'Weather' You Like It or Not

As we get closer to (hopefully) buying a home, I can't help but think about the things I'll miss about our first little apartment. Such as its closeness to my work (we're talkin' literally three blocks here), its abundance of natural light, the walks the husband and I took around its city blocks admiring (and at times critiquing) the downtown architecture and the overall simplicity of our lives while living there. 

Granted, these things are far fewer in number than the things I won't miss about our first little apartment. Such as the swarms of boxelder bugs, the cramped closet space, the ghetto neighborhood, the smelly laundromat, the outdated fixtures, the drafty crevices, the ear-deafening heating/cooling system and the tiny dining area. The list could go on and on.

But probably at the top of list of things I will miss is this: the view from outside our bedroom window.

Minus the unfortunate wires that weave through its limbs, our massive walnut tree is a sight to behold. It sits in our neighbor's neglected backyard, home to a clowder (yes, clowder) of wild cats who have provided me with quiet entertainment a number of times now.

We chose an apartment on the top floor for several reasons: no noisy neighbors overhead, no 'Peeping Toms' at the blinds and mandatory stair-climbing exercise (truth be told, the husband's actually not much of a fan of that last one). But little did I know that I would end up loving the view the mostest.

Seeing it change from full bloom (for lack of a better term) in summer to naked in winter and now noticing little 'bean-sprouts' (as I referred to them yesterday much to the husband's amusement) starting to form is quite satisfying. Just like the walnuts it dropped last fall, free for the taking. (Or at least I would assume so... we may have innocently committed nut-theft.)

I can only hope that our future home will have such lush and beautiful vegetation. The 'house snobbery' the husband claims I possess has expanded to include mature trees as a requirement. And if one could be right outside my window, I wouldn't complain. Throw in a waterwheel in the summer, a wind chime in the fall and chirping frogs/crickets in the spring, and I'm sure I'd be one happy camper.

Which is why it always confuses me when people complain about the weather. Sure, it's unpredictable and sure winter seems long sometimes, but we live in Utah. Get used to it.

I, for one, love the seasons. Not only do they provide variety, they also seem to perfectly chart the passing of time. The husband and I agree that holidays wouldn't quite be the same without their accompanying weather. I mean, who doesn't love finding Easter eggs in the new green growth of spring, or baking in the hot sun at the swimming pool, or jumping in cool piles of crisp autumn leaves or waking up to fresh snowfall on Christmas morning?

Palm trees and a temperate climate year-round sounds pretty boring to me. After all, we wouldn't know the good without the bad, no? Or in other words, we wouldn't appreciate the warmth if we didn't know the cold.

And though I sometimes fall into grumbling upon having to scrape the snow off my windshield for the ump-teenth time or claiming that I have contracted heat stroke at the peak of summer's swelter, I really can't justify not loving Utah and it's weather.

Don't get me wrong, making small talk about weather is right up there with 'cruel and unusual punishment' in my book. Just know that I'm pretty dang pleased with my location in life. Regardless of the unexpected flurries and soggy-hair showers that seasons may bring.

Sizing Things Up.

I find it interesting that people can be so concerned with appearances. And I've recently realized, there are no exceptions. Whether you're fifteen or fifty, women (in particular) will take every chance they can get to criticize and analyze everything about themselves, especially how they look on the outside. Even going so far as to refuse to accept praise as truthful when it is freely given.

I know I'm occasionally guilty of the 'begging for compliments' syndrome, but what concerns and, quite frankly, confuses me, is how they can allow that insecurity to completely control their outlook on life. Like they'll never be happy until they're a size two and have skin that is smooth as a baby's bottom.

I'm not saying that I don't like to make a good first impression. Or that I don't know the value of a flattering angle or a few picture retakes.

What I AM saying is that intentionally untagging yourself from a Facebook photo or even requesting that it be removed entirely seems a bit ridiculous. And a bit sad, really.

Do you think that people don't know what you look like?.. Do you think that they don't almost instantaneously forget whatever it is you're obsessing over? I'll tell you what they won't forget: the petty side that comes across when you throw a tissy fit over something so minuscule. Deleting your connection to the image or even the image itself doesn't mean that it wasn't a picture of you.

And it certainly doesn't mean that you're not fine just the way you are.
Amazing, even.

No one is 100% photogenic. There are going to be a few less attractive shots of even the most universally accepted beauties. And the sooner we realize this, the easier it will be to stop judging so harshly and overreacting so much.

You are the only one who notices that blemish or wrinkle or pit taco or what-have-you. And guess what?.. When the rest of us see that picture, all we notice is how happy you look or how much we miss you or how important you are to us. And if you'd sit back a take a moment, you'd realize that most people could really care less about how much you weigh (I know.. gasp!).

And those few miserable people who do notice don't matter. Nine out of ten times, they won't even comment. And if they do, it's probably because they're stuck in the same self-loathing rut that you are. No one should feel that the only reason they can't accept themselves and how they look is because of unrealistic expectations and unwarranted judgements set on them by others.

I'm particularly worried about how this affects children. Our society's incessant desire to criticize ourselves and others is causing a chain of unacceptance that won't stop with us. I see my tween nieces and their obsession over appearances, and I worry that the damage has already been done.

But then I read THIS and THIS and start to regain a little bit of hope for humanity. Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Maybe the problem isn't that we only hate our extra weight or thin hair or crooked teeth. Like if they were gone, our world would be perfect.

Maybe the problem is that we haven't learned to accept and appreciate ourselves the way those we love accept and appreciate us. Maybe we should try looking through their eyes for a change.

Be healthy. Be thin. Be pleasantly plump. Be whatever you want. But also be happy with who you are, not who others make you feel like you should become.

So the next time you consider disliking yourself for the fear of being disliked by others, remember that "...[you are] the only one who notices. The rest of us are too caught up in loving you."

Caught Napping.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'm doing with my life. Especially with my degree. Up until this point, I've known exactly what I should be doing and when I should be doing it.

I went to grade school, middle school, jr. high and high school because that was the natural line-up of things. Then I went to college because I knew it was expected of me.

Four years later, I'm finding myself at odds with what to do next?...

I went on a fantastical trip abroad, had an amazing carefree summer and now I work part-time from 8-1 as a receptionist/cashier at a car dealership.

How does this apply to my desired field of interior design?
Simply stated, it doesn't.

Unless you count designing the magazine placement in the waiting room.
I do that a lot.

But then again, being a working professional never was what I wanted to do. I've wanted to be a mother and homemaker for as long as I can remember. Perhaps with a small home business but at home, nonetheless. Seeking a degree and a full-time career was only something I did in order to be practical about my life and about what may or may not happen for me.

But I'm tired of being practical.
I want a break gosh dang it!

I went four-years, non-stop from eight in the morning 'til eight at night doing crap that I really didn't want to do with a smile on my face. (Well... most of the time.) And now I deserve some rest.

So I feel no shame in taking a nap.
Every day. Sometimes for three hours.

Last time I checked, it's not illegal.

Favorite reactions from certain family members, who shall (but probably shouldn't) remain nameless,  usually fall within three categories: disgust, jealousy or remand.

They're disgusted when they call at three in the afternoon and discover upon my groggy answer that I've been sleeping. They're jealous that I have enough open time to allow such leisure. Then they usually rebuke my lifestyle, commenting that I'd 'better not get used to such a schedule if I plan on having 10 children'.

Really??

I am perfectly aware that it won't go on forever.
What better reason then to savor it while it lasts?...

Because it doesn't last long. No it doesn't.
I know this because this morning I was notified that I will soon be promoted to assistant office manager. It will be a full-time position with benefits and my own desk. Hoo-sha.

And though it has absolutely nothing to do with my degree, I'm content.
I always knew that there was the possibility of working in an entirely different field.

So I'll spend my days doing what I need to do, my nights doing what I want to do and my weekends doing what I probably shouldn't do.

All the while never forgetting about my ultimate goal.
Ridiculously long naps or no.