Before I boarded my flight on Thursday, I got an email from Christina saying, “Hope your flight leaves on time and that you’re not sitting next to another trademark weirdo” – bizarre plane-interactions seeming to be par for the course for me.

When I found myself seated next to a nondescript, completely silent gentleman, I was overjoyed. The 4-hour flight was without incident and without conversation – which equates to a hearty “hallelujah” from this introvert. We descended quietly into Boston, and I stared out the window at the clear night sky.

But as we taxied to the gate, something happened. Something surprising. Something shocking.

In the dark and silent plane, the man next to me suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs, “IT’S SNOWING!”

My head was suddenly on a swivel. Where do I look? Outside! At the man! Around at the other passengers! Back outside! Every person on the plane had turned to look at my row-mate, who was staring blankly ahead, ignoring all attention and acting as if nothing had happened.

It was not snowing.

He wasn’t even sitting by the window.

Eventually, I took a cue from the man and stared straight ahead, too.

I do have a pearl necklace, though. It was given to me as the gift for singing in a friend’s wedding years ago, and while I don’t wear it often (come on, this is Denver), it’s pretty to look at – and last night, I remembered how pearls are formed.

Oysters, soft and tender, rely on their hard shells to keep them safe. But occasionally, a grain of sand will sneak in, and this coarse foreign object can cause pain, rock against flesh. One might think that the oyster would react protectively, forming a leathery callous to protect itself from the sand – but it doesn’t. The oyster remains soft, yielding to the suffering, and slowly, over time, begins to wrap the grain of sand in translucent layers.

The pearl is the oyster’s response to the pain.

I’ll be honest: some days are really tough right now. Sometimes, my parent’s divorce still hits me like a diesel truck, plowing me over. Sometimes, I wrestle with the “what ifs,” which spiral only into a black hole of uncertainty. Sometimes, the future stretches out like a never-ending one-way street, and the thought of walking that blacktop every single day (not to mention showering – don’t you ever get overwhelmed at the fact that you will always, always have to shower, forever and ever?) can be paralyzing. Sometimes, even this introvert feels so alone I can hardly stand it.

I wish for a quick fix, a microwave to melt away my icy problems – an insta-pearl, if you will.

But even if I’m not patient, I’m feeling pretty stubborn – and once again, I’m determined to see this rough patch through to something of value, something of worth, something with a silver lining. I just need to give myself over to the ocean.

And for the record, the ocean has always terrified me. It’s a beauty to behold, but to be in it? It’s too big, too unknown. It isn’t safe. The depths are terrifying, and if it wanted to, it could swallow me whole.

But for an oyster, the ocean is the only place to live. It’s what it’s meant for. And without it, there would be no such thing as a pearl.

The posting has been light, at best, in 2012.  I’ve thought about scrapping the whole thing, taking the site down, going off-the-grid in the virtual world.  I’ve thought about forcing myself to post more often, rehashing the meaningless minutia of each day.  I’ve thought about doing a series, dedicating each day of the week to highlighting all 5 members of various boy bands.

Instead, most days, the site just sits here.

I have so many amazing friends who are doing a great job of keeping up their writing, featuring vignettes from their lives, sharing what’s on their heart and mind.  I used to do these things, I think.  But these days, when I sit down to write anything – a blog, an email, a journal entry – it just feels flat.  It feels forced.  It doesn’t make me happy – which is alarming, since historically, writing has made me happier than just about anything else.

It’s been a long time since my heart has felt full to the point where I feel like I have something to share.

I keep trying to rally, but the truth is, I feel too tired.  I miss my friends – I really do. I miss having a sense of belonging.  The future feels big and overwhelming. I wish my family was intact.  I wish I wasn’t broken.

I know, I know – this is the point where I’m supposed to stop and say how lucky I am, how many things I have going for me, how there are good things about my life and situation (because there really are, and I know it).

But just now, as I was writing this, the tears came – and damn it, but I’d rather cry than say nothing at all.

As usual, I’m behind the times when it comes to popular music. Right now, I’m loving Ellie Goulding’s “Lights.”

My mom is a redhead. I’m thinking about being a redhead, too, a la Emma Stone. I am DEFINITELY getting a haircut soon.

Anytime I feel sad, I just look at Basset Hounds running.

I have Hunter and Graham.

On this particular stroll, she stopped to do her business; Becca calls these walks her “business trips.”  And because I am a responsible pet-owner, I had a plastic bag on hand. I scooped up the mess, tied the bag, and carried it home.

As we rounded the final corner, we came upon three stray cats – a dime a dozen in our neighborhood, unfortunately. Two of them scattered, but the biggest one, a giant black Tom, arched its back and hissed at Toad. Toad was like, oh no you di-in’t, and lunged.

The cat didn’t flinch. In fact, it got even angrier, growled that feral cat-growl, and shot out its claws like Wolverine. I stomped and yelled, hoping the cat would run – but it came even closer, fangs bared and hair on edge. Toad was about to get destroyed.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I swung the only weapon that I had.

And pardon the expression, but that cat learned a whole new meaning of the term “shit-faced.”

But worry no more, good friends and countrymen: we found a house.

A HOUSE.

A stand-alone structure.

Do you realize with this means? We will be living in a place with no shared walls, floors, or ceilings. Early in the morning, we won’t hear thundering footsteps. Late at night, we won’t hear screaming babies (or grown-ass adults). We can have friends over and entertain WITH ABANDON.

This house has a deep front porch and a big backyard and a second-story balcony with no railing (read: no adult beverages allowed on the balcony). There are hardwood floors and a bay window, a big basement for storage, a gas stove, and plenty of charm. We’ll have (almost) enough closet space.

We move in 10 days.

I’m going to be bold and just say it: I feel like this move is a game-changer. We’ve committed to living here in Denver, and are ready to live in a HOME. In the 11 months that I’ve lived on Hooker Street, I can count the number of times I’ve invited a friend over on one hand, mostly due to the fact that it isn’t a pleasant place to be (low ceilings and loud neighbors will do that). But hosting and entertaining is in the fiber of my being, and I’m so excited to be able to welcome people in.

We’ll have space to spread out a little bit, and it won’t feel like we’re tripping over dogs at every turn. We’ll have lawn games. We’ll have wine & cheese on the porch. We’ll have fun, and peace and quiet, and walks to Hash (breakfast, not pot).

And we’ll have you over.

Although I read the book awhile back, I wasn’t at all familiar with the musical.  But oh my word.  Those of you who have seen it know what I’m talking about – this show is so, so good.  It’s funny and poignant and magical, not to mention that those girls can sing like nobody’s business.  I felt embarrassingly lucky to have had the spontaneous chance to see it on the cheap – but apparently not so embarrassed not to tell everyone that I SAW “WICKED” FOR $20.

The food at Bittersweet is overpriced and undersized, but flavorful and worth a Saturday night splurge with girlfriends.

Sunday morning, I went to church and heard a sermon that echoed a lot of my thoughts on why commitment equals freedom.  Saying “yes” to one thing may be saying “no” to a myriad of others – but the longer that we “keep our options open,” the more likely it is that those options pass us by, becoming non-options.  Trust, take a chance, and make a choice – it’s so much more interesting than living passively, waiting for the best case scenario to just show up.

Later on Sunday, I donned my ugliest fleece (it’s gigantic – like, unisex gigantic – and bright orange) and delivered fresh baked goods to a friend.  Nothing was said about the unisex gigantic bright orange fleece.  That’s a good friend, right there.

Last night after dark, I went out and ran 6 miles.  I listened to Sugarland and felt like me.

Allow me to make a declaration: 2012 is so much better than 2011.  Not that it would be at all tough to be better than 2011, but still.  2012 wins.

It’s crunch time.

This morning, rather than reading about politics (so long, Santorum) or George Zimmerman (so long, lawyers), I opted to click on this link:
“Texter looks up, sees 400-pound bear”

I am so glad that this moment was captured on film.

Speaking of bears, I mentioned that Toad got her summer haircut.  She went from looking like this:

to this:

So long, bear.  Hello, 3-legged baby cow with a feather extension behind her ear.

(I promise, she is cuter and less pathetic than this picture makes her out to be.)

(But only a little.)

And with that, I’ll take my leave. I’m pretty sure I’m going to spend the entire day thinking about:
1) paying my estimated quarterly taxes,
2) how we still haven’t found a house to move into, and
3) the fact that in just 8 days, HUNTER IS COMING TO VISIT – which means that once again, this moment will be made possible:

I cannot wait.