Baggage Claim

I recently found myself engaged in the following conversation; ‘which parent do I most resemble?’ Majority rule states that my older sister Liz and youngest sister Breanna most resemble my mother. Liz has her exact hands and teeth and Beanie (as she is more commonly known) looks very much like her in general – both have the same chocolate brown eyes. Katy looks the most like our dad – she has dimples, a very similar nose and perhaps the same shit eating grin that he has. Then there is me, the 2nd oldest of the four girls. Never mind the fact that I am taller than both of them, I do not particularly resemble one over the other – instead I am absolutely a composition of the two. This exercise has of course led my highly over active mind to ask another question: “what am I made of?” Genetically speaking I have the answer, I know who I came from - but that is only a small part of the equation. What is it that inherently makes me, me?

This isn’t an easily answered question and in no way do I intend to crack the code to human behavior in a single evening rant - but do feel the need for a little self examination and emotional spring cleaning. And so I turn the microscope on myself again and challenge you to do the same. To say the past year of my life has been tumultuous would be a bit of an understatement. It has been a wild roller coaster of professional and personal upsets, of course positive things have come from a handful of those tribulations but I sense that I have changed in small ways as a result of it. That sentiment is likely the thesis of this entry; that the experiences each person encounters along the way are what ultimately make them who they are.

In an attempt to make my point, I will air a little of my own dirty laundry. I can be a very envious person; it transcends a multitude of categories but is mostly rooted in appearance. I am very aware of how superficial that sounds but it doesn’t make it any less true. I don’t remember being this way as a child but would argue it took hold as I began my very long struggle with weight, diet and exercise. I have always taken a fairly surgical approach to fixing problems in my life, pause for laughter, but I tend to be the most rational of my family. And so when I found myself to be significantly heavier than my naturally thin sisters I researched how I would change and I did. Not to say I would ever take it back, but the painfully ironic outcome is that those couple years where I felt like more of an outcast than I can ever fully explain made such a crippling affect on me that I seem to carry that struggle with me into nearly every single thing I do, to this day. During that time I became incredibly envious and to some extent resentful of my sisters who seemed to have it so easy, as if to say that if you are thin everything else in life is peaches. This is neither rational, nor true but it is a reality that I had trained myself to secretly believe. I wouldn’t even pretend understand the chemistry of a 14 year olds mind, but for one reason or another those 12-18 months forever changed me, in both positive and negative ways; envy being one of the most negative, followed closely by a lack of self confidence.

Enter the college years and an insecure 18 year old with a lot of hang ups and alcohol did not mix well. I spent a good 16 months of my college career numbing myself to feel comfortable in my own skin. It was exhausting to be uptight and pretentious and self deprecating all the live long day and so when we partied, I often times became self destructive. Not to say I sat in the corner of my room with a flask but I allowed myself to drink far more than I should have and ultimately made decisions I would have never otherwise made. It was a painful downward spiral, one from an outsiders perspective that likely looked like a pathetic mess. Thankfully I had a handful of people close to me who were willing to see past the mess and realize I was hurting, they stood by me. With no shortage of tears, I slowly began to pull myself out of this cycle but the emotional scars remained and joined those scars from my formative years. Sort of like an emotional avalanche, your character is affected by the crap you go through down the mountain – picking up dangerous speed and size on its way down!

NOW. Neither of those stories are in anyway flattering and were both incredibly abbreviated in an attempt to save myself a shred of dignity, but I tell them to say that we all have our crosses to bear. That beyond the physical elements that make us who we are; Erin Kennedy: 5’10”, brown hair, brown eyes, 2nd oldest of four girls, it is the emotional experiences we encounter along the way that define us. Having weathered quite a few shit storms in my 27 years of life has certainly made me a more compassionate person; of course I make judgment calls when I shouldn’t but try to remind myself that those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Each and every person you meet has a story, they have struggled, they are forever jaded in some way by an experience, they have fallen and gotten back up and that they are doing the best damn job they can. “Let he without sin cast the first stone” – not a single one of us is perfect.

As the very wise and handsome fictional character, Don Draper of Mad Men once said; “when a man walks into a room, he brings his whole life with him.” Life is complicated and it’s a beautiful mess. It is easy to be overly critical of the mistakes we continue to make and to berate ourselves for possessing undesirable qualities but remember that you can only apologize so much for who you are. Not that this is a license to be a total douche bag 24/7 but do give yourself the benefit of the doubt every once in a while, just like everyone else you are doing the best you can. I do realize that I am also built on the foundation of many wonderful attributes, I only reflect on the negative for the purposes of my argument that we all have a past that impacts who we are. Unfortunately, I will likely eff up again in the future – probably the near future and those experiences will add another layer into the quilt of my personality and when that happens I will need to re evaluate. Again. I like to think that we are all pearls in the making; an accumulation of layers around a stone, a tribulation, a heartache, a history. In the end we are all unique, rare and beautiful.

Creating Your Own Horoscope

During an impromptu trip in New Prague to scour our mother’s CD collection for the purposes of decking out our iTunes library, we found ourselves discussing horoscopes – among several other topics. If you have met any members of my family you would know we tend to be long winded…and opinionated to boot.

After covering such topics as Dick Cheney and the destruction caused by “hydraulic fracturing” to yield natural gas, the greed of the American people, the late Bobby Kennedy’s speech on the “Menace of Violence”, his brothers infidelities and a sprinkling of other light hearted topics we stumbled upon the most recent phenomenon that littered our newspapers: your astrological sign might not be what you thought it was! [Pause for shock] Before I move on - I maintain that this is the typical American families’ Saturday afternoon banter.

The trouble started a little over a week ago when my distraught older sister called to proclaim that some asshole had changed our astrological signs and after proudly flying the Leo banner for the better part of 30 years she was now a Cancer. This was more than slightly upsetting to her on a couple levels; on the one hand she isn’t exactly a person who accepts change with out -stretched arms - on the other, we come from a lineage who has unfortunately dealt with more than their fair share of cancer. To attempt a great deal of reasoning wasn’t going to work in this particular situation – because if you know the said person I am referring to, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. So I offered my condolences and wished her well.

Later that day as I was sifting mindlessly through the internet, likely Facebook stalking along the way, it struck me that I should do a little research into this zodiac tragedy which had so greatly affected my sister. One Google search later I had my answer – this wasn’t a new discovery at all rather the product of a slow news week for the Pioneer Press that welcomed the syndicated cover story. Without getting too far off the beat and path let us reflect briefly on where your “sign “originates from. Essentially the Zodiac is the ring of constellations that lines the rotation of the sun throughout the year – astrology dictates that there are 12 equal zones and therefore 12 zodiac signs. One step further – there is the tropical zodiac which correlates with seasons and which the Western hemisphere adheres to and the sidereal zodiac which is fixed to constellations – that the Eastern hemisphere adheres to. Long story short, if you were a Leo for 30 years and have a zip code that resides anywhere west of the Atlantic you are still a Leo. Being the loving sister that I am, I immediately copied the link and sent it through digital space to my sister in hopes of easing her rather busy mind.

And so this afternoon, after having burned roughly 10 CDs into our iTunes library I inquired as to whether she’d actually read the article I sent her. She had not – but said she felt better just knowing there were arguments circulating which supported the contrary. This immediately catapulted into a rather in depth examination of our individual zodiac signs and how closely, if at all, they matched our personalities. Yet another Google search later - I was broadcasting the description of our signs: Leo, Virgo, Aries, and Scorpio. Of course we snickered along the way as we resonated with the adjectives that were attempting to label each of us but ultimately walked away with the conclusion that anyone could relate in some way to all 12 signs. So while I can certainly respect the notion of horoscopes for their truly romantic means of considering our fate – I would argue that we should be creating our own horoscopes and “signs”. In a world where we are so eager to conform and equally adverse to intangible labels (not to suggest that individuals shutter at the notion of being labeled beautiful, rich or powerful but those labels come with their own degree of solitude) – why should we allow a zodiac label to dictate how our love lives are going, when our next raise will come or how inspired we should feel that particular day? Should I consider myself down and out if the Star Tribune hands me and “Average” day horoscope? How ridiculous would that be?

I challenge not only you – but myself – to write your own sign and horoscope. What do you want to stand for? How do you want to be perceived by the greater population? Hell – compile every adjective you can find that describes all 12 signs and create your own. There is an incredible array of variables we cannot control – but how we choose to live our lives and carry ourselves is not one of them. Wake up each day and write the horoscope of your choice on your heart, soul and mind and carry it with you. Choose to find motivation in yourself, to resist adversities, to focus on the positive, to relish time with loved ones, to feel the sunshine on your face. This life is what we make it and should we wake up tomorrow to another “breaking” story declaring that things aren’t exactly as they seem, take the time to reflect on the insight being handed to you and have the conviction to say “No Thanks” – for we have the unique ability to create our own realities. Define who you are, strengths and weaknesses alike – recognize them, internalize them and remember that only you have the power to change them.

When We Are Our Own Worst Enemy

Before I even begin, I must first acknowledge that this first published blog in nearly 11 months – I am ashamed – okay I am being a tad dramatic (weird I know) but I am not proud of myself by any stretch of the imagination. I pride myself on being self aware and often jump up on my soapbox to preach about going after what you want most in life, yet when the microscope is pointed back at me- my short comings on the path to self discovery are glaringly present.

What do I want? Now if that isn’t a loaded question I don’t know what is – partially because my last name rhymes with Shmennedy in which my natural instinct is to make even the simplest of questions more difficult – but also because it is tough question to answer in a concise way. Not to mention the fact that what we want will likely continue to evolve as we age - then of course there are the tangible and intangible wants – and so I digress…..

SO..What DO I want? I want to be a successful writer, I want to write a screenplay with my sisters, I want to run a marathon someday, I want to travel the world, I think I want to be a wife and mother when the time is right, I want to play the piano well, I want to speak Italian fluently, I want to have a food and wine blog, I want to learn to ballroom dance, I want to be an artist, I want to live a life full of love, laughter, substance and purpose. If you can pick up what I am putting down…I want a lot of things – and this is short laundry list. The intent of this entry however was not to point out that I am arguably an overly ambitious/slightly narcotic member of society but to prove that the bulk of the “wants” I have listed above are within in my control to achieve. So why then, are there still so many on my list? Because I am as they say, my own worst enemy. We are all quick to rattle of our wish lists and then have the audacity to throw a fit when they don’t magically fall into our laps. Most things in this life worth a damn require effort.

The point that I haven’t blogged in nearly 11 months is a prime example of me getting in my own way. Didn’t I say that I want to be a writer? Last I checked editors weren’t knocking on doors asking if there was a member of the house who had a burning desire to write, if you have heard of the phenomenon – than please do share, but as far as I know – this does not exist. So – why am I not making it a priority? Sure I have been busy but I find time to do other things – shouldn’t I find time to hone my craft as well? I want to run a marathon? Then why haven’t I? I want to have a food and wine blog? Then why don’t I – or at the very least why don’t I maintain the one I started! Somewhere between time, priorities and emotional hang ups you can find the answers to those questions.

Since my last entry (eons ago) I have been given the opportunity to enter a new career in the Wine and Spirits industry, it is seemingly a leap in the right direction to so many of my ‘wants’ and I am truly grateful. When people ask me how I found this job, I say that in the middle of my belly aching about my then complacecy that someone heard me. My mentor for a lack of a better term happened be dating someone in the field and voila – I had the in. It is important for me to celebrate this victory as it only validates my thesis, that you need to be willing to do the work to reach the outcome, for as Carol Burnette said, “no one can change your life for you.”

Beyond the sense of accomplishment you feel from reaching a particular goal, it also contributes to your overall sense of worth and in my case helps ease the buzz of anxiety in my ear asking me if I am truly happy. Life is busy, family is chaotic, money is tight, schedules are impossible, goals can be intimidating, excuses are easy to come by - but if you have a list of wants in one hand do a bit of self inventory to see how you might be standing in your own way. Slowly begin to break down the barriers to your ‘wants’ and you might just surprise yourself. Make your goals a priority, decide that you will do everything in your power to accomplish those goals. The simple act of making this entry will no doubt help me sleep better tonight knowing I am at the very least working towards my goal. What do you want – and how will you make it happen?

A Little Perspective

I have spent the better part of the past several months wallowing. Not every day certainly, but I am embarrassed to admit that as I reflect on my attitude lately it has been less than optimistic. I have frequently been told that I am a very self aware individual, to which point I agree, but doesn’t that make my poor outlook even more inexcusable? Or perhaps this is just another case of me holding myself to higher standards than I do of those around me? As in many aspects of my life I am highly over analytical, very few things are black and white to me. I question, argue and analyze most everything in my life – right down to the food I put in my mouth and clothes I wear on my back. I am constantly in some sort of reevaluation of some element in my life; my job, my finances, my appearance, my relationships, my goals and aspirations, and – and – and. I truly find this to be a valuable tool, but perhaps I take it too far too often. Perhaps I need a little perspective.

I am slowly approaching the age where I have been in the real live, “grown up” workplace for just long enough to feel a real sense of complacency; “what is it that I do everyday?” “How do I find value in my work, is it meaningful to me?” and maybe most importantly, “is it a positive step in the direction I want to go?” All good questions, but as of late I have found myself reeling over these questions from about 8:15 to 5:30 Monday through Friday and let me tell you, it has taken its toll. I have effectively played enough mind games with myself to be almost fully convinced I am unhappy and that this can’t possibly be what I should be doing with my life. Now I am not sure if you have ever met any of my immediate family members, but once we get an idea in our heads – you would be hard pressed to convince us otherwise. Stubborn, hard-headed, irrational and unbelievably critical might be a few head terms you could use to describe us. And sitting here this morning I can finally admit that I have been my worst enemy these past months.

To be fair, I do think I need a change – something isn’t right, be it the environment, the industry, or the discipline - but how about I remind myself with just as much effort as it took to get me in this rut that I am only 25 years old and do have a really great job right now. I am frustrated and feel stuck no doubt, but unquestionably there are positive aspects of my current situation I should be putting more emphasis on.

So what am I going to do, what is my plan – I have so many of them, I may soon need a secretary. Perhaps I should write myself a mantra – one that comes only from me and speaks solely to me. I am blessed and I am able and only I can change my situation. Maybe I just wrote it? Or maybe I take a queue from a colleague of mine who eloquently stated the other evening that, “this may sound weird but I really believe I could do anything.” Beautiful. True. And you know what, even if it isn’t entirely true – you can’t do anything if you don’t try.

Perspective. About two months ago I opened an email to find out my cousin has aggressive breast cancer and would be having a mastectomy that day, she will need treatment for a minimum of a year and will begin a struggle like no other. Less than three weeks ago, an unfathomably destructive earthquake erupted on Haiti’s forefront, displacing millions, claiming hundreds of thousands of lives and irreversibly changing the fate of Haitian’s for generations to come. A couple weeks ago a Hugo man took the life of his pregnant wife and then himself in the presence of their four year old son, who will now grow up parentless and will likely never understand why. And this morning a friend of the family holds tightly to the hand of her boyfriend while he lay still in a medically induced coma.

Tragedy is an ever present reality in our lives and to constantly dwell on those injustices would be incredibly self destructive to our mentality - yet in the same breath may very well be there as a means of keeping us grounded, to grant us a bit of perspective.

As I sit here and verbally give myself a public pep talk, with a small side of scolding, I remember that I am human too and bad days will come. I have been told my entire life that only you can change your attitude – a very true sentiment – but there will be days that may still win the optimism battle. However, I am making a promise to myself today that I will try to recharge my batteries, wipe the slate clean and look for the good in my situation while I attempt to find the path that feels right to me.

I would be first to admit that not everyone feels this way about their lives currently, but I do know for a fact that at one point or another just about everybody feels this kind of conviction and finds themselves approaching a crossroads. I challenge you to feel that frustration, to even mull over it but to then analyze it (to a healthy degree of course) and decide how you will change it. One small step at a time. And that first step may very well be gaining a little perspective.

Daily Inspiration

You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

- Christopher Robin to Pooh

Resolutions: It is afterall a New Year.

Today is January 1, 2010, the first day of a “new year”. Depending on a variety of factors from budget and temperature to romantic status you celebrated New Year’s Eve; be it a swanky (and likely overpriced) party downtown, an all you can drink “meal ticket” at a local bar, a house party or snuggling up to loved ones at home, you joined the greater population in jubilation of the new year to come. I am one of the calloused who finds this holiday to be a bit over dramatized and one which typically fails to deliver on all the fun you set out to have. This could very well be because I live in Minnesota, the frozen tundra of the world, and so making plans on a December evening which will likely include a small dress tends to greatly limit your options. Secondly and even more obvious is the Valentine’s Day appearance NYE seems to harbor. There are few things more depressing than having no one to kiss at midnight when surely everyone around you does. Of course some would argue that a NYE kiss does not need to be a romantic one, but when you’ve had so few of those in her time – my quota for friendly embraces has far been surpassed. Now beyond what may seem to be a perfectly bahumbug outlook on such a joyous event, I am not as angry as I might initially come off. I enjoy a good reason to drink wine, eat appetizers, to dress up, laugh and party with loved ones as much as the next person - I just have a fairly particular bone to pick with this holiday; resolutions made only for New Years.

Jumping on the computer today I am bombarded with messages to “Make 2010 the year you keep your NY resolutions.” I agree that the mentality of resolutions is profound and undeniably important, but reserving them for one day of the year seems counterintuitive to me. It would suggest that we spend the other 364 days of the year focusing on a plan we made on Jan 1 alone, but shouldn’t this be an exercise we perform on a daily basis? And furthermore what significance does January 1 hold? Who decided that this would be the start of a new year anyways and why do we even need a new year, or to calculate the passing of time at all? Clearly I am starting to sound like a rambling fool but all I mean to point out in my rapidly expanding run on sentence is that we need to make the effort for resolutions on a daily basis, because as they say life is short and there may not be a tomorrow.

I, like so many others, used New Year’s Eve as a jumping off point so many times. In fact it was exactly ten years ago to the day that I began my weight loss journey (perhaps battle would be a more accurate description?). Amazing to me that I have spent the past 3642 days of my life making a daily resolution to improve myself physically – it has been a very long and trying road and one better reserved for an entirely different entry but a clear example of how NYE made a real and lasting impact on my life. Certainly change can be prompted by a new year’s resolution. Yet somehow over the years as I have watched loved ones lose battles to disease, made impossible goodbyes, learned of wars and seen pain and hurt around me, I have come to the realization that I need to wake up every day with the perspective that I can affectively change my circumstance.

Human nature dictates that we will always want. Even with clothes on our backs, air in our lungs and food in our bellies, we cannot help ourselves but hope to change ourselves, improve our situation, to acquire new knowledge, skills and reach any number of intangible goals. But why wait for Monday to start a diet? Who says that you need to have a rockin bod to sport a two piece at the beach? And when do we think that this “time” we all speak of will magically fall into our laps to learn a new language, go back to school, travel more, smoke less, love more, hate less, to right wrongs, to catch up with old friends? The list goes on and on. “Carpe Diem” “No day but today”. If you want it, desire it, hope for it – make it happen – today. And each morning you are blessed enough to open your eyes - take a deep breath into your lungs and remind yourself of those resolutions.

Evolution of Disaster

There are few topics more warm and fuzzy than your parents going back to court, again. You would think at the ripe old age of 25 I would be past feeling the emotional drain that divorced parents typically draw – but clearly I am not. It has been more than 12 years since they separated officially, even longer if you read between the lines – and yet each year, each season really, brings a new battle to survive. The truly ironic thing about the whole thing is that with each passing drama I find myself on opposing sides of the argument. Not to say that I necessarily chose one parent’s defense to keep but as time passes my perspective continues to evolve. Taking the utter pain and ugliness out of the situation, it is sociologically fascinating.

This not being meant to draw out the brutal timeline of events, suffice it to say in the beginning I felt very strongly that my “father” was completely and solely in the wrong, he had an affair. He was the asshole. He was the terrible father. My mother was the victim. My sisters were the victim. I was the victim. Fast forward twelve years and my dad and I have arguably one of the better relationships in the family. Perhaps it was the fact that I was a 12 year old emotional basket case with fire balls spouting from my mouth? Whatever event or series of events are responsible for my dad and I being able to form a relationship are irrelevant now I suppose, because when the storm clouds rolled away a great deal of the pain and hurt went with them.
Simultaneously, though not in conjunction with each other, the relationship between my mother and I evolved as well. I can say with a fairly unwavering degree of certainty that I will always regard my mother as my sole provider. Regardless of the relationship I now have with my father; my mother has always been my sole caretaker for a number of reasons. And to be fair, I would argue that this is the case for many people – whether they had divorced parents or not – because women are simply more nurturing by nature. In the case of my mother, nurturing would be a grave understatement. For nearly thirty years now, she has lived and breathed her children in everything she’s done – right or wrong – it has always been about us. I am who I am today in many ways thanks to my mother, and I am eternally grateful for all she has sacrificed for me. But in as I grew into a young woman, forming my own ideals about the world at large and collecting my own battle wounds separate from my family – our perspectives seemed to divulge more and more. It is truly our difference of opinion which comes between us, nothing more.
And in recent years I have found myself in scrutiny of my 12 year old self. Had I been too hard on my father? Did I understand what had happened? Did I make too many judgments calls? LONG PAUSE. Then I stopped the incessant questioning and reminded myself that I was in fact a child and that very few certainties remain. How can I possibly be resentful towards my childhood self for being hateful to a man I chose to know only through the eyes of my mother? How could I be anything but grateful to a woman, who gave up her entire life for us, her children; who does everything and has made each decision for what she thought was in our best interest? And how do I resent a man who in the past decade plus has made remarkable strides to be the father we so wished him to be all those years? All of it continues to evolve. Each event ricocheting off another sending fragments of fact, emotion and circumstance in every which way – only to be joined by other broken pieces from previous and future battles; each conglomerate growing in size, gaining strength like an asteroid and eventually coming to a head. Quite graphic I know, but really the only way to attempt painting an accurate portrait of the on going emotional roller coaster that is my parents divorce and the toll it has taken on all of us.

Today a new asteroid made contact; my mother was taking my father back to court. I can’t really call them mom and dad in this situation because I would like to separate myself entirely from the event and somehow by making it formal, they are more contemporaries this way than my parents whom I should be able to love equally, freely and without debate. But the internal struggle begins almost immediately. They are both wrong and they are both right. Sparing too many intimate details, the subject matter is clearly money. Being that their children are grown and love being irrelevant here, the only survivor is money. He owed it, right or wrong. He didn’t pay it, she needed it. Neither of them really have it. So what is the answer? CLEARLY we cannot just put our swords away and call a truce, this battle will be fought to the death – until one or both parties is completely drained of all strength. Ultimately one of them is going to lose, and it will be tragic to watch. And yet regardless of how the terms are settled, my sisters and I will also bare the scars. Innocent bystanders if you will.

Only now have I allowed myself to feel the raw emotion of it all. I found myself racing to the car to this coffee shop, feeling as though my heart would explode with feeling. It seemed only fitting that the rain began to pour as I turned down my street, blaring the music in an attempt to drown out my thoughts. I wish I were optimistic enough to believe that one day the fighting will cease completely but the realist in me knows that will never happen. It will just continue to evolve, and all of us involved will be forced to make judgment calls to keep our sanity. We will continue collecting battle wounds along the way, further hardening our perspective.

Who is the victim now? Are there any victims or are we merely victims of our own conviction? What if we were able to wipe our hands of it all – to wipe the slate clean and start over, to right wrongs, to say “I’m sorrys” - such a simple theory but seemingly impossible. And so victims remain on both side of the spectrum because the available choices are less appealing than truce.

I hang somewhere in the middle? Unable to wipe my hands of my parent’s drama, feeling obviously tied to both parties. I suppose I could walk away but the circle of pain’s magnetism is too great- so I will continue to orbit. I swear it will be an absolute miracle if I end up a financially stable woman in a loving relationship some day.