Tag Archives: honest

dads.

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Since I’ve been driving so much for my job now, I’ve taken to listening to podcasts to pass the time.  Buying books “on tape” from iTunes has been getting just a liiiittle expensive and there’s only so many times I can listen to the same news on NPR.  I’m a huge fan of the Radiolab podcast as well as This American Life (the “Good Guy” epi = amazing).  I’m pretty impressed by the way people they interview can recount one really amazing personal story.  Storytelling is one skill that’s always evaded me.  And if there’s anything about me you should know, it’s that I get really interested in things I can’t do well (examples: farming, running, being a grown up, etc.).

I learned once that the more you tell a story, the less true it becomes.  That would be a good problem for me to have cause the details of a story are where I stumble.  I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of stories to tell you guys but the things that I remember seem to be limited to the things that were big lessons or turning points for me and they’re snippets at best.  There is no fear more acute to me than the dreaded sharing of ‘fun facts’ at work functions with a room full of my peers.  Maybe I’ve mentioned that I became slightly preoccupied with the notion of a book of essays—till I realized that I have no stories to turn into essays.

So I think I’ve painted a pretty clear pictures of how bad I am with memories… you guys get that, right?  That point is important here because I’m writing the rest of this about my dad (and dads in general).  I don’t have any great dad stories to tell you because I am not so good at telling stories.  What I’m hoping to give you are broad ideas to paint a picture of what my dad means to me.  Let me first tell you, again, that I am blessed in the parental department.  I have three very special parents who would do anything for my sister and me.  My cup runneth over.  There are amazing qualities about my mom and there are amazing qualities about my step-mom, Jodi, and I love all three parents the same.  Growing up, there was always someone to teach me something, someone to ask questions to and I was lucky enough to have three different teachers and three different perspectives.

Moms are amazing creatures.  I think society can agree with me there.  Just this morning on the Today show there was a story about how women do it all: wash the kids, dress the kids, pack the lunches, have a career, run the kids to sports/ballet/tumbling, make time for the hubs, make dinner, do the laundry—and because I’ve had two amazing mom examples, I know this to be true.  Credit where credit is due, sometimes I think dads get a bad rap.  I think the stereotypical dad is the guy that provides financially for the family, is the disciplinarian and generally the TV watcher.  I think there are many, many, many dads that break that stereotype into a million pieces and those are the dads that amaze me.  I’ve observed my friends as dads, friends of friends as dads, my dad as a dad, TV dads, dads of friends and let me tell you—I have seen some AWESOME dads.  That brings me to my dad.

This past week my dad celebrated a birthday and it got me to thinking.  In the last five or so years, I’ve observed my dad being my dad much more than I ever have.  It’s because I see more of him in me as an adult than I ever have before.  My dad is strong, intelligent, capable, hard-working, sensitive, funny, personable, silly and he wears his heart on his sleeve.  What you see is what you get with my dad.  For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be someone my dad liked; I always wanted him to *see* me.  His eyes and his smile and his laugh and his satisfaction were always favors I wanted bestowed upon me.  My sister and I used to take turns sitting in the middle seat in the front bench seat of his pick-up truck so that he could rest his giant dad-hand on our knobby little knees when he wasn’t shifting the gear shift.  My heart is full of a mishmash of memories of my dad: I’ll always think of my dad wearing a tee-shirt in the middle of winter; of him letting us put barrettes in his hair for hours.  I’ll think of him wearing suspenders or riding the subway on our family trip to Washington DC or of teaching me not to be afraid to try new food (my first taste of a mussel at East Side Mario’s).  I’ll think of my dad in stories he’s told or the picture of him as an altar boy when he was so young that’s forever burned on my brain.  I’ll think of him with his huge family and his hand-me-downs and him drinking powdered milk as a boy.  I’ll think of him working from the time he was able baling hay so he could save for things he wanted.

From my dad I learned to be hopeful, I learned to work hard for what I want, I learned to appreciate nice things, I learned the art of giving and I’ve learned patience by watching him (we jokingly refer to it as “the patience of Joe”).  He means the world to me and even with all the ups and downs and highs and lows and wrongs and rights in our history, there is nothing in this world I wouldn’t still do to have him laugh with me or smile with me or talk to me or see me.  Our relationship is less about my seeking his approval and more about understanding the place where we each come from.  Maybe even a little bit of walking a similar path to get where we are now.  I couldn’t be more grateful for my dad.  Pretty soon, I’ll get to see him as a grandpa to my sister’s baby (truth: I’m excited to see all my parents in the grandparent light).  While there are a lot of things my dad isn’t, there are even more things that he is.  The scale tips in my favor and I realize how lucky I am.

The beauty of my parental tapestry is that the colors run together so I’ve become who I am from all my parents’ values and lessons and hopes for me running together—to the point where there isn’t just one person who taught me to love and accept and be open-minded.  Somewhere along the way, all of this became something I noticed.  I’m grateful for that perspective. So on this birthday and all the birthdays to come that I’m lucky enough to spend with my dad, I’ll celebrate him for all the good he’s done, all the good he’s yet to do and all he is.

Happy Birthday to this guy. My dad. (and me, obvi.)

Happy Birthday to this guy. My dad. (and me, obvi.)

lucky.

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I’ve been thinking the same thing for two weeks now.

I can’t believe I get paid to do what I do.

I mean—I make a living doing something I truly love.  Every day for the last two weeks, I get my day started with a little coffee and head out to rural Iowa to meet people and do my job.  I get to drive a car furnished by my employer (who I’ll be deliberately vague about since they’re a rather *known* company) and while most people wouldn’t be too thrilled driving around a billboard, I’m not one of them.  I couldn’t be happier driving it around, letting everyone know who I represent.  I hold doors at gas stations, I smile at strangers, I shake hands, I make small talk, I set my cruise-control and I rock out to my Windshield Time playlist on Spotify.

Iowa never fails to be a magical place for me and I’m really lucky to get to explore as an added bonus to my job.  For example, the last two weeks, I’ve gone down at least one dirt road to get to someone’s house.  I’ve visited two legit farms.  I’ve seen countless windmills and I’m becoming very familiar with the route from Des Moines to Omaha.

Today… and I’m going to do this an injustice—I was driving down a county road where I saw no one for 15 miles.  It was corn as far as the eye could see.  And beyond that, everything was painted white with snow: the trees were skeletons covered in white, the power lines were all coated white, the corn fields were white rolling hills.  The world felt quiet and beautiful and I was lucky enough to be a part of that.

The point of all this, guys?  I’m insanely lucky.  Blessed, even.  It’s been a long road getting here and it’s not lost on me that I’ve been well taken care of along the way.  Every day, I’m thankful.  Every day, I know I’m doing the right thing.  I’m not planning my next move, I’m enjoying exactly where I am in this moment.

waves

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When was the last time you did something that mattered to you?

I mean really mattered.

It could be something incredibly simple or something that matters enough to shake your core.  For me, I realized today, I’m lacking in the core-shaking department.

I drove to Sioux City for work today.  It was a gorgeous day for a three-hour drive west in my uber-posh Detroit dream-machine rental.  I had the windows cracked and some Portugal. The Man. on the radio.  I was about an hour outside of Sioux City when I started to smell the smell.  Now, anyone that’s spent any time in Iowa knows what I’m talking about.  (They say in Iowa corn is king but let me tell you that meat has an equal share of the kingdom.)  It was the sickening sweet meat smell from the processing plants that are situated across the state.  In fact, sometimes when the wind is right I can smell it outside my apartment floating over from the east side.  After rolling up my windows, I thought about what might happen at those places.  It disgusts me to consider it.  Yet I’ll go into a restaurant and order a burger that probably started its voyage to my plate the very same way.

Like most of the personal revelations that make their way to this blog, it translates to my life as a whole.  I can’t remember the last time I stood up for something that mattered to me.  I can’t remember the last time I put my money where my mouth is, so to speak.  You all know the kind of woman I want to be, so when did I stop chasing those dreams?  A younger Ryan was a vegetarian in personal protest to animal treatment—and I stayed that way for five years (I wasn’t PETA-level crazy, guys).  It became part of who I was.  Eventually (probably for reasons of convenience and lack of proper protein) I went back to eating meat and tried not to think too much about where it came from.

My parents (all three of them) always taught me that I could do whatever I wanted.  They gave me love no matter what I decided to do.  They were on my side when I did well in school, when I was too lazy to care in college, when I was unemployed, when I moved to Cincinnati to go to school cause it seemed like a good idea and every subsequent endeavor whether it be success or failure.  They never made me feel like there was something I couldn’t do.  As a consequence, I think it’s taught me to love everything.  I don’t have just one dream, I have many, many dreams.  I think it’s left me in a constant neutral state as an adult.  Instead of mastering just one thing and pursuing just that thing with my whole heart, I pursue many things with 1/4 of my heart.

I know too much about the things that do matter to me to ever feign ignorance.  I know too much about food and I have very strong feelings about it, I know too much about exercise and the human body and eating right but I still offer myself the best of excuses as to why it’s okay not to live it out, I know too much about living whole-heartedly and being vulnerable yet I still choose to hold myself back; I struggle with the just do.  I read a blog post recently by someone I really admire.  She said “how you do anything is how you do everything.”  I have been kicking that around and turning it over since reading that, trying to find how that fits and resonates in my life.  And it does.  I always thought my life was waiting to happen.  That things would really get going for me when I found my purpose.  And as all of you good people may already know, I learned that my life is happening now.  So if I follow the “how you do anything is how you do anything” principle, how I procrastinate about the minutiae of life is how I treat my life as a whole; how I treat most days is (in reality) how I treat all the days.  I want that thought to light the motivation fire that I’ve spent so much time lamenting the loss of.

So that takes me back to where I started… when was the last time you did something that really mattered to you?  Is that something you think about when making decisions—is this something that matters to me?  I know that for me, I’m going to have to keep that top of mind and chase those things.  It doesn’t come as naturally to me as it might to you but it’s a noble pursuit to chase it.

a goal

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I’m sitting in my running clothes as I write this post about running.  I’m waiting for the blistering Iowa sun to go down a touch in hopes the humidity will too and I can hit the streets with a bit of cool.  Even though it was 108 degrees in Vegas, it’s got nothing on this midwestern humidity.

In my last blog post I mentioned that my dear friend wants to run a half marathon, which I agreed to do.  Let me walk you through my love/hate relationship with running in order to arrive at how I agreed to get to this stage—that of training for my first half-marathon.

When I was in high school I hated running.  I joined the soccer team for the sole reason that my sister asked me to.  She was already an established soccer superstar and she wanted to have the opportunity of playing the same sport while we were in school together.  Making memories—you get it.  No illusions here, people, I was not a good soccer player.  Nevermind that I’d played indoor on and off.  Everything in outdoor soccer was different: the field size, no walls, my really good opponents and practice.  Early on, I loathed soccer practice.  I wasn’t really used to running all that much (or burpees or working out).  We ran a.lot and even though I spent most of my time not scoring goals and sitting on the bench, I did learn to appreciate the exercise aspect associated with practice and consequently with running.  After my brief stint with soccer, I continued running occasionally.  After a break for a few years I started back up by running with the same dear friend who wants to run the half.  We’d run the steps at Nippert Stadium or run after hours on the track field at UC.

After a time we both ended up back at home in Northeast Ohio.  We’d run the streets or at the dam (where all the local runners go).  I completed my first 5k which was a pretty big deal at the time.  Then my relationship with running changed completely.  I met someone who propelled my occasional running to something much more serious; it became a passion.  I ran because that’s what you do when you’re together with a runner.  I started reading magazines about it and articles on the internet.  I bought some official looking gear and got my first iPod Shuffle.  I started spending more time and money on running shoes.  I got a Camelback as a gift.  I’d run on my own, I’d run at the gym, we’d run together in the blazing summer heat.  I began wearing headbands to mop up the sweat from my brow on longer running days.  I loved running.  Then the best thing happened—my sister joined in.  Then her husband.  Running became more than just running for me.  It became something I did with the people I loved and it became quality time that I really treasured.  Running with my sister was a way for us to reconnect.  She’d talk and talk and talk while I ran beside her, forgetting my discomfort by listening to her words.  Running has been a part of my life, sometimes large and sometimes small, for the last decade.

I look at where I am now and I’ve never been less involved in my passion.  I’ve never run alone, it’s always been as part of a team.  I’ve never had to ignite this fire on my own.  I recognize that and I want to change it.  What better way to change it than to sign up for a half-marathon (okay, there are probably better ways but I say ‘go big’).  This is definitely a mountain sized goal for me and not one I take lightly.  There’s beauty to me in the notion of doing what our bodies are designed to do.  We’re designed to move, so move I shall.  I know what I want and tonight starts the training to get there.

on excuses (sort-of)

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I don’t like excuses.  I never have.  It’s not to say that sometimes there isn’t a really valid reason why you did/didn’t do something.  I think the reason I don’t like them is that I know (deep down) there really is no excuse for my not doing the things I should do.  (Example: yes, my kitchen is small but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to let the dishes pile up in the tiny sink.)  Excuses are the first thing to flood my mind when a challenge is presented.  (Example: my dear friend wants to run a half-marathon in five months.  My first thought is ‘I can’t do it’.)  I’m sure this has a lot to do with psychology and negativity and whatnot but that’s an idea I don’t really have the desire to explore cause I’ll just confuse you and I’ll confuse myself.  I have a point with this blog entry and I want to stick to it – for your sake, friends.

The working title of this blog started in my head as ‘reasons why I don’t write’.  Then I realized that it’s bigger than that; it’s about my relationship with excuses.  To me, excuses are like a vapor: they float in and fog up my end-goal; they confuse and disorient me and I can’t grasp them.  I’m a little too good at giving myself excuses and as a consequence, I sort of end up shaming myself.  Crazy, right?!  The way I deal with this shame is to close in on myself.  I cut out everyone and everything, I go dark on social media (yes, even Instagram), I shuffle on through my life keeping my eyes down.  I retreat – all because of excuses.  That brings us to writing.  I know a lot of bloggers (not that I’m calling myself a “blogger”) struggle with finding their voice, consistency in writing and building a readership.  I know the only way to build my readership is to write consistently.  I feel like, when I’m in this self-shamed-state, that I don’t want to write.  I get so tired of myself and as a consequence I feel like you all will be tired of me too.  I feel like nothing I’m writing will be of any real gain.  Before this spirals into a web-based pity-party, I’m going to continue my original idea giving you reasons I don’t write.  Without further adieu:

reasons I don’t write:

  1. My phone deleted all my pictures (long story – not my fault) so any picture blogging I had planned came to a halt.  I say “my phone” but it was really a misunderstanding between my phone, a work PC and a camera.  I’d never blame Apple for something like that.
  2. I still kind of hate it that I don’t completely understand WordPress.  I’m going to have to resign myself to the fact that I’m simply not a person that can teach myself.  I need someone to teach me.  My ‘WordPress for Dummies’ remains uncracked.
  3. There’s cat litter on my desk which my cats use as a glorified perch.  How is one expected to have a creative space when there are two cats running around like crazies, leaving a trail of litter everywhere (did I mention my apartment is small.  Small space + two litterboxes = mayhem).
  4. I’m not really super happy about anything going on at the moment.  Springtime is fantastic – don’t get me wrong.  I love the city and I love my apartment… but I can’t muster up the modicum of happiness required to put into a blog entry.
  5. See aforementioned “excuse” of closing in on myself – I’m kind of floating around in there right now.
  6. I’m overly critical.  Of everything.
  7. Once I stop being regular about writing, it’s easier to stay on track that way than it is to get a thoughtful post up.

It’s not that I don’t want to blog.  Cause I do.  In fact, I’ve even thought about maybe putting some effort toward writing a book of essays.  Please just forgive me for this awkward time of in-betweenness.  I’m going to get better, I promise.  After all, if I want to be the next David Sedaris, I have to start somewhere.

P.S. I’m headed to Vegas in t-6 days.  Something good will come out of that, surely!  Right?!

changes

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Breakfast2 FrenchPress

RedPepper

Charcuterie

 

 

 

 

 

 

I did it!  I made it 30 days on the Whole30.  I remember right after I started I marked 30 days out on my calendar at work and I thought to myself ‘there’s no way I can make it to the end of March – that’s so far away.’  Now here I am, done with 30 days, feeling good and ready to continue some of the better life choices I’ve been making.

A lot of things have been going on in my life and when I think about that, I consider that I started the Whole30 at just the right time.  While most everything in my personal life has been choppy waters lately, I managed to maintain total control over what I ate and how what I put in my body made me feel.  I planned, I prepared, I chopped, washed and cooked; I ate leftovers and veggies and meat in new ways; I ate less out of convenience and was happily inconvenienced to make everything homemade.

All in all, I’d recommend this to anyone.  I’ll definitely plan on doing it again and continuing to implement the Paleo way of eating (allowing room for occasional indulgences).  I’ve felt centered and energized.  It’s kind of been my anchor of sorts.  Moving to DSM, while exciting, has also been a bit different than I’d anticipated.  I’m writing this post from my brand new couch in my very first apartment.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had apartments before but I’ve always had roommates.  I’d scamper about those former living spaces, trying to stay out of the way and go unnoticed so I didn’t cause annoyance; essentially for the last 10 years or so I’ve been living in a space the size of a bedroom.  That would explain my lack of adult furniture and kitchen essentials.  I’ve carefully picked out each piece I’ve acquired thus far (with some helpful consulting here and there); each piece has purpose in this new space I’m building.  It’s helping me carve out who I am.  I’m discovering what makes me happy and (yes, family) I’m learning some responsibility for myself too.

I’m sure we’ll chat more about my new space.  Let me end on some super exciting news: MY SISTER IS COMING!  Next Tuesday she’ll arrive here in Des Moines!  She’ll spend the week with me shopping and being a tourist.  I’m so excited to show her around the city.  There will absolutely be some pics to come!  The photos above (not in an organized fashion in ANY way despite my trying) are of a few of the Whole30 meals lovingly prepared in the last 30 days.

secrets

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For about as long as I can remember, in my adult life, I’ve struggled with honesty and transparency.  I know I want to be an honest person and be seen for who I am and I know that I’m more than capable to do that for others.  I’ve read countless books on the subjects of vulnerability, living a whole-hearted life, honesty and its consequences and how all those topics apply to all sorts of relationships.  I’ve learned the lesson many times: honesty is important.  With my big move 10 hours away from my “safety net” of family and friends, it’s been a challenge for me to pick up the phone and have honest conversations with these people I love; even just to catch up.  And for what reason?  I honestly can’t think of one that’s important enough.  It’s become clear to me that my safety net is more important now than it ever has been (you know, since I’m blazing my own trail and all).

Beyond just picking up the phone and talking candidly about the everyday, I want to talk about secrets.  My mother, my father, my step-mother (collectively: my parents) have always encouraged openness and honesty and I’ve carried that with me throughout my life.  Somewhere along the way, it became okay for me to close off parts of myself that I was maybe less proud of.  Is it just the business of becoming an adult?  Probably.  I realize that not every single thing of one’s past is meant to see the light of day.  Despite knowing all that, I still find myself shocked when I meet a secret of someone else’s.  Especially since I go out of my way to preach honesty.  I’m pretty sure it’s a fatal flaw of mine and I have no idea why.

Honesty is dangerous, vulnerability is dangerous – it’s (in the wise words of a friend) a risk.  And I’m not strictly speaking of love here either, it’s being vulnerable in a friendship or letting your family see who you are (even the bad bits).  Why go through life cloaked in only the good stuff and leave out the messy parts?  It’s the messy stuff that makes us all real anyway.  Connection is so incredibly powerful and it’s worth all the tough stuff that makes up who we are.

Alright… I’ll stop rambling on now.  I’m trying to find the balance of personal but not too personal on this blog.  You guys get it.

And cheer up, it was either this entry or one all about my cat.  I’m not ready for you all to think I’m a crazy cat lady so that post will wait till another day.

Hey-o Paleo

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Catchy title, eh?

Guess what I’m doing?

I decided, after some extensive blog reading and related work chatter, to eat Paleo-style/join the Paleo movement/be Paleo (how does one say that?).  I’m trying to avoid using the word “diet” cause it has such a negative connotation.  However, it is just that.  A lot of people call it the “caveman diet” and that’s really it in a nutshell.  It’s going to be including more meat than I usually eat but the trade off is I’ll be breaking my addiction to carbs and sugars.  Yes, I’ll miss wine and beer and most especially cheese but “moderation” will be  a new word in my vocabulary in 30 days.

I’ve given this a lot of thought.  After eating my way through Des Moines and some additional stress I’ve found that I haven’t been feeling very healthy.  I haven’t been sleeping well, my clothes feel the stretch of some extra lbs. and there’s simply the general feeling of being more run down than usual.  Even getting outside for a run has been a challenge cause I’d rather sleep.  I couldn’t figure out why I was feeling so poorly.  Then I started to think about what I’ve been consuming.  My food philosophy has always been about feeling good from the inside out but I realized that’s taken a backseat to the gastronomical excitement of a new city.

After hearing about it at work, I read this blog which made me feel like Paleo was something I wanted to do.  In true Ryan fashion, I made a plan.  I purchased this book and this book  (okay, okay and this book – but that’s it, I swear).  I began reading about food, how the body reacts to food and the benefits of Paleo.  I won’t attempt to reiterate it here as my goal is merely to talk about this cool new thing I’m doing.  I realized that what’s been happening (maybe my whole life) is that I was regularly putting food between me and my goals and 90% of the time, it just wasn’t worth it.

I felt excited to come home tonight and cook dinner.  I cooked, you guys!  It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.  I even have a menu planned for the rest of the week.  If it wasn’t evident, my day one optimism is showing itself.  I know this is going to be very difficult and I’ll probably need you to remind me on day 9 that I don’t, in fact, neeeeeed a pastry.  I’m just really excited about this.  I’m pretty sure this is going to get me just a bit closer to being the woman I want to be.

on motivation

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Pinterest does a good job reminding me of the kind of woman I want to be.  There’s so much creativity, determination, motivation and no lack of good recipes that clog up my Pinterest boards.  From adorable future pets to what I want my future home to look like, I pretty much have the blueprint in my mind.

I’ve been knocking this idea around my thoughts for a bit of time and I can’t seem to figure out what exactly motivates me.  If there’s anything true about me, it’s that I feel like I’m always waiting: waiting for the right time, waiting for the right place, waiting to have the right amount of money, waiting for the right tools, waiting for the right person – you get the idea.  Here’s a list (both the silly and serious) that does a good job illustrating the kind of woman I want to be.  Maybe that’ll help with the motivation part.

I want to be the kind of woman that bakes doughnuts.

I know it sounds silly but I feel like baking doughnuts pretty much makes you the coolest kind of woman.  I’ve made cakes, muffins, cookies, even toffee but never doughnuts.  How cool would it be to bring those into work… homemade doughnuts – no big deal, guys.

I want to be the kind of woman that runs with the sun.

As I mentioned before, I’m constantly trying to be a runner.  Yes, I know my body may be rejecting it as I’ve had everything from hip pain to shin splints.  I refuse to quit though.  While that may make it sound like I have the upper hand, I’m constantly starting/stopping the entire process.  As summer moves closer, I dream of starting my days by hitting the pavement, breathing in the morning air, getting out in the world before most people have had their first cup of coffee – I just can’t seem to get from the bed to the door.

I want to be the kind of woman who wears heels.

This sounds ridiculous, I know.  Again though it’s a more generalized statement which illustrates something that I think makes women amazing.  Fashion has pretty much eluded me my entire life.  My sister is so good at this.  She can put whatever together because she owns it and makes it hers.  My idea of fashion is to add a scarf to any and everything (yes, even a hoodie – epic fail, Ryan).  I want to wear turquoise jewelry, maybe turquoise shoes, blazers, skinny jeans, tall boots – I want to make it look effortlessly put together.  That’s something I know won’t happen overnight.

I want to be the kind of woman who inspires others.

This one is more long term.  Honestly, one could go their entire life not really understanding their impact on others.  Regardless I think I could at least try to live this way.

I want to be the kind of woman who travels.

It really doesn’t matter where.  This one is born out of my love for pictures.  I love when I see a life displayed on the wall (“oh, that was from our trip to Rome in 2010…”).  Travel has always been something that mattered to me but never anything that I put first for myself.  I want to change that and make it more of a priority.

And since I could go on forever… I’ll make this next one the last one (for now).

I want to be the kind of woman who has a dog.

Another silly but true one.  I have wanted a dog FOREVER.  Thankfully, I’ve been responsible enough to wait for good time but I desperately want this one to be true.  A dog could be the first step to my future as a farmer (but I digress…).  I want a cool dog, too: a whippet, or a greyhound or a Frenchie or something.  A dog that will follow me around, that I can take on walks or runs (maybe that would get me out the door?!), a dog that I can take on car trips or on the long ride back to Ohio.  You know, like a sidekick.

I know this post bounced between silly and kind of desperately serious.  I want this space to be an honest place for me but not tooooo honest.  I want to be known and share the good stuff (less on sharing the bad).  Also, this post would have been awesome filled with pictures but I’m only on the first chapter of WordPress for Dummies so that’ll have to wait.