Bringing the cheerful calamity back

If I have any readers left after a nearly three-month hiatus, I apologize for being MIA. I’m not exactly sure why I haven’t been writing. I posted on facebook a while back that I was “too busy being a cheerful calamity to write about being a cheerful calamity,” which was true. But it’s also a lazy excuse because the things that have been happening in the last three months are exactly what I should have been blogging about.

I think I lost inspiration to write sometime last fall and simply got in the habit of not writing. But lucky for you, my loyal followers (if you even exist), I’m hoping to fix that. Let me catch you up to speed.

I wasn’t supposed to work one Monday back in late November — I had the day off. But because there was an event that my editor asked me to cover. And because this was kind of an important event, I made sure to look professional. I knew there would be at least one TV reporter there and, well, newspaper reporters are notoriously schleppy. So, donning my favorite black pencil skirt, heels and a patterned cardigan, I did my best to look at least on par with the other media.

There was nothing noteworthy about the event itself, but the two-minute conversation I had with a stranger afterward has vastly affected my life since. Thank goodness I dressed up that day.

Without going into detail about the specifics of the event (because for the purposes of this blog, they’re inconsequential), a guy I didn’t know approached me and said the following:

“Excuse me, but have we met before?”

What I said: “Um, no… I don’t think so.” What I thought: “Nice try, buddy.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’ve met before. Do you know (insert name of my college roommate here)?”

Me: “Uh… what?? YES I know her! She was my roommate in college for three years! Wait, how do you know her? And how do you know that I know her?”

Turns out the guy — I’ll call him B — is from Richmond and went to high school with my college roommate/one of my closest gal pals. He’d noticed the UR sticker on my car and, knowing she also went to UR, figured he’d chance it and see if the connection was there. Lucky for him (and me), it was.

We exchanged cards and — perhaps against my better judgment — I emailed him 23 minutes later. Turns out my lesser judgment was the winner in this scenario, because we began an extensive gmail conversation — “just like ‘You’ve Got Mail’! a friend told me later — and by the third email, he’d asked me out.

Two weeks later I found myself in Richmond “to go Christmas shopping” but really, to go on that date with B. And today, about six weeks after that first date, he’s sitting here snowed in with me in Danville for the weekend.

When I had to leave Culpeper last year, I didn’t understand why. Why I’d lost my job, why I had to move — or most of all — why I had to move to Danville (no offense to a lovely city I now have grown quite fond of). But I’d made great friends, I’d won awards for my writing — and ultimately I felt like it was all in vain. I didn’t know why it all happened, but I also knew that I’d figure it out. There was a reason behind the shit, but I just had to be patient and open to the possibility that there was something better for me, beyond the life I had.

I’m not going to be overly dramatic and say that B is the answer to all of my problems, because 1) it’s not true and 2) that would be a simple-minded way to think. But I also know now that meeting him — and in such a serendipitous way — was one of many of the reasons I was supposed to come to Danville when I did.

Another reason I know I was meant to come to Danville (totally unrelated to the previous) is the fact that I have found this niche for myself in political journalism that I never knew existed. I’ve become passionate about Virginia politics and I love covering it more than any other beat I’ve had. I’m not sure I would have discovered that had I not moved here. I still don’t really have any idea what I want to ultimately do with my life, but now I at least feel like I’m moving in a general direction rather than simply wandering.

There’s a quote from the charming aforementioned “You’ve Got Mail,” in which Meg Ryan’s character says:

Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life — well, valuable, but small — and sometimes I wonder: do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?

That completely describes my thoughts about my life in Culpeper. I was willing to stay there and settle because it was comfortable and easy. I think now, after everything, I much more like the idea of being brave.

Living up to my own philosophies

“Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?”

-Stephen Kellogg

I’ve been in Danville for a little more than two months. And when people ask me how it’s going, I find myself taking a deep breath and exhaling a wistful, “oh, it’s fiiine.” I really can’t complain. It is fine. I’m not unhappy. But I’m not particularly ecstatic, either.

I guess it’s hard to compare my current situation with my last, which was simply exquisite if only because of the pure novelty of that place. It was my first home, outside of my parents’ and college. It was a place and experience that was new and refreshing, and it was all mine. I made it for myself. So it’s hard for me to fall completely in love with Danville the way I did with Culpeper, because I’ve already done it. It’s sort of like I’m “just not that into” Danville.

photo by Declan McCullagh

For the Fourth of July, I visited my best friend (CB the law student) in New York, where she’s spending the summer. Walking through the hipster-chic streets in the Village and Chelsea, through the quiet beauty in Central Park, through the insane crowds in Midtown, I longed to live in a city. A real city. I did that once, in Spain. I spent four months in Valencia and I did things while living abroad that would terrify me in the United States. Things like traveling completely alone, like relying on an unfamiliar public transit system, like really living without restraints. The smells of New York City streets — that slightly sour, almost dirty smell — made me miss Valencia and my semester there as if it were a best friend I’d lost touch with.

I think that’s what appeals to me so much about Richmond, a city so rich with history and architecture. When I’m downtown, or walking through the Fan — I feel almost like I’m back in Europe, where I felt such exuberance and independence from my own intimidation. New York reminded me of that, and seeing CB navigate her way flawlessly through the metropolitan maze reminded me that I was once so able.

To be blunt, Danville suffocates me a little. To explore, I have to drive aimlessly. Downtown is definitley within walking distance, but most of it is vacant and empty. Driving around the city bores me, and I find myself falling into an inconvenient rut. I get to work late enough that I could accomplish things in the morning if I woke up earlier, but I don’t. I work late enough that I can’t really accomplish anything after work because I’m exausted. I go out of town nearly every weekend and simply don’t make time for myself. Even this blog is getting painfully neglected.

And because of my self-inflicted schedule, I’ve let my once-dutiful workout regimen fall by the wayside. For a while I relied on the “my life fell apart” excuse, but it’s been four months and I’ve outworn it. My life is now back together. For the most part.

I really hate to sound like such a Debbie Downer, because it’s so out of character for me. But I guess we all have our moments, right? Wrong. Maybe that’s an OK excuse for you, but not for me. It seems I’m forgetting one of the pillars of my life philosophy: whatever you’ve got, make the most of it. Like Stephen Kellogg croons, “Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?” In short, quit whining and make some changes. Or at least be thankful for what you’ve got.

Sometimes I cringe at the thought of making the effort to exercise, but the truth is, I miss running. I really do. I miss that exhilarating feeling of accomplishment when I surpassed one, two, three miles. Or when I dropped 5, 10, 15 pounds. That’s a high you can’t find anywhere else. I go on almost-daily walks with my friends, but I need to make time to run again.

And speaking of friends, I have made some seriously awesome ones in Danville who I miss when I’m gone on the weekends. And thankfully, they miss me too. They even told me so. When I mentioned last night that my birthday was next week, I got a resounding, “we know,” from my two girlfriends. I forget how lucky I am that I make friends so quickly.

This is your one chance at life. All you can do is make the most of it. Don’t spend your days wishing you were somewhere — or someone — else. And if you’re not happy, ask yourself why.

A new beginning

Surprisingly, I’m doing pretty well considering I just uprooted my life and moved to a completely foreign place. And although it was tough to say goodbye to Culpeper, I didn’t cry as much as I expected. Maybe my mom was right – I certainly cried enough in March. Maybe I’m just done crying for a while. I’d say when you get to the point that you wake up with chapped, peeling skin under your eyes (I didn’t know that was possible) from days of endless tears, you’ve had your fair share of crying for the year.

I must say I had the most fabulous sendoff my last week in Culpeper. The Musician, The Drummer and their band played a set dedicated to me at open mic night, which included “I Will Survive,” “Say It Ain’t So” and “Shine,” an original. And later, just The Musician played a song I actually wrote, which he set to music. It was incredible to hear my words sung aloud by another person – especially by someone who knew and understood the thoughts behind the words. If he ever gets around to recording it for his demo CD, I’ll figure out how to post it.

In my year and a half there, I made a lot of friends. I also lost a few, but can happily say I’ve reconnected with all but one. That one I don’t expect to reconcile with anytime soon – if ever – and I don’t need to. I think some people aren’t meant to stay in your life, and when your time with them ends, it ends, and there is no reason to maintain a relationship except for nostalgia. Sometimes I think about him, and I think, “I don’t even know who that person is anymore.” I stumble upon old pictures and it’s like he’s just someone I briefly knew once. I think I’m finally getting close to being able to close the door on that part of my life. And I mean that in a good, healthy way.

But it’s funny how leaving can also bring other people back together. Leaving can make you realize how ridiculous past indiscretions were. You realize that whatever it was that happened is dwarfed by the fact that you just want to tell your friend – who at one time was one of your closest – how much she meant to you, and how much it sucked that you had a falling out. And you wonder how everything else might have changed if things had turned out differently. But you can’t play that game.

Leaving – and moving somewhere new – also makes you realize how much you truly care about those you’re leaving. My sendoff left me feeling so completely and utterly loved that my heart ached. Ached from the love and from how much I already miss them.

But here I am, a new person in a new place with a new job and a new life. The cheerful calamity lives on.

Read more here.

The Great Richmond Region Adventure

They should have named it Sweatfest 2009. But it was worth it.

My college roommate (known here on out as “Bingy”) is getting married in August, so her family friends threw her and her fiancee a “Stock the Bar” party on Saturday in Richmond. Since I’d be in town for that, MWM signed me up for “The Great Richmond Region Adventure,” an “Amazing Race”-style competition around downtown Richmond Saturday afternoon.

Good thing I had trained for and participated in the Ukrop’s Monument Avenue 10k last month — my first 10k ever, thank you very much — because this was no leisurely scavenger hunt. Team Macaley (me, MWM, The Artist and The Artist’s boss) pretty much booked it from stop to stop, solved the clues in what we considered to be record time and finished the race in an hour and a half. The winning team finished in 58 minutes; the time limit was three hours. So I’d say we did a fine job since this was our first time competing.

Our journey started at the Edgar Allen Poe museum, where we got our map and clues, printed on aged scroll paper. There were five stops, with five corresponding clues in poem form. The objective was to solve the clues at each stop and get a postcard. Once we had all five postcards, another riddle would direct us to the finish line. We didn’t have to go in any particular order, but we had to stay together as a team the whole time.

Hearts pumping, we headed to our first stop at the Holocaust Museum. With a little help from one of the race volunteers, we solved the riddle, which involved finding an artifact in the museum and deciphering a code from a set of numbers. Postcard in hand, we celebrated solving our first riddle and made our way to the next stop: Libby Hill Park.

Spectacular view from Libby Hill Park

It always amazes me how much of Richmond I’ve never seen, even after living there for four years in college. Well, that really shouldn’t amaze me all that much since anyone who goes to UR pretty much never sees anything except campus, the Fan and a handful of downtown bars. It’s unfortunate that we keep to our bubble, because the rest of Richmond is nothing short of fabulous.

After scaling a mountain to get to Libby Hill — ok maybe not a mountain but it was a huge hill — we retrieved our second postcard by counting the bales of hay in a painting on a sign and applying that number to yet another letters/numbers code. I don’t have many criticisms of the adventure, but one was that the answers to the riddles had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with anything. I was thinking the answers would have a theme, something related to the location of the clue. Basically, I wanted to pretend I was Nick Cage in “National Treasure.” Instead, the answers were simply a random word generated from solving a code, i.e. the answer to the Libby Hill Park puzzle was “SHAZAMBABY.”

Yeah, I have no idea. I guess they wanted to make it unrelated so that you couldn’t just guess the answer after seeing the first few letters. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. I also thought I’d be dead weight since I really know nothing specific about Richmond history, but thankfully that wasn’t an issue. It really was all about solving some crazy code while at a Richmond landmark.

On our way to solving the second clue

From there we headed to Church Hill, the Reconciliation statue and the Canal Walk. Our team worked effortlessly together, each of us providing a different way of looking at the riddles. Two water bottles each and buckets of sweat later, we happened upon the finish line at the farmer’s market. We’d gotten all five postcards, but could not figure out the last puzzle, which directed us to the end point. Ready to give in and ask for help, we walked past the farmer’s market and saw our contact. Hot damn! We asked him what the solution to the final clue was, and he gave us a funny look. “How did you find me if you couldn’t solve it?” he asked. “We just walked by and saw you here…” Whoops.

Turns out the solution wasn’t as hard as we were making it out to be, and I’m fairly certain we could have figured it out if we’d just tried out another theory or two. Oh well. It was blazing, and we were sweaty, tired and on the verge of getting a little cranky.

Celebratory drinks and documenting our adventures

So we didn’t win $1,500, but we had an awesome time tooling around downtown Richmond in 90+ degrees and pretending to be treasure hunters. The four stellar members Team Macaley will definitely compete again next year. Afterward, we lunched at Cafe Gutenberg, where we devoured burgers and downed cool, crisp celebratory beers. Except The Artist, who left her ID in the car.

The Artist and I spent the rest of the afternoon cooling off in her apartment. Although, we weren’t that cool because her AC wasn’t working. But we prepped for Bingy’s party — my gift was the ingredients for my fav drink, the G&T! — and spent the evening catching up with college pals. It was great seeing my sorority sisters, especially my little, who confessed to obsessively stalking this very blog. That’s my girl!

The weekend was perfect, except for MWM’s adorable new pup who suffered from some seizures after apparently getting into some shrooms in the yard. But he’s better now, thank goodness. Welcome back, Maury!

And to anyone interested in competing in next year’s Great Richmond Region Adventure: watch out. You’ve got some stiff competition. Wear running shoes if you want to keep up.

Team Macaley. And the only photographic proof that I even competed in this race.

Can’t read my poker face

I ran into my ex’s sister on Sunday at Walgreen’s. I’ve only ever met her twice, and I ran into her in the greeting card aisle (there’s got to be some irony there). The only reason I was even in Walgreen’s was because I needed cash on my way out of town and the Wachovia ATM was broken. 

I walked in and picked up some deodorant — you gotta buy something in order to get cash back — and as I walked past the rows of Hallmark sentiments, I noticed her. “I think that was his sister…” I thought as I stood in the next aisle. Frozen, I wasn’t sure what to do. She had not seen me, and I contemplated simply avoiding the confrontation all together. But instead I put on my best poker face and opted to say hello. 

She was clearly surprised to see me, and I’m not sure if I startled her because she is shy or because she didn’t know what to say to me. We made small talk for a few minutes before I headed out, and I was ultimately glad I spoke to her. Neither of us mentioned him. I’m not bitter, but I’m trying to move on and the truth is, it’s still hard for me to deal with the way he seems to pop up in my life. 

Whether it’s seeing his name on junk mail at the house where he used to live (and where I still hang out with one of my best friends/his ex-roommate) or learning something major about mutual friends that I’m dying to talk to him about — he’s still around, even if he isn’t. Even though he’s away at school and I’ve avoided his Facebook page like the plague, he still manages to slip through the filters. I could have just defriended him and avoided the stress, but like I said, I’m not bitter and I don’t want to seem that way. I know I shouldn’t even care what he thinks, but I do.  

Can I borrow her poker face?

Unfortunately this is a small town and the people you want to avoid the most are the ones who continually show up. Although I have loved living here, I will be ready to leave. But until then, I’ve got to pull a Lady GaGa and hope that no one can read my poker face. Of course, this blog post rips that face to shreds, but what can I say? I wear my heart on my MacBook screen.