the american museum of natural history | new york

I'm not a big fan of museums. I'd rather be outside, trying to find living versions of the fossilized creatures in the museums. I'd rather stumble on a mysterious buried shell in the sand of a rocky beach and take pictures and google it endlessly to ascertain to what animal it once belonged - probably a crab - than to see a neatly printed sign beneath a fossil in an AC-fueled building. But every once in a while, I make an exception for an extraordinary museum. Okay, I make an exception when a friend works at the museum and offers me free tickets.

Ellie works in the Mammalogy Department at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. She generously offered Melanie, a friend of hers, and me tickets to the museum and all of its paid exhibits, as well as a tour of her department. So we spent Friday afternoon playing tourist frogger, and I can tell you this for certain about the AMNH: there is no shortage of children in that place.

And we had a really great time. We gawked at the size of the Woolly Mammoth and wondered out loud how whales mate (answer: while swimming or stationary in the water!). But the very best part is what lay behind the established exhibits: I love the museum behind the exhibits.

Ellie helps preserve and put together and catalog the mammals-related exhibits at the museum. She has jars of mice and bats preserved in alcohol on her desk... because her job is so ridiculously cool. She pulled out a mouse to show us, and I jumped back 10 feet and Melanie and Nabila got as close as possible.

She took us up a steep staircase next to a real, original dumb waiter, to the department's library. Stocked with field notes and scientific books, with a glass floor no less, it was stunning. Melanie and I wanted to move in here and live among the old books and read researchers' observations of animals from all over the world over the last 100 years.

Ellie took us into what she calls the "elephant graveyard," where the museum stores non-exhibited jaws and long bones of elephants dating back to the early 1900s, from what we saw. They're housed in an attic with a domed ceiling and enough light shining through that, had I had the time, I would have napped and daydreamed I was in Africa, studying the way these giant, mysterious creatures move.

After winding down several staircases, we came to several white-washed rooms with pull-out drawers. Series of numbers are all that distinguish the drawers from one another -- the earlier the number, the earlier the specimen. Ellie opened drawers of goat horns and skulls and various animal skins.

And then there were these cute guys. I'll confess that I jumped back each time Ellie opened the next drawer or sliding door. Professionals, as always, she chased me down with one skin to make me touch it, and I squealed like a scaredy-cat kid. I just prefer my animals alive or on my hamburger bun, is all. 

Squeamish and all, seeing behind the scenes fascinated me. To make the flashy exhibits takes hundreds of people - from the ones in the fields and jungles in Africa and India and Nebraska to Ellie, working with mice that have found their way to her desk in jars. I have a newfound respect for museums, and if you ever have the chance - the museum behind the museum is the best part of the museum.

A few fun facts I learned at the AMNH: 

+Museums in New York cost money! (The Smithsonian museums in DC are all free.) 

+Whales have penises up to 10 feet long 

+A sperm whale's heart is so large a human child (or a bendable adult) could climb through its arteries

+30% of the food the world produces goes to waste every day while over 800 million people went hungry last year

+All it takes to pickle vegetables is a mason jar, some herbs, including dill, the veggies you want pickled, and some apple cider vinegar left in the fridge for a few days

+There are more nutrients in pickled veggies than raw ones (say what? is that real?) 

+There is a thing called the "Great Canoe" that I am going to google endlessly as soon as I finish writing this 

+The incubation time for whale fetuses is 8-10 months. 

+Blue whales are up to 98 feet and can weigh 380,000 pounds

+Jane Austen had a particular affinity for ice cream, and now I adore her all the more. 

+I want to host an 1800s Rome-themed dinner party. The menu would be bomb. 

If you go...

American Museum of Natural History

general admission tickets: $22 (special exhibits extra)

we particularly enjoyed the whale & global kitchen exhibits

a run through central park | new york

A few weeks ago I emailed my friend Ellie - one of my closest friends from college and former DC roommate - about visiting her in Brooklyn. Within a few hours, I'd picked out buses and started planning our weekend. What I didn't know is that Melanie and Pam - my two other closest girlfriends - were going to be in town the same weekend from Boston and Kansas City, respectively. The luck! I could hardly contain my excitement.

I rolled into town near Penn Station around 11:00pm on a drizzly, gray Thursday night. Ellie and I devoured slices at a local pizza joint and began the long trek back to Brooklyn.

Let me say that very time I visit New York, I spend the first 24 hours so enchanted by it that I start imagining my soon-to-be life there. When the clock strikes 36 hours, I remember how big it is. The city is ginormous, and it takes approximately forever to get anywhere. That's why bars stay open until 4am - it takes all night to get to a destination and the rest of the day to return home underground. NYC is grooming vampires, is my theory.

But back to the first 24 hours. We crashed around 1:00am, and for the first time in weeks I slept past 8:00am, and it was glorious! Forget the city that never sleeps, New York is the city of soundless sleep! Ellie and I hopped on the subway for a 45 minute trip to the Upper West Side, where I promptly fell head over heels in love with everything, but mostly with Central Park, luring me in for a run.

Since taking nearly a month off of running to recover from a stress reaction in my right tibia, I've been adhering to a vigorous training plan. I work out six days a week, but I only run on three of those and only on tracks and trails to protect that leg. Unfortunately, two weeks into training, the injury is back. I have another ortho appointment next week. I've been battling with myself over whether to keep training until then. I'd decided to stop, but when I knew I'd be near Central Park, I brought my running clothes anyway. 

I hemmed and hawed standing under shaded trees in the Park until I couldn't take it anymore. I'm not in New York very often, and it's Central Park - the world's most famous, beautiful urban park! I ran along a shaded path with rolling hills for about half a mile before cutting over to a track that runs around a reservoir. The track is soft - gravel and worn from the runners before me. I took it easy, stopping twice to snap photos of the incredible Manhattan skyline reflected in the water. The track is 1.58 miles around, bringing my total run to just over 2.5 miles back to where I started.

The weather was a breezy 70 degrees at 10am, my leg felt better than it had in weeks, and I had an entire weekend with friends I don't see often enough in front of me. I got lost in the views of skyscrapers and decided if I lived in New York, I'd run in Central Park every day. Or at least as often as I could commit to the commute.

in the stacks | wwII germany & communist north korea

The Book Thief 
Markus Zusak

Summary 
Nine-year-old Liesel Memminger watches her brother die on a train heading to Mulching, Germany before the start of World War II. At his funeral, she steals a book even though she can't read. Her mother is taken by Nazi's, and she's raised by her foster parents, Hans and Rosa Hubermann. She meets a poor neighborhood boy named Rudy Steiner in her first days in Molching, and the two quickly become best friends, stealing fruit to have enough to eat, playing soccer, and negotiating their way through a war that threatens to tear them, their families, and their town apart. The book is narrated by Death, who grows fascinated with Liesel on his many encounters with her while carrying off the souls of those she loves.

Quote(s)
"I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race-that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant."

My thoughts 
Markus Zusak has written a compelling, entrancing work of experimental fiction. It took me 50 pages or so to get into it and to understand the unique format - words are bolded, Death dedicates pages to definitions, inserts commentary about Liesel's life, and spoils parts of the ending. Death as a narrator offers an interesting paradigm shift - an opportunity to see humanity from 'the other side' so to speak. Liesel is a shy, quiet girl by most measures, but she has a ferocity and tenacity that builds throughout the novel and culminates in her being one of the truest heroines of modern literature. Zusak is a poet, too - there were entire passages I read and re-read to soak in them. Every character is developed with careful consideration, and I cried for Liesel, for Rudy, for Hans and Rosa, and for everyone I got to know and would miss when I closed the last page of this beautiful novel.

The Orphan Master's Son  
Adam Johnson

Summary 
Pak Jun Do swears he's not an orphan - a member of North Korean's lowest class. He believes his mother is a famous singer kidnapped to Pyongyang, the nation's capital, and his father runs the orphan camp in which he works as a child. He's later sent to work in underground tunnels, clearing pathways to the DMZ, and endures pain resistance training. The state regime detects his loyalty and picks him to rise in the ranks. He's sent to Japan as a kidnapper, taught English and sent to spy on American ships in international waters, and eventually picked to accompany a team of diplomats to Texas to recapture an item "stolen" from the Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il. Upon his return, he must decide what he's willing to do in order to stay alive and to save the woman he loves - Sun Moon, including challenging the Dear Leader himself.

Quote 
"I wonder of what you must daily endure in America, having no government to protect you, no one to tell you what to do. Is it true you're given no ration card, that you must find food for yourself? Is it true that you labor for no higher purpose than paper money? What is California, this place you come from? I have never seen a picture. What plays over the American loudspeakers, when is your curfew, what is taught at your child-rearing collectives? Where does a woman go with her children on Sunday afternoons, and if a woman loses her husband, how does she know the government will assign her a good replacement? With whom would she curry favor to ensure her children got the best Youth Troop leader?"

My thoughts
Adam Johnson visited North Korea as research for a short story he intended to write. He envisioned a fantastical, satirical account of a story that could be told over mandatory loudspeakers in homes across North Korea. As the original conception turned into a novel, he kept the short story, interspersing it throughout: the novel tells the protagonist's version, and the story told to citizens is North Korea's account of it. It's a powerful novel that shines light on the gross human rights violations in a country for which so little factual information is available. What's fiction and what's real, about the country itself, can only be imagined; Johnson admits that even after visiting, it's impossible to know what daily life is like for North Koreans outside of the areas of Pyongyang that the government allows visitors to see. While there are some fantastical elements to the novel that give it a lightness I didn't often feel it needed, it's a moving, captivating, engrossing read that I thoroughly enjoyed. It won the 2013 Pulitzer Price for fiction for a reason; it's that damn good. 

the complicated topics of happiness + weight + body image

A few weeks ago, I wrote about taking on the Whole30 challenge. Well, that lasted approximately 4.5 days. While on a freelancing assignment in the first week, my lunch options were a sandwich or a sandwich. I chose a sandwich. All morning on the tour I mulled over it, convincing myself I'd just eat the roast beef off of it and drink a bottle of water. The decision of what I could eat of my lunch weighed heavy on mind for five hours. For 5 hours I let food cripple me; I felt guilty for not bringing boiled eggs or something Whole30 approved, and I felt guiltier for what I might eat before I even made the decision. By 2:00pm when lunch arrived, I was too hungry, disliked myself, and to justify that, I said the diet was stupid and who cares, and I ate the whole damn sandwich.

That's not how I want to live. 

Since then, I've been thinking and putting words down on paper and in word documents about my weight, body image, and happiness. Because I know that they're all linked. They're intrinsically linked, reliant on one another, each one a domino effect of the other. Too often the way I wrote it just now is how the dominoes are arranged in my mind: my weight impacts my body image which translates to happy I am (read: not very).

That's a backwards way to live.

I've always secretly struggled with my weight. I've always been a terribly confident person so few people ever know. From the time I was picked out of my first day of Vacation Bible School at age 6 with kids I'd never met to play leading roles in the church's theater group, I've been sure of myself. Beneath that confidence, though, I've always wondered what it would be like to have the kind of body meant for a bikini.

That's really not how I want to live. 

Body dysmorphia is an interesting thing. Usually, those afflicted with it imagine themselves as larger than they really are. I've always pictured myself as smaller. And then I'm shocked when I see pictures that shine a giant spotlight on my less-than-ideally-sized parts. It's self-preservation - when I think I'm smaller than I am, that innate confidence flourishes. I see and feel what I think I look like and can worry a little less about how I actually look.

That's not an authentic way to live. 

And then I moved abroad for the first time. I lost 20 pounds in South Africa, and I came back high from my first deep breath of the world, and I felt new in my skin and pretty. I needed another hit.

When I moved to Japan two years later, I lost another 20 pounds. I ran a mile almost every day, and I took a weekly karate class. I cooked almost every night in my kitchen overlooking mountains and rice fields, and I watched what my body was capable of expand and grow. I didn't try to lose weight in either place; I was the happiest I'd ever been both times, and it showed on the outside and inside. When I left, I felt a strong, unbreakable connection between living abroad and a positive body image.

That's an impossible way to live. 

In the last three years living in DC, back from Japan, I've gained 20 pounds. I don't like pictures of myself. I've gone on the first diets of my entire life - I've tried an "eat like I still live in Japan" diet that failed because that's not my reality. And then there was Whole30 that left me feeling incomplete and crippled, dependent on food instead of invigorated and joyful by it.

I can't live like this. 

My truth is that when I'm happiest, I'm healthiest. When I gain weight, I know that I'm not at my happiest. The things that bring me the most joy are also what keep me the healthiest: being outside, exploring, adventuring, wonderment. My goal for my life is to find the job, the place to live, the career - all those necessary extras - that make me stand in true awe and feel a sense of wonder at something every single day. When that happens my body image and weight will never guide my choices again.

That's how I want to live.

a day at cunningham falls state park

When Zander and I decided to spend to spend Saturday at Cunningham Falls State Park in the Catoctin Mountains (Maryland), he thought I knew that we'd been there before. 

Cunningham Falls State Park has a lake, campgrounds, and a 78-foot cascading waterfall. At only slightly over an hour outside of D.C., it's a great place to get out of the city and the summer heat. A mere 20 minutes after we laid our towels on the sandy beach bordering the lake and hunkered down to catch some rays and possibly zs, a bored male voice came over an invisible loudspeaker instructing all visitors to exit the water and sand areas due to a thunderstorm spotted in the area. We packed up our bags, put back on our top layer of clothes, laced up tennis shoes, and went to find the waterfall.

From the lake it's a short hike to the waterfall with two route options: a fire road walk that'll have you there in less than half a mile, or a slightly more advanced mile hike through a wooded area. We took the latter. We both wanted a longer, more strenuous hike, but I've been battling a stress reaction in my right leg, and Zan is recuperating from a tendonitis flare up in one of his knees. We were a pathetic sight, both half-hobbling through a hike that would normally only be the start of one for us.

Less than a quarter mile in, Zander reached out for my arm and quieted me. My eyes followed his gaze to a lone deer grazing ahead. We dared to step as quietly as we could to get a closer look. The deer caught sight of us and cocked its head quizzically, then returned to grazing, unfazed. Thunder rolled in, drawing us out of our trance, and with a last look of wonderment, we silently walked past.

As we came upon the waterfall, I mentioned to Zan that the area looked familiar. His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened and shut a few times as if he wanted to say something, before finally reminded me that we'd been here before. We had hiked in Catoctin (our first hike together), but I just assumed it had been to a different waterfall. At least I don't have to worry I'm developing an accurate sense of direction.

As the rain poured down and the thunder settled in overhead, I kicked off my socks and shoes and scaled the boulders of the waterfall. DC had a recent streak of five 95+ days with swamp-like humidity, and I could've moved in to the crevices and caves on those boulders for the fresh air, cold rain on my skin, and the sound of the rushing waterfall - noticeably picking up speed with the storm. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon on the lake, rolling our eyes at the the rules reinforcements blasting from the invisible loudspeaker every few minutes. I felt a bit like I was in the arena in The Hunger Games... except my biggest foe was hordes of children.

I'd go back. But I probably wouldn't remember I've been there before.

If you go...Cunningham Falls State Park

Entrance fee: $5-7/person ($5 for Maryland residents)

No dogs allowed (sorry, Theo!)

Follow signs to the William Houck area of the park for lake access

Multiple grills/picnic tables available for public use

Kayak/canoe rentals: an insane $20/hour

Amenities: Restrooms/changing rooms, concession stand, vending machines

friday photo: the rest is history

I covered a tour of DC this week on a freelancing assignment. It felt strange, to be a tourist in my own city. It was a long day - half fascinating with facts I never knew and half get me out of here, I see this all the time. This shot at the World War II Memorial on the National Mall captured my attention. I've walked through the memorial countless times, but I've never stopped to really read the state names and the regions and countries honored who allied with us. This kid did, though, and he inspired me to do the same.

By far my favorite bit of history came in the form of a president past. After Andrew Jackson, a man with a fiery temper and a tumultuous relationship with Congress, took residence in the White House, construction on a new Treasury building was set to begin. The White House, situated on Pennsylvania Avenue, was in a direct line of sight to Congress, at the other end of the street. Andrew Jackson was asked where he wanted Treasury built. He said it didn't matter to him, except he wanted it to obstruct his view of Congress. His order was famously to "block my view of that damn place."

He also held an accidental kegger in the White House so big he had to climb out of a window to escape it. He was a force of personality. I like that in my presidents.

other things by me...

Japan's most beautiful shrines

 Mt. Vernon, George Washington's home

tips for first time visitors to Tokyo

Antique and flea markets at Tokyo's temples and shrines

summer showers

 

I showered outside for the first time the other weekend.

Matt came with Zander and me to Rehoboth, Delaware for the weekend. We took him to our favorite beaches, down the boardwalk, stuffed our face with boardwalk fries (another first for me!), rode bicycles - all the while hoping desperately that Zander, our recklessly fearless leader wouldn't get us killed, and brought back pink noses and sun-highlighted hair to show for our efforts. Zan's mom welcomed us all in with open arms, except when we were covered with sand. Then she ushered us quickly to the showers - and since there were three of us and two showers inside, she suggested someone use the outside shower. 

I volunteered so quickly you'd think it was for a make your own sundae bar instead of bathing myself. I ran - really, with a bounce in my step, outside. I full on showered with soap and shampoo and conditioner and suds and bubbles and skipped wrapping my hair in a towel after I turned the water off so I could feel the drops dry on my skin.

It might be ordinary for anyone who owns a beach house, but it was bold and daring to me. I felt the warmth of the sun as it shined down on the parts of me I never show it, the ones reserved for inside the four walls I call home and house and hotel. Like a rebel and a hippie, a naturalist and a minimalist - all the fantasies of a different kind of wondrous life, wrapped up in a single outdoor shower. I lived a little more.

reading maps & falling in love with rural japan

I pulled over to the side of narrow, two-lane road and turned on my flashers. I grabbed the ever-present notebook in my purse and a pen from my glove compartment and copied down the street sign in front of me. It was a mix of kanji - Chinese characters - and Hiragana - the Japanese alphabet. I didn't need to know when it meant - though I did feel proud when I picked out the symbol for "mountain;" I just needed to match it to the same characters on my map. I opened my atlas and flipped to the right page - I had memorized it by now. Like a children's game in a Scholastic magazine, I ran my pointer finger over the area I thought I was, looking back and forth between the map and my notebook, the map and my notebook. I circled over the small side streets and connecting roads until I found a match. A match! A huge grin spread across my face, and just as quickly I tensed up again. I found myself on a map of rural Japan, but I still had no clue where I was or how to get where I was going. I can't read maps.

When I moved to Japan, I leased a car. I lived in rural Yamaguchi prefecture, and I taught English at four schools. One of my schools was in the mountains, the other in a rice field, and the other down the mountain by a beach. I needed a car to get around. My first week, officials from my Board of Education kindly drove to each of my schools, teaching me the routes. I memorized them, instead of turning to a map.

My closest friends in Japan lived hours away from me, including Jamie - my favorite Brit. He lived in an area even more rural than me - Nagato. Without a major train line, by far the easiest way to reach him was to drive. Some of my favorite weekends in Japan were spent leaving my last class on Friday, car already packed, and jamming out to music on the three hour drive to Jamie's place. It took me over mountains, and by shimmering rivers, through cities and by farmers harvesting rice. And finally to Jamie's - whose house always smelled like a Thai palace and English black tea. But to see him, I had to figure out how to get there.

My predecessor (the woman who taught at the same schools before me) left all sorts of goodies in our apartment, including a trusty southern Japan atlas. I pulled it out before my first trip to Nagato, confidently thinking, I can do this - I'll just write out the directions, just like it's google maps. Easy peasy. I wrote down what I thought I needed to do to get there... guessing the whole time - is that a right or a left? Which direction is north and south? East and west?

On that first trip, trepidation filled me every time I felt lost. I didn't know the language so I couldn't easily ask for directions, I didn't have GPS to guide me, and I am so spatially unaware that I'd get more lost trying to retrace my steps. The truth is that I could have called any number of friends who would come to the nearest train station to me and helped me find my way. But in the moment, feeling lost with nothing but a map - it was scary. It was also wildly liberating.

 

Being on the road with nothing but a map and my own brain challenged me. I worked out which way to turn, talking to myself out loud the entire time. I learned to trust myself - to use my gut (sometimes because sometimes my gut when it comes to directions is better served digesting snack foods). When I pulled up to Jamie's house that first trip out there, I felt superhuman. I read a map. I did the impossible. That's the best part of travel to me - finding that I am capable of so much more than I think I am. 

am i happy?

I've been thinking about happiness lately. What makes me happy? In the past year, I've noticed that I have more leveled, even-keeled highs and lower lows. Before that, my highs were out of this world, astronomical, to the moon and back, and my lows were even-keeled, average, ordinary life. Here are the three times I've been my happiest.

Governor's Honors Program 

Growing up in suburban Georgia, I admittedly didn't have the best education in the world. But the one standout was the Governor's Honors Program. It's a six-week program that allows high schoolers to become de facto college students on the campus of Valdosta State University between their junior and senior years. The best part is that if you're accepted, you're there 100% on scholarship. For low-income students like me, it's a total game-changer.

I was nominated in Social Studies. For the first time in my life, I made friends instantly. I took classes on the psychology of serial killers, played a game re-enacting World War I, and studied how political campaigns have evolved over time. I almost didn't go that summer because I needed to serve tables and save my tips to buy a car to get me through senior year. My mom pushed me to attend. My current roommate, Matt, is a GHP friend, as is my running buddy and confidante Whitney.

Studying abroad in South Africa

The story of the first time I left the country and lived abroad is well documented on my "About" page. My best friend of many years "broke up" with me, and it left me more heartbroken than any romantic relationship. I drank the majority of a bottle of tequila and announced to my friends that I was moving to Africa. So I did. I studied in Stellenbosch, South Africa. I couldn't afford it - was working three jobs to stay in school. Somehow I got the scholarships and loans I needed and got into the program I needed to get required credits for graduation. It was my first time going somewhere completely alone. I came back spiritually and emotionally healed and physically healthier than I'd ever been.

Teaching English in Japan 

I didn't love my job (teaching English abroad is often like being a professional broken record), and I had the occasional breakdown. I battled with homesickness - like when I spent Christmas in Thailand. I got sick of Japanese food and the rigidity of the culture. But I traveled endlessly, made forever friends, and realized my passion for travel goes beyond vacations and wish lists - it's what I want to do with my life.

I almost didn't go to Japan. I was working at Ms. magazine in Los Angeles - a dream come true for me! My career was wide open - possibilities in magazines, writing, and publishing felt endless, and I thought I'd lose momentum if I moved abroad. Going is the best decision I've ever made.

So what??? 

I never noticed it before, but these three events fall exactly at big life transitions - high school, college, and post-college. Now I'm 27, and I feel like I'm at another big life transition. I want to choose whatever will recapture more of my joy and fervor for life - because I'm capable of so, so much of it. I'm happy, but I know the best version of myself, and I'm not living it right now. I don't know the answer yet, but I know that getting there, however frustrating the process might be, will be worth it, you know?

I'm happiest when I'm uncomfortable
I'm happiest when I get out of my comfort zone 
I'm happiest when I make deep, lasting friendships
I'm happiest traveling
I'm happiest when forced to rely on myself and show myself that I'm capable 

What makes you happiest? What brings you the most joy?

an ode to college, friends, love, and beer pong | nebraska

"I've got our hotels for the weekend if you book a ticket out here," an email from Pam, my college best friend, read. I booked a flight back to Nebraska, home of my college alma mater, within the hour.

I was Pam's maid of honor almost three years ago. I ended my speech in Japanese - I may have referenced a penis and a huge congratulations, of course ;) I had asked the DJ to cue Soulja Boy's "Crank That" as I said my last words. Pam, in her bridal gown, and our friends Kenny and Sarah ran to the dance floor to join me, and we busted out the whole dance (THIS DANCE). I tell you what, I love my friends.

I haven't seen any of them since the wedding. How's that even possible? We get older and life gets faster and all those excuses? Fast forward to this summer and Pam's email: Sarah is 8 1/2 months pregnant, and Kenny and my girlfriend Vanessa's birthdays were on the same weekend that Pam suggested I come. I blasted Soulja Boy and had my own living room dance party in excitement. 

^^ Sarah (front), decidedly not 8 1/2 months pregnant! (Pam's bachelorette party, circa 2010)

I flew into Kansas City, Missouri on Thursday night, and Pam and I headed to up to Omaha, Nebraska on Friday. We met Sarah at Dinker's Bar, Omaha's best burger and brew dive. I swear it'll be on Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives one day! (It was delicious - get the onion rings!) Better than the food was catching up with Sarah. She's just this gorgeous pregnant woman, and I have goosebumps writing this. She calls her baby, "Sea Monkey," and I adore that, and I can't wait to meet her little girl. I was blissful in Dinker's, feeling that fullness of life and spirit and energy that I get when I'm around people that make me so happy I could burst. Friendship is my favorite high.

Pam and I picked up Prosecco on the way to Vanessa's pool party after we begrudgingly left Sarah. It was the perfect drink to bring because the second we pulled up, she came running out to me, squealing, and showed me her left hand - she's engaged! Her man Jason popped the question minutes before we arrived. Her birthday party was a great cover - he got her family, his family, and all their friends in one place and asked her to be his partner forever. The excitement for her engagement coupled with the excitement of seeing her after so so long bubbled up and it was all I could do to stave off tears. And that ring, it's breathtaking! In general, I'm not one to be over the moon for wedding stuff, but my friends finding forever love that makes them the happiest? I'll swoon and tear up for that every day of the week.

We spent Saturday sleeping in, soaking up the sun by Vanessa's pool, and driving down to Lincoln in the late afternoon. The 45 minute drive from Omaha to Lincoln is completely flat with corn fields and wild grass on either side. I used to think it boring, but now I find it stunning. We parked on O Street, the main bar and restaurant strip, and walked past our old stomping grounds - the ones still there, at least. I was disappointed to find my favorite dive bar (with the best wings in the world) has been renovated into an attempt at a fashionable, sleek, modern sports bar. I walked in for a moment of nostalgia, saw a "Please wait to be seated" sign, screamed (actually screamed!), and ran back out.

After a delicious dinner at Yia Yia's Pizza, it took all our self-control not to completely re-live our college years and go a little nuts on O Street. Instead, we acted like the dignified, responsible adults we are and did one frog sperm shot each at Iguana's. Yep! Frog sperm shots! They're like .05% alcohol, I think, are $1, and it's a green liquid in a test tube style vial with a plastic froggy on top. See my vine on how to take a frog sperm shot, as demonstrated by Pam. ;)

Our last stop on our road tripping long weekend was at Kenny's birthday party - a good old fashioned college-style house party out in the country, barely still in Lincoln. Kenny and I became friends in a bar called Woody's that is no longer. We were in a big group, bored, when "Don't Stop Believing" started playing. Without reservations or inhibitions, I belted out the first lyric, stood, and started first pumping. Kenny took the second lyric, and by the end of the song, well - the rest is history ;)

Kenny had no idea I was coming to his birthday party, and when he opened the door, his face froze. It just froze. It took us a few minutes to break the ice - I think for the shock to wear off, and for us to find our old groove. But man, once we did, we were back in it like it was 2007. We played flip cup (I played with Prosecco because who am I?!) and beer pong, and we took too many pictures that are never enough, and thoroughly loved being around each other again.

The whole weekend I spent back in Nebraska, I saw the woman I am now meet the always-up-for-a-good-time student I was then. I like the mix. I like that side of me - carefree and fun-loving with enough know-how and experience to pass on last call. And in between all the bursts of fun, Pam and I got to really talk, and you know what I realized? We call people best friend when we're young because that's what we think it means when we have the most fun with one person. I say it now because Pam makes my life shine brighter and brings out the best in me, and too, we have the most fun together.

Nebraska, it won't be three years until next time.

you have time to travel. no excuses.

"I don't have time to travel this year."

People gawk at me they hear I went to Mexico earlier this year and will be in Ecuador for 18 days this December. "How do you find the time?" they ask. I promise - I'm busy, too! I work in a 9-5 (okay, 8:30-4:30) career, work on the side as a freelance travel writer, take on more social obligations than I can sometimes manage, hike, cook, workout, walk and play with Theo, and try to find time to catch up on my DVR TV shows. It's not that I don't have a life, it's that I choose travel.

At this point in my life, travel isn't my career - though I would someday love it to be. Just like any passion or hobby, I make time, space, and dedicate my money towards it. If travel is important to you, or maybe something that you want to introduce into your life, you can do the same thing. But you have to choose to make it happen and then act on it.

Utilize long weekends

There is a common misconception that to travel you need to have weeks off work and away from obligations. That's not the case. A long weekend makes for a perfect trip to a nearby destination. If you're in the U.S., a 3-4 weekend is a perfect time to visit Mexico, Canada, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica, or the Caribbean. When I lived in Japan, a 4-day weekend meant a potential trip to South Korea. Instead of waiting for x time off to fall into your lap to travel, actively plan shorter trips to a place you'd like to see.

Additionally, build on long weekends. A few years ago, the company I worked for gave employees paid vacation time for Thanksgiving Day and the Friday after it. I took off the preceding Monday-Wednesday, combined it with the weekends on either end, and spent 9 days in Turkey and Greece. I only used three vacation days instead of five by utilizing a long weekend.

Travel around holidays 

Being willing to travel around holidays allows you more paid time off without needing to use the potentially limited number of days you have to take yourself. Sometimes traveling around holidays can be more expensive, but it can often be cheaper. On that same trip to Turkey and Greece, I bought a multi-city ticket from DC to Istanbul and Athens, Greece back to DC for under $600 - that's nearly unheard of! Because the weather is cooler in that region in November, it's considered off season, making plane tickets and prices in country far lower than in other seasons.

Plan for this year, not in five years 

Europe will still be there in five years, you're right... I hope. But why wait that long? You'll have more gray hairs, obligations, and excuses. If you put off travel until everything - your budget, the timing, your career goals - are just right, you'll never go. Or you'll go! Once. You'll make that trip once every five years. And one trip every five years means you'll see 10 new places or so in your lifetime. The world is too big for that.

Plan ahead, and pen it in 

I plan to take a long weekend trip to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls in September. I made that decision this month. I have Monday off for Labor Day, and I will take off the Friday before, allowing for a four-day weekend. I have it penned into my calendar, and I plan to book lodging this week. Penning it in my calendar is a stamp of validity - of this is happening, this weekend is booked. By planning ahead and penning it in, you get more excited about the trip - ensuring that you'll go, have ample time to budget, and get better rates on lodging and transportation.

There are circumstances that prevent people from traveling - destitution, unemployment, physical and mental handicaps. Time should not be one of them. You have time to travel! No excuses.

What tips would you add to this list on making time to travel?

whole30 challenge + a running injury

I have a confession to make: I haven't run in 3 weeks.

After my first race - the Capitol Hill Classic 10k, I was so sore I limped for two days. In the weeks preceding the race, I'd started to experience pain on the inside of my lower right leg. By the time I finished the race, I knew I couldn't ignore it anymore. But... I did. I gave myself a week to rest and let the pain subside, and then I took to the road again. I only got in a few more sporadic runs before I admitted defeat and made an ortho appointment.

The appointment was awful. I waited an hour to see the Dr. and finally picked up my bags to leave - I had to get back to work. As I walked out of the door, annoyed and upset that I was leaving without an answer or remedy for the pain, he walked in. He spent a grand total of 5 seconds looking and feeling my leg. I'm not exaggerating. And the first question he asked me was, "Do you have to run?"

He didn't order an X-Ray or an MRI. Instead, he told me in a monotone, rote way that I have a stress reaction, should take time off running, and that if I don't want to stop running, I need to take anti-inflammatory medication, ice it after every run, and see a physical therapist. I left nearly in tears - feeling as though he gave me a generalized diagnosis, not one specifically for me.

That said, I researched stress reactions, talked to other runners, and I feel confident that the diagnosis was correct. I learned that stress reactions are most often caused by taking on too much mileage before your body is ready and running hills before your body is ready. Guilty on both charges, I'll admit. (And if the pain returns, I'll definitely be seeing another ortho!)

While my leg heals, I've taken on swimming, and I love it. I've also gotten back into yoga. I plan to pick back up running this week or next week, and this time around, I want to be more disciplined about incorporating swimming and yoga in my cross-training routine.

I had planned to run two races this summer - the Biggest Loser 10k this upcoming weekend and the Annapolis 10-miler in late August. I won't even attempt the BL10k as Is haven't trained at all, but I still want to run in Annapolis. Honestly, I'm terrified. Building up to 10 miles wasn't as scary when I was running 6, but after nearly a month off running, with only 6-7 weeks to train, is it possible for me to be prepared? Annapolis is hilly, and I plan to primarily train this time around on tracks and trails. I'd love any advice from runners out there!

In preparation for Annapolis, and in the mindset of wanting to feel healthy all over - mind, body, and spirit - I've decided to take on the Whole30 challenge. Essentially, it's 30 days without sugar, processed foods, alcohol, grains, and dairy in your diet. Zander and I are doing it together, and I'm excited for it. We tend to eat only meat and vegetables during the week so that won't be too difficult. But the weekends! That'll be my trouble spot. Help keep me accountable?

I plan to blog about my Whole30 journey at least once a week and share a few recipes. Today, I'm going to share my favorite breakfast on-the-go recipe: a crustless quiche. It's easily made Paleo/Whole30 friendly. Enjoy!

Whole30 week 1: Crustless Quiche

ingredients

6 eggs 

1/4 cup milk (whole30: substitute almond milk or water) 

half pound bacon

large handful fresh spinach 

one small diced tomato (or 1/2 large)

1/2 diced medium onion 

pinch salt

teaspoon pepper

optional: cayenne & shredded cheese of your choice (omit for Whole30)  

steps
1. lightly grease a 9" pie pan
2. preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 C)
3. heat a skillet over medium-high heat
4. cook bacon until golden brown and crispy - drain excess fat on a plate lined with paper towels
5. drain all but 1-2 tablespoons of bacon grease & lower heat to medium
6. saute onions and spinach until the spinach is wilted and the onions are translucent and aromatic
7. beat your eggs in a medium mixing bowl. add milk and spices
8. once cool enough, chop the bacon into small pieces
9. stir the bacon, onions, spinach, and diced tomatoes into the egg mixture
10. pour into the pie pan and bake approximately 30 minutes - until the eggs have set. If you plan to reheat pieces for work, feel free to remove from the oven 2 minutes early (slices will be reheated in the microwave)

where to eat in lincoln, ne | yia yia's pizza and beer

Whenever I get asked the question, "Why'd you go to school in Nebraska?" with that incredulous voice, like he/she is really asking, Did you know that there is factually nothing there but air and corn? I answer, "Yia Yia's pizza, of course."

Okay, I don't do that. But I should start. It's a far better response than the typical one I give - which is something along the lines of, "Well, in late 1985 I was born in Miami, Florida..." and continues on for a millennium. Exaggeration suits me. But I'm not being hyperbolic when I say that Yia Yia's Pizza and Beer is an incredible restaurant and bar in Lincoln, Nebraska.

It's so much of a gem that it'd be a gem even if it were in Washington, DC. I'm envisioning that scene now - the place would be beyond-fire-code packed every day of the week. It's hipster with 375 bottled beers, rotating drafts, and unpretentious billiards in the back. It's hip with vegan and whole wheat pizza crust options. Its space is community building with a narrow, deep bar and limited seating, encouraging you to chat and sip at the bar. And it's so very summer in DC with its outdoor patio seating. It would be an immediate hit in Washington. But let me back up and tell you what it's like where it is - in my college town.

Yia Yia's lives at 14th and O on the main "O Street" strip. When I was at UNL, it sat next to Bricktop, my favorite bar and nightclub. Bricktop hosted an '80s night every Friday; it was the best night of the week. On several occasions, my girlfriends and I grabbed a slice at Yia Yia's before moving next door to Bricktop to dance our feelings and shake off the pizza calories. (Obviously, my hair was in a high side ponytail, my shirt was off the shoulder, and my tights were mad neon pink.)

Yia Yia's does pizza a little differently. You can purchase it by the slice or pie. A slice is $4.50, and you can choose up to 5 toppings, including a wide array of cheeses, vegetables, and meats from around the world. Their whole pies come in set prices, including $15 for a medium, and it's the same deal - you can choose up to 5 toppings. I love that kind of freedom. When I order from most pizza spots, I'm always stuck, taking forever to narrow down the options - wanting both onions and tomatoes but also what about this kind of cheese? Yia Yia's way makes it easy, or maybe I'm just nostalgic?

I remember one time in college ("this one time, at band camp...") -- I went to grab a slice, okay two slices, with my writing mentor. We picked up our slices at the counter and took them to the back. The front half of of the bar has a few tables with parmasan cheese and crushed red pepper shakers on them; it's incognito as a regular old pizza place. Walk into the back, and the place gets darker, and a few pool tables dot the room. There were other nights like that: pool and pizza, beer and pizza, wine and pizza, vodka and cranberry and pizza - but always, good company and pizza.

Yia Yia's uses the best ingredients and makes their dough from scratch. I love their chunky marinara, and the slightly charred crusts. But the real reason Yia Yia's is a gem in Lincoln and would be anywhere in the country, including snobby DC, is because of the stories and memories created every day inside its walls. Going back there with my college girlfriend Pam this weekend reversed time, erased a few gray hairs, and made me feel like the world was huge and a little piece of it is mine and that anything is possible and friendships are forever.

And that's the real reason why I went to college in Nebraska.