I resolve...

As 2008 comes to a close, I find myself taking stock of the past year. It's had many ups and downs for me, including but not limited to: a painful break-up, beginning a great new job, feeling the effects of the economy's downturn, discovering my inner athlete, and reconnecting with many old friends and even some family members. It was neither a good year nor a bad one, but one filled with much learning and growth. I've never been one to make resolutions just because it's a new calendar year, but this year, perhaps spurred by my previous entry about regrets, I am making just one: to take things in stride.

Funnily enough, the thing that makes taking life in stride the easiest is often writing about it, so as a sidebar to taking things in stride, I'm going to add that I resolve to write more.

Come to think of it, when I go running, I almost always feel better about just about everything, so please tack on to the the aforementioned resolutions that I resolve to continue running and perhaps increase my mileage.

Before I head off to Berkeley to ring in the New Year, I want to thank you, my dear readers, for checking my blog on a regular, semi-regular, or even occasional basis. Knowing that I have an audience, small as it may be, makes writing this blog all the more enjoyable.

Happy, happy New Year.

Love,
Gabi

sophomore standing

Last week I went to my parents' house for a couple of days for the holidays. It was a mellow, enjoyable time. The house was filled with good, warm smells, my dad played the piano and my brother and I bantered back and forth.

On Christmas eve, I found I couldn't sleep--perhaps a throwback from childhood Christmas eves, or maybe because I ate a box of Hot Tamales at the movies earlier--and so I decided to go through the closet in my bedroom. Among the old graduation gowns, yearbooks, and my high school biology binder, I discovered the diary I kept my sophomore year of college. It was a bit like seeing a bad car accident: I didn't want to look, but I couldn't really help it. I dusted it off, made some tea and climbed under the covers with the highly detailed chronicles of my post-adolescent angst.

Webster's Dictionary defines "sophomoric" as "conceited and overconfident of knowledge but poorly informed and immature." Yep, sounds about right. Every page seemed to describe a different unrequited crush, unsuccessful/inappropriate relationship, or aftermath of yet another party. One could not glean, from this diary alone, that I actually did very well academically this year, chose a minor in psychology, and began to focus my studies on education. Nope--according to this document, all I did that year was think (and dream and cry) about boys and drink beer--and in doing so, took myself very seriously.

Now that I have a job and an apartment and a car and bills to pay and under-eye wrinkles and all else associated with the beginnings of adulthood, I do miss that particular time in my life just a little bit. The days of 4-day weekends, late-night dorm visits and all-nighters are long gone and my crushes take a lot more time to develop these days. My tolerance for alcohol has gone down the tubes, yet my hangovers now are significantly worse, regardless of how much or little I drink.

So every now and then I think about how nice it would be to re-live that era, embracing it more and relishing the fact that the shenanigans of one's sophomore year of college are relatively without consequence. I would, however, probably not repeat the body glitter I was so fond of. That is best laid to rest forever in 2002.

Love,
Gabi

pleasantly or otherwise

Yesterday, as she kissed me hello, my grandmother told me that I looked "pleasantly plump."

When I looked at her in horror and told her that I was going to pretend I hadn't heard her, she swore that it was a good thing and meant that I "have sex appeal."

Which is exactly what every 26-year-old woman wants to hear from her grandmother.

As I drove home later and throughout the rest of the day, I attempted to blow her comment off--trying with all my might to believe that she really thought she was paying me a compliment, but the truth is I'm still a little unearthed. It isn't so much my grandmother's poor choice of wording (though I have a feeling it wouldn't have bothered me quite so much if she'd said I looked "curvy and beautiful"), but rather the fact that her words ever-so-gently piqued my insecurity. Because though I profess to believe that it's what's on the inside that counts, I can't deny that there are days I wish I were a little bit thinner. And also taller. Oh, and it would be nice if I had really long, wavy Blake Lively hair too.

But the truth is, I have a body that is designed to be neither tall nor thin. I'm curvy and short-limbed (or, as my darling brother once described me, "like a little teapot--short and stout."). To top it off (pun intended) my hair is extremely straight and never seems to grow very far past my shoulders. And yet, most of the time, this is all OK with me. In fact, most days, I actually think I'm pretty cute. Still, most days no one calls me plump--"pleasant" though it may be.

But seriously, I know I can't let this get to me. As long as tall and thin remains our culture's beauty ideal, I fully recognize that I will continue to run into people who point out to me exactly how I fail to fit the mold--and letting myself go to pieces over it will only be self-defeating.

Besides, how many people can say that their grandmother has told them they have sex appeal? It is, as my cousin Christine, who is also one of my closest friends and who witnessed this interaction said,"at the very least, a pretty cool thing to put under the "About Me" section on Facebook."

Love,
Gabi

should've, could've, would've

This morning as I drove to work, I glanced in the rear view mirror to check if my mascara had smudged and I saw it: a thin line in the middle of my forehead, right between my eyes, where I furrow my brow when I worry. I relaxed my face and it lessened--but it didn't go away. I took a moment to check in with the rest of my body and noticed, as is the norm of late, that my entire body was tense, my jaw clenched, and my shoulders were practically touching my ears. This ties in nicely with another realization I've had about myself recently: I'm not great at letting things go.

Whenever I hear people say that they have no regrets, I don't really buy it. Everyone has regrets. While, granted, most people probably don't think about their regrets as often as I do, it's nearly impossible to go through life without accruing a few. Besides that, I'm 26, which you might think should mean I am too young for regrets, but let me explain. Because I am a young adult, that means that I haven't really been alive for long enough to let time do away with the sting of past regrets. My college years, my adolescence, even my childhood, are all relatively close in proximity to the age that I am now.

So, until I get a little older--or at least until time travel becomes a possibility, I'm going to try confessing my regrets. Maybe if I get them on paper (or at least into my laptop), I'll begin to come to terms with their frivolity and uselessness. And maybe, someday, this list will read more like a "What I Know Now" poem, rather than a compilation of things I still feel a little crappy about.

I Should Have...

I should have listened to my mother about sunscreen

I should have tried harder in math class

I shouldn’t have been so hard on myself as a child

And as a teenager

And as an adult

I should have been nicer to the weird kids

And meaner to the bullies

I really should have kissed my tenth grade homecoming date

I should have learned to argue gracefully

I should not have taken high school theater so seriously

I should have studied abroad in college

I should not have spent 4 years of high school wishing

That the one person who barely knew I was alive would notice me

I should have been more honest about my feelings in college

And less honest about them in high school

I should have returned Gabe Russell’s phone calls

I should have played a team sport

I should have developed an appreciation of classical music

And also hip-hop

I should have done more extracurriculars in college

I shouldn’t have been so afraid to get in trouble

I should have learned how to pluck my eyebrows

I should have drafted an angrier email

To the guy who wrote cruel things about me in his blog

I should have appreciated Israel more

Instead of obsessing over who I was there with

I shouldn’t have based my self-worth

On how I compared to someone I didn’t even respect

I should have started using eye cream earlier

And spent less time worrying about the things I can’t change

There are definitely more, but I need something to save for Yom Kippur next year.

Love,

Gabi