Back in the Saddle Again

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming...

Howdy, folks!

I realize I committed the mortal sin among bloggers, and went on a spontaneous month hiatus -- which is exactly what I swore I wouldn't do. The good news is, due to my untimely departure, I have a bunch of unwritten blog topics that are just waiting for me to finally put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard).

But first, I wanted to give a quick update.

Since my last post, I have returned to Facebook. I made the decision that there is just too much communication and sharing of knowledge that takes place through the social media site. Not being a part of it leaves me in the Dark Age, so to speak.

Yet, every day I log in and scroll up to the "deactivate" button and wonder if I have the courage to finally click on it today. Alas, each day I can't bring myself to do it.

Since coming back to Facebook, I'm having the same feelings I had when I left: I enjoy being connected with friends I might not otherwise communicate with outside of Facebook, but at the same time, there is just too much damn information.

I really don't want to see another Instagram photo that's been enhanced with corny photo effects (I'll get into that in another blog post). And I swear seeing everyone's wedding photos, engagement shoots, and (gasp) new baby photos is giving me nightmares. There are so many things about Facebook that make me utterly unhappy.

But... I will admit that it was nice to log back in on Easter and finally be able to view the photos from the Hot Chocolate 15k run I did on March 24th. See, there we go, Facebook does have value.

I did the 15k run (that's a little over 9 miles for those who aren't stellar at math) with Ryan and Ryan's parents. Ryan's parents took several photos and proceeded to upload them to Facebook for Ryan and I to view.

Since I vowed Facebook abstinence through Easter, I was unable to see the photos from my first-ever running event. They were patiently waiting for me when I logged in again on Easter. For the whole 10 seconds it took to scroll through them, I had fun looking at them. I was able to relive the adrenaline and fun memory. And then I had the feeling of, "okay -- now what?"

Naturally, the answer was I started facebook stalking everyone I know -- A very unhealthy waste of time.

But this post was not intended to be another Facebook bashing. Instead, I simply wanted to give a quick life update so I can come back later and fill in the gaps with more insightful blog postings about these events.

During the past month, I have:

1. Completed my first-ever running event.
2. Started traning for my first-ever half marathon
3. Had our first house visitors
4. Attended my first In the Company of Women event, hosted by the YWCA
5. Participated in my first (but definitely not last) Color Run
6. ... Had to make painful efforts to erase all marks of that Color for work the next day
7. Attended a graduation ceremony for our ladies (talk about a cry fest)
8. Happily been visited by my parents and brother for the first time

Needless to say, it's been a month of firsts (just in case you didn't pick up on that trend from my list). Of course, that will be the topic of my next blog post: the importance of "firsts."

Till then, maybe I'll deactivate my facebook today. Hey, there's a first time for everything!

Well... okay, maybe I'll wait until tomorrow...

Just sayin...

http://avalanche.nhl.com/club/news.htm?id=622644&navid=DL|COL|home

The Paradox known as Facebook

The last couple of years I've given up Facebook for Lent. (Last year I also gave up alcohol simultaneously, and I can't say that I will ever be strong enough to do it again).


I have to say, Facebook is one of my biggest vices, so it's always an obvious choice when Lent rolls around. Plus, I spend entirely way to much time on it while I'm at work and know that's a terrible habit to get myself into. Therefore, I've used Lent to detox myself from Facebook.

For whatever reason, I'm finding it much harder to keep myself away from it this year. It could be that I decided I would challenge myself more this year and not take the easy way out -- this year I did not remove the Facebook icon from my home screen on my cell phone. So I always have the instinct to pick up my phone when I'm bored and press the Facebook app. Thankfully, I haven't done that, although I've caught myself just in the nick of time on a couple of occasions.

I don't really know why this year is more difficult than last year (maybe it's because the giving up alcohol part was much harder in comparison last year), but it is.

But now that I've gone through the hardest stages of withdrawal, I find that I'm asking myself, "Is it really worth it to get back onto Facebook ever again?"

Lent only lasts for 40 days, after all. So what happens on that 41st day? Am I going to fall right back into that trap of setting Facebook as my internet homepage and spending every down moment of down time reading through my mini feed?

Ew.

I hope not. There's so many better ways to spend time.

Therefore, I bring up the Facebook Debate -- and I beg for your input (Yes, you. You made the mistake of telling me in person that you read my blog. Now own up to it and post a comment or two to get discussion going, eh?)

On my one shoulder, I have my miniature angel telling me to stay far, far away. That angel reminds me that I've actually become a happier person since taking my hiatus from facebook. Why? Because I've stopped comparing myself to a bunch of people I haven't seen in years.


"Oh! Sarah is engaged?! Ah, crap! I always thought I would get married first!"
"Emily is pregnant? I'm not even married yet! But Sarah is..."
"What?! Ben is working at Twitter? What if I'm stuck making $12 an hour for the rest of my life?"
"Annie bought 3 new pigs on FarmVille? I only bought two!!!"



Okay, so that last example was an exaggeration, as I would rather give up alcohol and Facebook for the next 1,000 Lents than play FarmVille.



But my point remains, you can't help but compare yourself to other people when you're on Facebook.



Think about it. The majority of your time on Facebook is probably spent looking at friends' photos, right? And what are you thinking about the whole time.



"Wow, Sarah looks fantastic in those engagement photos. I wish I looked that good."
"Holy crap, Emily looks ginormous. I hope I never look that bloated when I'm pregnant."



It's a vicious train of thinking that leads to self-doubt and low self-esteem. So now that I'm well into my Facebook detox, I've found that my life is much lighter when I don't have that heavy burden of comparing myself to each and every person who pops up on my computer screen.

So here I am, three weeks away from completing my Lent goal, thinking that I may just choose to walk away from Facebook for good...

But...

On my other shoulder is my miniature devil. That devil's trying to convince me that a blow to my self-confidence is worth it in the long run. How else am I going to stay in touch with friends from high school and college who moved away? How else am I going to get the latest breaking news even before it appears on CNN?

Social media is the future, right? That's the bandwagon that Mark Zuckerberg is driving. Jump on board or you'll get left behind.

I'll admit, that's the only thing that's keeping me from "deactivating" my account. I really don't want to lose touch with my friends that I only communicate with through Facebook. There's important collections I know I would lose if I decided to leave. And at the same time, I have to ask myself, if we are really that great of friends, couldn't we just email each other? Or wouldn't we make time to talk to each other on the phone?

Now, it's your turn. What do you think? What keeps you signing on to Facebook daily? Or if you've deactivated your account and then come crawling back, how come? Or if, by some act of God (hey, it's Lent, it could happen?), how did you walk away from Facebook?

Did you choose your mini angel or mini devil?

Love, peace and... Anarchy.

Yep. That's basically the YWCA in a nutshell. And I love every second of it.

Tebowing is So Last Season

I've been an Avs fan since I was 7 years old -- since the Avs moved from Quebec to Colorado in 1995. And yes, this is relevant. Hockey brings me happiness. I have proof. 2004-2005 remains a dark year, as I had a whole bunch of pent up aggression that didn't have a healthy outlet. Namely, there was no NHL hockey season that year, so I was unable to scream, curse or throw objects at the TV. Since its return, Avalanche hockey is bliss, even if this is their first decent season in a long while.

And let me just say, if you aren't an Avs fan, you should be. Need proof?

With rumors that Peyton Manning may be coming to Denver this year, Tebow is out. Which also means that "Tebowing" is also out.

Let me suggest a new trend. Let's call it "Landeskoging."

Stay Thirsty My Friends

My weekend:

• Wrote copy about male-pattern baldness and erectile dysfunction.
• Did body work on my car.
• Played video games.
• Went on a 10-mile run.

I am...

The most interesting man in the world.

International Women's Day

Tomorrow is International Women's Day. Take a moment and ask yourself what is the next step in our pursuit to empower women and end violence against women. 

Eighty-five percent of domestic violence victims are women. And one in four women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime. Think about your wives, mothers, sisters, daughters, girlfriends -- and ask yourself what you would do to prevent them from becoming that one in four.

"Many from a younger generation feel that 'all the battles have been won for women' while many feminists from the 1970's know only too well the longevity and ingrained complexity of patriarchy. 


With more women in the boardroom, greater equality in legislative rights, and an increased critical mass of women's visibility as impressive role models in every aspect of life, one could think that women have gained true equality. 


The unfortunate fact is that women are still not paid equally to that of their male counterparts, women still are not present in equal numbers in business or politics, and globally women's education, health and the violence against them is worse than that of men."

- http://www.internationalwomensday.com/

Wellness

I'm finding this "posting everyday" thing is becoming incredibly hard. Not trying to make excuses, but I think it might be because my work schedule is all wacked out due to a 40-hour Domestic Violence training. For example, today I didn't come into work until 12:30 p.m. and I'm going to be here until 9 p.m. It's funky and weird, making life a little more exhausting.

Good news though, I've started copywriting again. When I first moved to San Diego back in August, I got hired on at a copywriting firm in La Jolla. It was an awesome gig and when I was offered the position at the YWCA, it took a lot of soul searching to decide if I wanted to leave the firm. After talking to my boss at the copywriting firm, we both agreed that I should stay on as a part-time writer, but I haven't gotten anything in terms of assignments since I started at the Y in October. That all changed last week, and I'm copywriting again!

Starting these assignments again and starting this blog has given me a renewed sense of energy -- and dare I say, I new form of happiness? But that is neither here nor there. And not the point of today's post.

Instead, today I wanted to talk about "wellness."

Last week at work we were in a "cultural competency" training, which is a fancy way of saying "treat everyone with respect, regardless of age, race, sexuality, etc." Anyway, one of the exercises we were asked to do was interview a complete stranger about their cultural heritage, and in return they were going to interview us back about our own cultural heritage. Okay, easy enough, I'm German and Swedish. In my mind I felt like I knew where the interview was going to head -- Cue me talking about Oktoberfest, IKEA and not knowing anything else about being Swedish.

And that's exactly where the interview was heading until the interviewer asked me this question: "How does your culture define wellness and being healthy?"

It seems like a straightforward answer, right? Everyone is told from a young age to exercise for 30 minutes a day, go get a check up once a year, and to avoid sugary foods. But as I started to think about my response, I thought back to all the days spent at my Oma and Opa's house (that's German for "Grandma" and "Grandpa," for all those non-bilingual people out there -- like me). I thought back New Years at The Denver Kickers Club and to all the get togethers with my aunts and cousins. And suddenly I felt like I had been hit by a bus.

****

Full disclosure, when I put up my first post, I didn't describe every reason why I had decided to start this blog, exactly. There was one that was a little too personal that I wasn't fully ready to write about yet. But my "interview" last week was a kick in the gut that told me it was time.

I found out recently that my mother's side of the family has a history of mental illness -- more specifically Major Depression. My Oma is one of seven children and I found out that several of her siblings had suffered from depression and, in turn, so had their children.

My Oma herself suffers from depression and anxiety. Anybody who has a family member who suffers from depression knows how draining it can be. It's a hard feeling to put a name too, but there's just an overall feeling of hopelessness. Feeling like you want to do something for the person, but knowing you can't until she realizes that she needs the help. My Oma has had warning signs of depression for years, but it was only after my Opa died 5 years ago that it showed it's full ugly face. The depression took a physical toll on her body. She's contracted pneumonia, broken a few bones, and lost more weight than I care to disclose. She suffers from panic attacks. She's become a shadow of who she used to be.

But for the sake of this happiness themed blog, I won't detail everything about her illness.

I will say that she has made a huge step since Christmas. She has finally agreed to get help and is slowly working with a doctor and working towards finding the right medications to bring back the Oma we all knew once upon a time. Talking to her on the phone, there's a noticable change. She's brighter and more cheery and I'm hoping that it's only a matter of time before my Oma, who was once so full of life, returns. I'm grateful that the medicine appears to be working.

Now, let me be clear, I'm not much of a fan of pill popping. As I believe that everyone goes through some hard times during their life, I don't think that medicating to a state of numbness is the immediate answer. You have to experience great sorrow to understand great joy. However, I do acknowledge that medication is sometimes a necessity -- that even in times of happiness, there's something off with the body and mind that no amount of will power can overcome. When there is nothing in the world you can do to fix the problem yourself, that's when I believe that medication becomes an option of treatment. I think more often than not, however, medication is used as a cop out -- a way to avoid dealing with feelings that may sometimes be painful.

What's this have to do with that cultural competency interview? What's it got to do with that question: "How does your culture define wellness and being healthy?"

What I realized in my 10-second search to answer that question is my family focuses more on mental health as a state of wellness, than on physical health. As I thought back to all my time spent at my Oma and Opas house, I don't recall there ever once being a discussion of what me and my brother needed to eat to be healthy (other than Opa's firm belief that one really spicy pepper a day kept the doctor away). I don't remember them telling me to continue to play soccer because daily exercise kept me healthy.

What I remember during my conversations at Oma and Opa's, as well as my conversations with my Tantes and cousins, were discussions about happiness and extreme sadness. I remember the conversations about distant family members who had died and how the rest of the family was dealing with it. I remember conversations about relationships and whether they were healthy and happy... or not.

For my family, health and wellness is not the physical state of the body. It's the state of the mind. More than that, it's the constant assumption that we need to be happy in order for our minds to be healthy.

My Oma, with her clinical depression, is not well. She is not healthy.

Let me go back to what I was saying before about my intensions in starting this blog. It was true that I'm searching for those things in my life that make me truly happy -- and it was true that I'm searching for the ultimate happiness. But I'm also searching for those things in my life that don't leave me feeling depressed.

Full disclosure: there's been a couple of times in my life that I think I suffered from depression. And that scares the hell out of me. So much so, that I don't know if I've even shared some of this information with my family.

The first time was when I returned from studying abroad (I wish I could link to my study abroad blog here, but blog.com has told me that it's been deleted -- those a-holes).

During my junior year of college, I studied abroad for 5 months in Florence. Italy was beautiful and everything I ever imagined. As an art history major, I was in awe of my ability to stand 2 feet away from a Michelangelo, Dontaello, Leonardo, Raphael (and all those other Ninja Turtles). But at the same time, I can't say that I was completely happy in Italy. Here I was having this incredible experience and I couldn't enjoy it. I convinced myself my unhappiness was homesickness. So when I returned back to the U.S. and college at Santa Clara University, I thought things would return to normal, and I would be the bubbly person I always had been.

We were warned that we would experience a certain degree of culture shock when we came back from abroad, but I don't think what I was experiencing was culture shock.

There were nights that I broke down into tears, without knowing why. I didn't want to do anything and didn't want to leave my room. I couldn't sleep. When I did go out and spent time with friends, I felt like I was putting on a mask the whole time, like I was plastering a fake smile across my face, but wondering the whole time if they could see it didn't reach my eyes.

There was something wrong with me, I knew it.

I thank The Santa Clara newspaper for pulling me out of whatever it was that I was experiencing. When I took on my role as the News Editor for the campus paper, I was thrown into a heap of work that kept my whole mind preoccupied. More than that, I found myself suddenly surrounded by a great group of people who became my closest friends. We depended upon one another. We were a team and I knew I had a purpose on that team. I felt wanted.

Until recently, I was back to normal, only experiencing the ups and downs that are a part of life. In Phoenix, despite our year of headache, I handled things with as much grace as could be expected. All the while, I counted down the days until August 5, the day I could get out of there and start over again.

Cue the move to San Diego.

If you haven't heard, San Diego is pretty much heaven on earth. It's a beautiful city with a ton of fun things to do. Not to mention the weather is fantastic and the beach is always 10 minutes away from you at any given time. Compared to Phoenix, it's night and day.

Upon moving to San Diego, I had a week of honeymooning, where everything was new and exciting. I couldn't get enough of the city and wanted to go somewhere new every day.

Then that feeling I experienced returning from Florence surrounded me like a dark cloud. And it started raining.

I didn't get it. Here I was in this great city, with great people, and great things going for me.

But I wasn't happy. In fact, there were times that I felt like I was wearing that mask again. Smiling on the outside, but trying hard to hold on.

No, I'm not a basketcase. I know that.

No, I don't think the neurons in my brain are messed up, causing me to experience sadness in times of great happiness.

Yet, a part of me is worried that this might be hereditary, that my Oma, aunts and cousins have somehow doomed me.

But I refuse to believe that. That's another reason why I'm writing this blog. I know that I'm experiencing things that don't have an explanation. But while part of me feels like I'm doomed, another part feels like whatever is going on with me is just a part of life, something that I need to sort out. And somehow this blog is going to help me do that.

And so far, it has. I've noticed a change in myself during the last few weeks. If wellness really is a state of mind in my family -- then right now, I consider myself healthy.

Go with the Flow(chart)

Three things

"To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives.

Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. 
Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought.
And number three is you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy.

But think about it. If you laugh, you think and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

~Jim Valvano

Food Poisoning, Nothing Makes Me Happier

Remember how I said I had a bout of inspiration at the job fair?

Well, I also had a bout of stupidity.

Thursday night Ryan and I had gone to Subway to take advantage of FebruARY at Subway. I got a foot-long tuna sandwich. Thursday night, I only ate half of it and kept the rest of it for lunch on Friday. Brilliant, right? Saving myself from spending more money on buying lunch.

Only problem was that I kind of forgot about the whole fact that my 6-inch tuna sub was going to be sitting in the sun for three hours while I was in the career fair.

And yet... I still ate it. And despite having a case of mild heartburn earlier in the day, I was feeling bold enough to eat hot wings for dinner Friday night.

Enter: bout of stupidity.

And one full night of miserable food poisoning hell.

After a weekend where I sounded more like a dinosaur in pain than a human being, it's hard to find something to be happy about.

But, I have to say this weekend made me truly thankful to have Ryan in my life. He put up with my crying, moaning, more crying, and the velociraptor mating sounds that came out of my mouth during each session in the bathroom. He even walked out on a Team America movie session to take me home -- which proves his love right there. He fed me, tucked me in, wiped away my tears, rubbed my back, pulled over on the side of the road, fixed my shoes, brought me medicine, and made me feel beautiful even when I looked and felt like a hot mess.

For that, I am truly thankful -- for nobody makes me happier.

Hunchback of San Diego

Pretend this post is from Friday.

Now wait, I take that back. This IS Friday, you're just pretending that it's not.

Good, now that we've gotten that cleared up.

Friday:

I finally got my career counselor butt in gear and visited my first career fair in San Diego. I call it a bout of inspiration and a renewed passion in my job, but after after my blog from tomorrow, you'll probably call it a bout of stupidity. But that's a whole other story...

Anyways, I left home bright and early and made my way out to Poway for the Congressman's Job and Resource Fair. (Note: I never saw a Congressman and this Congressman-hosted Congressman event. Congressman.) Despite not needing a job, I was dressed to impress, as the flyer suggested I should be. For anybody who knows me, they know I'm not a skirt or heels kind of gal. And yet, I was wearing both. And, I was wearing panty hose. Like I said, dressed to impress.

There wasn't much traffic on the way there and it was a pretty peaceful drive.

So I wasn't prepared for what I saw pulling into the parking lot. Cars. And lots of them. Okay, yes smartass, I was prepared to see cars in the parking lot. But I was not prepared to see how many cars there were in the parking lot. Cars along the street. Cars parking in the red zone.

Then my eyes drifted to the line that had congregated out front. I felt like I was jumping into the line for Space Mountain. In heels. I couldn't believe just how many people were there for this job fair. Thousands, easily.

In the end, the line went faster than I expected and I was able to get in the doors.

So I walked up to table after table. Of course, the conversation always started the same way, "Hi! What's your name? What kind of job are you looking for?" (Imagine someone saying that in an incredibly fake, I'll-never-talk-to-you-again kind of voice.)

I can't imagine being a person there looking for a job when none of those hiring managers could pick you out of a police line-up in an hour.

But when I introduced myself -- told them that I was not there to find a job -- and described what I do and what the YWCA does, the glazed-over expression faded from their eyes. I was able to have some good conversations with some companies who sounded like they wanted to help the residents at the YWCA. Many of them told me to give them a call when one of YWCA clients applied to a job with their company.

In the end, I was able to make what I hope are some really great connections with hiring managers at Home Depot, Lowes, SeaWorld, the Zoo, and Hilton. But only time will tell.

While this alone was a rewarding feeling (I hope, if it all comes out to play), there was one feeling I felt above all else: grateful.

Grateful I had a job. Grateful I wasn't there among the throngs of people, desperate for any kind of employment. Grateful I wasn't just a number.

Anyways, it was a successful outing and I left the fair feeling complete.

Almost.

Everybody knows those awesome kitchy giveaways at job fairs. The keychains. The pens. The multi-colored highlighters. Well, as I was in the parking lot, making my long trek back to my car, I remembered the kitchy handout I really wanted from the job fair. A bag clip. Yep, the one thing I could not bear to leave without was a bag clip -- a plastic contraption that keeps your Doritos crunchy and delicious. Talk about greed.

I made a 180 and walked straight back into the fair, making a bee-line for the table with the chip clips. I nabbed one off the table and ducked my head, doing one last round to pick up the swag before heading home.

As I had made up my mind that I was too greedy for my own good and should get the hell out of here, I was startled by someone grabbing my arm.

It was an older woman who was standing in line to talk to someone at a booth. She had grabbed my shoulder.

She looked at me and said, "Oh, honey. You need to have more confidence than that. Stand up straighter and put your shoulders back. I saw you walking around earlier and I just knew. Look, you're never going to make an impression when you don't have the confidence in yourself."

She thought I was looking for a job. Of course she did, we were at a job fair. Wasn't everyone.

Should I tell her I didn't need a job? No, that seems like a bad idea. No. Just agree.


So I just smiled at her and said with as much graciousness as I could muster, "Thank you so much for the guidance."

And then I turned and walked away, trying to get to the door as soon as possible. But not before one last blast of humiliation. Another woman, who had obviously just heard the exchange between me and this other woman gave me a pitying look and said, "Oh yeah! And I like your glasses!!!"

And that's how I became the Hunchback of San Diego. In heels. And a skirt. And glasses.

But thank god I have a job.

How I Re-Met My Mother

It is safe to say as a twenty-something, I don't make much money. Add the fact that I work for a non-profit and live in San Diego -- it's safe to say that I'm piss poor.

One of the upsides of being poor is the absence of television. Last year as a Jesuit Volunteer (cough, Phoenix blog, cough), we didn't get many channels on our converter box, although we spent a considerable amount of time becoming addicted to trashy dramas like Without a Trace and Criminal Minds on Ion television. Positively entertaining.

This year, our pickings are even slimmer. Ryan and I attempted to hook up the television to the wall jack, but we managed to only pick-up channels in Espanol. 

Thank lord for streaming Netflix. Since moving to San Diego, Ryan and I have conquered Arrested Development and 30 Rock. Our latest obsession is How I Met Your Mother. I highly recommend it, if you have the means. Despite it being a clear rip-off of Friends, it's a clever show.

We've crushed 5 seasons of HIMYM and we're well into Season 6. Last night we watched an episode called "Last Words" that aired in January 2011.

For the most part, HIMYM is a light-hearted -- and rather raunchy -- comedy.

"Last Words" was the first episode that's touched on a dramatic topic. In the episode, the father of Marshall, one of the main characters, suddenly passes away from a heart attack. This alone makes for an emotional episode, but as part of the father's funeral, the family decides they want to all contribute to his eulogy by describing the last words their father shared with them individually.

Every family member has a profound, tear-jerking story. Marshall's father taught one of his grandkids how to ice skate. Marshall's father told his wife that he loved her and thought she was beautiful.

And poor Marshall is left with his dad's last words of, "Marshall, watch Crocodile Dundee 3" and a mysterious voicemail that Marshall is too nervous to listen to.

Without giving away the ending, I have to say that it was a touching episode that quite literally makes you think of the last words you exchanged with everyone you love.

As I sat there thinking of my parents, family and close friends, I was sad to realize that I couldn't remember my last words to any of them. It wasn't that my words were a disappointment -- instead, it was a disappointment that they didn't stand out, that I couldn't remember.

So... I realize that this is a Happiness Blog, so I can't sit here and cry over a sappy HIMYM episode. So I'll end it at this. At the end of the episode, it was too late in the night to call everyone I needed to. So my family (including my mother) woke up to "I love you" texts.

Yes, I realize that it's lame and more than a little cheesy. But, hey, life is really short. Let your loved ones know what you mean to them. Happiness is nothing without having anyone to share it with. And I'm incredibly thankful to have so many people who not only make me happy, but who share in my happiness.

And to you, dear Readers, I leave you with these last words, compliments of Marshall.

"I really, really, really love you guys. I'm going to go drop a deuce."

Happy Days

Blogs are a place to confess. So it seems only fitting that I should start this blog out with one. Alright, I confess -- this blog was meant to be my New Year's Resolution. Of course, like every other resolution made December 31, it never came to fruition. And, of course, like every other resolution, it nagged at me in the back of my mind. Here it is, February 22nd, and I'm finally launching my 2012 Self Betterment Campaign.


"Why now," you ask?


Good question, I'm glad you asked. When this blog didn't launch on January 1st, I did what any self-respecting Catholic would do. I waited until the start of Lent. That's right, Lent -- that glorious time of year when Christians decide we want to do just a little bit better -- but only for 40 days, before we return to our regularly scheduled programming of pigging out on chocolate, candy, soda, etc. Except, if everything goes according to plan and the world doesn't explode in December like the Mayans predict, this blog will be active long past those 40 days. One year is the target date -- with one post per day (unlike my Phoenix blog, which like everything else in the desert, died painfully).

In other words, February 22, 2013, I'm coming for you.

This blog also stands out from my other previous failed attempts because it has a definitive goal: I'm finding my own happiness. Hence the title of this blog and these handsome chaps below.

That's right, my goal this year is to discover the shortcut to happiness, even if that shortcut takes me all year to find. I'm making my own 366 "happy days."

I know what you're saying, "Britt, you're a pretty happy person. Why are you looking for happiness?"

Again, good question, I'm glad you asked.

I agree, I am a pretty happy person overall and believe I get joy out of life. However, more often than not, I find myself dwelling on the things that cause me pain, anger or frustration, instead of the aspects of my life that make me happy. I know this is the human tendency, but part of me wonders if there's a way to change that.

More than anything, I'm searching for the answer to that age-old question of "What Truly Makes Me Happy?" For me, that's finding some direction in this crazy thing called life.

As some of you might know, I work for the YWCA, which provides housing, counseling and job services to homeless families and women in San Diego. As the Career Counselor, I help our clients work on resumes, cover letters, interviews and their job search so they can reach the goal of ultimately becoming employed and self-sufficient so they can leave the shelter environment.

When a new client comes in for their first meeting with me, she is desperate. She doesn't care what job she finds. She wants a job, any job -- which is how our clients wind up working in the crappiest of crappy jobs. Reamed out a telemarketer lately? Yeah, our ladies are on the receiving end of your rants. Needless to say, these aren't jobs our ladies can keep for very long.

To get our ladies out of this "any job" mentality, one of the first questions I ask a new client is "What is it you really want to do because it makes you happy? What is your dream job?"

When they give me the "any job" response, I follow up with another question. "If you went to bed tonight and magically woke up tomorrow fully clothed and styled to walk into your dream job, what kind of business would you walk through the doors of?"

This is a question most of our ladies have never been asked before, and it takes them a moment to really consider what their dream job is. But usually they come up with something that is anything but "any job." One lady wants to be a baker, one lady wants to work with underprivileged teens as a mentor, one lady wants to work in a chemistry lab.

I'll be honest, the responses are profound.

The goal is for them to consider what jobs would make them want to get out of bed in the morning, or to get them to think of their ultimate career goal. That way, we can work on getting them a position that aims them in the right direction, even if it's only just a stepping stone towards their dream.

Yet, in the back of my mind, I know I'm a hypocrite. I ask my ladies this question, expecting them to pour out their life hopes and dreams. At the same time, I know I could not answer this question myself. What doors would I walk through? I have absolutely no idea.

I know there are things that bring me joy. I enjoy working at non-profits and helping people that have been written off by everyone else. I enjoy writing. I wouldn't be writing this blog if I didn't. In fact, I always saw myself becoming a reporter. But the thing is, I'm not sure that I want to be a reporter anymore. Journalism is a cut-throat industry, especially these days. That's just not me.

So here I am, asking myself the question. "What is it you really want to do because it makes you happy?"

Through my upcoming blog posts, I'm hoping to find the answer. Even if I can't, I'm hoping that I can at least reflect upon the aspects of my life that bring me happiness and job. Maybe I'll even find a new passion by trying out new activities. Maybe I'll find a new favorite food joint by stumbling into a restaurant.

Reader: I'm hoping you get something out of this blog too. Maybe it's reminding yourself that your job isn't all that bad, even when you come home complaining about that 2-hour staff meeting. Maybe it's recommending a new place to eat or a random/weird activity you heard about and are too freaked out to try yourself, so you recommend it to me to try first and review it. Maybe it's just enjoying the ramblings of a lost twenty-something year old.

The possibilities are really endless and I'm not really sure what kind of form this blog is going to take, but I'm hoping each day serves as a stepping stone of my own, guiding me towards the shortcut to happiness.