My sweetie friend Miles – the one who played guitar for my original Larabar song, the one who gave me my most favorite nickname of all time (“Persnicket”), the one who makes work so much more fun – made me this.

That?  Is awesome.  And hilarious.

Thanks for the wonderful years, Emma.  Thanks for introducing me to some of the greatest people in my life.  Thanks for the chance to make Nashville home.  Thanks for acting as training wheels for my transition to Denver, and now launching me out on my own.  Thanks for teaching me how to talk to all sorts of people, and giving me the confidence to confront conflict, and guiding me toward grace under pressure.  Thank you for being exactly the right place during exactly the right time.

I kind of feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Except for… um, her?

Really, internet?  Really?

Well, so, okay.  Second place, I guess.

As the carry-on inched toward the x-ray machine, the TSA agent observed the swollen vessel, and made a comment that he didn’t know that it would make it through the machine.

“I know!” I laughed.  “It’s about to explode!”

And right then and there, all of the air was sucked out of Denver International Airport.

The silence coddled the word like an overindulgent mother.

Explode.

EXPLODE.

I literally clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing what I had done – and then I sprung into action.

“Haha, I mean explode with my stuff.  My STUFF – nothing dangerous, nothing sharp.  I mean, except for high heels!  Haha!”

No one else was laughing.

“Ma’am, we’re going to need to take a look in your bag.”

I was led to a sterile table where a blue-gloved person (man? woman? man?) asked, “If I open this bag, will anything harm me?”

“No!  No, not at all,” I rushed.  “All that’s in there is shoes.  Oh, and a bunch of computer things.  And I guess some snacks.”

Snacks is right.

The agent slowly, hesitantly, cautiously unzipped the suitcase, and beheld the contents.  “Ma’am, why do you have so many Lärabars?”

Full disclosure: there were hundreds.

“Well, those are for my co-workers in Nashville.”

“Okay…?”

And then, without further prompting, it all came tumbling out.  “I resigned with the company – just last week, actually.  I’ve been working for an email marketing company that’s based in Nashville – but I’m switching jobs.  To Lärabar, actually.  They’re based in Denver – I live in Denver.  I just wanted to bring my Nashville friends some Lärabars – as a little farewell, I guess.”

There it was.  And there it is.

The suddenly indifferent agent waved me through security and all the way to Nashville, where I’ve given the Lärabars to my friends at Emma – an understated thank you for the three years of support, camaraderie, and friendship they have given me.

Come January, I’ll join the marketing team for Lärabar, a brand that I have been evangelizing on my own for years.  I am leaving an incredible company for another incredible company, which is not lost on me: this basically makes me the luckiest girl in the world.  This is one of those moments where I can look back and see how the complicated, jagged-edged pieces have fit together perfectly, creating a gigantic flashing arrow, pointing me toward this next step.

So my suitcase may be emptier – but as much as my heart is tempted to feel the same (after all, I am giving up what has been a very good thing), it’s actually full to overflowing.  I will spend the next week with some of my favorite people in Nashville, and then gently close the door on what has been a beautiful season in my life.

The goodbye is bittersweet, but the future feels warm and bright.  In fact, my heart is exploding with sprinkles.

Just don’t tell TSA.

Fail.

- – - – - – - -

One of my favorite parts of my job is when I am called upon to check people’s emails for “references to porn.”  The emails are never actually pornographic, but certain words can flag them as such in our system.  All we have to do is start thinking like a 15-year old boy, and usually, the problematic words and phrases jump off the screen.

Like a dirty treasure hunt!

So on Friday, a bike shop created an email, and then asked me why their email was being flagged.

The very most awesomely awkward conversation is to break the what-should-be-obvious news to someone that their email contains the following words:
purring
rubber
damp
ride
mount
stretch

The kicker?  When making mention of cystic fibrosis, the writer said that the disease is “ravishing children and young adults”

I do believe they meant “ravaging.”

- – - – - – - -

Me: “Take the word folks.  Do you pronounce it FOLKS or FOKES?”
Her: “I say FOLKS.  It has an L in it, after all.”
Me: “But that makes no sense.  There are other words with Ls that no one pronounces.  Like on a bike – no one says SPOLKS.”
Her: “That’s because the word is spokes.”

And my inflated vocabul-ego was flattened like a pancake.

Bacon-wrapped jalapeños stuffed with cheese.

And then, as if the night couldn’t get any more awesome, KARAOKE.

And even better, twirling at ROBERT’S.

I didn’t even look like a hobo.

Today, though?  I totally do.

Lordy.

January 2010:

My ponytail is making a spectacular comeback.  It’s almost a full-blown mane of glory.

Also, please take a moment to note the difference in my work environments.  Thank you, Emma, for saving me from Sir Allen Stanford.

It’s called a PARSONS desk, for crying out loud – can you say meant? to? be? This is what Gina, Leigh, and I will be supporting the Emma community off of.  And I might occasionally drape myself across mine, just out of sheer obsession.

- – - – - – - -

If “the British” = “Julie” then call me Paul Revere.

It’s true.  JULIE IS COMING!

Yes, Julie of JAM.  When I get home from work tonight, there she’ll be.  And for a few days, all will be right in my world.

- – - – - – - -

I took my car for an oil change this morning.  The man at the counter asked, “Make and model?”

“Honda Accord,” I replied.

“Year?” he asked.

“1990.”

“Nineteen-ninety…?” he paused, prompting.

“1990.  Period”

“Ninety?  Really?  Well, okaaaaaaay.”

No one – not even mechanics – can believe that the Honda is still alive and kicking.

- – - – - – - -

I want to be in this so bad.

However, even though I might not know what I am doing with my LIFE, I think that I will always know when it’s time to do what’s NEXT.  And once again, I’ve reached that pivotal point.  The doors have flung wide open in an undeniable way, and I am choosing to walk through them.

I am Denver-bound.

It turns out that my mom’s cancer is more serious than originally thought – and I need and want to be there throughout her treatment (another surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation).  The worst feeling in the world was getting that dreaded phone call, and being 1200 miles away.  I cannot rest in that reality.  My mom is my “person,” and I need to be close.

I am in the incredibly fortunate position to work for a company that does not see their employees as a commodity, but as humans with real lives – leading the “powers that be” to be gracious and supportive in the midst of crises.  Emma has a small Colorado office, and is willing to let me work from Denver on an open-ended basis.  I am heading west around Christmastime.

I am not calling it “moving.”  I am leaving my stuff in storage here in Nashville, and “temporarily relocating for the indefinite future.”  I don’t know what will happen, or where this will lead – it’s impossible to know what the coming months will bring.  But I just know that it feels too early – too sudden – to close the door on my Nashlife.  That may or may not wind up being relevant.  But it’s how I feel right now.

I am hoping to rent a room in Denver, or house-hop for a bit – giving me a place to sleep during the week, and leaving me free to spend my weekends in Colorado Springs with my parents.  So if you happen to live in Denver and know of any options, please let me know – because I don’t want to live under a bridge.

Obviously, there are still details to work out.  But I do know that this is “what’s next.”  Until then, you will find me crying most days, snuggling with Julie and Mel most nights, praying for my mom, and hoping that God knows what he’s doing.

We hadn’t seen each other in almost 3 years until he arrived on my doorstep on Monday night.  As I made dinner and we caught up, he told me that since the last time we saw each other, I’ve gotten sassier.

And here I was, thinking that I wasn’t accomplishing anything!

- – - – - – - -

Everyone knows that I pride myself on being an excellent speller.  As much as I would deny it, I actually feel slightly superior when I witness someone’s spelling mistake.

Working in the realm of email, I witness people’s spelling mistakes all the time.  The other day, I rolled my eyes when a woman wanted to “rescind” her email campaign – because hello, doesn’t she know how to spell “resend”??  I mean, duh.

I sent her back some very detailed instructions on how to resend her email.

And then, I was informed “rescind” is actually a word.  It means to revoke, to undo what was done – in this case, to pull back the emails after they’ve been sent out (which is impossible, FYI – once you hit send, the deed is done – BE SURE, people!).

In any case, consider me humbled.

- – - – - – - -

I went to the Bluebird last night with the lovely Haley Shaw.  Luke Laird sang a song called “People in Planes” – please go listen.  I loved it – I think it’s brilliant.   The second verse kills me.

Brought to you by my co-workers:
1)    The world’s most amazing movie trailer.
2)    The Tone Matrix.  I could do this for hours.  Who am I kidding?  I DO do this for hours.
3)    If you get nightmares easily, do not look here.

I told you.

- – - – - – - -

My sister Becca put a spike through her face.  Just one more example of how different we are… and how she can make absolutely anything look cute.

- – - – - – - -

Debbie’s curry hummus ranks among the top 5 things I have ever tasted.

- – - – - – - -

Whitney is a girl I’ve never met, but her writing is absolutely lovely.  She left a comment on Monday’s post that I believe is worth highlighting:

“We do what we love because love stretches us even when it’s hard. Even when routine threatens our own boredom and we feel a lack of inspiration that threatens suffocation. We do what we love because love is the point, even and especially when we don’t feel it. Because loving and acting out of love when the feelings aren’t there reminds us that love isn’t a feeling, and we aren’t a chaos of emotion wrapped in a thin layer of skin. We continue to do what we love because, even if it’s music, even if it’s a relationship, even if it’s writing, even if it’s weaving, we remember that love isn’t about what we get out of it. Love teaches us, in desert, in valley, as well as mountaintop.”