Not Your Average Gal

Copywriter. Content Creator. Constant Sassypants.

Soapbox

Where is Home?

By

“I’m flying back home to Michigan for Thanksgiving.”

I caught myself saying that when others asked about my Thanksgiving plans. It’s not entirely inaccurate.

The truth is, Michigan will always hold a deeply special place in my heart, but it’s not home anymore.

Florida is. It may have taken an entire year of adjusting, but 3.5 years later and everything about it feels like home. I’ve settled in.

While in Michigan this past week, I sat at a table, in the city I used to live in and shared so many fantastic memories. Here I was, surrounded by 4 of my close girlfriends catching up and, most importantly, leaning on them for support during what can only be described as the toughest time I’ve had during the whole of med school for the hubster. This last year of med school has taken a toll on the hubster, myself and without providing nitty, gritty details, has really tested us. It’s been rough. I needed my support system and I had it right in front of me.

And yet, my heart felt tugged between 2 places.

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I loved being able to see my close girlfriends face to face, but I’ve in a way, hit my stride while living in Florida. I’m happier and more confident in my career, my hobbies and resolve to fulfill my dreams. Moving 1500 miles gave me the nudge I needed to find my own path.

Going “back home” reminds me of how much things have stayed the same, but also have tremendously changed in my absence.

I flew back to Florida late last night while the hubster stayed in Michigan to shadow in the ER. As we made our final decent, I watched the dots of streetlights end once they hit the Atlantic Ocean. The humidity slapped me in the face as the automatic doors at the airport opened so I could go pick up my car. I hopped in my car with my preset stations and swore at a couple crazy Florida drivers who insist on driving like aholes.

I was home. For now.

Can home simultaneously be in 2 places?

Website Update: The Art of Following Your Instinct

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PARTY PEOPLE!

Oh, how I’ve missed you these couple weeks.

fortlauderdalebeach
Did you miss me? I took a pic in a giant chair after a 3-ish mile run.

 

Lots has happened behind the scenes and I thought I’d update you.

I successfully migrated my site to another host even though it included a few hiccups. I decided on a new website name and tagline. Additionally, I even had an awesome logo designed.

And then…

Then, I logged into my account to renew a domain that was about to expire. This account houses all of the domains I’ve bought over the years and this time, one of them caught my eye. I registered a certain website URL last year when I was hoping to rename this website. I didn’t think a lot of it at the time because I was just buying names I thought could be a fit for the potential rebrand…and then, then I forgot all about it.

This time though, I saw it and immediately kicked myself for not recognizing it more before the rebranding started a few weeks ago. It was just starting at me, tugging at my creative juices.

So, I contacted the awesome graphic designer who was working on finishing my logo to ask her opinion on the new name, as well as the kick-ass copywriter who came up with the original name I was going to go with when this rebranding started.

Both offered valuable, incredibly supportive insight – go with your gut.

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So I did what any overthinking, anxiety-driven chick does: I made a pros and cons list.

Then slept on it for a few nights.

Then I re-checked the pros and cons list.

Then I decided to listen to myself, take a leap of faith and go the fuck for it.

I hope you’ll enjoy it – I think you will.

—–

This will inevitably delay the relaunch a bit longer, but I don’t anticipate it taking much more time. My preference is to have everything finalized soon so I can share my preparations for my upcoming trip to Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong.

A Reminder for all Teachers

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As the school year begins, I thought it would be an appropriate time to ask teachers to put down that wine the kids drive you to drink and maybe read a bit about why you matter.

——————

To my powerful teachers:

I was a good student, if you remember. I realize it may not come across as such now due to the frivolous amount of swearing ’round these parts, but I was. (And sometimes the f-bomb needs to be dropped, okay?) I really enjoyed school. Sure there were crummy times during school, but overall, I look back with a quiet, soft smile that only nostalgia can bring and that I probably didn’t recognize during my school days.

You see, my home life was chaotic. You may not have known that, in fact, I may not have presented it as anything other than perfect. School was my solace; a place where I felt valued and that I was contributing something, even on days when it was only to my ever-expanding education.

I often joked that I lived at school, but there’s a shred of truth to that. I was home there.

Laughing in the hallways behind the theatre. Waking up way too early for student government meetings. Spending countless hours in the television studio editing videos. Cheering on friends as they won games, accolades or that hot date to the Sadie Hawkins dance. (Please note: that was not me. I got turned down. Please reference “crummy days” from above. That chap missed out on one awesome gal.)

I often talk to the hubster about how lucky I was to be surrounded by such a good group of friends during my school years. They are good nuggets. Most I’m still friends with to this very Facebook-driven day. I had a solid foundation of smart, funny, caring pals when, looking back, it probably would have been understandable to go down another path.

But school, and more importantly, teachers, shaped life-learning lessons and memories for me. They are the bridge to creating lasting effects on my mind and attitude.

I was the product of a tumultuous divorce, and with my dad living in a different state, home life often provided little reassurance I was doing something right. So my validation came from you. I also had little guidance since at home, it seemed I was a bit of an inconvenience at times. So my guidance also came from you.

You.

You were there.

Sometimes you provided advice I didn’t want to hear. For instance, when I didn’t get into my top choice university, I was devastated. And devastated in only the way a teenager could be. Read: dramatic. Word made it through the teachers’ lounge, I suppose, and some were pretty surprised about the rejection. You gave me a magnet that read, “Bloom where you are planted.” I was simultaneously pissed and touched (and hormonal?).

“How could she just tell me to get over it?! Aw. That’s so sweet of her.”

In fact, you volunteered to drive me up to Michigan State University when you heard I hadn’t been there and that’s where I’d be going to school. Your enthusiasm as an alum will never be forgotten as you bopped around campus with me just to share that the school, “Wasn’t so bad.” Psst…you were right.

On the day of my high school graduation, you stood with me in the bathroom of the Masonic Temple in Detroit and carefully and reassuringly went over the speech I was about to give to oh, around 3,000 people. I knew I would be okay because you knew it. And you know what? I was. I nailed that speech, people.

I worked my tail off to get scholarships and was granted quite a few when I graduated. Some scholarships mail you a check and others ask you to attend a ceremony where you’re showered with praise. Most ceremonies required your parents to be there and I was going to have to attend another one alone for whatever reason. But guess who went with me? You.

You may not have known the home you offered for me, but you did, and I’m forever grateful for the lessons you taught me in and outside the classroom. Your work means something. I haven’t forgotten. I could never forget.

You may think a relatively normal, well-put together student who has good grades doesn’t need your inspiration and guidance, but she might. She did, in fact. She did. And you provided that and so, so much more for her.

So, thank you.

Thank you: Ms. Gannon, Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Guith, Mr. Bodick, Mr. Bates, Mr. Thoenes, Mrs. Weil, Señora Tucker, Mr. Bancroft, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Moceri, Mr. Batroukh (Shah), Mrs. Gillan, Mrs. Schleicher, Dr. McCornack…and countless other teachers who provide priceless instruction in an often thankless job.

Don’t ever think for a moment that your job is forgettable. This gal in her thirties will haunt your dreams if you do. (See? I almost said ass instead of dreams and I respectfully held back. Willpower.)

Now get out there and mold some minds. After you finish that glass of wine, of course.

A forever grateful (and good looking) former student,
Caroline Peterson

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Outside high school. Circa 1999.

Literally and Figuratively Cleaning Out my Closet

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In general, I’m very good about not collecting and keeping too much shit. The hubster pokes fun at me because I have 3 rubbermaid bins in our storage closet of childhood memories that I’ve been moving around to each place I’ve lived since I was 22. My mother wanted nothing of mine at her home after I left, save for a few items I forgot, and my parents have been divorced since I was 10, so very few things of mine were at my dad’s house.

3 bins of memories.

That’s it.

He has his childhood memories still sitting at his parents house that I’m sure could fill more than 3 bins. “It’s mostly trophies and medals from baseball and golf. I wouldn’t want to make you feel bad.” Modest, that one.

I think 3 bins are pretty good. Truth is, I could probably go through those and toss most things.

But the thing nagging me the most recently was my actual clothes closet. Things weren’t organized, I was wearing the same shit to work each day because I couldn’t really be bothered finding that “cute” shirt and I’m just in a rut. I haven’t really, truly gone clothes shopping for a “new look” in years because honestly, I didn’t need to.

Like I’ve mentioned, if traveling has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t need a closet full of clothes to be happy.

Have I bought new things? Sure. But it’s things here and there. I could have kept some items I bought for our trip to Southeast Asia, but if we weren’t going anymore, why keep them? Return, return, return.

So this past weekend, I spent 2 hours organizing and cleaning out my closet.

I was disgusted.

gross

Even if I tend to go through and make donations every few months to the point our drawers and shelved are getting dull, I really must have been avoiding my closet the last year and apparently, as you’ll see, there was a reason. There was a pile of clothes I just tossed more clothes onto without thinking because I hadn’t worn them in years. One after the other after the other.

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I like to think I live a bit more simplistically. And, in general, I do. I don’t have nearly as many clothes as most of my friends and yet, still, I put together 2 bags of clothes and shoes to donate.

That’s obnoxious.

Side note: Can you donate bras? The ones I buy to keep these puppies up are expensive and it seems a pity to just throw them out.

Some things were winter-ish items I was holding onto that just seem silly to keep while in Florida. If we ever move above the Mason-Dixon line again (GOD NO. PLEASE NO.) I doubt they’ll even be fashionable still.

And you know me, super model fashionista. Werk it, girrrl.

The sad truth is, some things just didn’t fit anymore. I have no idea how my breasts can keep growing, but they do. The hubster high-fived me when I announced from the corners of my closet that my boobs have a mind of their own.

I was about 5 different cardigans deep when I began to notice a trend. I noticed that most items I was keeping were looser fitting, shells, tanks tops and blouses.  I bought some cardigans when we moved offices and it was suddenly freezing because of a new A/C system. My thought was that I wanted to remain fashionable without putting on my winter coat and scarf at my desk.

But I grew into those looser fitting cardigans and blouses. These clothes are covering me up. Both literally and figuratively. I’m not ashamed of my body, but these clothes were sort of telling me otherwise. It really made me quite sad.

I realize that wearing tight fitting clothes doesn’t necessarily mean you’re confident, but most everything I have is just…baggy.

So I did something that took strength bottled in the reserves of my mind.

I donated my favorite pair of giant, oversized, comfortable sweatpants. 

You know the ones I wear with my giant, oversized Spice Girls tshirt? (Which, duh, I’m not donating.) The ones that the hubster says he knows exactly how I’m feeling about myself when I wear? Translation: Not good. 

When did I stop wearing things that made me feel pretty or good about myself? What the hell is going on here?

I was tossing out bras and underwear when I came across a pair of thongs that made me blush. I used to wear these? It was a quick kick in the ass of how I’ve been feeling about myself. (Don’t worry, hubster, I kept the risqué thongs.)

I donated things that fit funny and things I felt “too” comfortable in. I’m not going to toss my cardigans because it’s still 7 degrees below my nipples being able to cut glass in my office, but at least I’m now aware of what my closet it saying.

Get it together, Caroline, and stop hiding. Be proud of yo’self. (Does your inner voice have sass? Mine does.)

I kept a pair of jeans that are a biiiiit too snug for me to squeeze into and will help serve as a reminder to get my ass in gear at the gym and dinner table. The rest? Tossed. It felt so good to be organized and get rid of the old and toss the things I maybe was holding onto for the wrong reasons.

I’ve certainly been working on getting into a healthier schedule with all of the recent setbacks. Donating those items I’d hope to wear again someday or allowed me to remain hidden was a good step in the right direction.

Do you discover similar things when you raid and clean your closet? Are you reminded of certain feelings or memories when you toss things in the donation bin?

You were Never in Control Anyway, Honey

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I don’t do helpless.

I don’t do can’t figure it out.

I don’t do out of my control.

So what are you to do when you’ve exhausted every avenue and the answer or decision is in someone else’s hands?

Drink.

You let it go. Rather, I let it go. I have to let go.

buddha

Worrying is like a rocking chair — it gives you something to do but it doesn’t get you anywhere.

I’m so frustrated that things are out of my control and that my needs or wishes are on hold until we know more. I hate not having even the slightest knowledge of what the next year will look like. I realize how vague I’m being; there’s a method to my madness as you’ll see below.

We’re all going through shit. All of us. Whether or not your perfect Pinterest party ass wants to admit it, we are all going through shit.

So insert your problem (however big or small) into the sentiments from above:

I’m so ________ that things are out of my control and that my ______ or ______ are on hold until _______. I hate not having even the slightest _______ of what _______ will look like.

Feel any better? You can insert problem x, y and z into most scenarios of life that we share even if the problems are vastly different.

You’re not alone. Gosh, it feels better knowing that. At least for me it does. Do you feel the same way? Perhaps it’s feeling less helpless. Perhaps it’s comforting to know there are battles we all trudge through.

One of my girlfriends sent me a very interesting article yesterday:  After a setback, time in the neutral zone can be therapeutic.

It really resonated with me. I just need to…be. I need to sit in this current whirlpool of setbacks and soak in the uncomfortable feelings associated with it. No, not wallow in it. But simply accept that this could possibly be long-term and float in the new feelings associated with letting go of trying to control the current.

I’m not going anywhere, both literally and figuratively. Current needs demand focusing on the present situation. (Current needs = taking care of myself.) What I had envisioned set up expectations for how things should could turn out.

Expectations are evil. I must accept the present and let go. 

What are some of your techniques after setbacks? 

 

 

Girlfriends are Incredibly Important

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My stepmom, a woman whom I admire deeply, once told me that having a solid group of supportive girlfriends was one of the keys to having fulfilling relationships in other facets of life. I fiercely fought the idea of being a stereotype — a girlfriend that dresses the same, looks the same and puts her hand on her hip the same as her friends when they pose for pictures.

I used to declare I was closer to my guy friends than some women. Somehow that would be cooler, right? That notion is still true in some aspects — but I hold my girlfriends closer to my heart in most instances now that we’ve aged.

That makes me sound like a Golden Girl.

I also live in Florida in a community made up of mostly retirees…

<blinks>

Moving on.

I am one of the only women in my circle of friends who doesn’t have children and/or a mortgage. I have different life goals. This certainly changed my relationships with many of my girlfriends. Some for better, some for worse. As I’ve said before, while the dynamics of a relationship may change with marriage, children and life obligations called adulting, I’ve see that it’s perfectly possible to maintain friendships throughout those ebbs and flows because of certain women I’m still close with. 

(Also throw in a 1500 mile move and you gain instant perspective on friendships. Wine was very handy during this transition. And tequila.)

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We recently had to cancel our trip to Southeast Asia.
Soon after, we got another punch in the nuts.
And right after that, there was another not-so-pretty setback.

3 life adjusting events in the course of 5-ish weeks. 

They are all things that add to the chapters of our lives and will make us stronger, or some other bullshit they tell you to make you feel better. It sucks. Right now, it currently sucks. There. I said it.

A majority of time I keep perspective. I’m grateful for where I’m at and am keenly aware things could be worse. I’m happily reading more to keep myself distracted. I’m catching up on my to-do list with an efficiency that must come from my part German heritage. I took 2 consecutive days off work and enjoyed a long weekend with the hubster that involved smiling and kissing and holding handing and all those other vomit-worthy things. Plus, I have so many freakin’ good ideas that I’m working to make happen with this site that I pee a little just thinking about it. Just a little. 

Thing is, I think I’m doing pretty darn good and then some slow walker on the way into work (OMGHOWCANYOUPHYSICALLYWALKTHATSLOW?) makes me miss an elevator and I about lose it over the 45 seconds I need to wait for another one.

The stress of recent events, it seems, is always at a slow simmer.

As the universe chucked some curveballs my way, I saw that even though I wasn’t wearing Lilly Pulitzer or carrying a Michael Kors purse (“On Wednesdays we wear pink.”), I had some close friends come out of the woodwork. Each one of their distinct personalities and life experiences adds something to my heart and reminded me that I have some pretty cool gal pals.

A card, a call, a text, a funny picture, an IM during the work day, a picture of their sweet kids, a great recipe for a skinny margarita (you bitches know me). I actually sent that one to myself.

It means so much to me. I must remind myself of that support during these times. Take some time today and tell a gal pal how much she means to you, even if it’s been awhile. Reach out to those who have always supported you and let them know how it’s shaped you today. Hell, share a glass of wine over FaceTime with your sister-in-law while you’re in Spain and fist bump your then 4 month old niece who has no idea what’s going on. 

What? I heard a friend of mine did that…

Girlfriends are incredibly important. So, thanks to those of you, especially recently. 

Thank you for being a friend.

 

 

 

(Traveled down the road and back again.)

(Your heart is true.)

(You’re a pal and a confidant…)

Shit. 

If I’m really a Golden Girl, I call dibs on being Sophia.

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