So it seems as if I’ve been neglecting this blog more and more lately. For awhile I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason why, but then it suddenly dawned on me: I just don’t have much to complain about anymore! It’s funny how I never really realized that having something to complain about was the main reason for my writing here. I guess it was a good way to release my frustrations and anxieties. Oh well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain about not having something to complain about!

That being said, I have decided to start a new blog called Puppy Swoosh. Puppy Swoosh will be about the newest addition to my life: my adorable beagle-mix puppy, Nike. I will be writing about our adventures, our challenges and any other fun (or just funny!) daily moments. I’ve only had him for two weeks, but I feel as if I could practically write an entire book about him! I will most likely be blogging on Puppy Swoosh more often than I do here, but I hope to pick up the frequency of writing here as well…I’ll just have to figure out how to do so without having something to complain about! Please continue to drop in here from time to time to check in on my life (outside of Nike) and feel free visit Puppy Swoosh regularly for updates on my life with Nike. Enjoy!

I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason (or reasons) why I felt this way until I started reading The Lost Art of Walking (The History, Science, Philosophy and Literature of Pedestrianism), by Geoff Nicholson.

And then it suddenly hit me. I have plenty “me” time, I just don’t have the “me” time that I’m used to having; I don’t have the “me” time that really allows me to shut off the world and completely recharge myself.

In Boston, my “me” time typically consisted of one of two things: hanging out at Starbucks for hours on end – sipping on lattes, reading, blogging, people-watching, and just being or walking – walking from Brookline to the Boston Common, walking around the Reservoir, walking down Beacon Street, walking down Comm Ave, walking through different Boston neighborhoods, with the lens of my camera – and sometimes the music on my iPod – being my only sources of distraction.

Here, I haven’t had much of either.

But that is about to change. Thanks to the DC snowpocalypse + The Lost Art of Walking, I have realized what I need to do in order to get a sufficient amount of “me” time. The first of which is easy – I can definitely start spending more quality time at Starbucks. I spend a lot of time at Starbucks, but running in for a double-tall extra-hot latte each morning hardly falls under the category of “quality” time. I need to make a point of allowing for time at Starbucks that isn’t rushed, allowing for time to actually sit down, latte in hand – and partake in the things I love (all of which I mentioned above). The walking part may prove to be more of a challenge…I have to somehow find a way to turn DC into a walking city. Stay tuned for updates on the later.

Walking had certainly always been a pleasure, but it was more than that. For me walking has to do with exploration, a way of accommodating myself, of feeling at home. When I find myself in a new place I explore it on foot. It’s the way I get to know that place. Maybe it’s a way of marking territory, of beating the bounds. Setting foot in a street makes it yours in a way that driving down it never does.

The truth is, the real reason I walk is because I have to. I walk because it keeps me sane.

The above quotes are taken from The Lost Art of Walking. When I read those words, especially the simple sentence – “I walk because it keeps me sane,” the realization of what I needed (and more importantly, what I was missing) hit me like a bolt of lightning.

In 2010, I would like to be more. And I would like to be less. In 2010, I would like to do more. And I would like to do less.

More patient.

Less selfish.

More doing.

Less worrying.

More trusting.

Less complaining.

More reading.

Less excuses.

More photography.

Less forgetting.

More recycling.

Less wasting.

More thoughtful.

Less over-analyzing.

And simply more living.

Yes, in 2010, I would like to be (and do) so much more (and so much less).

I continued to affectionately call my father “daddy” several years after my parents were divorced. It took me awhile, but once I started to put the puzzle pieces together, I realized my father wasn’t the person my little girl eyes thought he was. He was selfish and manipulative. But despite my becoming acutely aware of these flaws, I never knew he was that kind of person. I never knew he cheated on my mother.

Until this past weekend.

I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked. But I couldn’t help it: I was speechless, I was disgusted.

For so many years, I’ve been trying to salvage the small resemblance of a relationship I have with my father. And now, I’m forced to ask myself why I’ve even bothered.

I already have a long list of qualities I don’t like about him. Add this to the mix? I honestly don’t know if I can find it in myself to try anymore. I don’t know if I can find it in myself to even care. I’m 21 years removed from the situation, but I feel pain as if it happened just yesterday. And I’m angry. I’m more angry with my father than I have ever been before (which is saying quite a lot). I feel pain, I feel anger, and yet I feel numb. Completely numb.

Back story: I do not drive in DC. Actually, truth be told, I do not drive in any city. I am not comfortable being behind the wheel when I am not familiar with my surroundings and when I am forced to share the road with rude, impatient, cranky drivers.

But sure enough, I took a wrong turn (or didn’t take a right turn, rather) and found myself driving into DC as opposed to driving south towards my hometown of Blacksburg, Virginia.

And, shockingly enough, I. Did. Not. Panic. Needless to say, I was quite surprised with myself. While I had to continuously refresh my maps application on my iPhone in order to get myself back on the right track, I was also somehow able to take the moment and enjoy seeing DC from a different point of view.

After several (failed) attempts at getting myself back on track, I finally made it to Constitution Avenue. And then I was in Stop and Go traffic for 2 miles before I hit 66 West. It probably took me a good 35-45 minutes to drive those 2 miles. And yet, contrary to what I would have expected of such a moment, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The sun was hitting the monuments in the most striking way. Time stood still. Figuratively and literally. My impatience was put on hold and I found myself completely appreciating my unexpected (and quite unplanned) detour.

But regardless of my new sense of appreciation, I will always love college sports much, much more.

It’s simple: college sports and college athletes have more passion.

Don’t try to argue with me here. I cannot (and will not) be swayed.

I’m not saying that professional sports don’t have passion. But it’s different.

College players play for the love of the game. College players play for the love of their school, their team and their childhood dream.

On the  flip side?

Sure, professional players may play for the love of the game, but that love is usually laced with a little bit of something else. It is tainted…tainted by money and tainted by fame.

I’ve always felt this way and I most likely always will.

However, this post isn’t about that. This post is about one professional basketball player who seems to possess a few of the qualities I love in college athletes. This post is about Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. Disclaimer: I haven’t always been the biggest fan of Paul Pierce, however I have always respected him as the leader of my Boston Celtics.

And recently I have come to respect for so much more. This past week, Paul Pierce started blogging for Boston.com. His first post, How Boston Became My Town, really struck me.

I’ve been in an amazing position to say that I’m going to be linked 100 percent to the Boston Celtics.

To say that I’ve played with only one franchise, and accomplished what we have, it’s almost like a miracle. You don’t see that any more. You don’t see the same players staying with the same team like that. I’m a true follower of the game and only five guys have played for one team for 10-plus years, especially in the last 10. There’s Tim, Kobe, Ilgauskas, Nowitzki, and me.

You’re always going to associate Kobe with the Lakers. You’re always going to associate Timmy with San Antonio. Those guys won championships for their teams and they’ve been there their whole career.

You look around the league and see a lot of great players. You have some Hall of Famers that have been on multiple teams and you think at the end of the day, which team do they represent? And I can definitely say I am a Boston Celtic through and through. When people look back at my career they’re going to identify me with one team.

Boston is definitely home.

Paul Pierce has the kind passion and the kind of loyalty that I love about college sports. I’m sure the fame and the money certainly comes into play, but I truly respect the way he cares for his team and his city.

I know this is totally unrealistic, but I really wish that the trading component of professional sports could be eliminated. I honestly believe that it would better for the teams, the players and especially the fans. It would a create a deeper, more intense sense of pride, honor, loyalty and passion.

The lights. The monuments. The moon. The reflections on the water.

Everything was so beautiful. Everything was so breathtaking.

For a half second I forgot where I was. I found myself in a state of deep appreciation and wonder.

And then, I quickly snapped back into reality. And then, I caught myself on the verge of thinking myself out of those magical feelings. And then, I let myself go again. I let myself fall even deeper into the wonderfully intoxicating feelings.

Why am I still so resistant towards falling in lust with this city? Once upon a time, I wrote about Cheating on Europe. While this post obviously discussed my feelings towards the country of Europe, it also predicted the feelings I am currently experiencing towards Boston. I find myself constantly talking about how much I love Boston, how much I miss Boston and – most importantly – how I am surprised to find that I like Washington, DC as much as I do, but that I will never love it nearly as much as I love(d) the city of Boston.

The fact of the matter is that I am starting to fall for this city (truth) and it makes me feel like I’ve left Boston behind. Granted, I have left Boston behind, at least from a literal standpoint, but a large part of me is still desperately clinging to the city that most recently captured my heart.

However, I do want to be open to a new lust – dare I say love? – affair. As I said 10 months ago, “cities are fantastic lovers.” And I’m starting to realize that DC has the potential to take me for quite a ride.

Note: Operation FILWDC stands for “Operation Fall in Love with DC,” a project (so to speak) I began shortly after I moved to our nation’s capitol. Visit Operation Fall in Love with DC to read up on the back story of the operation.

“You are making yourself too available.”

What? I thought. No. I could never be too available.

I’m the one that is always too busy. I’m the one that is always preoccupied. I’m the one that is always making excuses. I’m the one that is always selfishly absorbed in getting enough “me” time. I am never, on the other hand, the one who can’t seem to get enough of someone else.

And so, this comment struck me in a hard and unexpected way. At first I tried to defend myself. I rambled on and on about how “this” wasn’t me and “this” was very uncharacteristic and out of the ordinary. True and true. But “this” is the situation regardless of how anti-me it seems to be.

I can do one of two things…1) I can just let go for once in my life and see how everything plays out or 2) I can do what I do best and simply force the fizzle.

I don’t like my options. I think I am virtually incapable of option #1 and option #2 doesn’t seem particularly appealing either.

I like him. Another truth. And it scares me to death. Then add a comment like “You are making yourself too available” to the equation and it discombobulates everything even further. It messes with my head. I had already decided I was done playing games, but now it seems as if I have unintentionally slipped into yet another game.

Now I can’t help but ask myself, am I making myself too available?

If the answer “yes” comes to my head for just a fraction of a second (which, let’s be honest, the very existence of this post proves that it has), I will backpedal. And if I backpedal, the likelihood of a fizzle becomes far more probable.

I don’t like my options.

I like him, I have to remind myself. So why do I allow such comments to poison my mind? Why do I allow myself to revert back to such a state of stubbornness? And why am I unable to just enjoy the moment and let things be?

I’m all about the digital age, don’t get me wrong. In fact, my career pretty much revolves around it. I just feel that certain things are better left offline. And dating, for me, definitely falls into that category.

However, it seems if I have become a hypocrite. Shortly after uprooting my life in Boston and moving to Washington, DC to start fresh, I downloaded an application called Loopt Mix on my iPhone. I saw an article on Mashable (my favorite news blog site on social media) about the application and couldn’t help but be a bit curious. Honestly, it seemed kind of sketchy, but I suppose my curiosity beat out my skepticism in this case because I soon found myself chatting away with strangers who were “within 5 miles” of me.

Sure enough, my initial hypothesis was right: there were a lot of creepy guys on the application! But I soon discovered a handy block button and was able to filter out the weirdos quickly and painlessly. While I was half-tempted to delete the application within the first 48 hours of having it, I opted to stick around in hopes that it would be a good way to meet more people in the area and learn about different things that were going on. I was right. One of my “friends” noticed that I listed photography as an interest and told me about FotoWeek DC.

I soon discovered, however, that while I had the intention of using the application to meet people, I didn’t actually feel comfortable when asked to do so. Except when it came to him. After several weeks of back and forth conversation with him, I agreed to upgrade our friendship to the level of Facebook. And shortly thereafter, I agreed to meet him…in person. We no longer talk on the application where we first met, but I am fully aware of the fact that I met him on my iPhone. I really have no room left to judge people who participate in online dating. After all, what I did (am doing?) is more or less the same exact thing.

He’s been in the spotlight for quite some time and he’s always managed to keep a crystal clear record. He projected perfection. Career. Fame. Fortune. Family. It was all just so perfect. Perhaps too perfect.

Regardless, it seemed real. He did nothing to make anyone believe his life was anything other than a fairy tale. He did nothing to tarnish his image. Until earlier this week.

Suddenly everything changed. Suddenly the crystal clear record shattered. Suddenly everything was different, everything was tainted.

So why am I so upset by Tiger’s unfortunate situation?

While I consider myself to be a relatively optimistic person, I find that I can also be pretty skeptical at times. Especially when it comes to people and especially when it comes to men. Ordinary people (I’m not just singling out men here) have the amazing ability to turn themselves into fantastic actors of deception. The sad fact of the matter is that people can portray themselves in any way they like. If someone wants you to believe that they are a kind, honest, trustworthy person, more likely than not, they have the ability to do so.

This is why so many relationships fail. Because somewhere along the line, the acting slips just a little and the true colors of the person start to shine through. This indirectly aligns with the theme of my previous post. Whenever my mother and I were having a discussion about the opposite sex, usually the following words of wisdom would be thrown into the conversation:

“You can’t change people. And people can’t change themselves unless they truly want to change.”

I will always have my mother to thank for instilling this powerful mindset in me. It is foolish to believe that anyone can ever really change. Sure, people can “change” all the time. But the changes that are possible are changes on the surface, changes within the context, changes due to circumstances and surroundings. Not deep changes of character.

Back to Tiger. It saddens me that Tiger, someone who is in the spotlight and under constant scrutiny, was able to maintain his image for as long as he did. It is heartbreaking that someone who seemingly has it all (and yes, I realize not everything is as it seems) still feels the need to resort to something like this. It makes me question the human condition. It leaves me little hope for the rest of us. And it proves that the acting has gotten better.

I want to have faith in people. I want to have faith in relationships. But it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to do so.

“Emily, you don’t need a man to make you happy.”

This lesson has been drilled into my mind since I was a tiny, innocent, curious, impressionistic 4-year-old. I didn’t fully realize the impact this seemingly simple concept had on me until recently.

I have never really been particularly good at relationships. I have always jokingly attributed my relationship issues to my selfish need for personal time and space, but I am starting to see that might not be entirely true.

I am starting to wonder if my independence is simply a means of self-defense and self-preservation. I need to be in control. I need to feel as if I have the upper hand. And I do not like being vulnerable.

Honestly, I have never had a problem with this outlook. I feel as if it has molded me into the strong and confident person that I am today. However, I also feel as if my stubbornness to remain independent and self-reliant may also act as a barrier to potential relationships.

This past weekend, my 13-year-old sister asked me an interesting question:

“Emily, have you ever even been dumped?”

For some reason, the question totally caught me off guard even though it was relevant to the conversation we were having at the time. Of course, the answer is yes. But that’s the short answer. The longer answer would consist of my explaining that yes, once upon time this little girl was the dumpee, but over the last 5, 6, even 7 years, I honestly can’t recall a time when someone else ended the “relationship.” I use the word relationship loosely here, because I can’t even remember the last time I gave a relationship a fair chance.

I am always the one to end it. Usually before it even gets started.

Sometimes it’s because I am legitimately not attracted to the person in question. Sometimes it’s because I feel smothered. And sometimes I am simply scared. So I end it. I end it before I lose control of the situation. I end it before I lose the upper hand. I end it before I become vulnerable. And I end it before I get hurt.

So now, in light of a sudden surge of self-reflection alongside a few recent events, I am questioning my sense of self and I am questioning my reasons for being so stubbornly independent. Am I really defending myself or am I subconsciously sabotaging myself and preventing myself from having a shot at a happy, healthy, semi-normal relationship?

Friendships change. It’s part of life.

Throughout my life, I have had some incredible friendships. And throughout my life, some of my incredible friendships have changed and some have even faded away.

I am finally – finally! – closer to many of my very best friends. And yet, for some reason, I feel as if I am even further from them than when I was 700 miles away.

A small part of me feels as if I should be mad. But I can’t point fingers. After all, I’d probably be pointing to myself just as much as anyone else. It is what it is. And what is it, you ask? I’m not entirely sure, but I think the most appropriate word would be different. That’s all. Just different. I’m not worried that these friendships will fade away. They have changed, yes, but they won’t ever fade away. They run too deep for that.

I think I just need to acknowledge the fact that my friendships are different. Which makes sense, because we are different. We aren’t in college anymore. We have different lives. We have different goals, priorities and responsibilities.

And I shouldn’t be afraid of this change. If anything, I should embrace the change and embrace my friendships. I am so lucky to be so close to the people who mean the most to me. I can’t allow myself to be throw off by the differences in our lives. I can’t let the difference or the changes have a negative impact on my amazing friendships. If anything, my friendships should grow stronger. We should not just be closer in proximity.

Yes, ignorance, as in the last two of the three definitions listed above, can be bliss.

Sometimes it is better to be unaware of something. And sometimes it is better to ignore information. However, the ability to subjectively ignore something becomes increasingly difficult once awareness has come into play.

Sometimes I really hate the powers of the Internet. I hate that it occasionally turns me into Nancy Drew. And whenever I play detective I usually end up uncovering mind-consuming information only to discover that I would have much preferred to have maintained a state of ignorance. So here I am, armed with information I would rather be unaware of, trying to figure out how to continue on and subjectively ignore the information I have just uncovered.

It is not easy.

Instead of subjectively ignoring the information that is newly available to me, I find that I am analyzing it obsessively. And I am most likely adding far more context to the story than what actually exists. Which, in turn, is making me a crazy person.

I think it’s time for another Internet detox. It seems that Thanksgiving is coming at the perfect time. And then, after the holiday, I’ll have a detox of the normal persuasion. And then poof! – just like that, I’ll be back to normal. Well, “normal” for me anyways.

Listeners would call in and talk about the weird and random things they do and finish with the line, “does that make me crazy?”

My favorite one:

“Whenever I pass a tree, I have to take off a leaf and put it in my pocket. Does that make me crazy?”

Naturally, I found this particular segment to be quite entertaining, besides the obvious similarity it has to the very title (and sometimes theme) of this blog. And naturally I started thinking of my own weird and random tendencies while asking myself the question, “does that make me crazy?”

Here are a few of my own does that make me crazy? habits, most of which result from my various OCD leanings.

I can only download songs in groups of 5. My playlists must all end in a zero or a five. Does that make me crazy?

I am terrified of sneezing because when I was little someone told me that was the closest you come to death. I try to hold in my sneezes at all costs, but when I know I can’t hold one in, my entire body clenches up until it’s over. After the sneeze I feel amazing, but knowing that feeling will inevitably come doesn’t make me any less scared prior to the sneeze. Does that make me crazy?

When I am writing (to-do lists, thank you notes, etc. etc.) and I make a mistake, I have to completely start over. I can’t find it myself to cross things out and I can’t stand white out. Does that make me crazy?

Honestly, I don’t think any of these things make me as crazy as the dude who always steals leaves from trees, but it’s quite fun to think about. And it’s nice to know that most everyone has a little crazy in them. And the people who don’t admit to being just a tad crazy are probably the ones who take the crazy and turn it into insane.

I remember when, I remember
I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place
Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

And when you’re out there without care
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn’t because I didn’t know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly

And I hope that you are
Having the time of your life
But think twice
That’s my only advice

Come on now, who do you
Who do you, who do you, who do you think you are?
Ha ha ha, bless your soul
You really think you’re in control?

Well, I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
Just like me

I was fortunate to discover that Saturday was the start of FotoWeek DC. Needless to say, that discovery alone boosted my approval ratings of the city immediately.

On Saturday morning, I ventured out into the unknown with good intentions and an open mind. It was a gorgeous November day – the sun was shining, the air was crisp and I had a game plan. I was planning to go visit several of the featured events for FotoWeek. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when my game plan veered off track. I made it to one of the exhibits on the my list and then I got distracted. It was a good sort of distraction though – I found myself on the waterfront, I found myself back in Boston. Yeah, yeah, I know…that kind of defeats the purpose of the Operation…but don’t worry, I snapped out of it just in time to realize that I was in DC and, more importantly, that I was actually enjoying it.

Over the past two days, I have stumbled across many things I could grow to love about my new city. Contrary to my first impression of DC, I found out that there is actually some interesting architecture. It’s just a matter of knowing where to look. And maybe DC isn’t as old as Boston, but there seems to be quite a bit of history here too. And culture. There is definitely a rich tapestry of culture.

Once I cleared the dust (a.k.a. the stubbornness) off my lenses (a.k.a. my eyes), I was able to see some real beauty within this incredible city that I now call home.

When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs.  When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.  ~Ansel Adams