Homecoming

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know that I struggle with who I am and what I am even doing. I don’t think I am special, I believe that most people struggle with this concept, but some days it looms overhead more than others. Lately, it has been a constant.

I always pictured myself moving out of my hometown. I imagined that it would be for college and I assumed I would always move back. I did end up moving, but it was not for school, it was for fun, and it was the greatest experience I have had in my life thus far. I’ve been back in my hometown now for about four months and it has been my greatest challenge now, to date.

Moving home has created a lot of tension and conflict within myself that hadn’t existed before. I came home to my family and Chase’s family and friends I used to spend all of my time with. I should be treating it as a blessing and I should be grateful to surrounded by these people that love me, but for some reason it all seems like an obligation. Part of it that isn’t helping is that we have moved in with my in-laws. I went from living alone in a studio with husband to living with my in-laws. I love them and they love having us with them, but living with a family that you didn’t grow up with as your own is strange. Every family is different.

I’ll start with breaking down the family side of things. I’ve been moved out and away from my family for over seven years, college included. I’ve always been close to my family, we talk often, we have dinner together when we can, holidays were always a relaxed, no pressure experience where we just enjoyed each others company. My dad is a big fan of not doing anything he doesn’t want to do, which makes him both admirable and an asshole. His refusal to participate in certain family holiday traditions with other members of the extended family has created an easy out for the rest of us to just enjoy our family and encourage our other family members to enjoy their own families, as well. Of course we still celebrate thanksgiving together and Christmas Eve, but we put less pressure on who will be where for what occasion. This laid back approach to the holidays has served me well as a single woman, but now I’m back just in time for holidays with my husband who has a big family that DOES put a lot o pressure on the holidays. I’m already freaking out about how to split our time between our very close families for the holidays and it was so nice not having to worry about it when we lived 2,000 miles away.

Holidays aside, I feel the pressure to spend more time with both families. I find myself occasionally sitting at my sister-in-laws or at my in-laws dinner table doing nothing. We all just sit for the sake of being together while paying attention to our phones or playing games, just to spend the time with each other. Which sounds nice if we didn’t see each other often, but we see each other ALL OF THE TIME. We have cousins and friends and family members that want to see us often and I’m not used to it. I am grateful to have family and friends around me that love me and want to spend time with me, I just need to learn what a healthy balance looks like for me. I feel like I’ve been agreeable and doing so much for so many other people that I don’t know what I do for me anymore. Today is my first day off and alone to do whatever I want without doing for anyone else. It has been at least six months since I have had time for myself like this.

I feel less pressure from my friends, but it is still there. I feel a responsibility to say yes to all of the things they ask me to do, because I moved and I haven’t seen them for five years. They’ve spent the last five years, changing their careers, having kids, getting married, getting divorced, etc., and I haven’t been present for any of it. It’s been a challenge reconnecting with them knowing they’ve gone through so much and changed in ways that I haven’t grown or changed. My best friend has a three year old that comes to everything with her (obviously because he is her kid and she’s a mother now) and I am not used to her as a mother and I am NOT used to hanging out with kids that aren’t my cousins. It’s WEIRD.

Anyways, I’ve lost myself to the idea that I need to please everyone else. I feel like I owe them my time because I have been away, which is stupid because literally no one has said that to me and I am NOT that important. But, I definitely need to learn what it means to say no and stay respectful to those around me. I really got used to living by myself, without responsibility to old friends or my family and having nothing but downtown for myself, I didn’t realize how much I loved and needed it. I just want to make my own dinner and sit on my own couch and watch whatever I want to watch without having to sit at a table for hours surrounded by family forcing conversation with me.

Has anyone else ever moved home after spending a considerable amount of time on their own? How do you deal with the adjustment?

 

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Chicago

I’ve been trying for weeks to put into words how my time is Chicago has shaped me, but nothing is translating in the way that I want it to. I’ve written so many versions and each version is more pretentious than the last. It feels like I am trying to shove this idea of a big beautiful city and a hundred positive experiences down your throat and I can’t figure out how to do less.

The truth is, I loved the Chicago. More than I realized. I knew that it was special to me while I lived there, but didn’t understand how much I would miss it once I was gone. Chicago is a big city, we lived there for two years and barely saw half of what it had to offer, and it isn’t because we weren’t trying. We lived in an incredible neighborhood, right on the edge of “boystown,” in Lakeview East. We were a 5 minute walk away from Lake Michigan, Wrigley Field, a farmer’s market that popped up on Saturdays, we were near bars, and grocery stores, and books stores, and clubs, and restaurants, it was perfect. We couldn’t have wandered into a better neighborhood to rent a studio apartment in.

I felt safe everywhere I went. Chicago has a lot of crime, but unfortunately it is in a very centralized location and it was a 40 minute drive away from where we lived. We lived in what was affectionately known as the “gayborhood,” and the energy there was incredible. There was not only a heavy LGBT presence, but families, and children, and different races and religions, students, young married couples, unmarried couples, older couples, and people you could tell were living in that neighborhood before it was the hip thing to do. People from all walks of life were out roaming the streets daily, enjoying what the neighborhood had to offer and I felt so lucky to have been a part of it.

We loved walking and taking in the city. We bought a hand cart to push our groceries home in so we didn’t have to drive, we would walk to the lake often, we ran around the city like fools the first time we experienced snow, I walked to and from work, we walked as often as we could. I don’t think I will ever find a city that promotes feelings of safety of while walking at all kinds of hours during the day again. I grew up going to San Francisco and that city is dirty, crowded, and unfriendly compared to all the places I went in Chicago. The public transportation is better than I have ever dealt with, too, it is so hard to have access to an “L” train to take you around the city quickly and for so little money to come back to California and have a miserable system like BART. I sound like an asshole, but I do love San Francisco and will still use BART when I have to, but now that i know how inefficient it is it makes it harder.

Anyways, on to the most important thing I learned there. ACCEPTANCE. I met people from different backgrounds who had different religious views, sexual views, body image views, etc. Until meeting those people in Chicago I never knew what it was like to sit down and have a conversation with someone where the content was meaningful each time. I met women who taught me that its okay, not only okay but important, to love yourself no matter what. I learned through communication with body positive women just how toxic and backwards my views about body image and how I felt about myself were. If a woman has her asscheeks hanging out of her shorts and her stomach showing with, God forbid, her nipples slightly visible, that doesn’t mean anything for me and its not for me to judge. That woman put that outfit on, looked in the mirror and felt confident and that is the shit that really matters. Also, if she is wearing something revealing it definitely does not mean she’s wearing it to get attention, she really just feels great in the outfit.

As a woman, I think I have been empathetic and accepting of other people’s journeys, except for other women. I have always judged too harshly. I always questioned the people they’re sleeping with, the clothes they wear, the friends they have, the amount they go out, you name it, I would judge it. Turns out, none of that stuff is my business, nor does it effect me. I learned that I was just a miserable asshole, but because I hated myself so much. I don’t push myself to do better, I don’t push myself to make friends, I don’t push myself to lose weight, or to look sexy, so when I see other women with the confidence to do so I had to drag them down to feel better. I never knew that about myself until I lived there.

People talk about how important it is to support other women and uplift other women, and let me tell you, it REALLY is. I had resentment towards a new shift supervisor at my job, because she was doing better than I was and getting more recognition. It hit me one night that she deserved the recognition and that I wasn’t trying as hard at work as I should have been. So instead of hating her I asked her for help. She helped me grow into a better supervisor in my position and I admire her still for always doing her best at everything and believing in herself. She also went on to teach me that I needed to love myself and the importance of accepting other women for who they are, too. I only talk to her occasionally now, but I will forever be grateful for crossing paths with her and hope that she knows how much she positively impacted my life.

Chicago helped me grow into a more accepting and mindful person. Learning about the experiences of strong women who have come from all over and been through so much, learning about the experiences of people from the LGBT community who have come out to their families in their the small midwest towns, forming friendships with members of the LGBT community and realizing that that is not what defines them. I think will forever be changed and I couldn’t be more proud of the ways that I grew and the things that I learned while living there.

My 5 Year Journey

For the past 5 years, my now husband and I have lived on our across the country in Charleston, South Caroline and then in Chicago, Illinois. After 5 years we decided it was time to move back to California to be near our families and upon moving I’ve done a lot fo reflecting on how the journey was for me and the things that I have learned. I wanted to share the experience here so at least I have documentation of the things I was feeling so fresh after the experience. I am going to publish it in a few posts, as it will be long. It’s alright with me if you don’t follow along as I update, as I said before, this was mostly for me.

BEGINNING

Five years ago, an eager and nervous twenty-four year old version of myself hopped in a Prius with my boyfriend and embarked on journey with him that would impact me more than I was prepared for.  From the time I first really remember leaving my home state of California, I knew I needed to leave it again and again.  I had big plans of applying to colleges in New York and becoming a writer and living abroad. My lack of ambition got in the way of my plans and my strong aversion to applying myself during high school prevented me from applying anywhere other than a Junior College near my parents house, let alone a prestigious college on the East Coast.

My senior year I began to fall for a boy. He didn’t really have big plans at this point, either. He wanted to be the head football coach of the high school he attended and I hated that. I knew I was falling for him and I knew that there was no way to know what either of us would actually end up doing at age seventeen. I stuck with him. We went to the same Junior College and our dreams began to shift. My friends were moving on to better schools and finding what they were passionate about and I found myself just still getting by pursuing a degree that seemed interesting. At the same time, my boyfriend was getting into cooking. He began to dive head first into that passion. He applied to culinary school at the same time as I was finally heading to a state college. We were now hours apart from each other, but for the three years that followed our initial journeys apart we learned that we wanted to travel together and learn what was out there for us beyond our hometown and the lives we thought we’d have, for example being the head coach at the high school he graduated from.

The Food Network; whether he’d approve of me admitting that or not, played a large role in making the choice for our first destination. Every time we turned a show on, there was something pointing us to Charleston, South Carolina. There were numerous big name chefs popping up in the area and a lot of great restaurants that were growing in popularity. After a lot of research on the area we booked a trip to Charleston to find a place to live and then moved there three months later.  I had quit my job as a barista with hopes of putting my degree to use and he also began our new chapter jobless, confident he would find something, as well.

Charleston, South Carolina

We packed up his car with whatever would fit and set off on a five-day road trip to Charleston, South Carolina. I was nervous to begin with at the idea that we’d spend five potentially stressful days stuck next to each other in a car. We saw incredible things like the Grand Canyon, drove the old Route 66, ate great BBQ in Memphis, and drove through the beautiful Great Smoky Mountains, just to name a few.  The road trip was incredible and the feeling that the two of us could have such a great time on a road trip to our future doesn’t compare to any I’ve had before. Not long after we settled in, he was able to find a line-cook position at a restaurant that would open right next to our apartment for a restaurant group that was well known in the Charleston area. I had ended up reapplying at Starbucks after searching and failing to find a job that paid better with my psychology degree, and I have been there ever since.  Things couldn’t have gone better.

Usually someone says, “Things couldn’t have gone better” only to follow it up with the downside, but we never had a downside. It wasn’t always easy in Charleston, though. He worked twelve hours a day for almost the whole three years we lived there and our days off never quite lined up. We fought often about my jealousy and my loneliness, even though in my head I KNEW nothing was happening and I also knew what I signed up for when I jumped into a car with a man pursing a cooks life.  In reality, I considered myself very lucky to have him. He went to work and came right home. His friends and coworkers would stay out drinking; among indulging in other substances, until the bars closed every night. Through the process of getting over my unsubstantiated jealousy and occasional fits of rage towards him, I learned the importance of communication. He proposed to me our first Christmas there and as his fiancé I needed to learn to trust and be vulnerable with him or I’d only drive myself crazy.

I want to preface this by saying I met amazing people in Charleston, I made a forever friend who I can’t believe I was missing from my life for twenty-four years, BUT I understoodprejudice for the first time in my life in Charleston. Living in the south was very different, it was hard to swallow and I learned more about slavery and African-American culture than the history books in school even pretend to teach. It was eye opening to learn how much of what we do and have today is because of what was brought and/or taught to us by slaves that were forced here.  I know that isn’t any kind of revelation, but to actually live in the south and learn about it there and stand in an old slave-trade building and learn about exactly what happened where I was standing made me feel foolish for not having a better understanding before.

The city itself was still very segregated. I learned what it meant for a neighborhood to be gentrified. I had heard the word before but didn’t grasp what it meant until I watched what was once a low-income neighborhood in Charleston get taken over by boutique coffee shops and expensive fried chicken joints with outdoor patios and craft beer. As more old buildings were being torn down to make room for new buildings, more and more tents would pop up under the highway off-ramps.  I’d heard of dwellings referred to as “tent-cities,” but never knew what that meant. I suppose that “squatters” from the old buildings were being pushed onto the street, but it was still devastating to watch happen. The newspapers would have updates and deadlines for when the tent-cities had to be evacuated, but I never saw it cleared out.

We were fortunate enough to find an affordable apartment on the very outskirts of the downtown area. By very outskirts I mean that we were smack dab in the middle of the most expensive shopping and the most undesirable neighborhoods. The line where it became less safe was clearly drawn out by a former Piggly Wiggly that we used to live next door to. Our rent started at about $875 dollars a month WITH parking, which was a steal, but three years later we would have been looking at an almost $400 dollar increase a month to re-sign our lease there. We had considered moving out of there the year before that, but couldn’t find anything else for less money with a parking spot downtown. This was important to us, because we shared a car and we needed a place within walking/biking distance to at least one of our jobs. Fast-forward to eight months after our move and our friends were sending us pictures of our former apartment being demolished. If we hadn’t left Charleston we would have been out of our perfectly located, expensive but affordable apartment at the heart of it all. I often wonder where we would have ended up had we of stayed. It is also sad to think that we would have been pushed into the less desirable neighborhoods due to a (rumored) Whole Foods being built on our once lived on block.

I need to make it clear that I am not against fancy fried chicken or Whole Foods, I happen to love both, but I am not a fan of knocking down pre existing dwellings to put them up. My husband and I would have been able to afford something outside of the downtown area, it would have just been a longer and very different bus commute for one of us, which I fully understand isn’t a hard thing to adjust to. It just put into perspective for me how fortunate I was and how unfortunate things can happen to anyone. I couldn’t help but think about the people that were being pushed out and it was a reality check to witness and learn first hand what gentrification looked like.

Another lesson I learned while living in the south was that in addition to racism, classism was very much alive.  I’d say both of our parents were raised working class and raised us working class. I had a job as soon as I was old enough to get my worker’s permit, because I enjoyed knowing that I was making my own money. I began working for Starbucks, because I knew I could transfer out of my hometown to college with that job, and it has transferred all over the country with me as my job. Working as a barista in an affluent, majority white town in Charleston I learned that I was the help. The customers there could not understand why I was only a barista and why I wasn’t pursuing better. Let me be clear, this job is good to me. I get full benefits for my husband and for myself, I have a retirement fund, paid vacation, free coffee, and I have free stock.  The customers wouldn’t give us the time of day, they would carry on conversations with each other or on their phones, or bark at us to make sure their skinny cappuccinos were just a little lighter, because “milk makes me bloat.” When they did give us the time of day it was to tell us things like “Don’t worry, I am sure you’ll find a real job soon.” People there were still very much against cohabitating out of wedlock so when they learned I had moved to Charleston with my boyfriend and we were not yet married, they pitied me, “Oh, don’t your parents care that you aren’t married?” “My niece just moved in with her boyfriend and her dad hasn’t talked to her in weeks, such a shame that she couldn’t have waited.” And my favorite, “Oh, honey, he’ll propose to you soon and make an honest woman out of you yet!” Keep in mind these things were said with smiles on their faces while laughing amongst each other. I always felt less than while serving them coffee, which was a feeling I had never felt before. I hated it.

My husband and I grew up in a pretty diverse town, classrooms growing up were a fairly equal mix of races and everyone was friends with everyone. It was a shock to my system to live somewhere where the norm was to be very segregated still. I’m thankful to have had that experience so that I can hold on to some of those shitty feelings and hopefully be more empathetic to people from all walks of life.

But, enough negative about the Palmetto State. I will always be grateful for the warm Atlantic Ocean, the incredible architecture, and the city skyline being low and beautiful by law to ensure that the view of the low country stayed unobstructed. I’ll be grateful to look back and remember that that is the place where my husband proposed to me on our first Christmas alone. It’ll always be the place in my heart that reminds me of how special what I’ve got going on with my husband is, to have moved with him for no reason other than to this together and have thrived at it three thousand miles from anyone we knew is something I can always be proud of and blown away by.

Our vacation lifestyle in Charleston was incredible, but after three years it was time for a change. We needed a bit of city scenery and a faster paced lifestyle.

Enter: Chicago.

this record may be broken.

Last night I made a very expensive mistake while I was drinking. I blacked out. I woke up this morning on my couch and had no idea how I got there and my phone was missing. I checked my account to see if I took an Uber and maybe left my phone in it, but I didn’t find an uber charge I found a charge much LARGER than that. Through further research I was told that I broke the front door of a bar we were at and had to pay for it.

I am scared to see my husband when he gets home today, because I don’t remember my interaction with him last night at all. I know for sure that I didn’t tell him about the door that I broke. This was my second time in less than seven days coming home wasted. I deserve to treat myself better than that. It’s not a good look. It feels horrible to wake up and have no idea what happened the night before, nothing can be worth that amount of alcohol. My husband deserves better than this. I don’t want him to worry about me every time I am out.

I couldn’t even cry after learned what went down last night, because I am so disappointed. Crying isn’t going to fix anything. I’ve had the “I am sorry I won’t drink so much next time, blah blah blah,” conversation with my husband so many times before that I know it won’t be enough this time.

I am going to stop drinking.

I have said it before, but I have never felt like this before. Last night went beyond got a little too loud in a bar to destructive and expensive. I don’t like to think of myself that way.

I deserve better.

The people around me deserve me.

I am going to stop drinking.

Redundant.

Sometimes I feel like I am banging my head into a wall. Repeatedly. I expect a different outcome as I carelessly wind up and ram into it, again. The blow is never softer. I can only hit it so many times before I pass out, bleed out, or black out. Dramatic? Perhaps. Is the drama necessary? Always.

My husband is a friendly guy. He’s the life of the party without trying. People seem to be drawn to him, whether it is to share aversion or admiration of his ridiculous humor. I find the trait to be endearing, I like that people like him, it makes me feel liked by association. However, for the entirety of our relationship I’d say he finds himself in deeper friendships with women. It makes me uncomfortable. Whether its the girl he grew up with and was in love with until he met me or the women he works with, there is a revolving door of other women he engages with regularly. Women will text him things like “missed you at work today”, “I’m bummed we don’t work together tomorrow!”, things about who they’re sleeping with in the kitchen, personal shit, etc. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I don’t want other women texting my husband that they missed him. I don’t give a shit if I am with him every second of the day and know they aren’t sleeping together, I never want to see that someone other than his mother is texting him “Missed you.”

In Chicago, he has a small group of friends that he’s made and one of them is female. Her and I over time have become friends, too. I know they don’t have anything beyond friendship going on, but he will draw stupid cartoons and leave them for her to find the next day at work and she’ll take pictures and post them on social media, or she’ll post pictures of him doing something at work. I hate checking my instagram to find pictures of things my husband is doing through another women, even if it is something as stupid and small as a dumb “this place sucks” cartoon he draws.

I’ve expressed to him that it makes me feel insecure when I see this happen, and he replies with “Im sorry, but she’s just my friend, its a stupid picture.” Which, duh, I understand that, however if it makes me uncomfortable then that’s kind of that, right? A server he worked with once told me that I was the real winner of the Super Bowl, because I got to go home to him every night, and it took 4 months and me having a total breakdown to get him to understand that I didn’t want him texting her or going out with her. She even slept with his coworkers that were in relationships and he still didn’t understand what made me uncomfortable. Another woman would text him daily her excitement about the days they’d work together, he also didn’t understand why that would make me uncomfortable. It’s stuff like that. I express to him that I am uncomfortable, he continues to exhibit the behavior that makes me uncomfortable, I continue to feel like his connections with these other women matter more to him than our connection, and then I explode. It is only after I explode like a jealous, psycho freak that he understands and backs off.

Today, the new friend posted about him three separate times. I text him to ask why she keeps finding things around work that he’s leaving for her to post on instagram and he says it’s just pictures it doesn’t matter. He thinks I’m being jealous and it’s a new thing that we’ve never experienced or talked about before. He told me he feels like I don’t trust him, which he doesn’t understand. And I told him that each time I have another conversation with him about feeling like he puts other women before me that I absolutely do not trust that he cares about my feelings.

I can’t continue to have this conversation with him. I just cannot. I have male friends but I’m not texting them, I’m not posting things they’re doing for me (not that they’re doing things for me) for him to see, I’m not talking to them about deeply personal things.

To whomever reads this, I understand if you think I am a little neurotic. Maybe I am, but I don’t want to feel like I come second any longer. I really can’t keep telling him that.

 

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk.

Going Going, Back Back…

 

To Cali Cali. Original. I know. This month my husband and I are making the Haul back to California after five adventure (I loosely use the word “adventure”) filled years away from it. We originally moved to to Charleston, South Carolina and then from there to Chicago, Illinois. We wanted to take advantage of being young, in love, and without kids. I had also finished college with a degree in psychology and no official plans to use it, while he had graduated from culinary school and had every intention of putting that to good use.

His intention was to cook and learn cuisine and culture in other parts of the country to bring back home (California) with us in hopes of having expanded knowledge for one day opening our own restaurant. My plan was to find a job a that paid the bills and enjoy living in different parts of the country. It was exciting for us and for our families, because we were the first in a couple of generations to get out of our hometowns. Sounds so small-town, doesn’t it? We are not from a small-town, but a nice suburb of the East Bay Area, when we share that with people in other states they can’t comprehend why we would ever leave it. The answer is simple, it has been such a growing opportunity for us that I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t take a year or two off from where they grew up. If you’re thinking “Money, maybe?” you’re wrong. We moved across the country with barely $1000 together and we’ve made it work for 5 years without ever once asking our parents for help.

So, now that we have had this amazing cross country adventure together, we have decided that it is time to settle down sightly and move back home. I have been at the same job for almost 8 years transferring from location to location and has fulfilled his desire to learn new cuisine. The only downside about spending the past few years traveling is that we haven’t had an opportunity to lay roots anywhere or save money to build towards our future and our potential business. Not to mention my sister has a new baby girl that turned 2 months old yesterday that I have yet to meet, which is tearing away at my heart.

It is with the most bittersweet of feelings that my husband and I began packing our 375 square foot apartment this month to begin our haul back home. I’m grateful for all that I learned along the way and I can’t wait to see what moving home to be with our families again can teach us. Honestly, I CAN wait a little bit to have outside influence and added family pressure thrown into our marriage that hasn’t been there the whole time we have been married, but it’s all part of the adventure, I suppose.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/haul/

Family Visits

For the past 5 years my husband and I have lived in states thousands of miles from our families. With the exception of my parents and one set of grandparents, my family has made no attempt to visit us. His family, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, etc., have come to visit us multiple times. This week we expect MY aunt and uncle to come visit for St. Patrick’s Day weekend and we couldn’t be more excited. The biggest difference between visits from his family and my family is that his family is big on planning, which is nice. My parents show up, and aside from dinner reservations, there is no planning done ahead of time, we just kind of go with the flow.

With my own parents I am less concerned about how bored they may feel or how important it is to stay busy, because they are visiting mostly to see me. With my aunt and uncle I am feeling more pressure, because while they may be visiting to see me, they are also on a vacation to a new city in a new state that they have never been to before. Chase and I have food covered, we know exactly where to take them to eat, all meals, for their extended weekend stay. They have given input to a couple things they’d like to do, but other than that have given us nothing to work with as far as planning goes. I like to believe that this can all be go with the flow, but I am so nervous that I will pick a museum that bores them, or we will go to a bar that isn’t as fun as the bar next door to the one we pick, or when we go to the St. Patrick’s day parade I will pick a viewing spot that isn’t ideal. In the back of my head, I know they are here to relax, drink, and have a good time, but I still put a lot of pressure on myself.

The pressure I put on myself in situations like this leads me to over research things to do, compile a list of things that aren’t accomplishable in the time frame allotted, and then feel disappointment in myself only when I can’t decide which place on my list is the one we should go to. This worry overflows into my everyday life, because I live on social media where I find all the places that cool all the time and can never pull the trigger and go to them. I depend on other people to make plans for me all the time, because I am so worried that the things I want to do no one will enjoy. If I go to a friend suggested bar or restaurant and it is a dud, I don’t care and I don’t harp on it, but I fully believe that if I were to pick a dud it’s all anyone will be able to think about.

I drown myself with insecurities for no reason. It’s unbearable and makes me a boring person on my own and I can’t figure out how to overcome it.  I know that I have to pull the trigger and start to make plans, and once they are successful it will encourage me to make more plans, but I just can’t do it. Wahhh. I know in the end it will turn out just fine. I just obsess over these things.

 

Any fun suggestions in the Chicago area for a wild aunt and uncle to do? They are here to drink and eat! I’ll take all suggestions into consideration 🙂