Birthday Time

I love birthdays.

I love my birthday; I love other people's birthdays; I love birthdays of institutions and events and small animals.  I enjoy reflecting over the past year and contemplating all of the things that have changed -- and all of the things that haven't.  My friends' birthdays lead me to write sappy letters and plan silly surprises.  My own birthday makes me want to introduce different friend groups to one another and makes me hope for a pony.

Every year, I take June 29th as a time to reflect on the phases of my life -- like a flip book of just birthday time.  I can close my eyes and see the time I sent back a slice of cake to the cook I had a crush on at Texas Roadhouse (and all the chaos that followed that choice). I imagine sitting in the kitchen floor with my late friend Christy eating raw cookie dough at 2am after a night of karaoke and lap dances.  I picture the photos (because I can't quite claim to remember) of dancing and tequila shots in Madrid.

My first birthday in San Diego was hard.  Paul Green was my only friend at the time, and I couldn't quite remember why I left the terrazas of Spain for law school (I still can't exactly). Paul got some of his friends together for me, and they rallied to give me a very sweet birthday dinner even though they barely knew me.  I'll always remember that fondly.

Having just moved to Anchorage 5 months ago, I feel so so blessed to see so many people come out for my birthday this year.  It was a fun mini-review of how lucky I've been to build this life in this weird place!  The little segments of my life came together -- puppies in tow -- to celebrate one more year of life.

Cheers :).

What You Make It

My very lovely friend Lara has been an example to me since the day I met her.  When I began law school, I was worried that everyone would be angry competitive sharks.  I had just left Madrid, and I was still reeling from my decision to leave the sun and wine soaked terraces for three years of darkness and tears. (yes.  I am a dramatic person.)

But then I met Lara.  Lara was a ray of sunshine.  She emanated freedom and comfort and faith in a world that was beautiful.  I soon learned that we came from similar backgrounds and had somehow come to similar worldviews.  I admired her strength and ability to be forthcoming and comfortable with ideas that I still found intimidating and awkward.

More than that, Lara wasn't worried that she had traded her free spirit for life behind a desk.  She seemed to understand that her life would still be whatever she chose for it to be.  Throughout law school, Lara continued to believe in the beauty of the life she chose. While she excelled academically and professionally, she never lost sight of who she was.  She found a way to travel and work and study and play while the rest of us complained about being trapped by our choices. When the grueling Bar Exam was over, Lara went to the other side of the world with her German boyfriend (whom she met backpacking in South America) and heard the good news of her passing from India. 

I worried for Lara sometimes.  The job market is brutal is California (as most places), and she was choosing to wander instead of getting a head start on finding permanent employment.  But, resilient as ever, Lara eventually found her way back to California, attacked the task of applying to jobs with a vengeance, and was soon gainfully employed.

Basically, Lara unintentionally proved to me over and over again that living in fear and doubt was a choice I'd made for myself -- not something that was happening to me.

I'm not done traveling and playing.  I'm not done with carefree nights in foreign countries or learning about new cultures or meeting strangers.  I'm not done with adventure and risks and experimentation. 

Right now, studying for the Bar Exam, it's easy to pity myself and reduce myself to the results of the Exam.  It's easy to imagine that the predictable future is the only possible vision for me.  I'm happy with the path I've chosen right now, but it's refreshing to remind myself that I can choose whatever life, whatever journey, I wake up and desire tomorrow.

I'm going to protect my own happiness, because it isn't anyone else's responsibility.  I have the life I want, and -- if I continue to be brave enough to follow my bliss -- I always will.

Thank you, Lara, for being a living lesson.  May you never lose your sense of strength, tranquility, and light.  I love you more than I can say, and my life is more beautiful for having you in it.

Updates

I haven't blogged in a while, which can only mean one thing: I have a full and real life here!  I've been beyond blessed in the people who have found me, and I feel so grateful I could burst.  As my new friend Angela says, "We found a family in the land of orphans."

These have been my chief activities in the last month:

• finding my party pants (I seem to have packed them away when I left California) 
• taking advantage of the warmth by playing outside and seeing a little bit more of Alaska
• freaking out about having to take the Bar yet again (despite all those promises I once made to myself that I'd "never have to do this again").

Along the way, a lot has happened.
Here are some highlights:

1) I've fallen madly in love with my bike.  I think I learned to ride a bike when I was 5 or 6... but I've never loved one until I met my little craigslist wonder.  Pete, who was my very first friend in Anchorage, has a curious fixation with bikes; one of the perks of meeting him was that it opened my eyes to what a significant part of life a bike can be.  It helps me make friends, gets me from A to B, gives me a sense of windy abandon, and allows me to get home safely and legally from bars.

2) My college roommate and favorite tiny soldier came to visit me from New Jersey.  We did a little wandering and observing of puffins, but spent a lot of time either talking or enjoying the comfortable silence.  It was a nice reminder that while I often gravitate toward noisy dressy nights out, quiet cozy nights are rare -- and ones to cherish.  When I was 20 and lived in the ghetto with Alaina, a night in giggling and watching Sex & and the City was one that couldn't be topped.  Turns out, that's still true.

3) I've spent an outrageous amount of money at REI.  Before the annual REI sale, I had never realized that I've never actually owned (or carried, or pitched) my own tent.  These are tasks (among countless others) I've always depended on someone else to do for me.  One of the innumerable reasons I love moving so often is the opportunity to start fresh without the luxury of using people or familiar circumstances as a crutch.   I like object lessons, so maybe successfully backpacking while carrying my own weight (haha!) encourages me to believe that I can be less dependent on people in life and love as well as in camping.

I fall in love with Alaska more and more every single day.  I feel completely myself here, even (or maybe especially) stripped of the trappings of my easy California life.  I'm frustrated and challenged and inspired and enthralled.  And you know what?  That bitch from REI was right: I'm absolutely awed.