high school. This night, though, it was so neat to see people of all ages, older than my father and younger than me, all come together to show support for our damaged shores. We bought Restore the Shore t-shirts and decided to take a drive to the beach. We walked on the boardwalk, or what was left of it anyway. It was a sad sight. We weren’t even sure if we were allowed to be standing on it. It was warped and possibly condemned. There was a sign that read, “Caution: Boardwalk Closed.” It should have said, “Caution: Boardwalk Non-Existent.” I love the shore. I love what it means to my childhood, but I know it meant that much more to my dad’s generation and to my dad. The beach is his thinking place, where he goes to unwind; day and night. To see it like that and be there with him broke my heart into almost as many pieces as the boardwalk itself. Don’t forget: just because it isn’t current, doesn’t mean it isn’t still in need. Visit: http://shoresunited.org/ or http://www.redcross.org/ to see what you can do to help my dad get his thinking place back!

Any trip home is usually accompanied by a trip into New York. I hate to be so close to my favorite city in the world (to be fair, I haven’t seen many) and not venture in. My roommate from Knoxville was actually in the City for the weekend, so we met up and did New York-y things. We’re both Sex and the City obsessed (she calls me her “Little Carrie Bradshaw,” though I can't imagine why ;) ), so we decided to track down some SatC sights. 

We visited Carrie’s famous front stoops and Magnolia Bakery, where Carrie and Miranda eat cupcakes in Season III, Episode V “No Ifs, Ands or Butts.” I had a snicker doodle cupcake – it was freakin’ fantastic. We sat on a bench in the park across the street to eat them. Then we just walked the streets of New York, window shopped and talked like girls do. It was our very own episode of Sex and the City!

With the exception of my day in New York and my trip to the shore with my dad, I spent every day with my mom, sister and nephew. The three of us call ourselves the “Lady J’s,” so I guess my nephew was sort of like our mascot all weekend, if mascots spit-up and pee on you. I was more in love with him after that trip than when I first met him in August. I know my love is only going to grow as he does! It was harder to leave everyone, now that everyone included that little Nugget than it ever had been before. Alas, the road waits for no man (except that, actually, it does) and I had to head back to my adult home. It was a weekend of football and movies, comfort food and family time. It was the perfect cap to my soul-searching journey.

Who says you can’t go home?

The Beginning of the End: Memphis and Beyond

My fears from Charleston were realized: I returned home and fell behind. Not right away, of course but once I went back to work. I wonder if I’m one of those people that can’t multi-task. Or, at least, not multi-large task. I.E: have a job and a hobby? That sounds ridiculous; surely I’m capable of managing both. I think I just lost my motivation, my inspiration. Well, 2013 brought on a new project that I intend to blog about and I refuse to start a new project without first finishing this one. So, without further ado, I give you Memphis, Thanksgiving, the return to my starting point and final thoughts before bidding 13 in 30 adieu!

Memphis           

I dreaded leaving Dallas. Not because it was absolutely wonderful, though it was a comfortable city, but because I knew the drives ahead of me would be long. One morning in Dallas, as I watched Kathy Lee and Hoda or Kelly and Michael or one of those “housewife shows,” the realization that Thanksgiving was coming hit me. Thanksgiving is the beginning of family holiday season. It would be my nephew’s first. An overwhelming sadness struck me and I considered what it might take to travel home to surprise my family for Thanksgiving that week. I knew I would have to stop in Memphis, partly because I had never seen Beale Street and partly because it was en route to both my childhood home and adult home. So, I set out on the nearly eight-hour drive from Dallas, through the nothing that is Arkansas (sorry, Arkansans) and into Memphis. A sight to see as you cross the Mississippi at night. My time in Memphis gave me the opportunity to see an old friend for the second time in a month. One of my boys from the early post-college years, Hyung. It was quite serendipitous, because even though I had arrived on a Tuesday, Hyung had just received great news from work and wanted to go out to celebrate, plus it was the week of Thanksgiving so the next day wasn’t all too important at work anyway.

He and a friend of ours took me to Main Street to his favorite non-tourist, non-Beale Street bar. After some cocktails and conversation, I told the boys I’d had enough dilly-dallying; I wanted Beale! So, we walked a few short blocks until there it was: protected by police cars, music pouring out of buildings like some sort of rhythmic flood, lights illuminating the road as though I was a star on stage. It was Beale Street and I was Walkin’ In Memphis! I was famished from my drive, so we went to Blues City Café, which boasts the “best meal on Beale,” I decided to go all out and had fried catfish. It was quite possibly the best meal on Beale, although I didn’t exactly see many other restaurants in the few blocks that we walked. After our late dinner, we decided I had to go to at least one bar on Beale. To our disappointment B.B. Kings was closed (guess that means I’ll be returning to Memphis for that adventure), so we went to Wet Willy’s, which has a full wall of slushy machines filled with alcoholic Slurpees (7-11 with a bar!). Basically, it’s brain freeze and a buzz in a plastic cup. More disappointment, though, Wet Willy’s closed shortly after we arrived. No need to finish our drinks in a hurry because we could bring them on the street and finish them at our leisure! How fantastic!? As we traced our path back from Wet Willy’s to our starting point, it occurred to me that the police cars were merely a barricade to keep people from driving in a high foot traffic area, that the rhythmic flood coming out of the bars was just the same old Chris Brown song I’d heard a million times before and my stage spotlights were merely streetlights – one with a flicker. Beale Street was pretty much just a road with bars; I’d seen that before. There were homeless people and drunk people and homeless drunk people, like anywhere else I’d been. Yup, one drink and one brain freeze later, the magic of Beale Street dissipated. The magic of Memphis, however, had not. As we walked back to the car we saw the Orpheum Theatre, which has seen stars like B.B. King, Dolly Parton and Tony Bennett. The rich musical culture that makes Memphis thrive is palpable as you walk the streets of downtown.

In the morning, Hyung insisted we have Gus’s Famous Fried Chicken for lunch, so I knew my Memphis run would have to be a good one to make up for what I was about to ingest. Hyung had shown me this part of the city called Mud Island, it’s just over a bridge and it’s literally an island where the people with money live. He showed me what he thought was Justin Timberlake’s house. So, when I set out for my run, I decided to try to run to JT’s house (that’d get the 12-year-old in me moving). There was a nice bluff to run on, so I was able to look down on the river. I felt alive! Running above and looking below on to something so large and magnificent, like the Mighty Mississippi River made me feel immortal; like a Greek God looking down from a cloud. Seeing the old riverboats on the shore reminded me of Tom Sawyer and Mark Twain, making me remember my mortality and that all I have is the legacy I chose to leave behind. It was quite the juxtaposition and made for a remarkable run. I couldn’t find the footbridge to mud island, though, thus never did make it to JT’s house. However, at that point I’d run 2.5 miles and figured turning back and making it an even five for the day would allow me the gluttony of feasting on Gus’s fried yumminess!

We stuffed our faces and it was, in fact, famously delicious. It’s possible the building is smaller than my apartment and the kitchen may be the size of my walk-in closet, so how they manage to produce such fried golden, melt in your mouth, breaded goodness is pure magic. However, I’ve learned not to question a good thing and merely enjoy.

I set out from Memphis determined to make it home to New Jersey for Thanksgiving. GPS wanted to send me back through Knoxville and up the route I usually drive, however, I feared that if I did that, I might stop for the night and never leave. So, as is the purpose of the trip, I went off the beaten path and opted to venture through Kentucky.

Paddle faster… I hear banjos!