Number 65b: Remember the "a la mode" - A Summer Reflection

 Hey BlogLand... it's me. Erika. You may not remember me, but I'm the the girl whose life you read about when you visit this site. And sometimes that girl takes stupidly long hiatuses from posting. I'm sorry that I've left you hanging. Today marks a solid four months without a post. You're probably wondering what I've been up to. Well, friends, it's been a heck of a summer. (Hence the hiatus.) If we're Facebook friends you've probably noticed that I spent a lot of my summer holding red solo cups (cough, Mom, cough cough). That's because summer in Chicago is hot and I understand the importance of routine hydration. Glad we got that out of the way.

Well, since I posted last, I completed my first ever half-marathon (in 2 hours and 6 minutes), hydrated, spent two weeks traveling the East Coast, had some visitors, hydrated some more , saw some plays, and generally lived up that infamous "Chicago summer." You know, hydrating. And I made some important self-discoveries. (I know, I sound insanely productive.)

Here's a fun fact about me: I love watching tv sitcoms about solid groups of friends. Whether it's kicking back at Monica and Rachel's or sitting at the regular booth at MacLaren's or (as of late) playing poker at PJ's with the boys -  we take on these friends as if they are our own. I find myself saying things like, "I wish I could be friends with Schmidt." "Wouldn't it be fun if we could do that every night?"

But last month, as I walked away from a going away party for one my best friends, I realized that I actually do have THAT. We have our routines and our "spots" and our inside jokes. In every group, we each play our roles. We understand the dynamics of putting together certain groups of people. Recently, someone said to me, "I love meeting your friends - everyone is so nice and is always having fun." I'm pretty proud of that. I'd like to think that at 26, I'm choosing to surround myself with good people. People that I love and want to be around. People who bring out the best in me, understand the worst parts about me, and are still there for me when I have a colossal break down.

I don't have a large extended family and as a result I've made my friends a part of my family. Now that I'm far away from my family, this has become even more important to me. Whether it's coordinating a Skype date between four different time zones with my college friends or heading to a show to support new friends or answering that late night phone call because you know something isn't quite right, being a good friend is important to me.

An old boyfriend once commented how he was amazed that I have so many friends that I keep in close contact with. He wondered how I made time for them all. And how I was able to keep that many people close to me. "I make time," was my response. I've lived here for almost a year and half now, and I've gone from loving it, to wondering if I was doing the right thing, to being an absolute mess, to standing on solid ground. And it is the people I've surrounded myself with that even out the footing.

I know a lot of you (especially those in my age set) probably read this article yesterday. It made some interesting points, and gave me some stuff to think about, sure. But after I finished it, I got to thinking. I'm not unhappy. Things aren't perfect. I've cried more than once about the imperfections in the last month. But things will never be perfect. And, I mean, did you read the start of this blog? I just told you that I haven't blogged in four months because I've been having too much fun. I've been going on auditions and planning parties and discovering that I have friends that I can do nothing with. Because those are the best kind, the kind you can just sit next to on a couch with no movie on and no agenda, and just be with for hours on end. So what is there to be unhappy about? I've described myself as always striving to be the person in the room having the best time.

And sure, I probably could have a few more bucks in my savings account, and could spend some extra time per week at the gym, but life is out there to be lived. And so far, things are exactly at expectation level. So here we are, first post back, waxing on about happiness levels. I've got to go -- I've got to plan the side dish I'm bringing to supper club tonight and then figure out what I'm serving at this weekend's party. With my friends. Where I'll be having the best time.

Thanks for reading, BlogLand. I'm excited to be back in the game. See ya soon.
xoxo,
E

Number 51: Try An Extreme Sport

I grew up on a ski team. From the time I could walk, my parents strapped two planks to my feet, brought me to the top of a mountain, and said "go." I've had my fair share of race-related thrills, nerves, and injuries. 

None of that compares to the world of Adult Intramural Dodgeball.

I'd like to think of our team as one out of your typical underdog movie. A rag tag group of players enters a tournament to save their beloved gym from being taken over my a huge conglomerate. Wait, that's already been done you say? Okay, what about, an ex-baseball player, current alcoholic coaches his son's team of misfits in order to prove that if you've got some heart, you can play some ball. Oh, that's also a movie? With two terrible sequels and a kind of decent remake? Well, what about a small group of strangers that came together as some sort of respite from this cold Chicago winter and somehow became friends? Oh, okay. There is it. 

Yep, that's me fixing my hair while everyone else gets ready to play.

Our injury count was high, and the number in the wins column was low, but we had a hell of a time playing. I guess I realize why my parents put me on a ski team as a kid. A team brings you together. You make friends. In this case, I also learned a thing or two about adults. There were weeks we played with other teams that were just out there for the fun of it, and then there were weeks where we played against the most competitive group of grown ups to ever assembled gather-and-throw-things-at-other-adults. I'm really not kidding when I say that I'm pretty sure Jaws was on the other team one week.

But I digress. I was talking about making friends, not putting up with people who never learned how to be good sports. Or why it's not fair to draft a Bond villain. As I approach my one year anniversary in the city, I'm hyperaware of the life I've built for myself here and that includes the wonderful people I've chosen to surround myself with. With each new thing I decide to try I realize that no one is ever in a position to turn down friends, and I'll also suggest that if you ever get the chance to join a dodgeball team, say yes.

I think Team Super Stretch Armstrong will rise again.

And if we don't, at least we know how to throw a heck of an after party.

Number 48: Borrow a motorcycle and take the driver's seat. (Or don't. Here's why.)

When I was a little girl, I vividly remember there being a blue matted, silver framed photo of a man's silhouette on a motorcycle hanging on the wall in our den. I remember my mind being blown when I discovered that it was my father! How could my dad have ever ridden a motorcycle? My silly, sweet father on a motorcycle?! No way! Well, as I grew older, the idea of my dad's motorcycle riding days shocked me less and less. He is a fun loving, free spirited man who was once in his twenties too.

Whatever the reason he decided to sell his bike, I'm sure glad he did. I did some research this week, and I discovered that from 1994-2008, motorcycle fatalities increased every year by a staggering amount. Fortunately, due to a number of new laws that made motorcyclists pass a safety class and wear helmets, motorcycle deaths have decreased significantly between 2008 and 2011. But here's the kicker -- all of the laws, facts and figures I could track down regarding motorcycle fatalities, put the cyclists at fault. But, for all of the safety precautions you can take (the lessons, the helmets, the speed limits), there are so many factors that you can't control.

And here my friends, is why I won't be completing Number 48 on my list. Last Saturday night, I received a heartbreaking phone call. A good friend of mine was driving home on his motorcycle and was hit by an oncoming car. The car was headed in the wrong direction, in the wrong lane and hit Dan and another car. Dan did not survive the crash. Getting the call that a loved one has passed on is about the most surreal thing you can experience. You hear the news and it doesn't feel real. I guess this is the shock - the tears and the grief come later. I was in South Bend, IN, when I got the news, less than two hours away from my new home in Chicago, and too many miles away to head home for the funeral. The idea of being so far away from home hit me then. All I wanted to do was give my best friend (and Dan's first cousin) a hug and I was unable to do so. I've been grappling with how to deal with the news for the past week, and it wasn't until my third or fourth phone call to a high school friend about the news that it hit me -- in a beautifully sad way, Dan was already bringing us all back together from above. In receiving, relaying, and trying to make sense of the news, I spoke with many people I had lost touch with in the past years. And Dan's passing made me realize something very important, life is so short, and you can never predict what is around the next bend, all you can do is live in the moment and appreciate the small things.

To those bikers out there, I'm not trying to scare you. And I'm not starting a crusade against motorcycle riding. Dan traveled across the United States on his bike and enjoyed only open road and beautiful memories. This was an unfortunate, isolated incident that happened within a few minutes of his apartment. But what I say to you all is this, (and thanks, Uncle Mike, for letting me paraphrase you -- my mom relayed your eulogy to me), life is a story and you never know what part of the story you're living. So live it proudly and fully. Dan Haley was one of the kindest people I've ever met. He was always there with an encouraging smile, a joke, and a lending hand. To honor him, I ask you that you do one nice thing for another person this week. Just one small thing. Whether it's calling an old friend, giving a stranger a compliment, or telling the man sitting next to you at Starbucks that he's dropped his glasses on the floor and is in danger of stepping on them (This just happened to me five minutes ago - he was so gracious and thankful!) -- do one thing today, tomorrow, or this week. It will make you feel good and it will make someone else's day better too. And above all, please be careful when you get behind the wheel, mount your bike, or cross the street. You never know who is traveling along with you and you can't control the actions of other people.

Sending love to you all, near and far today. xoxo.
E

Saying goodbye to Emma's basement, Aug. 2011. RIP DH. We'll always remember the good times. xoxo.