Intuition

It was just the three of us, sitting in a corner booth at a chicken finger fast food joint called Cane's. I picked at the two small chicken fingers and fries I ordered (the kid's meal because any more grease and fast food surely would've done me over) and stared up at the Sex and the City photo overhead. This was really only my third time spending time in Columbus and I wasn't sure quite what to think of it yet.

My recent past experiences with Columbus aren't the most memorable. In high school I spent a gloomy weekend there in a tiny church with my church youth group. It was an odd experience, and it didn't help that my friend's car got towed overnight. God may be forgiving but those tow-truck people surely aren't. Then in college, on our way to a race at Penn State, we got into a four-car accident right outside of Columbus. We met the tow truck people again because one car was totaled (she avoided the accident but the semi behind her didn't - it totaled her car and the people inside were honestly lucky to walk away without a scratch). Things started to look up this past December when my boyfriend and I drove out to see a Pens-Blue Jackets game. The game was a blast - my only complaint was that our dining options prior to the game were very limited. Regardless, my feelings toward C-bus have been a little apathetic.

But I still wasn't sure what to make of it. With time to kill I asked if we could take a look at Ohio State's campus. My new friend Yappy was more than happy to show me around.

We drove around the campus - me asking what every building was, Yappy explaining, and my friend Ryan complaining because he is a Michigan fan. We stopped and took a visit inside the student union. It reminded me of Ball State's student center, only a tad bit cooler. As we continued exploring, I realized, based solely on aesthetics, that I really liked Ohio State. I liked the size of the campus. I liked how many people I saw, despite it being summer. I liked the vibe I was getting from it. As we continued driving and I saw their version of a village, it clicked with me: this was the college I had dreamed of my whole life. This was the place, that had I explored more, I would've ended up going to.

It is big and thriving, contrary to the town Ball State sits in. Some may call it Funcie but I usually find nothing fun about it. I confessed to my OSU friends that had I known what Muncie really was like prior to deciding on Ball State, I probably wouldn't have gone. I would picked the rural college town of Miami. Or Ohio State. Or Penn State (if I could have afforded it). Of course it's too late to realize these things now: after this summer I'm officially done with my undergrad.

I don't know why places and locations matter so much to me. But for a minute there in Columbus I felt a little sorry for myself. Sorry that I missed out on a school like Ohio State and a town like Columbus. Sorry that Ball State was not located there. Sorry I hadn't done my research and simply went with my gut.

The good news is though, I did not go with what I found aesthetically pleasing. I did go with my gut. Long before ever seeing Ball State I had a feeling that was the school I was going to end up going to. As far as journalism schools went, it was the only other one I had heard of that wasn't too far from home, and wasn't OU. Call it intuition, but I think I was right.

Although I will never love Muncie, and I will never get to know what it would be like to attend college in a town I actually like, I will never regret my decision to attend Ball State. I wanted to attend college with the intention of learning about how to be a writer. While the learning process has only begun, I would say my time at BSU was a success. Plus, hearing my boss say he would consider me for a position if Cincinnati Magazine was hiring also kind of reconfirms that :)



My loyalty will always lie within a little city in the Hooiser state. But it was fun getting to be a temporary Buckeye.

Wasting Time

As 9 p.m. rolled around on Saturday, I was somewhere on I-71 heading north. Just me, an extra set of clothes, and a big mom van. Destination? Columbus.

It was one of those few times since graduating high school that I would be seeing people from my graduating class. Aside from my girls, most people I knew from high school I lost contact with. I wasn't "close" friends with a whole lot of people. I mostly kept to the cross-country team and young life. And even there I lost touch with a lot of people. With the exception of the few who I plan to stay friends with for the rest of my life, I was ready for a fresh start the moment I walked across the stage at commencement. That included leaving people behind.

Yet there I was, three years since high school and carving a chunk out of my weekend to see - get this - people I wasn't even really friends with in high school. People I never hung out with and barely talked to. So how on earth, in three years, did I go from "forget Fairfield" to suddenly spending the night with friends I was never friends with? Answer: twitter.

I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but somehow in the past three years three friends all acquired a twitter account; then we all began to follow one another. Then we began to tweet/mention one another. At first it was about random stuff: how will the football game go, what movies do I need to see, and so on. But as time began to continue on I realized a friendship was blooming. We'd joke to each other, or if need be, offer words of encouragement when times weren't so easy. What 12 years of school didn't do, twitter was able to accomplish.

I never thought highly of the whole "online friendship" thing. I guess it reminded me of my younger days when I was a middle schooler and had nothing better to do but to roam the web. I thought AOL chat rooms were cool, until I realized they were a magnet for all of the weirdos in the world. That's a big thing: people can be creepy and the best way to avoid the creepers is to stay far away from them. This means don't find friends via the web. Another part of me always thought it was kind of pathetic. Why do you need to find friends online when you can go out in the real world and find them? I always thought the ones who made friends online were the lonely weirdos just looking for company.

I still kind of feel that way...I guess. It depends. And my situation is unique because I already knew these people. They weren't random strangers. But to be fair, I have met strangers (see, that still sounds bad to me) online and they seem like rather normal people. I think. I hope. Maybe I'll never know.

The point is social media did what I thought it could never do: form genuine relationships. Now I'm not advocating that you should find your best friend or future spouse via the web. And it's certainly true that I am closer to the friends I hang out with more than the ones I simply tweet. But if it hadn't been for twitter, I would have never gone up to Columbus to hang out with the friends I was never friends with. I would've probably never seen a Crew game. And I'm almost certain my weekend would've been ten times more lame.

Ironic thing is I deactivated my facebook and decided to temporarily stop tweeting that Friday night before. I got annoyed with it, and I couldn't help but think to myself "This is stupid. Why do I care about these websites?" Little did I know that I would later realize how useful social media can be.

The moral of the story: Twitter is more than "status updates" as some would say. I realize it is a medium to connect with people I probably would've easily lost touch with, just like the others. So I'm glad I still use my social media outlets and I'm grateful for their existence. Even if they still feel like a complete waste of time.

Ignoring Yiayia

I met an old friend for ice cream today. I've known her for at least a decade, as she is my pastor's daughter, and over time she became a good friend. In high school she was the girl I would call up when I was having boy troubles. We'd offer one another advice and dreamed of what life could be like with the man we'd call "the one."

Catching up with her today was no different from back then. She told me of the sexy young lad she is teaching English to and I updated her on my relationship. Naturally, she asked about our future, the one thing that remains a big question mark. I told her that with him moving to Milwaukee for grad school, and having to be there for at least 6 years to get his doctorate, Milwaukee is my goal. But then she also went out on a limb and asked a question very few people have asked me: Are you going to live with him?

I've assumed that no one has asked me this question for two reasons: 1) When I tell them "I am planning on moving to Milwaukee to be with my boyfriend" they automatically assume we'd be residing in the same location. 2) They're too afraid to ask or they don't want to know. I have been vague either way. Moving to Milwaukee does not mean I will be living with him. Nor does it mean I won't be. Either way, I could not avoid her straight-forwardness.

So I went with being honest. Yes, I told her. I want to live with him.

Of course, luckily for me, even though she is the pastor's daughter she has a very open mind. She understands my desire to live with him; she also understands my concerns about living with him. Either way, she does not judge me. And in that I was reminded of why she is such a good friend.

Unfortunately, I doubt everyone in my circle of family and friends will feel the same way. Some have been very supportive; specifically those who are wishing to live with their significant other. Some are apathetic, such as my father, who said, "Eh, I don't care. It's your life. Do what you want." And then there are those who are against it. This would be my mother. Although her exact response was "Um, I have mixed feelings about it," (which is code for I don't support this at all), she gave me the same wide-eyed look of shock as the time I accidentally said the F word in front of her (oops).

So in hopes of avoiding all of those against (except for my mother) I decided I would not share with people my exact plans. I would not tell them that I am already planning out how I could help pay for the rent, or that we've discussed who would take care of what household duties, or where we would get the necessary furniture. Nope. The plan was to be vague and avoid all Milwaukee details until I could avoid them no longer.

But today I decided - I don't care.

A friend recently wrote a blog recalling an encounter which when told to in person made me laugh to the point tears welled in my eyes. It was funny because he tells of a moment he is terrified of being judged. And in his blog he quoted my professor who said, "You are always being judged. Always." My friend's take from the matter was that you should be careful about what you say and do, because someone is always judging you.

This is true. And perhaps I should be more aware of the things I say and do. I do care about what people think, especially those who are close to me. Sometimes I care too much. But with this? I don't care at all.

I have several reasons for my desire to live with him. And I could list them, but I won't. Because I don't think I need to justify to anyone my reasons for a personal decision. It's take it or leave it, but telling me you don't agree isn't going to stop me (as my Mom has come to understand).

To some, I am making a bigger deal out of this than I should be. It's not unusual for couples to live together before marriage. Some might say it's smart - you get a test run at marriage and if it doesn't work out, there's no messy divorce to deal with. But I suppose it feels like a big deal to me, because I was not suppose to end up in this situation. I was a good Christian girl who was suppose to stick to her religious beliefs.

But beliefs, and morals, can change.

I guess what I'm afraid of is a "Yiayia" reaction. If you don't know what I'm talking about, watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmD-wDEeOds&feature=relmfu .While I don't think anyone is going to tell me I am going to hell, I don't think everyone will be supportive.

I am always being judged. And I don't care. If I try to care about what everyone thinks of every decision I make all the time, I will run myself into the ground. I am not perfect. The decisions I make are not perfect. And for all I know, moving in with him could be the greatest mistake of my life. But that's a risk I'm willing to take. Regardless of what anyone thinks.

All I Want

Another typical Saturday night and out of habit/boredom I logged onto my facebook. There in my news feed, in all caps, was a friend's excitement of some news he had just received but couldn't tell. He couldn't tell it, he said, because it wasn't "facebook official" yet. Of course, being "facebook official" usually implies a change in relationship. My guess was that someone got engaged. A text message later, and I learned I was right.

In all previous circumstances I have literally bounced off the walls in joy for my friends. I grin as the girls tell me how he proposed. They show me photos of their wedding gowns and I tell them how beautiful it is. I goggle at their rings, ask them what their song will be, and feel a sincere and genuine sense of happiness for them.

But today, I did not feel that.

Joy did not show up today. Instead, the green-eyed monster made his appearance. The couple I had just learned of getting engaged is younger than me. They have been together for the same amount of time as my boyfriend and I. And they have known each other even less than us. To learn of their engagement, was pathetically a blow to my self-esteem.

Wow, that's really shallow, Laura.

Yes, yes it is. It is shallow, pathetic, and selfish. In a time when I should be happy for them, all I could think about was me. It's wrong. But it's the truth.

I hate admitting it, but learning of so many friends' engagements and marriages is getting old, and it's getting old fast. Don't get me wrong, in most of these cases I am still jubilant for the couple. But as I keep seeing more and more friends walking around with diamond rings on their left ring fingers, a small sense of hopelessness eats at me. Why don't I have a ring on my finger? Why hasn't my boyfriend popped the question? And, even more concerning, why doesn't he even want to think or talk about it?

I got off of facebook and plopped myself on my bed. What is wrong with me? I thought. Why must I compare myself to other couples? Because I am human and when I see friends getting what I want, I can't help but wonder why it's not happening for me.

This has happened before but in all previous situations it was something I could "solve" on my own. Friends get better grades? I'll study more. Friends have cuter outfits? I'll save my money and update my wardrobe. Friends have boyfriends? I'll try to be prettier, funnier, cuter, flirtier, whatever it takes to make boys notice me more.

The boyfriend category was always the hardest.

I was not the girl guys fawned over in high school. I did not wake up at 5 a.m. to do my hair and make-up. I wore sweats and hoodies. Puberty plus genetics were not kind to my skin. I was awkward and shy. And when you have size 0, bleach-blonde cheerleaders running around, it's hard to compete.
But I watched my friends get into relationships. I watched them find dates for homecoming and prom. I felt jealous of them, jealous that they had what I always wanted. And I always wondered what I was doing wrong.

Of course, high school fortunately came to an end and I had much better luck at college. I met the boy who I thought was cute and charming, the one that could make me laugh and give me a shoulder to cry on. From the moment he asked me to be his girlfriend, I've had what I've always wanted.

But want never stops. Being his girlfriend suddenly doesn't seem like enough when I see a younger couple, who have been in their relationship just as long, with plans to tie the knot. At first it was just wanting the wedding. The dress, the "I do's", the cake, the dancing. But now I want what the wedding is all about: marriage. I want the commitment. I want the relationship solidified. I want confirmation that we are both comfortable with what we have and are willing to make it work for the rest of our lives.

Fortunately I am dating someone smarter than me, who isn't as rash about rushing into marriage. Because he admits he is not ready, I know I have no marriage to plan for anytime soon. Which gives me the opportunity to think about whether I am really ready for it or not.

Part of me wonders how much jealousy drives a person to do something. How much of an influence do my friends have over me? Do I really want to get married? Or am I just wanting what my friends have? Am I really prepared to handle a lifetime commitment? Or do I just think trying on wedding dresses, picking out cake flavors, and deciding on a guest list would be fun?

Chances are, I am not ready for marriage. Although I have witnessed 21 years of my parents' marriage, I have no idea what it is really like. I don't know how to handle a budget with another person. I don't know the best way to solve an argument. I don't know what it is like the day you wake up and the butterflies are gone and you no longer have the "rush" you once felt for that person. I don't even know what I would do when that day comes. And I'm guessing these thoughts are only hitting the tip of the iceberg.

I do want to get married. There is no denying that. But wanting it and being ready for it are two very different things. And again, fortunately for me, my boyfriend will not ask me to marry him until he feels we are fully ready for it (I was lucky to find someone so responsible…unlike myself).

So I will fight the green-eyed monster, because I know what he wants is fleeting, whereas marriage should be a lifetime. And I will support my friends who have already made the decision, and hope with all of my heart they are doing it because they are ready. Not because it's what they want.

Setting the monster free

***I wrote this blog on the Invictus website (theinvictuswriters.com) and wanted to share here, for those of you who may not know what this invictus thing is all about. I encourage you to check out the website :) ***

I wasn’t expecting the past to find me today. But alas, as I was scrolling through the documents on my dad’s computer to find a file I had just uploaded, something caught my eye. Shown in the preview of a folder titled “Laura” was a photo I thought no longer existed: a photo of me with my coach.

After the whole ordeal that happened with my coach, I attempted to destroy all evidence of him. With the exception of a journal I deleted all files on my computer that contained anything dealing with my coach. Pictures on facebook were promptly taken off. Printed photos were ripped up and tossed into the trash. Running notes he had given me were burned (literally). I threw a necklace he had given to each of us girls after his trip to Florida into Lake Erie. I was angry, and I wanted all items dealing with his memory destroyed.

Despite successfully destroying most of the items, I was still haunted by what happened. There was no trashcan in my head that I could store my memories into, no button to press “delete.” As time went on I thought less and less of it. But it was always there, in the back of my head, an ugly little monster reminding me of happy memories gone sour. And I wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.

But then this project popped up. And when the theme “mentor” was decided on, I knew this was the story I was going to tell. I didn’t know why, and because of that I struggled with it the entire way. I could not figure out why I was telling the story, what the point was behind it. I was afraid that my desire to tell it was only proof that I wasn’t over it, that, as several of my friends put it, I was still dwelling on it. Every time I sat down to write I would only type up a few sentences, ask myself why I was writing this, and then walk away.

Finally over spring break I decided I would write. What I did instead was dump. Staying up until 4 a.m. almost every night I dumped every memory I could remember onto the screen. By the end of the week I had 29 pages of every event that happened in a span of 2 years.

Of course, dumping is not the same as telling a story, and it didn’t take long for Brad to remind me of that. I remember the afternoon I received a tweet from him telling me not to panic. Sure enough in my inbox was his edits to my story, as usual, covered in red. In that e-mail he said, “I think you are lost in the narrative.” And he was right.

We met at Starbucks to talk about it. He told me what he thought the story was about. “Schoolgirl fantasy meets adulthood reality,” he said. Suddenly it clicked. It was such a simple concept and yet it had been eluding me this whole time. That one sentence finally made me realize what my story was all about, and more importantly, why I was telling it.

Writing Ugly Little Monster was not easy. I had to reach into the past and think not only about what he was like, but what I was like. Confessing that I was that girl who thought she could end up with her coach was embarrassing to me. But being able to tell it was proof to me that it was in the past. And, more importantly, it was freeing.

Which is why I surprised to find that when I came across the photo, I did not have the knee-jerk reaction to drag it to the trashcan. Instead I looked at it, and for the first time felt nothing. No feelings of anger or bitterness. No feelings of sadness or missing what I once had. Instead I recognized it for what it was: a moment capturing the happiness between a coach and athlete, both oblivious to the destruction their friendship/relationship would soon face. A moment that is dead.

So I decided to keep it. Because that photo serves as a reminder to the process I went through in telling this story. Telling my story was releasing my past, so that I could move on. And while I hope others can take something away from my story, I told it for myself. In telling my story, I set my ugly little monster free.

Middletown, USA

The impossible, and I do mean the impossible, happened to me yesterday. As I was sitting in a Mexican restaurant with a former and current intern for lunch, I gazed out the window at the streets of Cincinnati and thought, "I miss Muncie."

You, or I guess in this situation, I, never thought I would see the day I missed Muncie. Miss my friends? Absolutely. Ball State? For sure. But Middletown, America? Nope. Never.

When I first traveled to Muncie it was "hate at first sight." I had no immediate connection to the city or anything that went on there. And the more I explored it, which I did often on runs, the more I realized my disgust for it.

I'm not quite sure what it is about Muncie I despise. There are a lot of things I can point out that I don't like, such as all the potholes, the lack of attractions, the "White" River, the run-down areas and specific spots that I avoid at all costs. Quite frankly Ball State is the only part of Muncie I found pleasing. As I often say to my friends, had I known what Muncie was really like before attending Ball State, I probably would've passed and settled for an education at a different school with a prettier location. I'm glad I didn't, but that's how much I dread Muncie, Indiana.

I suppose I just never felt a real connection with Muncie and for me that's a problem. I have been in a constant search for the perfect place to live for as long as I can remember. I longed for the days my family and I would travel to New York where I could gaze out at Lake Erie and breathe in the fresh air. I'd count down the days to visit my grandparents in Pittsburgh, where we would sled down its infamous hills in the winter and take only a 10 minute drive to see the sights of the Steel City. I feel a deep connection when I am in those two places. I suppose you could say I feel right at home.

I never felt the right at home feeling with Muncie. At least not when I was living there. I loved the afternoons where I would watch Muncie disappear in my rearview as I drove onward to Ohio. When I returned to Muncie, I would quite literally sigh and think to myself, "Well, here I am again." The only thing I look forward to when returning to Muncie was the people - I never looked forward to the actual place.

After my freshman year I hoped that my feelings toward Muncie would change, but they never did. Day after day and month after month I found myself looking forward to the day I would be free from the city. And just a few weeks ago that day came.

I did feel relief leaving Muncie. I felt happy knowing I would never have to live there again unless I so choose. Muncie is officially in my past - and I have no intentions of it being in my future.

But yesterday my relief and happiness subsided. As I sat in that Mexican restaurant, nostalgia hit me. The two interns were not my ball state friends. The food, the same dish I ordered week after week at Puerto Vallarta's, did not taste the same. And as I looked out the window at the streets of Cincinnati, the place I so often associate as my home, I did not feel at home.

I got what I wanted. I am out of Muncie, back in my beloved Cincinnati, with the opportunity of learning more about this writing career I am attempting to take on. It's a shame I miss what I had all along.

I don't regret my feelings toward Muncie. I know I probably would have never fully appreciated it if I stayed in the city. The only thing I wish I could take back is all the time I spent moping and bickering about it, when I could've been appreciating the few things it did have to offer: the irreplaceable memories that have helped shape me into the person I am today. Those are the parts of Muncie I will remember, those are the parts of Muncie I love.