Having this outlet in which to untangle a decade of knotted thoughts weaving in and out of my mind has been the best kind of refuge. Sometimes, the only way to organize and sort through my (usually dramatic and anxiety-driven) consciousness.

oh hey. remember me? I used to fancy myself a blogger.


...but I've been more than just a little preoccupied for the past month.

weightless--floating on a proverbial cloud,

cheeks sore from the perma-grin,

so teeming with the purest, sweetest of joys I could absolutely explode.


we're engaged and busily planning our dream wedding for autumn. we can't freaking wait to share our love story with the people who know and love us the deepest, and embark on a marriage we've both prayed for, all our lives.

thank you for years of following along with me--I'll dare to say you can expect to have a little more bridal content popping up here in the next little bit.

I never knew a depth of love like this could exist, and I am just endlessly grateful to God that he led us to each other--amidst all of the terrible decisions, really bad dates, the gnawing impatience and the dismal wondering if life would eventually pan out the way I always dreamed it could... here I am, living day-to-day in something that far and above exceeds anything I could ever map out for myself. I am so, so endlessly, forever grateful for His love, mercy and faithfulness.

...and I absolutely cannot wait to be your wife, Joel.



Now excuse me while I get back to this syrupy sweet stage that I never, ever want to forget.

...six months and counting, y'all! Here we go!!

Let's talk relationships. Specifically bad ones.

It's not really a secret that I've navigated some toxic relationships. If you've hung with me here longer than a couple years, you probably could've gleaned that already. And if we're keeping track, let's just say I spent roughly the entirety of my twenties with guys I absolutely had no business spending time with. And in an effort to be utterly vulnerable and transparent, I'll clue you in and say that when things were bad, I double-downed on ensuring that my life on screen? Was dripping with more fabricated sweetness than a Splenda factory. Why? Fear of failure. Fear of facing the obvious. Fear of admitting how painfully wrong and naive I was.

I spent many a year, lying about my life. There's nothing really as convicting as putting those words on screen, but if I'm brutally honest with myself, I can admit that I thirsted so heavily for something that never was, that never would be, that I stumbled to create it in my own heart. My longest remembered ambition was to be a doting wife and mother, and I spent years ignoring cold truths in an effort to fake it til I made it. I clung to the one or two good days in a month that he and I would share, convincing myself that was enough for me, enough to grow on. Reciting in my head how "every relationship has good and bad days..." but not being real with myself that what I was involved in. With no marriage or shared accounts or children or business? Should've been about as breezy as it comes. Yet I ignored the endless warning signs, even as they slapped me in the face.

More than seven years, I spent dating someone who I knew from the first few weeks was utterly and completely toxic in a number of ways. Read that again. Seven years... when I knew from the get-go that it wasn't good for me. When we met, I was 22 and had just ended yet another (albeit not nearly as horrific) relationship, and the wounds were fresh and open and I absolutely fell into the next thing that rolled my way. What shocked me for the longest time was how long I allowed myself to stick around. As women especially, I think we (some of us) feel the crushing pressure of making everything okay--sticking it out, regardless of what we sacrifice in the process. Again, if I'm painfully transparent, I can say that I never once could sincerely envision this guy was my forever--my future husband or potential father to my children. But year after year, something in my head told me that if I was wrapped up in this for one, two, five years... I had to stay. It could be good enough. That no one's relationship is perfect. It could be fixed. That I wasn't trying hard enough.

The first half of the relationship was long distance--more than three years of airports and late-night phone calls and sneaking suspicions that I wasn't exposed to the total truth. I shut it away--that nagging, gnawing instinct that something is way off--with this as a relationship and him as a person. His insecurities darted front and center when he forbade me to speak with or hang out with my male friends. And then he insisted we utilize "Find My Friends" on our phones to better trust each other. Yet I took notice of the recently-added Facebook friend he met in traffic school (and later took on multiple dates while I lived states away), or years later, the one in California he met playing Words With Friends, and would later text "I love you!" to, late at night.


Don't do what I did. Don't ignore that instinct that something is off, awry, dishonest, shady. 

Please.

Hell, I even discovered lies and stuck around--don't, don't, DON'T do what I did. Be true to yourself--no one can make great strides in your life to change your current situation except yourself. Absolutely no one. Don't ignore that nagging in your core that something is wrong--the feeling exists for a reason.

Time trudged on and eventually I packed up my life and moved to be closer to him. Make no mistake--this didn't simplify anything. While I experienced a much-welcomed shift in my professional life, in my personal growth, in experiencing the jolt of learning a new city and job, and getting acquainted with new friends--the relationship remained stagnant, uninspiring, concerning.

And I looked the other way. Immersed myself in my new life outside of him (which in the end, was the best thing I could've done for myself).

He worked for himself--I witnessed time and again how he swindled clients, conning them into used products, frequently canceling appointments and texting hollow excuses when he couldn't follow through on what he'd promised. I ignored his work practices, convincing myself it wasn't my business.

...is this really the person I want to spend my life with?

He had an uncanny knack of either belittling waitstaff in restaurants, or blatantly flirting with them in front of me (then denying it, calling me insecure).

Why am I subjecting myself to this?

When in group situations with friends, I increasingly found myself on guard, knowing he'd inevitably make me the butt of the joke at some point, despite my endless pleas for him not to.

What the hell am I doing?

When I'd unveil yet another half-truth, I'd come home to flowers or yeah, at the height--a car. All of the grandiose gestures to distract from the rotting root of the problem. I'm embarrassed to say I stayed. Every single time, I chose to stay. I was terrified to leave.

Part of my staying put was that each and every time we imploded and I'd yell that I was really done this time, I was quickly reminded that I couldn't afford to leave. That no one else wanted me. That what did I think I was I doing? Throwing away all of this time together?

Girls--please. Don't let someone use your insecurities against you. Don't be manipulated into staying planted where you know--down to the depths of your core--that you need to uproot and move on. Your life is yours and yours alone.

Years passed. Years. On an otherwise unremarkable October weekday, something within me clicked and I announced I was done, moving out, and that it was finally, truly the end. He offered no rebuttal and I felt relief in every square inch of my being.

I scooped up my little dog, threw books in boxes, started over, had more good days than bad, and felt pretty confident that I was moving in the right direction. The best form of validation rolled my way, when, upon learning of the breakup, my dearest friends heaved exaggerated sighs of relief and offered their own versions of "FINALLY!" Much less consolatory--every bit congratulatory.

But let's not button it up too neatly, shall we??

A couple months later, he pleas with me to reconsider. We can be better. He'll be different. He's already changed so much. He misses me more than anything. It's worth it--we've invested so much time already. So there I went, that eight-week stint of being out in the wild not yet firming up my oh-so-empowered stance, so I slunk back into the mess. Weeks passed, the same familiar behaviors and suspicions arose, and it wasn't until I was again smacked in the face with the sick realization that 1) not only was he dating someone else while pursuing me (the same person he began dating when we still lived together), but 2) he was apparently lying incessantly to us both about who we were to him and what he was doing with us.

I washed my hands of it all and moved on--finally. Finally, finally, finally. And it took several months of therapy, and more than a few wine nights with my girlfriends--some of them literally sitting me down to beg me to realize my worth--to understand I deserve far better in this life. We all deserve better than that.

I don't think of myself as a victim, and I certainly wasn't blameless--but the bottom line still beckons: I knew from the onset that we were never supposed to date each other, and yet spent the better part of a decade flailing through an anxiety-ridden, poisonous day-to-day out of what I can only surmise was enabled to continue due to overwhelming fear.

Follow your gut. I can't say it enough--when you know you know. Surround yourself with intuitive people who you trust--who cherish you and will stop at nothing to see you happy. Who will stare you in the eyes, unflinchingly, and tell you to get your shit together.

Don't force something out of fear. Be strong and brave enough to strip away your worries and focus on your worth. As cliche as it sounds, do not settle. There is better out there for you--I promise, I promise, I promise. Not only have I thankfully experienced it myself, but I see it in my own friends time and again.

I didn't get here overnight, and it took a small army clamoring away on my behalf--but I made it to the other side. And I know you can too.

I told you earlier this week that I'd much prefer to chase myself some goals, and sort of recoil at the whole premise of "resolutions". I think a balance of modest and grandiose is a good mix to aim for, and crafted together a list of 19 to commemorate the year.

1. Put together a photo book of 2018--especially documenting our trips and chronicling the everyday routines that stick out in my mind as how we got lost in our weekends together.
   
2. Visit Chicago together (go to a Cubs game!). Can you believe I've never been to the Windy City? As J's birthplace, I think it's a must.
   
3. Get Maizie's teeth cleaned. My sweet girl needs it. Part of the plan to keep her on this planet for another decade.
   
4. Try kickboxing.
   
5. Get all of our prints framed! We've been accumulating some art over the past few months, and I've been indifferent about framing. No more cardboard tubes taking up corners of our precious square footage.
   
6. Read 19 books. I'm aiming for more, but for list's sake, keeping with the 19 theme.
   
7. Give blood. My dad began giving years ago, selflessly gives every 56 days, and has given dozens of pints at this point--he's my hero.
   
8. Volunteer with Meals on Wheels. The senior and mobility-affected populations tug at my heart so deeply--Meals on Wheels was one of the first organizations with which I volunteered as a kid, and I'm eager to spend some lunch breaks, meeting folks with a meal.
   
9. Introduce Wrigley to his siblings. We got in touch with some of his siblings' parents a while back, so the seed has been planted! A reunion is coming!
   
10. Be published. I miss writing. The whole process, the writer's block, the endless editing, the thrill of seeing my name in print... it's time I get back at it.
    
11. Celebrate my high school reunion in the fall. Can't for the life of me believe it's been 15 years since I traipsed the halls of LHS.
    
12. Dive into the Enneagram more. I know I'm a 2, and J is a 5, and am familiar with allll the numbers of my closest people, but I want to soak up as much as I can about how I relate to people in all aspects of my life, and how to best adjust when need be.
    
13. Visit Florida in February. Soak up some sun with J, and hang out with a dear friend who moved down last summer.
    
14. Attend a networking event monthly.
    
15. Have a necklace made from my Mimi's jewelry. I have a handful of art deco-ish pieces that I've held onto since we lost her nine years ago, and am excited to have them cast into something I can wear daily in her memory.
    
16. Take a flower arranging class.
    
17. Flex my "no" muscle more. See also: number 12. As I grasp more and more how fleeting any free time is, I'm being more intentional on how I spend my time, and the company I keep. This will be a challenge for me, being who I am at my core, but I know it'll be the best for my soul.
    
18. Fundraise in my mom's memory at Walk MS Nashville. I try to stay consistent with this, and it'll be my third year, supporting the cause in my mom's name.
    
19. Buy a house! We love this city and plan to stick around for a while.

We made it!! January one. New year, clean slate, fresh start--all of the colloquialisms you can shake a stick at. "Resolution" has such an ominous, demanding tone--and I fancy myself more "goal-minded" anyway. You've got to throw some intentionality at whatever you're chasing to make progress in this life--you can't will change to just happen. Writing down your goals is a decent start, but sometimes you have to clear away some of what bogs you down in order to pave the way for good.

Here are some of the tactics I've woven into my thought process as I ponder what I want out of 2019:

• Start with the easiest: write down what you want to achieve. Make it your own, start small--really consider yourself and how you want to grow--if you know you struggle with getting stuff done, do whatever you need to do to keep your goals measurable and achievable in increments. You're more likely to be successful in your pursuit if you have tangible steps outlined, written down, and yeah, even posted or visible somewhere to keep yourself accountable.
  
• Strongly reevaluate your screen time and what you're filling your feeds with. Even the most confident of people is weighed down by the fluffy posts inundating our social media streams. Take some time to purge your feed of anything that holds you back -- friendships that aren't building you up, stores that are draining your pocket, joke sites that are a waste of time. Keep it fresh, and curate it a bit to reflect the kind of person you're aiming to be.
  
• Commit to a daily ritual that keeps you grounded. It could be a morning prayer or meditation, or a walk and a podcast, or afternoon cup of tea while you take a couple minutes for some mindfulness, a consistent schedule for working out, a half-hour each evening for reading. Keep some routine in your day that drives you along as you pursue whatever it is you're aiming for. Even if the task isn't directly linked to whatever your goals are, the structure is good for you.
  
• Do your research. Read more about whatever it is you want to know more about. I love memoirs, personally, because I deeply love people. I love psychology and understanding why people do what they do. I love personal development because I want to spend my days becoming the absolute best version of myself. Identify what gets you going and stop at nothing to understand why. Not a reader? Find TED talks and podcasts to drive your focus. Seek out a networking event or organization to keep you accountable. Just do something.
  
• Keep an attitude of gratitude. Successful people attribute so many of their wins to mindset. About understanding they won't always succeed on the first go-round, and to trudge onward, undaunted. Find things you're thankful for and be vocal about it. Positivity is infectious, and you attract what you emanate. Remaining upbeat will drive your momentum and keep you on the walkway to your own wins.

Finally, check in with yourself. Reevaluate where you need to. Set calendar alerts for yourself at intervals--are you on your way to getting what you want, come April? August? Don't be afraid to share yourself with a mentor or close friend in an effort to hold you true to your goals.

My 19 in 2019 list is coming soon, but for now I want to know: what are you looking at 2019 for, for yourself?

Last stop on our Grand Tour of 2018: San Francisco!

J had a work conference that mandated a trek to San Fran, and I was all too eager to leap at the chance to experience a bucket list city of mine. We (a mere four days after returning from Texas--don't know how you frequent fliers do it) boarded another flight to California, admittedly a bit anxious about the wildfires that were feverishly tearing through the state nearly 200 miles north, as we'd heard the smoke was creeping as far south as the city. Sure enough, the sky gripped a thick, haunting sheet of gray as we descended into SFO. We trudged on with weekend plans, mindful of the residents who--in addition to the constant donning of surgical masks--were tasked with going about their days-to-days while dealing with the uncertainty of a horrific disaster looming counties away.

Saturday, we concluded our five hours of flying, then settled in at our downtown hotel for a bit. before finally skirting out for burritos at a local place that came recommended (Papalote--pretty decent! The salsa was unique and really good). A couple blocks away, we indulged in late night coffee and sweets at Mission Pie, which I can absolutely recommend.


Sunday morning, we set out exploring--first stop was the Ferry Building Marketplace. Such a unique smattering of shops and eateries under one walkable roof, overlooking the beautiful bay. We sampled small batch chocolate at Dandelion, snacked on empanadas at El Porteño, and scooped up macarons at Miette. We ogled pottery at Heath Ceramics and I grabbed a tea towel and Christmas ornament (my favorite travel souvenirs) at Village Market.


From the Ferry Marketplace, we Lyfted over (at the hand of perhaps the most SF-sports-trivia-informed driver known to mankind--bless you, Chris) to Baker Beach-- a locale we'd been recommend due to its being a bit off the standard tourist path, and therefore a little slower and less populated. Thankfully, the smoke had dissipated a bit and we lounged in the cool sand and took in the sputtering of salty, breezy waves for a lazy, early afternoon.



After retiring to the hotel for a bit so J could get conference-ready, we departed a while later for dinner at flour+water. Sweet Lord, can we pause a minute to reflect on one of the best meals of my life?

...

Thank you.

After dinner, we walked over to Trick Dog for cocktails... a painfully cool (and easy to miss, unmarked) bar right up the street. Fun fact: the folks there create a cookbook once every six months, which doubles as their bar menu. The drinks were superb and the atmosphere really hip, and yet inviting.

Monday, I ferried over to Alcatraz and was completely transfixed for the duration of the morning. I'd always known the island to be the site of the infamous prison, but never gleaned many details beyond that. The audio tour is incredible--I highly recommend fitting this experience into your San Fran travel plans. There are fascinating details woven into the 3-4 hours of exploring there--for example: did you know the site was considered too expensive to keep operable in the '60s as a prison, therefore it was closed--a handful of years later, a group of American Indians staked their claim there for nearly two years in an effort to protest their having been removed from their native lands across the country? Oh, I ate it up. So much detail and a very well curated excursion.


I made my way back to land and grabbed an underwhelming lunch at the Wharf before admiring the smelly sea lions, basking on their piers. I found my way to Ghirardelli Square, bought my body weight in peppermint bark and chocolate, then carefully selected souvenirs at Lola, an adorable shop in the cluster of retail at Ghirardelli Square. A long afternoon done, I settled in at the bar at San Francisco Brewing Company for a flight before ambitiously walking the nearly completely vertical climb to Russian Hill Bookstore. After grabbing some gems, I quite literally stumbled into the Loving Cup for some froyo before meandering back to the hotel to my sweetie.


Night two of dinner began at Finn Town, in the Castro District, followed by cocktails (and attempting to avoid what may have been the most awkward first date ever) at the Beehive--a '60s-vibey lounge with drinks to match.


Tuesday, I again kissed my guy goodbye, as I pounded pavement for my last morning in the big city. First up was breakfast at Wooden Spoon--incredible huevos rancheros and an adorable vibe--not to mention fabulous conversation with the bartender, who shared her San Fran story with me. I walked deeper into the Mission District to grab a beverage at Bi-Rite and all of the baked goodness at Tartine. I finally found myself at Dogeared Books (are you finding a trend here?), where I got lost for a bit before needing to make my way back to J at the hotel, and our awaiting departure for the airport.




All in all, it was a whirlwind weekend tailored to exactly what we love: indulgent food and cocktails, history, time outside, some solid retail. A few tips, before I go:

• We spent a lot of our time in the Mission District. This wasn't planned--it just happened to fall into place based on the places we wanted to patron.
• It should come as no surprise that the heavily tourist areas are around the Wharf, and Pier 39, and sure, Alcatraz too. When we travel, we gravitate toward the holes-in-the-walls, or at least, places that are highly reputable, but don't necessarily top every tourist list that is google-able in a five-second whim.
• Some elements surprised me about San Fran too. The homeless population is expansive, and parents of downtown are considerably gritty (as most large cities can claim). There were entire streets dedicated to rows of tents and clusters of people gathering together. 
• While a lot of areas are adjacent enough to each other to glance at a map and think you can walk, be wary of the incline! There is substantial fluctuation in elevation throughout the city--so consider yourself warned.
• Something that dazzled me was the depth and span of culture and ethnicity that covered the city--as millennial-esque as it sounds, of our 8-10 Lyft drivers, they all appeared to be from a vastly different background based on physical traits, the music they were listening to, the conversations we had. This fascinated to me to no end--I drank it up.

All-in-all, a pretty magical weekend! I can't wait to go back.

Nighttime took us to Odd Duck for dinner, followed up by brews at Easy Tiger before heading back to snuggle up in preparation for a long weekend of reunioning in Waco.


Friday morning, we gorged at Gordough's, before hilariously attempting to wait at Franklin's for BBQ (the line was 120 deep nearly an hour before the place opened). So we plan B'ed our way to drive around UT's campus and some of the more central murals before grabbing a caffeine jolt at Caffe Medici. A happy accident ensued when--true to form--I squealed at the sight of a tiny, fluffy canine--which prompted us to initiate light conversation with said nugget's owner. This gentleman suggested swinging into Nau's Enfield Drug on the adjacent corner, so we dipped into explore the dusty time warp, and the sweetheart behind the counter whipped us up some bomb breakfast tacos before we hit the road for the hour-and-a-half north to Waco.


First stop in the motherland was--naturally--margaritas with my dear old dad at Ninfa's. We skipped around campus for a while ("this is the super-retro journalism building! ...and this is where I wrecked my bike the summer of my junior year and thought no one saw!") and grabbed milky ways at Common Grounds before meeting up with with J's college roommate (small world!). Finally, we had a tour of HEB (and subsequently procured local beer and Blue Bell) before settling in with my childhood best friend's fam for a night of football and long overdue catch-up.



Saturday started earlier than preferred with the biggest college Homecoming parade (in the country! totally worth the early wake-up!), followed by an 11 a.m. kick-off, that led to a last seconds, unexpected victory over OSU.







Trips to campus ignite mixed feelings sometimes, but Homecoming weekend was so utterly sweet--so many warmly familiar faces and elements of childhood and young adulthood that are steadfast and unwavering and intricately woven into who I am. I was completely in my element, introducing my favorite guy to the rest of favorite people in the world, in one of my all-time favorite places in the world.

Game timing was on our side, as UK kicked off toward the tail end of Baylor's game, so we scrambled to get to a sports bar to cheer on the Cats before heading to my dear friend Amy's for more Operation: Show Off My Favorite Greek to All of My Favorite Texans.





Sunday morning, J had the honor of meeting my Pops' beloved Airedale, Benjamin, and we all took in a dewy morning walk together before getting lost in our breakfast burritos at my favorite hometown haunt. We had the requisite stop at Bucee's before spending the afternoon with my niece and nephews crawling all over us, as we caught up with my SIL and brother. And all too suddenly, it was time to head to the airport, and I was a mess of tears--a trip I'd long anticipated slowly dwindling to a close, with me hopping a plane to the life I've steadily built, 800 miles away from the people and places that built me.



It must be mentioned that my guy was a total champ, and that as I introduced him to no fewer than 31 folks (as well as a smattering of dogs, longhorns and barn cats) in a matter of 48 hours, he was his ever reliable, charming and laidback self: the ideal travel partner. (And yes, I know how fortunate I am.)

Happy to relay more recs anytime you find yourself needing them--and while it may be unpopular to put out there, here goes: do yourself a favor and don't get lost swimming in the Silos. Waco has so, so much more to offer than that, and was plenty cool before Magnolia came around. I love the Gaineses as much as any other millennial gal, but take my word for it--spend your time getting lost elsewhere.

My overarching advice to anyone seeking an authentic Texas experience is to prioritize breakfast tacos and barbecue, find some live music and local shopping, do something outside, and always, above all, stay loose and not too tied to an itinerary. There are simply way too many amazing ways a trip can shake out to be nailed to a rigorous agenda.

Until next time, Texas!