Go Your Own Way

Defining characteristics. When you think about one of your friends, family members, or even a famous celebrity you admire, you can usually associate a couple of traits to their persona. If you know me, you'd know that I like to wear red lipstick. I bite my nails, enjoy reading, and listen to my iPod too much. I'm also fairly notorious for my anti-driving stance. If I can avoid ever buying/leasing a car or even just getting a driver's license, I will.



After some consideration into why I don't like to drive, I think it boils down to genes. Clearly none that went to my parents, avid fans of being behind the wheel. They must have trickled down to my brother Earl and I (neither one of us has a license). From the moment I turned 16, driving became something that flooded the hallways of my high school. It was a highly discussed topic of interest, a rite of passage that symbolized freedom for the oppressed Catholic school kids in my grade. The fact that my October birthday gave me an early pass into this world was deemed "lucky!" by everyone I knew. I remember smiling tightly alot those years and begrudgingly getting a permit when I was 17.

When I did practice driving, it was always terrible and ended poorly. I was an awful driver, particularly with my Dad in the front seat next to me offering far too many two cents for my liking. I couldn't parallel park, cut people off on the freeway with last second warnings, and didn't check into my rearview mirrors enough to see what was going on. Every single time I drove, I was physically exhausted getting to point A and rattled to the bone on the way back to point B. Practice is supposed to make perfect, but the more I practiced (which admittedly was not often), I was irritated at being trapped behind the wheel, unable to look at the surroundings around me with my concentration being road-only.



Driving never signified freedom to me as much as being a front seat passenger did. Even being in the back seat worked out well. Now this, this was freedom! Looking at new shops just built, seeing the mountains and brightly shaded red and yellow autumn landscapes, and yes, the importance of freeway flirting were simply not things I could focus on if I was worried about when to merge into the left lane in the driver's seat.

So I let driving drop from my list of Important Things to do When Becoming an Adult. It never was too high up on that list. I had begun creating this list when I was in grade school, I think 3rd grade sounds about right. The top priorities included big city living in a cozy apartment with a good career, pretty clothes, and a bottle of perfume in my mailbox a la Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's for a sweet spritz. Somewhere at the very bottom of this list you might be able to find a heavily erased, rewritten, and erased once more set of goals that included "marriage, children, and driving." Driving, as I recall then, was less about the actual notion of doing so and more of the image in my mind's eye of sitting in a pretty dress, sunglasses, and kid gloves holding the wheel. ("Wearing petticoats when I'm 30" was also something Lil' Heather believed in strongly and placed up high on the List.)

I took to public transportation and asking for rides from friends as my means of getting about. In the meantime, I walked everywhere. With my trusty iPod weaving a nonstop melody of words and musical notes into my head, there was really nowhere I couldn't walk to and quickly.

Then I moved to California. Southern California to be exact.



If you live out here, you know. The 101, the 23, the 5. Deadly highways prone to nonstop traffic jams and accidents daily. Of course, I still didn't drive. I'd easily be the cause of an 18 pile car build-up because my blue eyes would get distracted by some new Barnes and Noble built in Sherman Oaks. It would be all over CNN in a matter of seconds. Luckily, I have some very wonderful friends who will take me where I need to be, so long as I ask nicely and try to ensure it doesn't clash with anything special they have planned. Long ago I learned not to assume anyone will give you a ride, even if you are me. Haha. Found that out the hard way with my parents.

I also take the bus to work, which is nice. The walk to the bus stop is my quiet time to think. In the mornings, I use it to wake up in the fresh air and in the evenings, if something I don't like went down at work, I use it to simmer my upset mood and sporadic bouts of rage with the ever-present iPod at my side. Sometimes I don't even listen to my iPod. Sometimes I like to take it off and just enjoy the silence and the cars honking and police sirens underneath the freeway overpass.

So...will I ever drive?

There's plenty of reasons why I don't. Starting with finances. In my eyes, owning or leasing a car is akin to having a small child. You have to feed it gas, get check-ups or transmission checks often, pay for insurance bills every month, ensure that you treat it carefully with good driving skills to avoid dents. Like most milestones in becoming an adult, its a responsibility and a privilege. Abusing it by driving recklessly or not updating your license can damage your driving record and the car, not to mention yourself. If it isn't something you can fully commit to doing the very best with, going above and beyond 200%, getting a car shouldn't be the biggest thing for you to pursue. Before this gets any more preachy or "you dang kids with your music!" fuddy-duddy, I know myself well enough to know I wouldn't have the patience to stick to a commitment like a car. Hence the reason why I don't have one.

Then there are a bunch of side issues. Like how getting a car to me equals trapped. Stuck in one place for a prolonged amount of time, paying off car payments and doing the same job day in and day out. And then the whole growing up thing. I've been employed since I was 11 and spent the better part of my life working at ungodly hard levels for just about everything I have. I've experienced financial gain and loss and learned how to be independent with little to no help from my family. Though on the outside, I looked very much in charge and in control of the situation at hand before me, inside there were still many things I did not do simply because I didn't, and still don't, want to fully become an adult just yet. Getting a driver's license was one of those things I didn't feel ready for then, and seven years later, I'm still not ready for.



Time is a tricky thing. Society will tell you when it's your time to do something, when you should be expected to hold your own in the world. When it's your moment to leave childhood and step into the blinding, harsh, and often cold light of adulthood. There are no manuals for becoming this person and even if there were, even if you went through them and highlighted everything, and did all of the right movements according to plan, who's to say you did them at the right time? I believe you should always listen to that little voice in your head, that conscience, or go with the gut intuition feeling. Move to the beat of your own drum, as only you can.

And, while I'm piling on the optimism, never forget to let your conscience be your guide.

My conscience, if you're wondering, is a mix of Jiminy Cricket and Tim Gunn. I call him "Monty."

Love to you all,
Heather

The Spring's The Thing

Don't get me wrong. I love my autumn crisp nights of warm gentle knit fabrics and my stark winters with dramatic flashes of singular colors. As of late, as it often does this time of the year, I've begun to wistfully wish for spring. For a time to wear softer colors, lighter layers, rosy lipsticks.

Here's my current dream ensemble for spring. I know I could easily make one of these on Polyvor or Pinterest, but I do love just old school copy/pasting. You can find most of the items below on Ruche.com with one mild exception.

How I Would Wear It: Springtime Fancy



A gentle gray beret with a ponytail or just hair down curled lightly...



The dress you would dare to daydream in and breezily catch the eye of any young man...



Light tights for light moods...



Sparkly Oxford-inspired shoes to sail in and out of hearts with...



And one lovely trench because it's just so.

Love to you all,
Heather

Water for Elephants

"...My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerilla wars, and Sputnik- that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet."

As the hours between 2010 and 2011 came to a close, I spent them burrowed away in a world far from my cozy apartment in LA county. I went away to the 1930's, during a time when every circus was determined to be the newest Ringling and engulfed myself within the Benzini Bros. Most Spectacular Show on Earth. A show filled with a motley crue of dwarf clowns, Lovely Lucinda's, and a menagerie of animals including the beautifully silent Rosie the elephant. And leading the way for the show, the stunning performer Marlena with her near-magical effect on horses, her charismatic but highly volatile husband August, and young Jacob Jankowski, the show's Ivy league educated veterinarian who came in the middle of all of this world after the one he lived in came crashing down with the only option available boiling down to "running beside a moving train in the middle of nowhere." The choice that would forever begin the story of this new life for himself, a lifetime he recounts back to us at the age of 90. Or 93.

The best way I can describe this novel was summed up simply by a lovely girl I work with who had read it before me. "It's a gorgeous book."

In terms of holding your interest, clinging to your heart, and being unforgettable, I could never agree more.

Read it. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Love to you all,
Heather

To The New Year

New Year's Resolutions. I never make them. Ever. In fact, New Year's Eve is one of my least favorite days in the entire year because on that day, and the week leading up to that day, every news station rolls footage of every big headline news story of the year, many of which make you go "Oh yeah, I remember that!" and point your finger to the TV screen, nodding along.

Meanwhile, during the duration of these montages, you find yourself doing one of two things. You're either quietly musing to yourself, "...what did I do this year? Seriously now, in terms of advancing and evolving as a human being or at the bare minimum, maturing enough to cut down my fart jokes. Uh yeah. I'm not remembering much...little help here brain?"

Or you're trapped in the second option, the worst one, the one that knows precisely what you didn't do or what you did and gave up on or what you procrastinated on until it literally became 15 seconds to 12am on the eve of the new year and by George, if you still didn't do it or have a basic outline prepared yet. This is when your brain bitches you out hardcore, "See? I told you 2011 was looming and you still didn't open your own bakery yet! What if next year your credit score falls to pieces and you can't get the loan? Do you realize your parents will have been right THE ENTIRE TIME?? You can't let that happen!"

Thus, to relieve our minds of the stress of not being incredibly successful at 25 and to save our remaining brain cells from death by too many glasses of Moet Chandon, eureka! The resolution is born!

We resolve to be better people. No longer will that extra slice of chocolate mousse cake land accidentally in our mouths! Instead of buying hilarious dirty joke books at the bookstore, we will donate the money to charities. The good kind that support the children. Our grades will be higher, our pants will fit looser, we'll talk to our family members regularly (all of them, even our cousins), and our ability to listen and absorb all of our friends' stories about their girlfriends/boyfriends/hook ups/single life will be fully listened to and not zoned out after the first 6 minutes. Maybe we won't be perfect, but you know what? There's always next year to resolve for perfection. This year is just a test run.

With the image of how I spent some of the more outstanding New Year's Eve's in my mind's eye (most of these follow Number 2 Scenario up there), I decided to make some resolutions for next year.

And for the most part, I truly intend on keeping them.



Paying Down My Debt

I'm going to keep this one pretty vague and nondescript since money is not something I'm ever comfortable discussing, but all you need to know is I graduated from college and I'm in the grips of one evil wench by the name of Madam Sallie Mae. Personally I'd love to see her go the way of Fannie Mae, but alas, the government has decided to not make it so.



Hair Style Change

It's either going to be short and bedhead sexy like Marion Cotillard.



Or stay long and get styled and dyed red like Rita Hayworth.

I'm such a wuss when it comes to major hair changes. If I get my hair done like either one of these vixens, it's going to call for hardcore pictures to be taken and placed everywhere I blog.



To Be Lucky in Love

With love, this is not just a reference to physical relationships. When I define Love, I think of a feeling that absorbs your entire being and takes you with it on the ride. It's scary and sure all at once. Love can be with wonderful people, with beautiful memories, with good melodies and soft fabric, etc.

I just hope to fall in love repeatedly this coming year. Just not too much. I really can't risk screwing up the debt resolution up there.



Moving On

I'm getting the moving bug again...

This time next year, I hope to be in one of two places. New York City, if not for the fact that much of my career path leads there. Plus I need to log in some East Coast adventures in my life.

But mostly, I'm finger crossing for this one:




London.

I want to live in the land of a million great accents, live in a flat, and get a work permit to work in the Queen Mother's country (because I've been working since I was 11 and won't stop no matter what oceans or time zones I cross). It's a journey that will resemble that memoir "Eat Pray Love" only my version will be known as "Kiss Kiss Kiss", chronicling makeout sessions with British guys all over the UK from one very strange, but very likable protagonist.

Yeah, I know you'd all read it.



Please let me know if any of you are making resolutions and if so, what are they?

Until then, cheers (an early cheers!) to the New Year!

Love to you all,
Heather

The Van Wilder Effect

This weekend, I went back to school. At the tail end of the semester when finals were only a week away. I know, I never did well transferring at the right time of the year ;)

My college experience was definitely different than most people I know. It was also a far cry from those commercials you see on TV of kids moving into their dorms. There was no direct entry from high school into a 4 year university, no parent co-signing my loans for me, no big move-in day with my entire family present.

What happened followed like this. I was enrolled in advanced college credit courses in high school. Originally, my plan was to attend a school on the East Coast until one autumn day when I received the postcard that would change everything, the tiny liberal arts college on the West Coast that my heart, mind, and soul knew was the one. When you consider the sheer amount of colleges in the United States alone, the rate of acceptance, and that receiving that postcard occurred by pure chance, it seems like only a crazy person would throw everything out to the side and place all of their gambles onto one school.

I call it fate. Crazy is as crazy do.



My acceptance arrived, but in order to go to school, I would have to pay my own way through. I was 2 years from being able to legally sign a private loan for myself, by myself and spent much of the rest of my senior year moaning about this fact to anyone who would listen. Then I applied to a local community college to get the general education courses out of the way and was accepted on the last day of high school (I DO NOT recommend anyone apply to school that late.)

Upon graduating, I had 22 credits to transfer over to any college of my choice. I took the semester off to work and rest and decide on what major I would study. At my community college, I majored in communications with an emphasis in PR and advertising and began attending school that spring. 1.5 years until I could go to the school of my dreams. At the community college, I studied hard, pushed myself with credits each semester (with full class loads in the summer- I was a year-round student), and worked hard too at my jobs as well as writing for my school newspaper The Montage where I wrote movie/book reviews and later on, a column that discussed a bevy of issues I found relevant to life.

I was still undoubtedly, and eerily, calm I would be accepted again to that little liberal arts school and once more, placed my bets against fate by having no safety school lined up. The summer of 2007 was when I reapplied to that West Coast school of my dreams again and was accepted. From then on, life began running at top speed to get arrangements made for the impending move. I signed off on loan documents, gathered together the transcripts from my 3 universities (including the schools from my advanced college credit honors courses) to send off, put in my two weeks notice at work, and began packing my world away to leave. The next two years went by quickly, as it seems all years do, and majoring in Journalism this time around, I began to discover that I genuinely enjoyed everything Communications had to offer. All of the little subdivisions of the major I genuinely enjoyed. They say you change your career up to 7-10 times in your lifetime. If I'm to change careers within the field of communications, at least I chose a field I would not mind picking a new job from.

And now here we are, the graduate who returns to her alma mater.



The word "nostalgia" is composed of two words. Nostos which means "return" and algos, "pain", so if you couple them together you get something along the lines of "painful return." Sometimes when I visit certain memories in my mind, no matter just how wonderful they were, they hurt to think about. If only because we were all different people then, some of us still children or on the brink of maturity. The best memories seem nearly Utopian to reflect back on, almost as though they were gently wrapped up in cotton candy pink cellophane. And the worst ones. Generally we wish we could erase them or try to shut our minds from conjuring up imagery.

I've returned to school a few times after graduating. The first two times made me ecstatic to return. I came back on the weekends, didn't tell many if any people aside from my old roommates, and would spend an afternoon wandering around campus, its familiar and small pathways being traced by my sure footing once more. Each of these times, I clung to the nostalgia in my heart, remembering when, trying to replay the college experience once more, and pretend I never graduated.

This time, the third time, was different. I was there for more days this time, one of which was a Friday. I got to see many of my old friends who were all stressed out over finals and behaved as such, keeping our visits short and sweet and hurrying out to the library to study. Meanwhile I strolled around campus (yes, I do stroll from time to time and additionally I languish on sofa couches), unburdened by homework and tests and projects and even my work day having taken the day off from work, feeling light and free and impossibly older. Kind of like Van Wilder. I tried to convince my roommates to go to the club with me on Friday night as a means of study break, but they needed to work. Maybe not like Van Wilder. I think he would have been resourceful enough to bring the party there.



This return, I didn't think of as being a painful one. I didn't reach into my heart and spread all of my memories out on the cement and try to re-enter them. I went around and told everyone what I did, where I worked, how I loved my work, and the aspirations I had for my future. In some small ways, it reminded me of when I was little and my Dad would parade me around at his office to everyone working there, listing off like clockwork my grade point average, the extracurricular activities I did, additional writing I was acknowledged for, etc. I remember these visits starting off okay and gradually growing more uncomfortable the more people I met and had to blush and smile very hard for. I'm a pretty modest person when it comes to discussing my accomplishments. Plus, back then I was just about to hit puberty and was on the cusp of being irritated with just about anything my parents did for me.

Back on campus, circa now, I didn't feel that way. I felt proud of everything I had done since graduating. I had gotten a job in the line of study which I graduated with a degree in. Not only did I have a job (which, is in of itself an accomplishment), I managed to get one in the highly competitive field of advertising. As a copywriter, I spend the majority of the day doing what I love: writing. And recently I had some success at work which paid off nicely for me and cemented my place solidly at the company, giving way to the dream I have to move up in the world of advertising and later work for different agencies, going through entry level, associate, junior, and finally senior copywriter. If ever was a time to brag about my success, it's now. I'm determined to not sacrifice my dreams and I know if I work hard, I can fulfill them.

I will have my cake and eat it too!



So I told everyone about my new life and the great things that have occurred in it. They were all very happy for me, as I was to hear about what they were up to. After the day was over, it dawned on me that my visits to this school were also (in essence) over. It was a time in my life that I worked for, grew as a person at, and had some of the best memories ever come from. It was a decision I will never, ever regret or look back on with much "painful return" because even from the sadness and occasional lonely moments, I learned. I grew. I became who I am now.

It was simply a time, a chapter in the book of my life. It ended, as they all do, but ended with a follow-up chapter not even I could predict coming. If the book of my life keeps moving at this pace, there will be more unpredictable chapters on the way, with some of them I'm carefully moving in place even right now. Even though much of my future looks blurred, I already know certain portions I want to be easier to see and will once more, gamble the highest stakes to go where my heart pulls me.

Fate, you've met your match.

Love to you all,
Heather