catch ya.

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i’ve never camped for a whole month. settled down in one space to climb. plant myself in the middle of nowhere kentucky without cell service.

it’s over now. not the adventure, but this chapter.

colby and i packed up the car this morning and hit the road again. this time, we’re headed back west. to red rocks in vegas and then onto bishop in california.

but what happened to the past month? i cannot figure out where all the time went. probably into endless fits of laughter, sore fingertips, and late night conversations.

i haven’t felt like writing. i haven’t had the words to put my experiences onto paper. i haven’t felt like letting anyone else in on the world i had created. a space in the woods where i felt safe. where i was surrounded by people who did not question you on anything other than what project you did or didn’t send today. unless you wanted them to…

i found the ones i wanted to know more.

and then my time disappeared.

as it always does.

and then it was today.

but what happened yesterday? what happened the day before? or even last week?

let me make a list of the highlights.

  1. healing the cripple. ryan walked away from a head-on collision with only some aftermath from the seatbelt aka broken ribs. hanging out with our “family” was not good for his ribs. we made ryan laugh so hard it hurt. literally. and here i thought laughter was the best medicine for everything. i am pretty sure his hand grasping his boob during an outburst of laughter is now just a reflex. 1424475_10103186229577203_1576866670_n
  2. the shanteen construction. having a shanty town makes you a local. having a home makes you feel safe. it gives you somewhere to escape the masses when you just want to be alone. or when you want some quiet. walking from the front of miguel’s past the bathrooms across the small bridge along the glow worm lined path down the line of shrubbery and ending at the warm glowing lantern light telling me someone was home.photo copy
  3. climbing (rock). that is why we were all there. taking time to problem solve the rock. sitting at the crag cheering each other on. smiling when we finish something we’ve been working on. feeling our muscles give out and the skin on our fingertips disintegrate. feel weak. feel strong. collect a list of your favorite climbs. collect a list of your projects. i got on a 5.11b technical, vertical climb (random precision at the gallery wall) last year when i was in the red. i didn’t get to the top clean. this year, i did. and i did it in the rain. i got on another 5.11b (like a turtle at the bronaugh wall) that i had taken about six whippers on trying to get to the last bolt before the anchors at the beginning of this trip. yesterday, i got to the anchors. not clean, but only one hang. it’s those moments of small satisfaction that make you love the rock even more. make you love the people around you even more. make you love this community even more. and make you want to come back next year. 6444_10103186255410433_1019306631_n
  4. an australian thanksgiving. they don’t have thanksgiving in australia. weird, i know. this month has been filled with a lot of learning the cultural differences between australians and americans. new words. new foods. new holidays. we wanted to make sure that our two aussies experienced a true american thanksgiving, even if it was only october. and so, we sent lauren and ben to the grocery store and then off to jen’s cabin to slave away over the stove on one of our rest days. i sat on the couch and did work as the boys watched some sunday football. the aussies were rather impressed with my knowledge as i explained all the rules of the game. thanks college. colby and lauren cooked up quite the meal. including homemade pies. we said what we were grateful for. we stuffed our faces. we took naps. it was a success. 1384288_10103186204946563_550471913_n
  5. the new river gorge. sometimes when you spend a month in one place, you want to visit somewhere else. and since i was with someone who was trying to see as many of america’s climbing destinations as possible before heading back to australia, we rented a car and headed to the new river gorge in west virginia for a long weekend. we were half running away from a kentucky cold front and half just running away. with fall in full swing, the four hour drive was beautiful. the climbing was beautiful. we stayed in a cheap hotel room. i don’t think i have ever been so excited to see a bathtub in my life. endless hot water! and a toilet just steps away from the bed! and the restaurants in fayetteville are actually pretty great. it’s a cute little town with a very big single span arch bridge.1382038_10103186377590583_1876705753_n and it was a cute little weekend of touring the area with my aussie. giving him several new experiences…like dirty ernie’s rib pit. classic.580581_10103186399077523_89705316_n
  6. family game night. there is nothing better than family game nights. especially when your family is a bunch of immature adults who find everything absolutely hilarious. add in cards against humanity and you have a couple hours of constant laughter. eight people crowded around a picnic table covered with camping stoves and dirty dishes and food particles and toothbrushes. alan, ben, ryan, colby, lauren, mark, steph, and me. mark won. the game was made for him. but to be entirely cheesy…we all were winners that night. there were hordes of climbers a few hundred yards away, but we were in our own little world. laughing our asses off until it was time to sleep.
  7. saying goodbye. this is a concept that doesn’t really exist in my life and i love it. it’s always goodbye for now.996058_10103207845174373_39138978_n goodbye to simeon (until i see you everywhere). goodbye to elodie (until i see you again in thailand? or maybe france). goodbye to alan (until i see you a week later back at the red). goodbye to ben (until i see you a couple weeks later in bishop for thanksgiving). goodbye to lauren and mark (until i see you tonight in a hotel room in tulsa). goodbye to ryan (until i see you again in australia). i’ve always been good at keeping in contact with those who impact me. those that i want to keep impacting me. technology makes it easy to call and email and chat and blog. airplanes make it easy to go hug the people that live faraway. goodbye is no longer goodbye in this world. and so i’m adopting a new australian sign off.

catch ya.

addendum: simeon’s visit to the red also should have made the list. magical.

here in kentucky.

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it’s strange for me to not take time away from people and events to write. working on the road makes my time pretty polarized. when i am not climbing, i am working. when i am not working, i am climbing. and in those moments where the internet is too slow to work due to the influx of weekend warrior climbers streaming unnecessary videos in the basement of miguel’s, i socialize and take it all in. but i haven’t put it down in writing like you’re used to. and i am pretty sure my mom is getting worried.

not very many facebook updates and no blog posts. geez is sara all right?!? she has already sent me two emails in the past week to check in.

yes, mom, all is well. we are just having french braiding parties in the woods…

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it is starting to get colder here in kentucky. fall always hits fast in the midwest. it is summer and then, bam, it is fall. and we all know what happens next. weather.com tells me it’s supposed to get into the low 20s at night this week. but my sleeping bag is warm and so is the aussie bloke by my side.

i thought i would get really psyched on writing my character profiles, but it turns out that it is hard to write about the people i meet along the way when i am still surrounded by their smiling faces. so for now, they will have to wait. the only person that i can properly write about right now is kyle the canadian. so that will happen soon.

for now, you get an introduction to the family and a long overdue storytime.

meet my kentucky climbing family:
colby – dad/my lil’ bro (you heard about him already)
ben – grandpa ben or grandpa babe (aussie we met in maple canyon)
ryan – um, ryan (other aussie we met in maple canyon and official tent-warmer)
lauren and mark – lmo&mk (knew aussies, became part of family)

guest appearances:
simeon – my college peer chippewa
nick – most tattooed climber and amazing tattoo artist
haley – my top rope princess and smiler
steph and aaron – rave souls who knew aussie ryan
jennifer – badass firefighter

special mentions:
emily – arm wrestling runner up
elodie – she’s french, and photographs
benjamin – tarzan from st. charles
mikael – tall blondie who hugs big and dresses bright
adrian – young dirtbag and sundance’s dad (dog)
sam – our tent neighbor and small fry’s dad (dog)
cam – our tent neighbor that ryan can never remember his name

okay, so now the story can begin. the cast of characters is complete. until someone else comes along. transience.

we live in “the shanteen”. commandeer a picnic table, pop open your tents, and add a few tarps overhead. hang a $1 painting of a chair on a tree and place a welcome mat at the opening in the tarps and you are home.

this has been my home since the beginning of october. everyone in camp is jealous.

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every morning i wake up next to a very cute aussie boy who let me crash in his tent to give colby a break from his big sis’ snuggles. we wake up to the sizzle of bacon. it is better than an alarm clock. colby’s tent unzips, bacon sizzles. our tent unzips, the day begins.

we pow wow around the picnic table at the shanteen. away from the masses that overtake miguel’s campground. we are locals now. we are not the climbers that come up for a quick weekend. we have a home. we have a family.

we decide where we want to climb that day. should it be a rest day? is mark still sick? can ryan climb on his broken ribs? do i have to work? is it going to rain?

there are so many factors to consider, but in the end, the decision is always perfect.

we pack our bags full of gear and snacks, and then pack ourselves into the car. drive about twenty miles to dirt roads not suitable for nice cars. unload and groan about how many cars are already in the parking lot. swing on our packs and hike to the rock.

the beautiful rock.

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what a beautiful sport.
what a crazy sport.

sometimes we warm up properly on some easy climbs. sometimes we get too excited and jump on the hard stuff right away. we collect projects or climbs that we need to come back to in order to climb them clean. add them to my crushfest log, the spreadsheet full of the climbs i have crushed or not so much…

falling.

i laugh hysterically when i fall. five feet or twenty-five feet. i cannot help but crack up. it is so fun to fly through the air. to push yourself to your absolute limit and then enjoy the giving up. sometimes it is scary. sometimes it is silly.

a lot of climbers hate falling. there are numerous books on how to mentally prep for falling. it is just a part of climbing.

“i don’t know if you’re fearless or just don’t understand the dangers of falling,” ryan said to me one day after taking an almost choreographed spill.

hm. it’s probably both.

but why have fear?

we are safe here in our home. here in nature. here in kentucky.

a profile: tim and diane

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i just started to write this blog three times. i’d write two sentences and then immediately delete them. try again. fail again.

what do i want to write about? where did i leave off?

people.

when i was in college, i attended a spring semester program through university of michigan called the new england literature program. it was six weeks of living in the woods of maine reading the transcendentalists. we had to keep journals about everything. we were graded on those journals. and although those grades hit my gpa harder than i would have liked, those journals were something special.

one of my favorite sections of my journals was a week where i wrote short essays of all the people that caught my attention. i even sketched a horrible portrait of them at the top of each page.

this time, i am going to substitute photos for horrible sketches. but since it’s the people that keep making this trip make and break my expectations, i am going to go back to writing about them just like i did seven years ago in maine.

tim and diane. (sadly i don’t have a photo of them)

you don’t get to choose your campsite neighbors. they get assigned a number and you get assigned a number. some stick to their plot and never stray to find out what’s happening next door. some you wish would have stayed at their own site. however, tim and diane were definitely the type you wanted to stay up with all night long.

by the time i arrived, colby had already befriended tim and diane and another couple they were traveling with. i had been told of their awesomeness before meeting them. colby wanted to get back from salt lake in time to cook them dinner for their last night in maple canyon. apparently diane doesn’t like to fix fruit in food, and colby was determined to change her mind with some butternut squash and green apples.

we land back at maple and meander over to our neighbors’ campsite. a small buddha statue sits on their grill platform covered in orange lights. tim and diane are bundled up sitting around their fire. their faces immediately light up as they welcome colby back from his day long adventure to salt lake to retrieve me from the airport.

i am sucked into their hugs as they tell me that they have heard all about me. you never really know what that means when people say that. you always reply in some form of, oh, i hope it was all good. and they usually reply with some form of, for the most part.

tim is zipped up to the neck in a black puffy. a puffy is an outdoor living essential, and a normal part of most campers fireside attire. but tim had an added something special. sitting atop his black puffy coat sat a gold chain. the kind of thick gold chain that you would purchase for your dope kanye halloween costume. juxtaposed against tim’s calm demeanor, this chain was pure hilarity.

the gold chain goes to the biggest whip (fall) of the day or to the person who spills their cocktail.

i don’t know why tim got to wear the chain that night, but i would not have had it any other way.

diane complemented tim’s quiet perfectly with her obsession with tequila. no was not a word in her vocabulary when it went to trying her three different types of tequila. we started with the best and worked our way down.

tim and diane are what us youngins would call an older couple. they had so many stories. diane told me about her morning tent yoga routine and how she tried to integrate pranayama into her everyday activities. colby had previously informed me that tim was the “tim” in the book into thin air. he apparently was the guy to save them off mt. everest.

we ate colby’s delicious dishes and convinced diane that eating the apples with butternut squash was not that bad. well, actually, that is was a downright amazing combination. she may or may not have been convinced.

colby has a special gift when it comes to bonding with people over fifty. i think it comes from his years and years of playing golf. or maybe it’s the fact that he likes yanni and andrea bocelli. either way, he had already won his way into tim and diane’s hearts. it was clear.

when they were packing up the next morning, the gold chain reemerged.

it was now in our possession. it was our responsibility to continue the legacy.

it was now colby’s turn to look absolutely ridiculous when meeting strangers. his visor and polo shirt complete with gold chain.

hopefully we will get to stop in aspen one day and say hi to tim and diane again like their goodbye note instructed us to do. maybe they will even come on down to vegas and climb with us. but whether i see them again or not, their story is here.

our story starts here.

cobblestoned in maple canyon.

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it has been two weeks since i have had time to myself to write a new blog post.

it has been two weeks since i flew to salt lake city and began this epic adventure.

it has been two weeks since i have had consistent internet and cell service.

it has been two weeks since i stood at the shore of lake michigan and said good-bye to summer and hello to fall.

and it was two weeks ago that i arrived in salt lake city just in time to grab lunch with the santoro clan and await the silver volkswagon jetta wagon, jam-packed with living and climbing essentials, that would be carting me around for the next couple of months. colbin richard smith (aka colby) would be the driver. a recent college graduate soaking up that wonderful stage between the security of school and the uncertainty of adultdom.

a few months ago, colby mentioned he was heading out on the road to do some climbing. i thought…what the hell? it was unclear if i was invited or not, but i figured everyone wants a partner in crime. and thus this adventure was born.

after a month in the midwest full of endless hours of work and weddings and family fun, it was a welcome change to head into the woods. or into the canyon rather. maple canyon to be exact.

there is something about exiting reception that makes me heart leap. it leaps for joy. and it leaps in fear. as i see my bars dwindle, i know that this is my chance to make any last minute phone calls. any last minute emails to clients to make sure they know that my usual immediate response time will be not so immediate.

we drive and drive and all the sudden the asphalt turns to gravel. the ascent begins and after two miles of rocky terrain, trudy (the name of colby’s car) arrives at campsite fifteen. colby had already been there a week or two. the campsite already was home. a tent complete with a soft crash pad bed. a picnic table full of necessary (and unnecessary) kitchen utensils to fuel colby’s obsession with good food. a fire pit just screaming for some s’mores. and a view. what a view.

before heading to the midwest back in august, i had left colby with my things in portland. the things i thought i would need for a two month climbing trip. when i arrived at camp, i immediately went into inventory mode and took stock.

climbing gear. check.
clothing. check.
bike. check.
pillow. check.
sleeping bag…
hats/mittens…
rain coat…

uhhhh…hey colby…did you forget my sleeping bag?

yes. yes he did. and the other important things that were stuffed into the sleeping bag sack.

but lo and behold, sometimes life works out just fine. colby happened to bring two sleeping bags, one for cold and one for colder. phew. i didn’t have to freeze my ass off on the first night in maple canyon.

and now, maple life began.

always a big breakfast including bacon in the morning. (colby bought four pounds of bacon at costco prior to my arrival.) colby takes great pride in his food. and i let him…

and then, i did the dishes.

i know i know. some of you are shocked. sara? doing dishes? willingly? okay, maybe not willingly, but yes, it’s true. i understood the trade. gourmet meals = i do the dishes.

and thus, maria the dish wench was born.

always a peanut butter and jelly for lunch out at the crags. and always a big delicious dinner to fill our bellies (his big, mine small) after a long day of climbing.

climbing…

this is a climbing adventure. yet, it has been months since i have been in good climbing shape. gallivanting around the country does not lend itself to keeping in shape. a month at home with mom’s cooking and work owning me does not help either.

but i was in maple canyon surrounded by these crazy unique cobblestoned walls. it was time to man up.

warm up on a 5.10b? oh yeah, sure, that sounds perfect colby…

yeah…

i am weak.

it sucks when you are weak. your brain totally gives up. you look around at the beautiful rock and smile in the sun and think, maybe i’ll just read my book today.

but you don’t.

instead, you run into two australian guys at the first crag. one in the air moving quickly up the rock bulges. one on the ground belaying his buddy up the wall.

good ‘ay mate.

i ask what his name is.

ryan, he says. then he looks down at his chest with sass, and i notice it is written there on his work shirt. i knew we were going to get along. it was the kind of work shirt that i have seen my dad wear everyday of my life. the kind that has a nicely embroidered patch above the left pocket stating your name. the kind that seems to last forever, through everything. and ryan informed me that it had indeed done just that. survived it all.

and so our band of orphans began.

ryan was traveling with ben. they met in some other climbing location and just kept on running into each other along their american rock climbing journey.

i just lied.

our band of orphans began the night before.

with tim and diane.

and then kyle the canadian.

and then the two aussies mentioned above.

and then chris from michigan.

people. we collect people as we travel.

chew on that for awhile. or maybe check out some photos. my stomach is screaming out for dinner, and i have been staring at my computer for close to nine hours now.

back to exiting reception.

AN EXTREME APOLOGY!

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to all those who follow my blog by email, i am very very very very sorry that your inbox just got attacked! i swear this will never happen again. i migrated an old blog into this new blog and BOOM you all got updated about every post.

on the bright side, now you can read all about my adventures in argentina as a 21-year-old if you’d like to avoid doing work on this lovely september tuesday.

again, i apologize. please don’t unsubscribe.

i am just passing time.

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it is in those moments of stillness that the adventurer’s mind begins to unsettle.

i have been back at home in the midwest since august 24th. so going on four weeks. it has been jam-packed with a wedding, family labor day vacation, theatre production, non-profit fundraiser, high school dance team kick-a-thon, housewarming potluck, and of course the interspersed coffee dates with those who manage to catch me.

but now the waters have calmed, and i am left with routine. but routine in a place that is no longer my city. it is not a routine i can slip into. yoga, climbing, and townshend’s on repeat. it is someone else’s routine.

i am car-less and hanging out with my madre in her farm house in the middle of the beautiful cornfields of huntley, illinois. i am an hour from my chicago friends. i am an hour from my saint charles friends. i am an hour from my dad’s house. i am an hour from my sister’s house. (not that it’s relevant, but i feel bad leaving him out…i am five hours from my brother’s house.)

but being cut off is good sometimes.

after a 70-hour week of planning and facilitating and designing and executing a $100k fundraiser, i am playing catch up for my other clients. so being grounded to any ounce of routine is good.

but being grounded makes you want to be ungrounded.

all day as i stare at my computer and plow through my to do list, my mind tries to figure out what the next chapter holds. i know one thing.

thursday i fly into salt lake city and then head to maple canyon with colby.

i have not climbed the entire time i have been home. i have actually done very little minus some yoga here and there. and yet, i am about to throw myself into two months of climbing rocks. vagabonding from utah to kentucky. and then back to portland via vegas? (that part is still open to edits.)

when you are living the plans, they seem fine. you don’t worry. you feel settled in your adventurous ways. living in the now is easy because your now is pretty awesome.

but when you are in the moments in between…

when you stare at your computer counting down the days until you will be staring at cobblestone instead, it is hard to live in the now. to stay focused on the ever-growing collection of tasks in black ink on that white piece of computer paper.

but you know that if you stay focused now, you will have less to do then…

maybe.

i am just passing time.

you get what you need.

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you get what you need.

that was going to be my clever connecting entrance to this blog post. (see last blog post for my clever connecting exit.)

however, plans change, and now i must start this post with this…

i was asleep on a blow-up mattress at the foot of my mother’s bed. there was nowhere else to sleep due to the endless stacks of boxes filling up the living room in my mom’s new red farm house. she had somehow heard me stirring from downstairs, and as i opened my eyes there she was, hovering over me.

she had that know-it-all smirk on her face that all mothers get when they think they have solved their children’s problems. there was something in her hand, but i couldn’t quite make it out through the glassy coating still sleepily covering my eyes.

“i read your blog,” she said with an empathetic undertone.

oh gee. i immediately knew where this was going. i quickly explained in a half-awake stupor that no mom, i am not wallowing in the fact that i am single, and no mom, the blog was not cause for worry. she stood there nodding and waiting for her moment.

“i have just what you need.”

she revealed a christian science pamphlet from behind her back. “a letter to someone in love” i believe it is called. a short reading about finding love in god and separating material love from spiritual love. i had seen and read the booklet a handful of times before (because she had already given it to me several times throughout my life). i told her this fact and watched her know-it-all smirk rapidly descend into defeat. i again had to dive into explaining where the blog was going. what my point was. for her to not feel pity over her daughter’s random rantings.

i think we are on the same page now. and so i shall continue with what my point was…

perfection gets harder as we get older. as expectations develop, we consequently expect things. (crazy concept i know.) our idea of perfection now meets head-to-head in a dark alley with all our expectations.

so i think we left off at college.

those four years where we are put into a holding tank called a “campus” and left to soak up everything we can. knowledge, friends, lovers, professional connections, hobbies, oh, and more expectations.

pause.

i just reread what i wrote last night. another rambling saga about my relationships that didn’t really lead to the point i told my mom i was trying to make. so i deleted it and am going to end this two part blog post with this…

my list clearly stated that i would never date a smoker. i get headaches from cigarette smoke. my last serious boyfriend smoked marlboro reds. a lot of them. and he was good for me. not what i wanted, but what i needed at the time.

and yet, after every relationship ends we return to the mold. our expectations grow higher, stronger. the image of perfection finds definition, and it is this definition that makes finding that perfection even harder.

some of you may have seen this recent article about us poor millennial yuppies. our expectations for work and life have far exceeded our reality. we are dreamers. you told us we were special and could do anything. we believed you. and now we are not giving you grandchildren because we can’t find that perfect soulmate.

the search filter on our hearts is a bit narrower. we clicked to open the “advanced search” feature, but after filling out all the desired criteria and clicking the search button, the beachball won’t stop spinning. the hourglass icon keeps telling us to wait.

just force quit. pretty sure that fixes everything and lets you start from a blank slate. before you carved that perfect person.

you can’t always get what you want.

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i have always been in a relationship. there were the kindergarten crushes and the flirtatious pranks on the playground in elementary school, but i would say the pattern started the summer before sixth grade. coincidentally, or rather not coincidentally at all, right around the time i had to explain to my mother that my bowels had unknowingly betrayed me. a mortifying moment of confusion for which i needed to seek expert counsel.

they don’t warn you that blood is not always red when you are learning about menstruation in the fifth grade. they don’t warn you about the irrational waves of emotion that follow either.

interest in the opposite sex gets magnified. it takes all your energy, suddenly. and then, you have your first “boyfriend.”

there is no preconceived notion of what this person looks like, body or mind. you naturally find the person who makes you feel good and you “date” him or her.

mine was an athlete and overall smartass. descendant from nigeria. a “dormer” at the private day and boarding elementary school we attended.

we held hands and wrote letters and drew pictures for each other. we walked down to the soccer field together and swayed awkwardly with arms on shoulders at school dances. we eventually were peer pressured into kissing on the lips at someone’s birthday party, with everyone watching.

and then, you have your first break-up.

oof. whether you are 13 or 30, it still sends you into a new and unknown space. this realm of self-doubt and complete certainty that something is wrong with you.

she was a new boarding student from korea.

this was right around the time i started writing poetry (if it can be called that). again, probably not coincidentally, due to the overwhelming onset of emotions that i was feeling on this journey to womanhood called puberty.

these poems are hilariously angsty. my first journal has ballet shoes on the cover and was given to me by my sister when i was sick one time. inside my name and his name are written with a plus sign in between and an = ❤ at the end. in a different color ink (signifying a passing of time) there are words formed from the letters of our name. acrostic. a poetic form learned in my third grade poetry unit.

and then, you reach high school.

for some this transition is underwhelming. you move from your run-down public middle school building across the street to the run-down public high school building with the bigger football field. the halls are filled with all the same faces as the halls were filled with before.

for me this transition was a bit more meaningful.

i moved from a private school with an eighth grade class of 14 to a public school with a freshman class of 428. or 457. i can’t remember important details like that these days.

i got my very first locker. i got to choose some of my classes for the very first time. i got to be the new girl for the very first time. and being the new girl is an interesting role when you are 14 and surrounded by hormonal teenage boys.

whether new is better or not, it is the allure of something different and unknown that sparks our interest. we learn “the chase” instinctively.

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i had three suitors for the fall homecoming dance. i went to the event with one of them. then a few weeks later started dating one of the other ones who had gone with my good friend.

and then, you lose your girlfriend over your boyfriend.

luckily, in my case, she forgave me, and we are still good friends all these years later. but, this is not always the case as i learned in my college years. inevitably, we all face this situation. you fall for your friend’s lover. taylor swift writes a song about playing the platonic best friend role while hiding your true emotions called “you belong to me” and makes millions. because we can all relate.

of course, you immediately end up breaking up with the boy you risked your friendship for because you are young and fickle and still have no idea what you want or need. but, you are starting to.

that clean, untouched block of wood you started with as a child is beginning to be slowly whittled away. every person you date from here on out carves the specifications of your perfect mate a little deeper.

we use high school to determine who we think we are and what we think we want to be. this includes who we want to be with.

after that first epic two year “relationship” with my middle school boyfriend, i dated the:

  • boy next door redhead lifeguard who was my friend’s older brother’s friend and promised to make me the princess of the camaro he planned to buy one day
  • overly jealous sweetheart soccer player who punched sidewalks when he saw me talking to other boys and spent his drivers ed savings to buy me a white gold necklace with my birthstone
  • class clown token black guy in our upper-class mainly white suburban school who made me laugh and gave me sock ‘em boppers and an easy bake oven for my 16th birthday
  • baseball and basketball player who relied on his wit to woo me and let me illegally drive his brand new ford explorer
  • somewhat shy, silly, intelligent state champion swimmer who quickly became what i now deem as my first love

(note to all those who just got summarized in a sentence: you are worth way more words but this post is already pushing 1,500 so i had to simplify.)

none of them were like the others. they were and still are completely different types of people. in looks, in personalities, in upbringings. and it was these extreme differences that whittled away at my wood block enough to show some semblance of a shape.

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and then, you go to college.

by this point, my heart had thoroughly been shattered by that final two year high school relationship. i also had a vision of the kind of person i wanted to spend the rest of my life with. the blank slate was gone. i was searching for someone to fit into a mold. i made a list of the attributes i wanted. i watched “practical magic” and crafted my own man that i would will into existence. he didn’t need to have one blue eye and one brown eye, but there was definitely a clear definition of who i wanted this person to be.

you can’t always get what you want.

to be continued…

if you have a gun and enough time…

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i have an unintentional habit of laughing at everything. loud outbursts at inappropriate times. uncontrollable silent heaving with deep gasping inhales. awkward chuckles that make me shutter when i press replay in my head immediately after the incident.

some people find it entertaining. some people find it annoying. some people find it offensive. some people.

regardless of their internal reaction, the external response is always the same: sara, what’s so funny?

it’s all about context. or lack thereof.

we’ve all done it before. you walk into a party and see a group of your friends. as you walk up all you hear is susie say: so i took the horse to the dry cleaners.

what? you butt in.

warning: this blog is going downhill from here. it is almost 2am. i just watched the newest episode of dexter and of course, i can’t sleep. although dexter didn’t kill anyone this episode, so maybe i’ll fall asleep faster than usual.

but it’s true. we take things out of context pretty regularly.

we could be skimming the pages of a book and only catch part of a sentence.
we could be tuning into a radio station during the middle of a segment.
we could be picking up the phone receiver to make a call and realize someone else is already on the line.

or how about butt dials? those always leave you completely clueless about the situation on the other end of the call.

in my case, it is an almost purposeful dissolving of context. plucking the parts that make me smile out of the whole. placing periods where i see fit, even if the speaker continues a second later turning my assumed period into a comma or semicolon.

i’ve had this pointed out to me in conversation with friends and strangers recently. i’ve also noticed it in myself recently.

last week, i stayed at my friend’s friends’ house in the echo park neighborhood of los angeles. (and i have no clue how to apostrophe-ate that properly.) upon their coffee table was a book about surviving in the wilderness. not the kind you would bring with you in the wilderness to actually survive, but the kind that you would have on your ikea coffee table in los angeles.

i sat next to my friend on the couch as she mindlessly flipped through the pages. i didn’t want to read over her shoulder, but my eyes quickly scanned the page open closest to me. all i got was this:

if you have a gun and enough time…

there was definitely more to the sentence. there was definitely more to the page. but why would i want to read further after a thought like that?!

it was like one of those would you rather questions or college entrance short answer essay prompts.

if you had a gun and enough time…what would you do? what could you do? what should you do?

i’m sure if i had read on i would have found out what you could do. probably sit and wait and shoot some small game to roast over the fire the book taught you how to build in chapter two.

but where is the fun in that?

and so i build my own context. a choreography of words. subjectively choosing where to place other people’s punctuation to give myself the most entertainment. you might not mean to say what i hear, but i suppose it’s all contextual anyways.

give it a try. it will leave you inappropriately outbursting alongside me. and two outbursters are always better than one.

i’m hitting publish. i do apologize.

just let it go.

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i have always been the type of person who cannot accomplish anything in a messy space. in college, i would delay writing paper after paper by first doing my laundry, then sweeping my floors, and perhaps making my bed. i might even go so far as to do the dishes, and i loathe doing the dishes. it never felt like procrastination though. perhaps it was. perhaps it still is. but i just like writing in a clean space. i like to be distraction-less. allowing my eyes to find nothing array when they wander from the white rectangle of pixels illuminating my poorly lit bedroom.

for over a week, i let the rainbow tiled floor of my friend’s borrowed bedroom remain covered with my endless piles of clothes. when i set out to organize, i inevitably first take on the role of hurricane sara. scattering items over every inch of open floor space. then piles begin to form. then counting ensues. and then…

…it sits.

…it overwhelms.

…it loses priority…

…until it doesn’t.

i finally came back to my clothing purge. putting a number to all the bottoms in my wardrobe. all the leftovers. and now i have a mostly accurate calculation of the utter ridiculousness of my twenty-six years of overconsumption. here goes nothing:

sweaters: 37
cardigans: 7
long sleeve: 23
dressy long sleeve: 27
short sleeve: 21
nice t-shirts: 19
t-shirts: 58
tanktops: 26
workout tops: 19
hoodies: 18
total tops = 255

jeans: 15
shorts/capris: 11
pants: 12
dress pants: 4
work out pants: 13
work out shorts: 14
leggings: 4
pajama pants: 10
skirts: 21
total bottoms =104

dresses: 28
formal dresses: 6
total dresses = 34

underwear: 82
socks: 40
legwarmers: 6
bras: 24
sports bras: 7
swimsuits: 10
tights: 12
total extras = 181

total shoes = 42

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take a moment for the shock to die down.

yes. i could go 138 days (104 days with bottoms plus the 34 days of dresses) and never wear a duplicate article of clothing except underwear and socks. pretty impressively disgusting.

although i found some old gems. i found some hidden pieces of hideous. i found some memories. i found some nightmares. i found myself drifting back into the exact moments that i had acquired those items. it gave retail therapy a whole new meaning for me.

like that beautiful cobalt blue satin dress that i mentioned in my last blog post. i bought it in 2008 for a fancy valentine’s day dinner at a fancy restaurant in a fancy hotel. the one where i was definitely over dressed but did not care at all because i was so in love that no one else in the room mattered. (ex protected in this modified version of a prom photo.)

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it has been over five years, and i have never had an opportunity to wear that dress again. it hangs in its plastic dress bag and occasionally gets taken out and tried on.

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do you keep it? or do you let it go?

or how about the really awesome fleece zebra pajama pants that are the only piece of wearable clothing that i have ever made entirely by myself? freshman year of high school in fashion design class with mrs. kroll. 2001. those pants are 12 years old. they still keep me warm. they still stand out in a crowd. and hey, a high school senior i had a crush on told me they made my ass look good. so that’s important right?

do you keep them? or do you let them go?

or there is that one skirt that sat in the window of anthropology for a month. he told me i would love it, and when i saw it, i loved it. the price tag was way too rich for my blood at the time. but as luck may have it, a year later at an anthropology in california, there it was…on double clearance…with a very small dirt smudge (for which they discounted it even further). i bought it without a second thought. i think it was around $30. a year or two later and the tags are still on it.

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do you keep it? or do you let it go?

this purge has been an exercise in realizing who i am and what kind of clothes i actually wear, what kind of clothes i actually need. i am a self-employed creative that spends every free minute participating in some form of physical activity. what that means?

i do not usually stray far from sundresses, yoga pants, jeans, and v-neck tees.

so why do i have six formal dresses and four pairs of dress pants and ten pairs of heels?

i am learning to answer that question.

they tell you to “dress the part” (or some other cliche variation of this phrase) when you are younger.

i spent preschool through eighth grade with about fifteen people in my class at any given time. the dress code was two pages long. don’t wear strongly scented lotions or perfumes. no “swishy” pants. t-shirts must be tucked in. every monday is dress-up day. no jeans unless it is jeans day. no nail polish. no make up. blah blah blah.

it was the nineties. fashion was not really something that penetrated our fifty acre wooded campus. we wore sweater vests that were pre-sewn to the collared white shirts below them. we wore shiny, synthetic dresses with thick, wool tights to escape a dress code violation. inevitably, i always got a dress code violation. it’s hard to remember and adhere to two pages of rules while staring into your closet at 6am.

and then i started high school in a white upper class suburb of chicago. i quickly learned to “dress the part.” i sucked up my friends’ secondhand name brands without giving them a chance to even consider giving it away or worse, throwing it away. tags like bebe, bcbg, abercrombie, and urban outfitters started appearing in my closet.

they are still there.

and then i started college at a prestigious big ten university in michigan. i began acquiring “professional” clothes. button down shirts and pants with creases down the front and back. if i wanted to load up my resume with professional experience, i knew well enough what i had to do. so i bought the heels with the pointy toes that make your feet look abnormally long and mastered strutting into every interview like i knew what i was doing. just ask my first boss jon. i knew absolutely nothing about video production, but i got the job as production assistant freshman year. all because of those pointy toed fancy shoes.

those heels are in the giveaway pile.

and then i started my own business helping small businesses and nonprofits with their online marketing needs. i work from home mostly, or the laid back portland office of one of my clients. i never wear button down shirts or pants with creases. i never wear heels or really anything other than my chucks, rainbows, and moccasins.

maybe one day i will. and if that day comes, i know how to play dress up. but until then…

i should let them go.