The grass is always greener, the trees are always redder

I wrote this in September 2012, four months later everything and nothing has changed in the best ways...



If I were to look at my life as an outsider, just as it is right now, I would assume this person made their life choices based on a magic 8 ball answer. In a year and a half I have moved three times. Strangely enough each brought me closer to home, until I was. Each move had its own motive, something I was trying to accomplish. So now I am back, exactly where I started, attempting not to find that very depressing.

What is not disheartening in any way is being surrounded by girl friends I have known for almost ten years, some more than that. It is wonderful to be around my family again; having a glass of wine with my dad on the front patio, meeting up with my little sister four streets over, and shopping with my mom when we hear of a really great sale.

The hardest feeling I have to swallow is that the adventurous gypsy in me is taking a back seat. While a year and a half may not seem like a significant amount of time, it felt like a lifetime that flew by me in a lightening bolt. I feel like I was just there. I didn't know anything and was learning all the time. I got to see leaves change and snow on my windshield and giant skyscrapers and public transportation filled with more accents than you could imagine.

While I admit to physically being back where I started, I am not the same person I was a year and a half ago. I cannot actually have taken any steps backward because what has changed in me and the ways I have been affected are irrevocable. I have seen the beautiful and the ugly, the kind and the cruel, the truth and the lies, the awe inspiring and the things you want to turn your head away from. I have made friends, lost friends, lost a lot of things actually, but gained a ton, luckily none of which will ever have to fit in my car.

With Fall approaching, I feel pangs in my heart knowing I won't see red or orange or yellow. I know it won't smell the way it did to me last year. I always thought I could smell Fall coming in this little beach utopia, and maybe I could, but now everything I can make out is salt washed and hard to decipher. Human nature is insanely ungrateful. I remember loving watching the leaves change living in Portland and the first few times it rained after our 2 1/2 month summer of sunshine, I was enamored by it. Truthfully it did smell amazing. But I also remember longing for the sun to come back. I remember five to seven months of wearing only rain boots and longing for my sandals and flats. I remember reminiscing about the days that we'd lay out in January and February...because it was around 70 degrees and we could. So I am at the crossroads of "grass is greener" syndrome. I guess we can have it all, just not all at once.

All these things that I've done

There is still so much I have to learn. It’s funny acknowledging that mostly because it’s such an obvious concept that still feels so novel. Maybe some part of me believes I should be getting it by now, catching on quicker. Not so. Accepting this does not allude to my believing my efforts were made in vain. Maybe knowing that you still have so much further to go is proof of how far you’ve already come. 

If I can practice seeing things from just my side of the world, knowing my intentions, I can feel proud of my actions and reactions. One thing I have always struggled with is spending too much time worried about how I have come across to others and whether or not my intentions were clear, practically obsessed with clearing my name. While it took some time to get it, I realize the actions I felt so intensely about committing were the ones that were unnecessary in the end. There is some Dr. Seuss quote from the Lorax (I think) and it goes something like, “the ones that care, don’t matter and the ones that matter won’t care.” For me, that meant I had been spending so much time for issues that could have easily been water under the bridge if had just let them be. Not only that, but I was giving so much attention and care to the wrong people. It sounds so very wrong but I am practicing seeing things from my perspective, keeping my hands clean and making apologies where necessary but otherwise, letting it go. If I have to look at the world through a pinhole in order to see what’s important, I will. I’ve had it backwards for so long, trying to soak in, see and understand everything. It will never work. I am practicing achieving that perfect balance between confidence and pride with vulnerability and humility. I’ve learned the importance of putting up walls and how doing so can be a good thing. I’ve torn down too many for the wrong reasons. It feels very affirming to recognize that I can dictate who and what I want around me and if I don’t want something to exist for me, it doesn’t have to. Again, I’m shocked by how commonplace yet novel this concept is to me.

Another thing I have learned is the power of my own mind. As often as I’ll allow it, it’s my worst enemy. It goes into overdrive and tells me all the wrong things on a film reel that takes every effort to shut off. It also has the power to unlock every truth I have tucked away, unearthing itself at just the right moment- which is often much later than I would have preferred. While equally powerful, it can be the most difficult to harness. But I’m working on it. Learning to be comfortable with being uncomfortable has been one of my biggest feats. I have a giant urge to laugh at how ridiculously hard I have tried to make things feel good that didn’t need to, and that just letting them be there was actually the key to feeling good. 

Waiting for sand

I think I need a shirt that says, I SURVIVED 2011 and 2012. Like the ones they sell at Six Flags and Universal Studios referring to some seemingly life altering three minute attraction. I've been on a roller coaster of my own. My aunt said, “life is a battle.” I couldn’t agree more. This is not to say that there isn’t plenty to be thankful for and blessings to sing praises about, but I cannot remember a time when I was more challenged. My dad insists one day we’ll all laugh about it. I'll probably cry first, and then I'll laugh.

I sort of feel like a head that is just bobbing in the water. Often I feel like I am going under and then I pop right back up. It would be nice to stop swimming though, maybe even float. I am looking forward to the elation I’ll feel when my big toe hits the sand in a final kick and I'll know I'm almost there. 

So this is real life, eh? We should have all stayed in kindergarten when everything was better. Life was tailored to us for us. You could believe in fairies and talk about trolls and watch Family Matters on Friday nights with a bowl of popcorn and one candy selection from Blockbuster. I want my biggest problem to be figuring out my outfit combination for the first week of school. I want hot dogs in my macaroni and cheese and ketchup on my eggs and all that other gross stuff, because that is the cuisine of the lighthearted! Woo hoo, pour me some of the sparkling apple cider! No need for the hard stuff, I haven’t a care in the world except for beating Joseph Wiggington in monkey bars upside down contest and avoiding flip-up Friday. I want my most embarrassing moment to cap at the time I bought about 15 stickers that I covered my lunch box with, all saying “porn star” in various fonts because I thought it was a new kind of super hero akin to a “rock star.” I should have appreciated every fort, every sleepover, every dumb ringing bell, and pajama day a lot more. Because that was utopia and this is a lot harder. 

I wish my own life were a video game and I could tell my avatar, “jump Adrienne!” “Get that star for extra lives, Adrienne!” “Run this way Adrienne!” It would be much easier to be the one looking in and controlling than trying to run and think at the same time. 

Sometimes I genuinely can’t tell what kind of reaction I should be exhibiting. I am weighing my call to action on an ancient balance scale that seems to be constantly tipping this way and that. My inner sanity says, just stop. Chaotic thoughts and frantic gestures, surely are not the way toward making sound decisions. My inner go-getter says, push, and push hard until you get what you want. The only way to achieve the outcome you desire to is to make it happen by all means necessary. Where is that middle voice that should be the balance of the two? She needs to speak up. 

So until then I balance myself between the two. Sometimes I go nuts and sometimes I just stop. Staring out my window and watching sky scrapers get swallowed by fog is one of my favorite therapies. It’s like an urban aquarium. And you know how relaxing people find aquariums... Silence has become one of my favorite sounds. Sometimes I wish I could mute my ears altogether. It seems peaceful. There are times when the best kind of therapy is exuding the emotion you desire in return. Being loving is a gift in itself. It’s an invitation to peacefulness. It’s the best kind of double edged sword. Judith Guest said, “people who keep stiff upper lips find it damn hard to smile.” I believe her. 

Feeling good. All over. Right now.

After my last blog someone posted a video entitled "How to be alone" on my Facebook wall. My first reaction was, "Oh my stars, get this shit off my wall, if people I see I have this on my page... surely this is requesting social execution!" Before I would hastily delete and remove it from my timeline, I had to at least see what it was about. The girl who posted it was such a sweet soul, and hardly the melodramatic, or mawkishly sentimental type. So I watched "How to be alone" by Tanya Davis. Shortly after viewing, I realized I was the exact specimen that the contents of this video were designed to reach. 


It was adorable. You were immediately enamored by the woman who wrote the poem and set it to the most charming strums of the occasional guitar and hmmms of harmonica with just the hint of an accent in her voice. It was whimsical and dreamy. And I loved it. So I kept it up.


I think we are often skeptical of people who are very obviously over zealous in exclaiming how happy they are to be in the place that they are in. Ironically, it tends to occur after a somber life event with clear intentions of portraying the exact opposite of what the person is actually feeling. I think there is nothing wrong with being content and exuding happiness for where you are in life, but I don't see the sincerity when it's posted all over a social network to be eaten up by all of your 600 most intimate friends. If you did actually feel content, wouldn't just knowing it be enough? I feel like I have a million emotions a day. If I were to make note to exclaim and broadcast each one I might ignite rumors and speculation of personality disorder.

I think it's more important to feel than to prove that you felt it. The way in which you glow, taking a message as simple and easy as breathing and allowing it to cast its ripples throughout your soul is enough. The small smile on your face while walking down the street will tell it all.


So keeping the video on my page wasn't a statement or a tactic for highly undesirable attention seeking, (i.e."watch me and my bleeding, drippy, heart rise from the ashes like a phoenix!") I felt like it was support for a really honest message that even I wasn't interested in hearing because of how it might look to identify with what we all are, occasionally at least, lonely.


I have made a habit of collecting endless amounts of lessons these past two months. I have done a lot of things that would have made me really afraid and I've tolerated a lot of things that were particularly painful. I've realized the day, the hour, the second that you tell yourself that you just can't stand it anymore...that will be the day you realize you are close enough to actually being able to. It seems the only way to overcome whatever it is that plagues us is to let it in. Invite the monster out of the closet, tell the creature under your bed to come on out and stay for a while, show the imaginary burglar downstairs where the good jewelry is. Because as soon as you do, you'll realize that they weren't ever really there to begin with.




Thank you, Carly.

They asked for a writing sample on the topic of my choice, this is what I wrote...

I am a southern California transplant, once removed for a one year stint in Portland.  I was following a boyfriend in fulfilling his very concrete dream, and hoping to a find a dream and identity of my own. In Portland, I learn to appreciate every summer evening that lasted until nine p.m., every tree that looked aflame in the fall, every twinkling light on my block, and every strangely dressed native with animal hats and zebra striped leggings who made homelessness look more like camping. It is a year of big trees, clean air, and endless creativity. My experience there teaches me more about myself then anything.

But it doesn’t work out, so I follow the advice of my friends and family and head south to another foreign land, my big sister as my tour guide. This would be second plunge in the relocating game and I know it would be awful, possibly even more difficult than the first time.

The fact that I have moved at all is fairly miraculous given I am a gal of familiarity. If it were a drug, I would OD on it. I love knowing what to expect. Picking up and moving to a different state...again, without a job, an apartment, a sense of regularity, and the comfort of... well... anything familiar, formally induced instant nausea followed by panic. 

But it is decided, what had become my "regular" doesn’t fit anymore. I feel like the winner of The Biggest Loser who is still trying to wear the same, oversized, ill fitting garments. I make decisions I would never have anticipated and pick up and move again. Each time I leave more behind, yet gain so much more than my car can be packed with.

So I morph again and find myself in San Francisco, taking in the practically 90 degree hills, the crowded streets at mid-day, and the constant construction somewhere. Coming to San Francisco to live made me hearken back to my first visit as a teenager, driving through the city and onto the Golden Gate Bridge and feeling that, while the city felt so much bigger than me, it was allowing me a spot in it.

Now I am a San Francisco inhabitant. Even though the streets of downtown are constantly flooded with people, it feels very confirming. This was what “life” looks like. Colors, the chatter foreign tongues, people laughing, smiling, crying, picketing, giant historic buildings, and flashing neon lights. This is life. Most afternoons I can hear someone practicing on his bagpipes at a nearby park. I am so enamored by San Francisco and all she has to offer that I hardly notice his lack of expertise, and am only charmed.

Being a recent import to a new city means more transitions, like hitting the town sans company. My sister-guide, is now gone. Off on her dream honeymoon, no less, and I am left to fend for myself.  I have never thought I would have the confidence to ask for a table for one or sit at a crowded bar by myself and I cringe at the mere thought of it. How can I possibly go out without friends? Well I don’t have any. So I decide to become one of those girls who can. 

My extreme loneliness forces me to gather my courage to go out on my own and I decide to visit the bar inside the Omni hotel, Bob’s Steakhouse. The Omni sounded like a classy place where important and interesting people might go so I slap on some red lipstick in direct juxtaposition to my feelings of unease and walk right in. After a sharp inhale I realize there is no place for me to sit. All of the appropriate places are taken. Alas, I would have to sit at a cocktail two topper running the risk of looking like I am stood up, a single girl’s worst fear. In my head I find myself, hastily devising a story as to why I have no company while firmly plastering a pleasant smile on my face to dispel any confusion of my situation. Then I realize that absolutely no one is looking at me and I am surrounded by couples over 65 and a few overweight assumed former football players. I relax my slightly crazed grin and take a sip of my wine. It takes one glass of Sauvignon Blanc before two old men ask to buy my next and request my company at their table. Whether they feel bad for me or are truly attempting to woe a girl young enough to be their granddaughter, I’ll never know. They are nice to me and pleasant company. They are also amazed that I have come out on my own. They called me “bold.” They even offer a few priceless pieces of wisdom I couldn’t possibly live another day without knowing, such as “learn to play golf.” 

My next experiment in plunging myself into San Francisco’s social scene is Father’s day. My year in Portland had already taught me the difficulties of spending holidays alone. This year is no different; I feel the pang of loneliness once again. But I decide to face it head on and embrace my new city to fill the void of missing my family. With almost gusto, I practically skip to South Park.  Nothing will bring me down today come hell or high water, I tell myself!  When I get there, this little oasis of a park is totally deserted.  The only inhabitants are a homeless man completely passed out on the grass and me. No families on the grass, no children running around me shrieking, swinging, and skipping in the grass. Only a set of abandoned swings swinging lightly by the breeze. Under one of the swings, I see a disheveled bouquet of flowers left lying on the sand. The entire scene is so very disappointing, and yet I decide those flowers are for me, my very own Father’s Day fanfare: "Happy Father's day, Adrienne. Welcome to SF." "Thank you kind homeless man.” I say, “These are lovely." I take a picture and move on.

But as painful as all of this is sounding, I am starting to get the hang of this and get myself out there once more.  I saw a listing for an event at the Intercontinental Mark Hopkins hotel and decide it is my next social experiment. So I head to the hotel all the way up to the Top of the Mark for their movie night and wine tasting. I squeeze myself into an elevator filled only with what felt like 100 well-dressed couples, stand in a long line and then triumphantly walk up to the podium to put my name in with the hostess. Our conversation went like this.

“How many in your party?”

“One.”

“Will anyone be joining you?”

“No.”

“So you’re alone”

“Yes.” 

Three questions and answers to clarify my lone status.  Yes, I was alone!  The awkwardness was palpable and yet now I’m starting to find these situations almost funny.  It is extremely crowded and there is a five to ten minute wait, just long enough for me to squeeze my little party-of-one self onto the window seat cushion next to all the couples talking intimately. Someone asks me if I want my picture taken and I giggle only slightly hysterically. A picture of me on my solo-date?  Of course not! I text my little sister about what just happened and her response is “do it, and send it to me.” Maybe she needs proof. Just like ripping off a bandaid or getting a flu shot, the night itself isn’t as bad as I had dreaded.  I have lived through the social taboo asking for a table for one. I order a cheese plate and glass of wine and enjoy the tiny corner of the film on the screen I can just barely see past a large pillar. “A job well done, Adrienne. Jolly ho. You did it again,” I tell myself.  

It’s still so surprising to me that even at 27 I am still reminding myself to “be you.” It is on a constant movie reel in my head spinning around and around like a motivational poster in a third grade classroom. It is such a simple message but completely necessary and easily forgotten. It seems that no matter how much you think you might know or understand what is going on around you, it is so easy to become muddled and jaded and lost. Moving to a new city with almost nothing but everything to gain has really made that really clear to me.  It's not my turn to have it all together. It hasn't been my turn for a while, but it's taken me this long to realize it. Rather than feeling I am akin to the "have nots" and as though I am not really living, I am accepting the gift that is in front of me that I have been too scared to unwrap.

It's my turn to be spontaneous, crazy, and single in a new city with reckless abandon. It's my turn to go on lots of dates with lots of people, some relationships lasting longer than others. I will take each for what it is and reconcile my losses with the many free drinks. It's my turn to struggle a ton and be poor but there will be something just barely cool about it. I will make the most fun memories now...and then it will all come together...slowly. I'll get the job, I'll get the friends, I'll get the man. I'll get the adult life I worked so hard to achieve and I'll get the stability. Just not right now.

Rather than hoping for better, I've stopped having expectations out of my life. Rigid ones anyway. It seems it only becomes worth living when you stop letting it disappoint you by placing standards and guidelines that you couldn't possibly control. When you finally give up, relinquish control and let the adventure unfold, it becomes fabulous.

Fabulous can mean a lot of things but for me it meant allowing the good things to feel good. Anything. If it felt good, I would bask in it. It didn't matter what it was or what it meant or if it was on time or enough. Just taking it all in. And for people, it meant taking time to figure out who I was first...and then seeing how everyone else fits into my world. Taking a break from trying to fit into theirs. Or any other crazy prediction of a life I believed I should be living. Doing this feels like breathing when this whole entire time I was sucking through a stir stick at Coffee Bean, trying so hard to get more.

Agreeing with me is the new Facebook "like"

I always find it funny when people agree with you over concepts that you know are totally illogical. Like the time my younger sister kicked my leg in a boiling hot church during my oldest sisters wedding because there was a bead of sweat rolling down my exposed gams. To everyone who asked, I just answered, “I was sweating, she was trying to kick the bead off.” As if the minuscule bead of sweat was something anyone else could see, let alone be remedied by a swift kick in the calf. Yet everyone shook their head in agreement, “of course." Of course she kicked off the bead of sweat in the middle of a ceremony in front of hundreds of people, that would only make sense.

The life lesson rumors I learned on the playground

When I was younger, there was this rumor around the playground that you could only be pretty once in  your life. So it was either when you were younger or when you were older. I was a round little thing and while my mom will defend to the death that I was beautiful, I sort of knew I wasn't. So this was good news to receive while waiting in line for the monkey bars. I remember thinking, "Whew, okay perfect, my best days are ahead of me! I will be the pretty girl." That was how I reconciled many things as a kid, "well it will probably be different when I am older," everything was in black and white. If it wasn't happening now, it was because it wasn't my turn yet. Like everything in life was just a matter of waiting for my heat to be called to step up to the block and jump in the pool at the sound of the whistle. Then I'm in.

Maybe it's naive, but I wonder if things still really are this way. Like happiness. I wonder if there is really only one phase or time period in your life where you are really, truly, extremely happy. Almost like you work your way out of "the ugly," shedding your awkwardness little by little becoming more and more "the pretty" you wanted to be. Maybe that is how it goes. We all start out with a certain status quo of quality of life and it goes up and down with peaks and valleys, but you reach a point where it will only go up. I guess it can't all be that simple. It probably (definitely) cannot be that simple. But sometimes I wish it was.