Birthdays, mountains and sunscreen

Tomorrow's my 27th birthday, and now that I'm rounding the corner to 30, I'll be making sure everything I put on my face has sunscreen in it. Adulthood responsibility, here I finally come. I can't help but think that in some ways it's been a banner 26th year. I think back to memories of times spent with family, and of getting to visit my grandmother's childhood home. I think back to whale watching off of Cape Cod for S and my 5th anniversary. I think of running a half marathon with one of my best friends, and getting to meet her son for the first time. Mostly I think of the rootedness of my life, and how I feel more grounded and sure of myself now. Not everyday, but in reflection of who I'm becoming, I feel like I have a strong sense of myself and vision for my life.

To celebrate my birthday, S and I went out to western Massachusetts for some snowboarding on a larger mountain this weekend. The weather was in the high 30s/ low 40s, which is nice because the man made snow doesn't freeze up and turn icy in these conditions. S remembered how much he loved snowboarding and I remembered how much I loved riding with him by my side. In the words of the incomparable Ryan Bingham, "Everybody needs a copilot."

We topped off the weekend celebration with birthday tiramisu, which is what happens when S and I go to the grocery store for birthday cake and he says, "You don't have to get an actual birthday cake. You can get any dessert that you want." Turns out we both thought it was delicious, and we enjoyed spending some quiet time together thankful for the year behind, our little family with a cat, and the year ahead.

Memories

Do you have any childhood memories that seemed so serious back then, but upon reflection as an adult, they're absolutely ridiculous?

I was listening to Pandora radio today at work while doing data entry, and Axel F came on one of my stations.

It brought back a memory from 1st or 2nd grade, when my class took a trip to another school's auditorium to see a magic show.

I sat in the back of the auditorium with my class and peered up to the auditorium stage, thinking how cool this magic show was and how awesome that funky song was (Axel F, apparently quite popular as the Beverly Hills Cop theme) they were blasting through the speakers as some skinny white middle-aged man dressed in a black turtle neck and slacks did some sort of "magic" on stage.

The only thing I was really bummed about was that a bunch of the kids who had gotten to the auditorium earlier than my class had gotten free glow sticks to wave around during the show! I loved glow sticks and was so sad I did not have one. I truly felt left out and unlucky, and even the hip sounds of Axel F could not help me to feel perfectly happy once I realized others had glow sticks and I did not.

But then tragedy struck. The show was cut short, and we all had to file out of the auditorium without seeing our full share of magic! On the bus back to our elementary school, the rumor mill was churning out stories that a girl who was given a glow stick had apparently broken the stick, gotten the glow in her eye, and had to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance! All I could think was "What kind of stupid kid would not know how to bend a glow stick so that it would glow, but not break?" I was mad at this girl for 1) getting and glow stick in the first place, 2) abusing her glow stick privileges and thus 3) ruining our magic show fun, but also terrified that children my age could have their very lives endangered by a favorite toy.

If that's not ridiculous, I don't know what is.

Reach

Today I challenge you to pray for a person or a group of people you don't like, think of as an enemy, or people who are considered "unlovable." I will be doing the same. If we can't be generous on a day devoted to love, then when can we be?

I believe

It may not be the most romantic...or the most sexy...but if it doesn't make you just a little happier to have a whole mushy gushy day devoted to L-O-V-E, I questions your humanity.

Enjoy!

Friends

K, M and D (2.6.12)

Last Monday I met up with two very special people, K and M, who I originally met during a two and a half week humanitarian trip to Kigali Rwanda in the winter of 2006-2007. All three of us now work in some piece of the education field, M in Beijing for the time being with the company he started, and K and I in suburbs of Boston. We met up in Harvard Square and walked over to a little Mexican spot called Boca Grande for burrittos and reminiscing.

I often think about how people come into my life and have a very hard time figuring out what makes them stick. M and I, for instance, had not seen each other in over 5 years prior to meeting up by a T stop thousands of miles away from where we first met at the Che Rose guest house in Kigali. We hadn't even spoken by phone since that time, but there is no doubt in my mind that I will consider him, and most of the people I took that trip with my senior year of college, a true friend. When I think back to my memories of M from Rwanda, they are often very quiet, or very loud. In my loud memory, he was once my shower buddy. I knew that would get your attention.

At the last place we stayed at in Rwanda, there were these open bathrooms with a bunch of shower stalls to use, kind of like a pool house, with lots of centipedes and cockroaches and other buddies, and the faucet water was always freezing. We'd all try not to shower, but it was a hot and humid climate, so after two days, we'd reek, and into the shower we'd need to go. The water was so continously cold that the only way to survive a shower was to put on your game face, walk in your stall of choice, and, upon turning on the water, scream for the entirety of the ordeal. This, with no others "campers" to support you or sound equally as stupid as you, was highly embarrassing. I was lucky that one evening when I really needed to shower, M was also stinky. So instead of being a wimp all on my own, M and I, in different stalls of course, took excuriating showers in a solidarity of screeches.

In quieter times, we visited so many genocide memorial sites, so many mountain vistas, and other achingly beautiful places. M is an absolutely genius photographer, so often times he was behind a lens capturing all of this. He was a shadow of a person letting the real souls of these places come to life. In my quiet memories of M, whenever he wasn't taking pictures, he was looking down, letting it all sink in. Excepting those Rwandans who accompanied us on these trips, it was always hardest to look at M during these times, because out of all of us, he seemed to carry the tragedy with him from each place.

So this makes me stop and think about how M became my friend, and how he remains my friend, having shared a burritto with him in Cambridge and a shower in Kigali. How other people who have known me longer and see me more will never get me like he does. Once you share so much in such a short time, I guess you're just connected.

It makes me wish we all had an M or two in our lives. Someone you don't share a lot in common with. Someone you don't run to with you secrets, or your successes, or your fears. But someone who reminds you how real each moment in life can be, and that we should never take them for granted.

Thanks for being my friend, M.