The subtle art of being rejected

You never forget your first rejection. Mine came at the tender age of nine, at the hands of a haughty fourth-grader named Tommy, whose name I have changed here so he can’t come out of the woodwork and sue me for libel. I used the old have-a-more-popular-friend-pass-a-note one Friday afternoon, prompting Tommy to announce, in front of the entire cafeteria (on pizza day, which should have been a joyous occasion), that he would not, under any circumstances, accompany me to the Square Dance we would be performing for our families later that month. Continue reading “The subtle art of being rejected”

Midwest is best

I embody a lot of Colorado stereotypes: I drive a Subaru with a roof rack. I’m rarely caught outside the house without a puffy jacket or Chaco sandals. There are four bikes and five pairs of skis in my living room right now. I work from home, which is a nice way of saying I don’t have a real job. Continue reading “Midwest is best”

On housekeeping, and other things I do not do

I’ve never been what you’d call “domestic.”

In my early twenties, I’d sigh loudly and roll my eyes about having to take out the trash or do the dishes.

“I guess I have to do everything myself around here,” I’d mutter under my breath. I lived alone. Continue reading “On housekeeping, and other things I do not do”

I want to ride my bicycle

I never much cared for biking. It wasn’t that I disliked it, specifically; more that I didn’t care about it.

When my folks got married, they each had separate interests and hobbies, so they picked one to do together. I guess it worked, because thirty-four years later, they still ride their road bikes all summer. They have never ridden a tandem, another factor I believe has contributed to the success of their marriage. Continue reading “I want to ride my bicycle”

When you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there. (Turns out this is still true.)

When I was 21 and thinking about moving to Alaska, I paid my bills by waiting tables at a local sports bar. I had a very wise manager with whom I occasionally butted heads, due in no small part, I’m sure, to my stubbornness. I spent months waffling endlessly on whether I should apply for this teaching job or pack everything up and make for Anchorage, and one night, as I begged him to please cut me from the floor so I could go home and study, he dropped this major bombshell on me:

“When you don’t know where you’re going,” he told me, “Any road will take you there.” Continue reading “When you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there. (Turns out this is still true.)”