I promise there isn’t a theme here.

A couple weeks into being 29 and I still have yet to go commando (pats self on back).

Funny how a single word* (“penthouse”) can spiral into a long reflection about the film Pretty Woman and the marvelous things it taught me in second grade. Mind you, this was also the year I was so lovingly and perhaps equally inappropriately introduced to Adam Sandler as Billy Madison.

As we so often do, my roommate and I were leaning on opposite counters of our kitchen, chatting while baking. Turns out I wasn’t the only one watching Pretty Woman at age eight and who thought Vivian played by Julia Roberts pulled out lollipops from her knee-high pleather boot. They were condoms, folks. Of all the great one-liners that movie had/has me quoting, the best remains (and to this I bring back the age of innocence)…

Well, color me happy, there’s a sofa in here for two!

Without further ado…some of the many things Pretty Woman taught me:

1. Prince. And how his songs perfectly pair with a bubble bath and a yellow cassette (yes, I said cassette) player.
2. That Richard Gere was and is a dreamboat. While most girls my age were crushing on some blonde-hair-blue-eyed hunk of a man, I was all about the classy fella, mild toned, salt-and-pepper-silver-fox Richard Gere.
3. Your foot is as long as the distance between your elbow and your wrist. If you haven’t tried it yet (seriously?!), do it, now. Cool, right?
4. Vivian is an awesome name.
5. Beverly Hill girls be bitches.
6. Strawberries and champagne will always be romantic.
7. Being afraid of heights is sexy if you’re Richard Gere.
8. Robes are always a good idea.
9. Chivalry isn’t dead.
10. Screw runways, fashion runs rampant at horse races. Often in the form of a brown and ivory polka-dot dress, just sayin’
11. When it comes to silverware etiquette, start from the outside and work your way in.
12. Careful, those jewelry boxes are no joke.

Not get all mushy here and read way more into the plot 20 years post first-viewing but here’s the thing – we are not defined by one thing, occupation, type, category. We can be many things and all of them come together in unique quantities to form who we uniquely are.

In yoga today, one of my favorite teachers talked about how it’s our ego that drives self-given titles, classifications of “us” that keep us trapped in a box in which we use to contain our beliefs and therefore our potential. Something’s scary? We tell ourselves it’s because that’s not “who I am”, “I don’t do that”, that’s not “me”.  Well what’s to say we can’t be scared of something and do it anyway because that’s also who we are? We are scared but we’re also brave, uncertain but also never never so sure of anything in our entire life.

Richard Gere’s character, Edward, is terrified of heights and in a great gesture of his love and defiance of fear, climbs a fire escape to Vivian. Vivian, despite her promiscuous career, and rules (no kissing on the mouth), allows herself to fall in love with Edward.

Now this isn’t to say that you should not have boundaries out of self-respect in a knowing-oneself way. There is absolutely a time and a place for when it’s necessary to honor what you stand for and what you don’t. It really then becomes a question of are my beliefs about myself serving me?

If they are not, set them free. It’s a process, but at least when I notice a pattern of my own, I’m able to assess it in the moment telling myself Okay, this is how I handle things. Is it serving me or is it holding me back? Am I choosing to keep this pattern because it genuinely works? Or right here, right now, do I choose something different?

Maybe that’s what Vivian was doing when Edward asked her “What is your name?” to which she replied that infamous “What do you want it to be?” She was leaving herself open to be re-created. (Yeah this was probably Seductress Technique 101 but in the spirit of making a connection, let me have this one.)

All I’m saying is, wherever we come from, we have the ability at every moment to choose where we want to go. Let go of judgement, of what we tell ourselves, the stories that get in the way of who we want to become. We’ve got those stories, sure – but how do you want to tell Right Now’s story? What do you want this chapter to be about without a title and without knowing exactly how it will end? That’s the fun part.

The story is just getting good.

*Thanks, AG, for the challenge to write a post about my reflections on a film featuring a silver fox and a prostitute. I think it’s safe to say “challenge accepted” and keep ’em coming.

 

When you’re wrapped in a towel and you stare down into your gym bag to realize you didn’t bring an extra pair of underwear, you have two choices.

Post Hot Power Yoga chonies, or no chonies.

I took command of my final day in my 28th year by going commando. I would say this set a pretty good precedent for the year to come if I’m already flying by the seat of my (no) pants.

Is it bad that there’s something sort of exhilarating about not wearing underwear? Like your own personal secret, an inner smile that only you know the cause of?

Maybe I’m taking this whole no-panty-peril a little too far but going the rest of the work-day and then to a client meeting with a different sort of non-disclosure agreement had me a bit smitten with my decision.

Once again revisiting my New Year’s Resolution of lightness, I’d say day #365 of year 28 brought it to a whole new level.

And so begins a new  year. 29! We all have that one (or a million) person that asks, “So do you feel different?” They mean older. Do you feel older.

And to be honest, I do. In my late 20s (as late as they get!) I feel more confident in what I say and what I do. I don’t feel the need to apologize for being me, even at the risk of an overshare (if this post wasn’t a dead give-away).

I don’t feel as guilty for my little pleasures in life and don’t give them up. I love buying my coffee out almost every day, having the usual, and getting my nails done with a color anything but usual. In my early 20s, I may have seen these indulgences as splurges, and maybe there are a bit, but I’m not sorry.

I value my time more. If an uber ride saves me half the time and means I can go home to make a cup of tea and hit the hay with mug still full, then so be it.

Friends and family mean more than ever. I am constantly wowed by how full my heart becomes when I’m with the people I love. It’s truly the most amazing feeling and makes life so much more fun.

I’m learning to let go more. There are many things that I cannot control and learning what those are and how to let those go leaves room and energy for the things that I can. These are things like how I show up in life, cultivating the person I want to be and being present.

It’s going to be a good year.

Birthday girl, out.

There wasn’t chemistry. And that’s not just because my terrible date was a mathematician.

He seemed cool enough via text. Witty, considerate, engaging, smart. I cancelled a game of billiards to which he invited me to his roommate’s birthday party. Hmmm. Now, this could have gone one of two ways. It could have been a. awesome and a unique first date or b. a disaster, stuck in a room with not one but many strangers.

I decided to wait out the first date regardless, swayed from by indecision by a cozy blanket during stormaggedon with a so-bad-it’s-good rom com. A drink was planned for the following day.

I weathered the storm (literally) and my bubble umbrella and I marched down to a quaint Irish pub. He had just arrived after walking a couple blocks to grab cash when I walked in. I caught him still settling into a booth when we greeted each other with a hug. He had just set down his drink and I joked that I had $12 cash on me. He says: “Well that’s enough for two drinks. Did you go to an atm that dispenses cash in multiples of 6?”

To self: Clearly I’m buying my own drink here. Wait, was that a joke? 

As I’m standing at the bar with my cash in hand, Date comes up behind me, “I guess I can wait with you.” Gee, thanks. No really, you’re too kind.

The red flags continue, eyes and shoulders pointed at the bar, what were once witty one-liners took about eight verbal lines to get to the punchline, and he kept talking and ordered a drink long after I had already reached for my scarf and umbrella and announced I had to be on my way.

Not to mention, he had corrected me in a mathematical way (what did I expect, really) when I told him my friends hosted Wine Wednesday the first Wednesday of the month. “Sooo…wait, that should have been last week.” Well, it wasn’t, and Facebook later confirmed it’s the second Wednesday. But still – call me out, bro.

Just…bad. In the spirit of being a yes-woman, I’m glad I gave it a fair shot. I even ditched the rain boots for normal boots and threw on a little Irish-pub-appropriate lipstick.

I’m glad I went, don’t get me wrong. You never know and you can’t lose by giving it your best shot. It’s just a bummer sometimes to have that little doubtful voice be right. The one that instinctively knows it’s not adding up. Rain + instinct = buy your own beer.

I guess I went to solve the proof, to eliminate the mystery of the x-factor.

In sum, I’ll get to my equal, it just may take a few+ attempts at the whiteboard. One day, probably unknowingly, when that dry-erase marker is replaced by a permanent marker, that equation will be here to stay.

You’ve probably heard time and time again that it’s not what cards you’re dealt, but how you play them (and if you haven’t heard it, take that little nugget with you).

When dealt with a situation you have the power to choose how you’re going to handle. Do you tend to become the victim and say this happened to me, why me, this is unfair? Do you complain to your co-workers, family, friends, strangers?

Or do you say well, here we are, what next?

For me, I’m constantly aware of the power of owning the present situation and doing my best to move forward. It is not easy and I am not always successful. But as I once heard a yoga teacher say, this is a practice not a perfect. I often find myself of the shoulda woulda coulda one-way train to second guessing and even though I do an okay job of moving forward, that isn’t to say it’s without the mind game that comes with re-play and regret.

Essentially I’ve narrowed approaches to life’s situations down to two types of people. There are those who move forward passively, dragging their feet. This approach usually comes with believing that one had a choice in the past, but does not in the future. Then there are those who take control actively and move forward from a place of empowerment and acceptance.

For the sake of a real-life tie-in and because it’s more fun, I will call these two approaches, iPhone-y elbow and floppy boobs, respectively.

The case of iPhone-y elbow
I have had the pleasure of sitting next to the same fellow express muni rider twice this past week. She has a windbreaker on and usually reaches down to grab her Lillian Vernon-eque magazine, then, after paging through loudly, rustles down to her bag between her wide-spread feet and grabs another Something Digest. I’m hugging my elbows in close, pinning my last recipe, when her Lands End arm presses up against my side. She gives a quick glance my way as if it was elbow hugging my rib-cage that was the main obstacle to her reaching down. It went a little something like this.

This happens a few more times, now adding a side-to-side adjustment and exaggerated sighs and a shaking of the head. I can feel her gaze and then she turns to the scapegoat woman standing next to us, puts up her magazine so I can still see her hitch-hiker thumb pointing at me and says, “iPhone-y elbow! I’ve sat next to her before…”

In somewhat shock and confusion, I continue to glance down, amused by my book. She took a second glance back at me and seemed to give an extra-long stare, perhaps noticing my lack of tech. It was uncomfortable – for me, obviously for her, and definitely for the woman standing who got pulled into the woman’s personal bubble saga.

Her reaction was by no means healthy. She was irritated and decided to let people around her (namely, me) know it in a passive-aggressive way. She got others involved and was the back-seat driver to taking control. She was that friend who’s says she’s totally open and flexible! then complains the whole way about how she didn’t even want to see that movie in the first pace and besides it’s way past her bedtime.

Direct and clear communication about her discomfort would have gone a long way. Or perhaps there was something else going on – a rough morning, perhaps. Just like she gets to play an active role in how she will handle the situation, I also have the opportunity to choose how I will handle it. My instinct was to passively-aggressively push back, hold a strong elbow, pretend not to notice. Instead, I softened my eyes, continued to read and keep to the confines of my individual seat. I could not let her choices affect how I wanted to be and show up the rest of my day and out into the world.

The case of floppy boobs
I just finished a great spin class on a Friday night. The locker room was quiet comparatively and a girl comes rushing into my locker section. She seems cool enough, fine I’ll share.

There’s a lot of eyeing up and down in this gym – to which I just grab a eucalyptus scented towel and head into the steam room. A nice change from the noses in the air, she suddenly exclaims, “I guess forgetting a sports bra is a sign I should just go home” to which I laugh a bit because – well, been there. We bond a bit over all the things you can actually forget without it affecting your workout and how a sports bra resulting in floppy boobs is not one of them.

I’m thiiisss close to literally offering the bra off my back then realize the obvious darkened sweat circle that formed between my anti-floppy boobs (due in part because of bra-smooshing and in other part because, well, my “twins” don’t have flop factor). She begins to change back into her work clothes and resolves to come back tomorrow. We exchange parting pleasantries and then it dawned on me how cool her attitude was.

I think I would have been a bit more on edge if I had booked it to the gym on a Friday night only to have to go home. She rolled with the punches, laughed a little, quickly came up with a solid Plan B and moved on. Can we get a slow clap for floppy boobs?! It was inspiring to witness ease in accepting what simply is and doing the best she could in the present moment.

After all, that’s all we can ever really do, isn’t it? Do the best we can with what we are given in any present moment. For iPhone-y elbow, things looked a little differently. She chose to take the back-seat, to complain, bring others down because in the moment she thought it would make her feel better- and maybe it did. But all I could control was how I then handled me. That’s the thing about being in the back-seat, it loves company. But the more quickly you can put yourself in the driver seat, the better the ride. Take floppy boobs. she could have hopped in the back seat, but instead drove herself right into the rest of her evening.

Keep your elbows and boobs in close, friends. The world will be a better place.

Attached at the hip to theme of lightness this year for me is saying yes. Becoming a sort of “yes-woman” (have you all seen the Jim Carey movie Yes Man? Go see it.). So far, here are my trials and tribulations.

Exhibit A:

Walk into La Fromagerie, a) because it’s called La Fromagerie (it’s a cheese shop, ladies and gents…need I say it again? Cheese.) b) because a cute man is behind the counter every morning and you’ve been wanting to talk to him c) you’re too early for work.

As I’m approaching the storefront, I see a kind man give a homeless man an espresso. Aww…now that’s sweet. It’s the same guy that works behind the counter. Hey, heart strings.

Ask the man a question, anything.
Me: Do your salads change? That duck salad sounds great.
Him: (in a very French accent. Really?! C’mon…) Yes? Vellll I zoo not receive my food shipment unsill uhhh…ten dirty, eleven o’clock.
Me: Oh okay, tomorrow then! (not quite sure what he meant as it’s not even 8am)
Him: Okay? Have a good day! (Non question statements often sound like questions in a French accent. It’s adorable.)

Shoot. The man thinks I want a duck salad for breakfast. Lunch. I should have specified that I was interested in the salad for lunch.

Well…yes-woman fail. But hey, I put myself out there, even if it’s as the woman who wants smoked duck breast and kale at 7:45am. He’s French – didn’t he grow up eating fois gras at dinner? Bottle-fed Burgundy? P’tit Basque as a fifth course?

Either way, I’m happy I went in just to put my face in front of those baby blues. I’ll be back. After 10:30am, of course.

Exhibit B:

See cute bartender during happy hour and somehow start chatting about pistachios. Upon paying the bill, leave pistachios you coincidentally bought that day at a farmer’s market.

Return solo, and accept that you’re either the bitch that made him spill pistachios all over the bar, or, you’re awesome and pretty quick on your toes.

Things I (over)thought about being a solo female bar patron:
1. I started by appearing busy. Don’t grab smartphone. Reach for journal, paper, a napkin. Anything that isn’t a device. You are a woman with many interests and talents. Maybe you even write in cursive, how exotic.
2. Okay, then maybe bring out the phone. You’re at a bar, alone. Maybe this makes you look like you have plans later. Even if that plan is to check a few emails, do some laundry, maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don’t know, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time (Frank the Tank, help me out here).
3. Drink slowly so you’re not that floozy (aka My Idol). Okay not too slowly.
4. Chat with bartender. This is why you’re here. Stop smiling while gracefully pouring wine quick-slowly into your mouth. It does not look sexy, though major props for trying. I take it back, J, you’re killing it.
5. Ask a question, any question…hey, why is that bourbon called Baby Bourbon?Smmoooottthhh.
6. When getting up to leave, try to be semi-subtle about your green and white stripped bag full of farmer’s market goodies because a) you’d just come from the market the last time you were here b) it’s a very large bag and you risk bumping into your gossip girls to both the right and left of your 6″ wide opening you’re backing out of and c) at least pretend you totally got this. (Are we having fun with these videos yet? Great. Because it totally took me about four sittings to complete this post)

My yes-woman attitude is 0-2 so far, ladies and gents, but I’m making strides and putting myself out there – even if that means eating duck salad for breakfast and wine and baby bourbon for dinner. For me – it’s all about doing everything I can to go for something or someone and if at the end of the day, they get to see my true (and maybe slightly awkward) self, then all the better. This is me, this is what you get, and if someone sees and likes that right off the bat, we’re going to be just fine.

I can’t think of anyone better to put the cherry on top than my idols’ rendition of a classic Starship song. Get. Ready.

New Years Eve. The buzz of “what are you doing to celebrate?” is constant after Christmas and this year, like many, would be a game-time decision; feeling what’s resonating with me the week or even night of.

This year, I felt like doing something small, intimate, cozy – with the only expectations being that it would be an event with good company, laughs, a countdown and a clink. Well, it was all that and more – add an intense boys-versus-girls game of Taboo, Adele belting sessions (which allowed my my voice to make an Irish-goodbye), great food, a melding of traditions, new friends and a new perspective.

Resolutions. Yes, I make them every year. And this year is different in that I’m going to write them here 1. as a written accountability that leaves the corners of my iPhone and 2. to hopefully inspire you to jot down some of your own. I know, I know, every day should be an internal reflection, a moving meditation on areas of ourselves we can cultivate and areas where we can evolve. I agree with all of that but here lies an opportunity for people everywhere to reassess. A time where the whole world is turning a new leaf the Gregorian way and kisses (or kicks) the year past farewell. Why not join in and make it a launching point for self-awareness, acceptance and aspriations?

The house party I attended with one of my greatest friends and her boyfriend was on the same block as the apartment I shared with my ex just a little over one year ago. As we traversed Golden Gate Park and poked out the other side right into the heart of my old stomping ground, I had the tendency to make the event heavy; to bring a weight and a sadness on the occasion. You know what? No. It doesn’t need to be that way – and in vocalizing my urge to make it a big deal, my dear friend mentioned the benefit of holding things lightly and just like that a biggie resolution for me was realized. 2016, I will practice holding lightly.

I will practice non-attachment, being present and engaged, but not holding my expectations so high that I weigh them down with what I think they should be.

I will be open to new experiences and live lightly, go with the flow, and not take myself or events too seriously.

I will practice making decisions confidently, try to avoid second-guessing myself and eliminate the concept of right versus wrong, and one true “best” knowing that regardless of how something turns out, it teaches me something. The energy I pour into making the “right” or “best” decision has diminished the quality of the experience of my chosen outcome.

I’ll practice lightness of being with others. I’ll be more conscious of accepting people as they are – not wish they were different, not try to change them, not point out what I perceive as flaws. I will love people wholly and hold them in the light that they already are.

Outside my 2016 mantra, here are some of my other resolutions and you can hold me to them:

1. Keep dance and yoga in my life. When I’m dancing or practicing yoga, I feel a connection to my body, mind and soul that I want to cultivate this year and every year.
2. Wipe the dust off of my sewing machine and get to it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at all thrilled about the floors upon floors of fabrics at Britex. “Make it work!”
3. Go travel somewhere new. Domestic or international.
4. Read on Muni. Occasional Instagram scroll-feats are fine from time-to-time, but I want to use the commute as a way to unwind by connecting to a good read.
5. Build a wardrobe that I really love. This one may seem silly but it’s made the list before and I still feel like I haven’t quite nailed my wardrobe staples. This is on here for me to work towards creating a closet that feels me and doesn’t only consist of stockpiled basics and sale/impulse buys.
6. Try a new recipe at least once a month. I’ve invested in some pretty  great cookbooks lately so you bet I’m going to Farmers Market so hard.

Speaking of intention setting, my goal in taking a bath this afternoon was to sit and ponder my resolutions – well that and to invite blood to return to my extremities. Instead, I dozed off.

7. Take more baths.

But warm and reflective, I end wishing you a beautiful year of love and lightness. Happy New Year!

To be entirely honest, I have a lot on my mind. I went for a walk along the bay, laughed at some quirky ornaments, drank some chamomile tea and still feel like my thoughts and emotions are racing.

On said walk, I passed a guy I have been chatting with on happn. Yes, that’s right folks, a real human encounter, crossing paths in the real world, outside of the app the told us we crossed paths. Don’t need you, happn.

I realized it a bit late and by the time I thought to do a double-take, he had already rounded the corner (okay, you caught me, it was a straight path – but it was still too late).

I messaged him and found myself pre-occupied (more chamomile tea please!) over the response. Did he also want to acknowledge my 3-D existence? Did he like what he saw? Did he not even have a clue?

I have to say, I like what little I know about this guy. In one of his photos, he’s typing away on a laptop near a poop-emoji pillow. He warms about fancy dinners and new places, coffee on a Saturday and just looks freaking cool.

Guys, go out a buy a poop pillow, enjoy bike rides to the beach, rooftop wine drinking and cooking. You’ll have at least one girl that’s into it.

So now that we’re clear on what works, here is what does not:
1. No tigers. Please. I get that you’re adventurous, know most women have a soft-spot and a Pinterest board for baby animals but find something more original. A baby meer kat. Baby porcupine. Baby anything-but-a-tiger.
2. No photos of you giving a motivational speech. This is not attractive as you’re usually spewing saliva on table #9. Exception: Best Man speeches in which case, hot.
3. Arms out, head back, in front of some sort of wonder of nature. Cool, bro. Are you trying to show me you’re God-like? You can come down off of that high horse now.
4. You with a bunch of your friends. Which one are you?! With a name like Dan, this doesn’t narrow it down.
5. You with two blonde bombshells beside you. Um, you do know this is a dating app, right?
6. Picture with a baby with a caption “not my baby”. Whoa, calm down, Dan. I didn’t even make that assumption but now that that’s out of the way, coffee? Exception: telling us who the baby is because awwwwww.
7. Five pictures of your back. You looking at a sunrise, maybe a tiger. A baby? Not yours, got it.

I think that’s a good start. Can you tell I’ve had it about up to here (motions at neck) with the whole app dating thing. Where’s the originality, the genuine photos, the poop emoji plush toys?

C’mon, guys. What’s a girl ‘gotta do to see some 1″ x 1″ potential?

 

Have you ever wanted a keychain so bad that you go out of your way to purchase it? Me neither.

I saw an oversize brass keychain that was too big to be true. Could it possibly a geometric symbol of chicness and by sheer magnanimity, serve as its own location device? I had to have it. Thing was, the store’s location could not have been farther from “on the way” to anywhere.

I booked a massage after a long several weeks and it was in the neighborhood with the keychain. Naturally, I headed over to retrieve my overpriced brass key-keeper.

Contrary to my typical style of picking the CD in the back because it’s probably less tampered with, I grabbed the front box. Gettin’ crazy here folks. It was the part of me that said “just take the one in the front, J – there are only two left, how bad could the front one be?” Well…

I get the box home, excited like a little kid on Christmas morning. A kid who, for some reason, puts a keychain at the top of her Christmas list. Right under “training bras” (true story: I put training bras on my Christmas list back in the day when Limited Too was all the rage and I had no breasts – one of those things is no longer true).

Box, empty.

All I could really do was laugh. What else was I going to do? This was clearly a metaphor – I just had to stop my giggling long enough to figure out what exactly the key was (oh, don’t get me started).

Not being able to justify the out-of-the way trip that had me putting off getting to the store in the first place, I borrowed my roommate’s car and combined a trip to the boutique shop with a retrieval of a long lost water bottle at a friend’s house and a grocery run. #productive

I’ve been thinking about it today – and I’ve been on a lot of missions lately to find my brass keychains. No more overpriced emptiness and unfulfilling appearances, even if that means turning around and heading right back where I came from to get what I set out for in the first place.

Something may look appealing, it has the look and feel of something I want and the box may even be a really nice one. But there’s only one thing missing – that wow factor – what it is I truly want and what I’m learning to believe that I deserve. I’ve had a lot of great boxes lately but they’re a little light, lacking in depth and weight. I’m making those return trips, revisiting those empty spots and filling them up with opportunity.

Filling them up with the good stuff.

Now that’s the key.

I had already made quite an entrance click-clacking on the insanely clean floor and giving a probably-too-excited hello to the smiling faces surrounding reception. There was a moment where I unzipped my purse to see if I could sneakily remove my heels and swap them out for the comfort of my black flats instead.

The risk of getting caught barefoot by an executive of the company left me in my leopard print heels and I let out a sigh to myself when the clacking ceased as my feet met low-pile khaki carpet. Low-pile, low-profile.

The space was as you might expect for an office furniture dealer – airy, clean, modern, fresh and comfortably efficient. There was even a chair in my bathroom stall. You could use it if you wanted to. As I was waiting for the elevator on my way out, I saw my favorite chair of the day. You could not sit in it if you wanted to. The juxtaposition of a sign containing a symbol of a chair, crossed out taped to a chair made me giggle a bit as the elevator brought me back down to sea-level where I could finally sink into my flats.

Enter me, trying to navigate the adult world. Don’t get me wrong, I’m doing this whole adult thing pretty well, if I do say so myself. Emerging from a room still in boxes, scrambling to find my high-waited pants and sweater, deciding against jewelry because it’s still in said boxes, matching lipstick, rushing for the train, doing some commute-research on the company and culture, wanting to sit in the chairs I cannot and not sit in the ones I can, struggling with 2.5″ heels and debating on where to place my water cup all make me question where I fall on the adult scale.

Do we ever really land on one end of the scale or another? Are we constantly oscillating between the two? Is it healthy? Is it detrimental?

I think being an adult is all about knowing when to not be one too. It’s about the balance between responsibility and being carefree. When to crack-down and be serious and when to lighten up and let it go. Being an adult means you have the collective experience of being a kid, a teenager and a young adult. You take what you learned from all of those parts of life and bring them into one combined super-dult. Yeah, feel free to use that one.

There’s a difference between adult-ness and maturity. I think maturity implies a level of appropriateness. It’s knowing what’s socially appropriate and when, it’s knowing yourself and your surroundings to best gauge and act in a situation. Adult-ness comes inevitably with time and experience. It can bring maturity along for the ride, but sometimes it’s simply the issues, questions, situations and themes of being around for a bit.

The kid in me still wanted to sit on the chair I couldn’t sit in. The adult in me kept the heels on. The teenager questioned why there was an expensive chair in a bathroom stall. All valid. They are my super-dult.

Friday, I ran the trails and hills of Bernal Heights with the best of ’em. We caught an incredible sunrise, had orange slices stuffed into our mouths, sweat a lot, laughed even more. Coming back, I scurried around the house and somehow managed to scarf down some breakfast, shower, dress appropriately for work and pack something less-appropriate for work to be worn at a dance rehearsal later. I re-cut my finger on one of my laps around the dining room to which my roommate matched my hurried pace and found a Disney Princess band-aid to hand me as I rushed out the door in unlaced high-tops, a messy bun and a nautical red peacoat.

I race down the hill, see the 28 bus approaching hop on, jumping between those rolling metal shopping carts that take up three-seats each, take a seat among the Chinese-Market-bounds and put on my band-aid, lace my shoes, adjust my hair-tie and take a deep breath.

I look down at my thumb feeling pretty darn accomplished and see Belle, my favorite of the Disney Princesses, staring straight up at me. Tale as old as time, my old friend.

I wish I could tell you that that was the end of my rushing around for the day but let me sum it up by saying it was only the beginning. I got a little whiff of reassurance when my doctor who had ended the appointment with a hug walked back into the room greeting me all over again. For a moment I thought we should switch places but her hand to forehead just made me realize that we were having a similar kind of morning.

A couple shots to the arm, long work day, teaching yoga, dance rehearsal for a flash-mob proposal and a karaoke bar later, I came home to a house full of flowers and a new furniture arrangement that was just lovely. I fell into bed hard and happy.

Isn’t this what living is all about? Don’t get me wrong, this girl loves to get her eight hours of sleep. But there are those mornings when you wake up and you’re not groggy and angry but satisfied and happy that the lack of sleep is residue of living. I find myself wiping those eye-boogers with a bit of a chuckle, remembering good conversations with new friends, a missed dance move, a note I couldn’t carry and an overpriced lyft ride. Worth it. No diggity. No doubt. (my next karaoke request)