CHARLIE

As all good things go, it started at a Saturday PetSmart adoption event.

There was every type of pet – dogs, puppies, cats, bunnies, birds (probably), etc. We weren’t there for felines or rodents or flying rodents. Honestly, we weren’t there for any of them. My parents were just trying to quiet the tireless begging to go look at puppies. 

My family had been without one for months. And when you’ve once known the unconditional love of a pet, months feel like years. That’s how it is when your heart was made with a dog in mind.  

My sisters and I had recently discovered PetFinder, an online site that curates adoptable pets. We spent hours clicking on one dog followed by another. One day, we came across a litter of Australian Shepard puppies and it seemed our persistence had finally paid off.

While we were busy bonding with what we hoped would become our new family member, my mom walked away. It wasn’t long until she headed back to us cradling a scrawny black and brown pup with a major dandruff problem and a I’m-not-here-to-impress-anybody attitude.

As quickly as he lost interest in us and started gobbling the free kibble on the floor, we fell in love with him. And when my dad said, “he is kind of cute,” we knew our hearts would never be empty again.

At least for a very long time.

———

When you grow up with a dog, you go through so much together. Thirteen and a half years is what we got. Of that time, Charlie is in every memory – if not the center, he’s in the background offering a sweet lick or a loyal tail wag.

There wasn’t a sweeter face.

Even people who never met Charlie fell in love with his comforting brown eyes and gentle face. Countless times someone would stop us at the park to ask his breed… he was more coveted than any doodle I’ve ever met and so much better: He was one of a kind.

There wasn’t a freer spirit.  

Greg and I often took Blue and Charlie on hiking trails around Smithville Lake. Blue was trained to be off-leash, but Charlie wasn’t. Yet, there was no way we could hold back his wild side. Chuck chased squirrels; ran through mud puddles, always coming out wearing boots; and sprinted faster than I’d ever seen. His smile was plastered to his face just as the burrs were to his body. And they were stuck. I’m pretty sure he had one on his upper lip until the very end.

There wasn’t a worse running buddy.

Charlie was known for bailing on runs about half a mile in. He’d max out his leash, find a neighbor’s front lawn with a shade tree and lie down. He wouldn’t budge. It always ended with calling my mom to come pick him up and my sisters and I would continue for a few more miles.

There wasn’t a better dog.

It was almost as though he were human. We often made jokes he was my grandpa, whom we lost about 6 weeks before Charlie found us, reincarnated. (Which only makes the disdain for long-distance running all the more clear.) Even as a puppy, Charlie had an old soul – like he’d already lived a life and knew his purpose, which was to make our family complete.

There wasn’t a harder goodbye.

I’ll never forget the heartbreak I felt when we got Blue. The transition Charlie made from my dog to my parent’s dog made my heart heavy. It felt like such a deep betrayal – one I wasn’t ready to make but people forced upon me “for clarity’s sake.” Well that feeling had nothing on my final goodbye in July.

———

Today marks 14 years to the day we first met Charlie boy. 14 years since we welcomed him home and he cuddled his way into our hearts.

The night I said farewell, I said I didn’t understand why anyone would own a dog. In that moment, the 13.5 years of companionship didn’t hold a candle to the all-consuming grief. But with a little time to heal and reflect, it hit me. I had experienced that pain once before.  

14 years ago. Longing for a dog.  

And now, I get it.

The only thing worse than having loved a dog and lost him is to have not had one to love at all.

The Slow Burn

I used to think creativity came naturally. Something that feels this organic to who I am clearly just happened. Therefore, it didn’t need care.

How naïve was I?

I used to think I could access that part of me at any time. That no matter what I did, it would always be there.

How selfish was I?

I honestly thought as long as my mind could function and my fingers could type, I’d have a story to share and a narrative to write.

How silly of me.

That’s not how creativity works. It requires space. It requires thought. It requires a certain responsibility. You must feed the rumblings when they’re begging to be fed.  

I haven’t done that. No, not recently.

--

This realization came to me through watching others do everything I have not. Others who took time to nurture their souls and make time for their craft.  

I’ve been listening to music I feel in my bones. Music that feels tangible, like I could hike through it and come out the other side.

I’ve been looking at gorgeous photographs that stir something within. They make me crazy with words I can’t seem to grasp ahold of.

I’ve found it in sentences that paint a picture of complexity very simply. Sentences so rhythmic they could stand alone as poems. They speak to me. But it seems I’m struggling to speak the same way.

There’s a lot of deep reflection in seeing others do. There’s pride in knowing people who tend to what fulfills them. In watching them create space in the world to experience it fiercely and report back.

There’s also a sadness. I’m not doing that. What used to burn bright is just dark gray ash. It feels as though my voice is a thumb tirelessly rolling on a flint wheel. Never giving way to flame.  

And yet, it’s my fault. I didn’t leave margin for inspiration. I didn’t make time to contemplate. Instead, I sat still. I let my day-to-day work override the beauty of my experiences. I let it suffocate the light.

And that, I’m not okay with.

This year, I will allow myself to exist in whatever capacity fills my heart. It will change – everything does. But for now, I will purposefully leave room for passion. For this passion and any other. And I know it will all come back to me.

For it’s a slow burn waiting to roar.

Spread the Word

I’ve been around words my entire life – we all have. Starting as kids, we pick them up from our parents and those around us. As we get older, we add to our vocabularies from books we read and people we meet.

There are only two ways to discover new words – either hear them spoken or read them written.

But when you are a writer, there’s an expectation you know every word. Like we have some sort of magical power that populates our brains with the entirety of the dictionary.

First of all, I WISH.

Second of all, the pressure is real. It’s very, very real.

So you can imagine the stress that ensued when Greg threw out “copacetic” a few weeks ago and I paused.

I. Did. Not. Know. It.

I. Have. No. Poker. Face.

Within seconds Greg smiled slyly and turned into a monster.

He clearly had to be smarter to know that word. I obviously wasn’t a better writer. I needed to reassess every time I ever corrected his grammar. There was a new sheriff in town.    

But here’s the thing: I CANNOT KNOW WORDS I’VE NEVER READ OR HEARD.

So if you, Greg, truly knew this word so well all this time, why didn’t you use it? Why didn’t you introduce me to it in the 5 years we’ve been together?

I hadn’t once seen it in a text message or heard him say it in conversation.

But since then, I sure have. Matter of fact, for the 48 hours following this groundbreaking discovery, Greg used copacetic every chance he could.

— -

“How was your day?” “Copacetic.”

Accidentally bumped into him in the kitchen: “Oh sorry.” “It’s all copacetic.”

“Hey, did you need something?” “Nah, it’s copacetic.”

— -

Here’s the thing – the very big thing everyone seems to overlook. Not knowing a word isn’t on the person who doesn’t know it, it’s on everyone else.

Everyone who knew it and didn’t use it. They all let you down.

This time, they let me down – and if you ask me, that’s not copacetic.

---

ADDENDUM

After sharing this blog with Greg and getting the best feedback I’ve ever gotten from him on a blog, including “I found it very challenging to not laugh out loud,” he had a minor confession.

He heard copacetic for the first time last month when a contractor on his job used it. After which, he made a plan to say it around me to either impress me (assuming I knew the word) or to drive me crazy by knowing a word I didn’t know.

Based on the above, you know which way it went.

Special shoutout to my newest reader, contractor David. Thanks for 1. teaching my husband new things and 2. giving my blog a read. You can stop conspiring with him now.

THIS IS MARRIAGE.

We made it a year!

And people say the first year of marriage is the hardest — or at least someone somewhere told me that (or something close to that) once. The thing is, we wouldn’t know because this is all we know.

But being that we have made it one FULL year, it feels like maybe we just might be experts on holy matrimony.

And with that, it’d be selfish to keep all the knowledge we’ve learned to ourselves. The VPs are nothing if not giving.

---

MARRIAGE IS A PROMISE.

The sooner you realize the “I do’s” are a commitment and not a contract, the better off you are. Did I vow to watch playoff hockey? Yes. Did I watch any playoff hockey? NOPE. Does Greg love me any less? Probably. But if he wanted me to follow through, the St. Louis Blues should’ve tried harder.

MARRIAGE MAKES YOU BETTER.

Your spouse is constantly trying to make you the best you and it’s easiest to think of everything through that lens. So when he sweetly does all BUT one of the dishes after you cook, it’s only because he knows you love getting a few extra pseudo-steps on your watch by scrubbing a dish right before bed. He's sweet like that. 

MARRIAGE CAN BE BUILT ON LIES.

Confessing to your parents that you and your wife ate edibles is never not a bad idea… especially when the reason you told them is because the high kicked in and made you paranoid they’d be suspicious of you sitting in the car with sunglasses on at dusk. They aren’t. And you shouldn’t. And your wife might be upset that she was thrown under the bus with you.

MARRIAGE MEANS SHARING.

Marriage and engagement and living together all feel the same. The only difference is that you now share a last name, which is difficult to get used to. But don’t say that over and over again to your husband who has happily had that name his whole life and feels an attachment to it. And do not, under any circumstance, say, “TWO LAST NAMES IS TOO MANY. CAN I JUST BE AMY VAN?” They don’t like that kind of thing, apparently.

MARRIAGE IS A LOT LIKE TAKING A PADDLE TO THE FACE.

Two days after we vowed to support and love one another, we went ahead and took the metaphorical “for better or worse” and made it literal. As we were bouncing along class 45 rapids while white water rafting, Greg flew into the air and lost control of his paddle… which made direct contact with my jaw. HARD. And that’s pretty much what marriage is: A paddle to the mother-puppin’ face and a death stare the whole river felt.   

---

But here’s the real thing we learned: Nothing and nobody can prepare you for marriage.

It brings out the best in you — ­and the worst.

It feels magnificent some days and insignificant the next.

It makes you dependent and also long for nights alone.

It’s confusing and all-consuming.

And it’s the best decision we’ve ever made.

Goodbye to My Best Year

I’ve always known 2017 was going to be my year.* It sounds weird, maybe even a bit conceited. I can’t be certain when it started, but I just know in the years leading up to it, I had this feeling deep down.

So much so, when Greg proposed in 2016, I remember thinking how perfect it was — that I got to get married in the year that was already going to be my best.

On top of that feeling, 2017 just fell at the perfect time in my life. 25, turning 26. Engaged, getting married. Runner, falling more in love with running every day.

2017 was the year that all my passions and loves in life collided. I didn’t choose one over another. I didn’t have to. I did all the things I wanted to do and so much more.

I challenged myself.

I spent more quality time with the ones I love.  

I found my voice and stopped laughing at the things that make me uncomfortable.

I read a lot. I listened to podcasts.

I was more inspired than I’ve ever been.

I ideated and stretched my creativity.

I wrote. A lot.

I ran more miles, which meant finding a new appreciation for what my body can do.

I made meaningful connections.

I explored new places, both through travel and within my soul.

I became a “we” with someone who makes every day wonderful.

And we bought a house — putting down roots in the place that has always been home.

And as hard as it is to say goodbye to the best year I’ve ever had, I know these things won’t go away. They’ll manifest in the years to come.  

There will be more miles run. More passions found. More challenges to take on.   

Life is only going to get better. I've circled the sun 26 times. I know this now.

So see you later, 2017. Thanks for the sweetest memories. I’ve bookmarked each and every one to relive in the years to come.

And to 2018, let’s see what you’ve got.

*I can't look back on 2017 without thinking about all the really shitty things that happened. By all regards, it was a rough year. But it was beautiful, too. And in this blog, I decided to find the positive, and I realize how fortunate I am to have the reflection I do.