With less than 72 hours until moving day week, emotions are running high around here. My parents have scheduled their cry sessions such that at any given meal, logistics meeting, or passing hello, one of them is always crying to some extent. Sometimes it’s a classy, low-key eye watering but at other times it’s full-blown ugly crying in the company of close friends who make Savannah’s best and deadliest lemon drop martinis.  I’ve been sporting the “single but sizeable tear rolling slowly down the right cheek” look most days which is perfect for maintaining my status as an enigma. Potential witnesses to my left are left in the dark with only those to my right — and my dear readership, of course — privy to my emotional depth.

“But he had underestimated the strangeness of talking about the future of his life with someone for whom the future still seemed unbounded: a pleasure palace of choices, with infinite doors, in which only a fool would spend his time trapped in one room.”

– Zadie Smith, On Beauty

As my most recent chapter in Savannah comes to a close, I do actually find myself feeling all the feels. First and foremost I’m so freaking excited!!! No part of me wants to back out or thinks that I should have chosen a school closer to home or, God forbid, in Savannah. Though I loved spring breaks spent wandering River Street — I was partial to the candy kitchens in particular — I never felt at home here. I’m so ready to settle into my new city/state/coast and discover new hot spots, find a cute barista, and hike my way to the answer of the age old question: Am I a mountain mama or a beach babe? I predict that my life will basically become the staycation version of Eat, Pray, Love. But between daydreams of men in plaid flannel chopping wood and daydreams of shirtless men chopping wood (“To every thing there is a season […]” – Ecclesiastes 3:1), apprehensions arise. My First Day Jitters are here two weeks early and, y’all, it is my fervent prayer that an extrovert will adopt me the minute I walk into orientation and maybe want to keep me for awhile or forever.

In times of stress I like to turn to boys and booze but last night I gave chamomile tea and bubble bath a try instead. Ya know… self-care, healthy choices, yada yada. It was “the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever” as they say. So tonight I took to the kitchen to work through my emotions.

Ever since I could eat solid food, I’ve had a ferocious appetite. I was on diets by age 5 and though the diets changed as I grew the unifying message was always to care less about food. Just think of it as energy. Don’t look to it to aid in celebration or to abate sadness. In more recent years I quickly jumped on board with meal replacement programs in the interest of fitting healthy eating into my busy schedule and getting fast results like in their ads. In true “go big or go home” fashion with which I approach almost everything in life, I’d buy months worth of products and inevitably be over it long before I ate even half of my inventory.

I eventually realized that I needed to flip the script. If I’m really into food, work with that passion rather than fight it. For me, demonizing food and reducing time in the kitchen was actually more negative than positive. Though there are definite perks to meal planning, even that tried and true dieting tool isn’t usually a good fit for me, depending on the season of my life. Eating the same meal five times in a week sounds terrible and I generally get more satisfaction out of freshly made dinners than leftovers. If I’m getting more satisfaction, I’m less likely to hunt for a snack mere minutes after dinner.

For me, cooking is usually a meditative and therapeutic experience. It allows for a nice combination of creativity and productivity when the rest of life may feel too regimented or messy or beyond my control. Once upon a final exam week, I made a salmon chowder so delicious that dad raved about it even though it was creamy, spicy, and had kale <– three of his least favorite things. This culinary feat was just as rewarding as passing o chem!

By grocerying with care, cooking, plating, then photographing my meals before I eat, I’m already halfway full before I’m even a few bites in. It’s the new emotional eating.

Butternut Squash Soup with Pumpkin Seeds

Bok Choy Leaf Salad feat. Hickory Smoked Balsamic Vinegar from La Terra.

Especially on weekends when Lawd knows what I’ll get into later, I try to front load my day with greens. Today’s lunch was super simple. Like writing all of this out was much harder than the actual cooking part.

Here’s how it went down:

Preheated oven to 400 F. Drizzled sweet potato rounds with olive oil then sprinkled a bit of cumin, garlic, salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, and basil. Threw on a frozen sausage link. Honestly not sure how long I cooked it all. Probably about 30 minutes. Flipped potatoes and turned sausage once. Towards the end I cut the sausage into bite sized pieces and put em in for another 5 minutes.

Plated a handful of kale, drizzled with assorted vinegars and oil, chopped 1/2 an avocado, squeezed 1/4 lemon, and topped with a few grinds of pepper. Added the roasted stuff.

If you’re feeling a bit munchier, try adding bell peppers and onions (roasted or raw), pecans, and goat cheese. This is also a great opportunity to use up leftover veggies. Cold roasted squash, for example, would totally work with this.

For a nutrient boost, try adding hemp hearts and flax seeds.

Notable Food Sources:
-Vidalia Onion Sausage from Hunter Cattle
-25 star balsamic, whiskey vinegar (mmm), and good ol EVOO all from La Terra Natural Oils

About a month ago I hopped up to Atlanta for the first time in ages because my sister wanted to see Candide and I want nothing more than my sister’s happiness. While I was there I had the opportunity to see a number of friends and family — at least 2/3 of my heart lives in Atlanta — and through strategically planned lodging and coffee dates had a chance to spend time with a few women that I’m particularly fond/proud of. They have each been through life events and horrors ranging from tragic to unfathomable. Though healing is an ongoing process which is by no means linear, as we well know, they were each happy and seemed to be thriving. I took some time to look for a common thread between the talks I had with each woman — eager to discover a clue to this “living well after hell” concept they had apparently nailed. The link? Volunteering.

I grew up in an altruistically minded family. My parents spent many an anniversary on mission trips and most of my favorite high school memories are from trips to Tampa with my old church youth group where time spent teaching migrant workers’ kids about God’s love radically changed my understanding of the very concept. After school, my primary non-church activities were helping children learn to read at the Salvation Army and organizing anything and everything at the Wesley Community Center. I even went to a college where the motto was Dum Vivimus Servimus, or, if your Latin is rusty, “While We Live We Serve.”

But after I graduated and started working, my “charity work” was limited to attending galas and spending what some, including my parents, might consider an insane amount of money on auction items. In my defense, self-control is doubly hard when there’s an open bar and it’s for a good cause. I was once gifted a hot pink Coach bag — the item I most coveted but was outbid on — because I was so…enthusiastic…in my other bids. Full disclosure: my parents were supposed to attend that night but asked me and my friends go in their absence and bid as they would. That is the first and last time they gave me carte blanche at an auction and have not since asked me to represent them financially.

Galas are, of course, fabulous. Some people love summer but my favorite season is gala season. I’m always 100% down for a black tie event — no questions asked.  These events are important to publicity and fundraising for any non-profit but getting gussied up and throwing money — yours or someone else’s — at a cause just isn’t the same as actually spending time volunteering with the organization.

At the height — or is depth? — of my depression and associated ails, my therapist urged me to volunteer. At the time I couldn’t see that I had anything to contribute to society nor the energy to get out of bed other than to care for my doggos. Looking back, volunteering makes the shortlist of things I could have done earlier to prevent getting so bad off.

Last year I started working with COPE for Change — a local non-profit that combats childhood obesity through nutrition education, exercise, and behavioral health. I was hesitant to get involved because I’m the poster child for the very thing they’re trying to prevent — obesity. But the founder, Sandy, was kind and understanding and I felt like I was meeting a slightly older version of myself. We had a myriad of shared struggles and she had figured out how to use those experiences to make a positive impact on our community! I went into our first meeting somewhat embarrassed to admit to someone besides my family and friends that I, a chick still struggling to figure out her own weight stuff, was actively pursuing a career in dietetics.  Our conversations and work together erased all traces of doubt from my mind that this is what I’m meant to do.

There is a certain freedom in realizing that a part of me that was considered shameful and which I was told detracted from my value as a person is perhaps my most invaluable asset. The mental and physical battles I spent so long fighting and lost so much of myself to are also going to be what makes me relatable, passionate, empathetic, and effective as a clinician.  And so the albatross became the landroval!

Each project I work on with COPE lights me up in a way that is rare for me. The best day I’ve had this summer was one that started bright and early* with Eat Fresh & Free at Beach High where COPE provided the community with tables and tables worth of fresh and free produce along with sunscreen, peanut butter, and bread (check out video).  I went on to hit the gym where I ran into my trainer after my workout and only then learned that we had a session booked for that very moment. So I worked out again. That afternoon was spent on future projects for COPE and I ended the day with Mary and a new-to-me/old-to-her friend at Fox & Fig. Every minute of the day resonated with me. I ecstatically realized that I can curate a life that looks very similar to that most days. A few tweaks here and there for matters of the heart and maybe throw in a puppy and a pool. Voila! Perfection!

Now whenever someone confides in me that they’re feeling lonely or that weekends are especially hard or that they just need something more, I’m like, “OMG! Let me tell you what I’ve been learning lately!” Investing your time, energy, and resources in your community strengthens your community while enhancing your well-being.

What You Gain When You Give

1. New Skills/Experience
   • If you find yourself in need of learning new skills for a career move, volunteering with a non-profit is a great way to do that. Whereas an unpaid internship might require a significant time commitment interfering with your 9 to 5, non-profits tend to be extremely grateful for however many hours you can spare. You might even learn new things about yourself and realize that you’re actually a great leader or adept at problem solving. With the help of www.canva.com, I learned that I can make super cool images detailing upcoming events for COPE in literally less than 5 minutes. I’ve basically never felt so artistic nor professional in my life, much less both at the same time!
2. New Friends
   • My social scene has fluctuated vastly throughout my life. Peaks: ATL and that sorority girl life (#FaithfulUntoDeath)/college in general. Valleys: high school and much of my adult life — especially when traveling often for work. It takes me awhile to warm up to people so volunteering is the best non-boozy way I can think of to expand one’s circle slowly. If you volunteer for something you’re passionate about, you already share common interests with the other volunteers and generally people who take time out of their lives to help other people are pretty nice. Plus you can work together a few times before deciding to next-level that into friendship, should you care to take things slow.
3. Confidence
   • This is so important if you’re going through a season of change or loss. Some time back I accidentally built like 75% of my identity around my job, 12.5% around my relationship, and 12.5% around my puppies. So when work died down and I dumped my boyfriend (I regretted it and we reconciled just in time for him to dump me #TimingIsEverything), I lost nearly all of who I was in a matter of weeks. Not super great for my confidence. This would have been an ideal time for me to lean into some volunteer work, nurture those relationships, and direct some of that emotion and energy outward. The rewarding feel of contribution and good vibes does wonders for your self-esteem and being around people who are good for you and appreciate you is such a confidence booster!
4. Belonging & Purpose
   • American culture is individualistic which is every bit as toxic as it is empowering. It’s therapeutic, energizing, and necessary to be a part of something bigger than yourself! This TED Talk explains well that belonging and purpose are two of the most vital components necessary for life satisfaction. In volunteering, one can find both belonging and purpose and stave off the grave danger of isolation and presumed meaninglessness. “What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.” (Vonnegut)
5. Perspective
   • The Sunday I returned from Atlanta, I got my typical post-travel blues. I recognize how ridiculous it is. I’m acutely aware that I live a privileged life…I want for little and even when I’m alone there are people out there who care deeply for me. Despite logic, my heart was a little heavier than usual as I unpacked and attended my pity party. It was kismet that just then a new yet dear friend sent me like 30 texts about a Princess Ball for fatherless daughters that he was thrilled to be a part of that evening.
     There was Elsa (yas queen!), tiaras, and so. much. dessert. The girls’ joy was contagious. I bawled just hearing about it because it was the most adorable thing ever for girls so deserving of it. I still get butterflies thinking about it. There is a ripple effect in good deeds and acts of kindness. This magical event I wasn’t even a part of had such a profound effect on me and confirmed everything I had theorized earlier that day. True healing happens when you get outside of yourself and the more you connect and share your gifts, your talents, your blessings, your heart… the more you heal, the more you grow, and the more you thrive.

Make a difference. Change your life.

For opportunities near you check out https://www.volunteermatch.org/.

—-

*It should be noted that I loathe mornings and think alarm clocks are inhumane. If you want to truly test my commitment to something, ask me to wake-up early for it. It’s extremely telling.

My artistic process goes a little something like this:

1. Wait for inspiration. Could be days. Could be years. Time is a social construct.
2. Word vomit for 15-20 minutes.
3. Post immediately.

In rereading old posts, I’ve noticed a few trends. Sometimes I make it to what I intended to say but more often than not I peace out before reaching a true conclusion. I don’t think I ever follow up with the rest of the story despite promises to do so. Many a post also starts with a promise to post more frequently.

And I want that for this blog and its readership. I truly do. In addition to my hilarity, insight, and ability to craft a thousand word story about an ultimately anticlimactic walk with Colby & Emma, you more than deserve consistency, if not frequency, and thoughtfully edited and reviewed posts. Like if I could turn back time, I’d add a boot pic to the blog revival post. If I had slept on it just once, it would have come to me before I hit “Publish.”

To that end, I’m truly trying to be better. I have a doozy of a post in the works (2/3 done, I’d say) which I was excited to share tonight.  Just as I was turning over the proverbial leaf, Mary walked in with a new book from Gabrielle Zevin who penned my favorite book since college, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. <– A particularly delightful read for lit. nerds!

She picked it up today and finished it in mere hours, as one does. So now obviously I must go read.

Back soon…with promises less empty and sweets more something than nothing!

—

Favorite Quotes from The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry:

“The words you can’t find, you borrow.”

“We aren’t the things we collect, acquire, read. We are, for as long as we are here, only love. The things we loved. The people we loved. And these, I think these really do live on.”

“Every word the right one and exactly where it should be. That’s basically the highest compliment I can give.”

It’s been a minute, or at least 1.577×10^6 minutes, since my last post. My bad, y’all!

So much has happened over the last three years! Everything came to a head with my medical stuff and though I’m sure I’ll divulge even the most TMI details at some point, I #LiterallyCantEven with that right now. Fast forward a bit and the next major plot point is that I decided to go back to school to become a registered dietitian. Who could have seen that coming?? For the past two years I’ve been taking pre-requisite classes at a local college and finally understand why my pre-med friends were so stressed out about their classes. I can easily write an essay in mere hours if not minutes that’ll get me an A but there is nothing fast nor easy about studying for an organic chemistry exam and memorizing mechanisms, formulas, amino acid structures, and the like. Studying is so much harder than writing!

I went into my post-bacc experience feeling pretty down on my intellectual self. As I saw it, I had exited my tech career less than gracefully and the memory issues I had towards the end of that really did a number on my self-esteem.  Being back in school, it was difficult for me to adjust to the sheer amount of knowledge I needed to absorb. Furthermore, I had crippling performance and social anxiety which resulted in an abundance of tears and such dread each and every exam day and even some lecture days. The first year felt so hard and though I can reflect on it now as a season of growth and a great show of tenacity and perseverance, at the time it seemed untenable.

However, not feeling as smart as I used to feel nor as charismatic as I used to be forced me to develop other strengths to get by. I learned the importance of things like admitting weaknesses, asking for help, and showing up in a new way.  Fearful that I might one day have a breakdown or other medical emergency requiring an extended absence, I prioritized going to class and rarely made exceptions to my personal perfect attendance policy. This was vastly different from my previous college experience in which I maxed out the attendance policies in every class every semester.

My dad loves to say that 90% of life is showing up and I love to roll my eyes at him every single time he says that. But as much as I enjoy ignoring my dad’s advice and relish proving him wrong, I’m getting to that age where I can accept that my parents know a thing or two and this may be one of those things. There were a few times this year where attending every lecture, going to office hours, asking for help, and just generally demonstrating that I’m trying my hardest probably made the difference between an A and a B. My GPA is forever grateful!

In August I’m moving to Washington — the state — to finish my B.S. Nutrition and Exercise Physiology with intentions of pursuing my Masters of Dietetics there as well. I oscillate between overwhelming fear and “Is this real life?”-level excitement and astonishment that I’ve been blessed enough to get a second shot at pursuing education that will help me live a purposeful life with a fulfilling career. But my current philosophy in life is that fear, momentary physical discomfort, and momentary emotional discomfort aren’t good enough reasons to delay or avoid a decision, a conversation, an activity, etc. In fact, they’re terrible reasons and succumbing to them will only lead to a half-baked life in which I might be comfortable but certainly not happy and probably a good bit bored.

This revelation led to an onslaught of new activities with mixed results. Overcoming my fear of karaoke with my cousin led to an unforgettable night whereas overcoming my fear of bicycles led to a sprained ankle and I still don’t know how to ride a bike. The last time I sprained it (2015), I was in bed for weeks with Netflix, ice packs, and take-out as my only solace because I’m pretty sure the R.I.C.E. treatment plan could use some fine-tuning. This time I was back at the gym within 24 hours, fulfilled all of my prior obligations, kept social plans, and just rocked life the best I could — boot and all. Though it threw a wrench in my biking timeline, I think on some level I really needed to see myself face an old struggle in a new way. What was once a big letdown became an empowering experience.

The sprain also allowed me to get a clearer picture of what issues I still need to spend some time on. Though I worked out five days a week for the duration of the injury, there were a few weeks where I didn’t push myself as hard as usual in cardio and the reduced endorphins were insufficient to combat both my usual mood and now pain as well. Endorphins have been my go-to cure-almost-all for so long now that I forgot what I’m like when you take those out of the equation. I picked up an old not-so-healthy coping mechanism and was reminded how I respond to unforeseen stressors, changes, and loss of control. This is such a better time to begin to process that than in two months when I move across the country and encounter an abundance of changes.

Timing is everything and I’m reminded all of the time lately:

P.S. Check out http://www.toquietnights.com/ written by a friend who both emotionally and actually coached me through organic *and* encouraged me to start up the ol’ blog again. #GetYouAFriendWhoCanDoBoth

So I’ve been having a kinda rough week. You know how it is…your major depression flares up possibly because you’ve been housebound by your arthritic and bone spurred and therefore booted foot, you force feed your family and friends literature on depression, you get dumped, you get 15 vials of blood extracted from your body, and, finally, you poop in a box to try to determine the root cause of that major depression. And that’s only 2 of 5 tests!

A quick update: a SPECT scan in January revealed no signs of depression in my brain, so it’s likely that the cause is hormonal, GI, and/or toxin related–hence all the bodily fluid/excrement testing. This is kind of a relief as my neuro treatments had become more extreme including Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). That’s right friends, voluntary seizures. But the ECT treatments provided no respite other than that I don’t remember much of December.  Don’t worry Taylor Swift, I still go “Back to December” all the time.

Exhausted from today’s depression tests; and, oh yeah, being depressed in general, I turned to TV for solace as my eldest and wise(st?) cousin, Martha, is quick to advise. The thing is, though, I’m not much of a TV person. I will binge watch the occasional show to the point that it interferes with my daily living–I’m only human–but television has never captured me the way a good book might. I’ve been trying to get into Dexter, again per Martha’s recommendation, but I can’t really stomach the gore aspect of it after the things I’ve done today. *Shudder*

But I gave Netflix the good old college try and came across Please Subscribe — a documentary about YouTube vloggers (that means video bloggers, Mom). First I was jealous. They make it look so easy! The first vignette was about Hannah Hart — a girl who gets drunk and cooks. Those are both things I can do and I’m really, really good at one of them! But there is enough speculation about how well I “cook” and the last thing I need is incriminating video footage on the internet-where you can never take anything back.

I’ll make an exception for the Cinnamon Challenge. That was a proud moment. I didn’t win but I tried and Mike “made it happen.” Sadly I haven’t been able to find that video on Facebook in years but I’d like to imagine it is living the good life on someone’s hard drive and one day I’ll view it again. Maybe on my wedding day at the reception. Or during the rehearsal dinner. Or during the cermony!!! Could this imaginary event get more magical?!?

The next vignette was about a guy named Mitchell Davis who seems to have less of a theme and just kinda does stuff. He films in his bedroom (no, not like that) and there is a picture above his bed that says “Get out of bed.” We are kindred spirits. This is my daily, hourly, minute-ly struggle. If I may, though, it’s above the pillows so he would have to actually at least lift his head and turn to see the message. But maybe it inspires him to stay out of bed. In which case I would recommend that he get a picture that says “Stay out of bed.” Nevertheless, I was moved. Then they drop the bombshell that he has OCD (the clinical kind) and he reveals that it was his videos and internet community that enabled him to seek treatment and live a normal life. At which point I was like, “Ugh, self, go write a blog post so you can find inspiration and healing and community.” Plus I was like 15 minutes into the movie at that point which is about where my attention span ends.

Five Reasons I Should Blog Instead of Vlog

1. The only time I’ve edited anything I think I used iMovie and it was for a corporate function. I’m definitely sure my sister had to talk me through the whole thing. And I definitely don’t remember how to do anything.
2. I’m usually not wearing a bra at home. People don’t notice if it’s a blog.
3. Sometimes my writing is compelling.
4. I’m generally better in writing.
5. I already have a blog!

Five Things That Are Important to Me Right Now

1. Learning which words to capitalize in titles. This may be America, but I have an English degree. I should know better.
2. Creating a new era at My Proper Binge by way of actually creating content. Tell me what you want to read! I’ll tell you pretty much anything about me and/or anything I know. I might even research stuff I don’t know. I might sprinkle it with inaccuracies to keep you on your toes.
3. Organizing my accessories. A few weeks ago I discovered a literal treasure trove in my closet when I unearthed a jewelry organizer I hadn’t used since my trip to India in 2010. That’s where my real pearls were!!!
4. Getting Taylor Swift’s attention. I likened her to Mother Theresa yesterday on Facebook. Is that trending yet? Help me out here, guys.
5. Taylor Swift. Seriously. I feel like a heart to heart would really help jump start my life. My place, not hers. Sorry, Taylor, I’m super allergic to cats. But I’ll totally let you hold Colby and my Presbyterian College English Dept. Senior Superlative certificate which I have taken the liberty of framing.

Signing Off,

(My what am I doing with my life face.)

Remember 1998? Remember Shawn Mullins? Remember Lullaby?

I sat in therapy today with my sprained ankle/fractured cuboid and sprained wrist–an outward reflection that doesn’t do my inward brokenness justice. Not a revelation. I’ve felt broken for years and have been in therapy for years. They kinda go hand in hand. We talked through work stuff then family stuff before getting to the brunt of the issue with only minutes to spare. I’m in a crisis of self and now, since getting back into the church, a crisis of faith as well. I fumbled with words trying to explain to my therapist that I don’t know where God ends and I begin and I worry. I worry about glorifying myself instead of him. She reminds me that we can glorify God in all that we do whether it’s scrubbing toilets or singing. And I get that but what do I do with my gift? Is it wrong to write about my weight loss journey instead of my spiritual one? Is it wrong to hypothetically “become” a secular writer instead of penning devotionals? By the way, no news on the weight loss front. I was dabbling in running for about a week before my nondramatic yet incredibly debilitating fall last week. She asked which I wanted to write about and I said neither and the waterworks began, again, as I gestured towards my broken body and broken soul. There’s too much pain. “Write about that,” she says.

This week I have a consultation with a doctor about pursuing Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) because after 8 years of depression and anxiety, it’s gotten that bad. Think One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest but then immediately erase that image from your mind because it’s supposed to be safe, reliable, and voluntary these days. I’ve heard a few second-hand accounts of people with severe depression and ECT was lifesaving, and, more importantly in my opinion, life-changing for them. Between my parents and I, we’ve spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours investing in therapies, pills, neurofeedback, diets, and maybe more. I think that list is exhaustive but I may have left something out. I’m exhausted. From what I hear from friends and family, it’s common to go through a depressive period in one’s life. Someone may cite a semester or quarter at college or the transition from college to adulthood and say they were depressed. They then offer their sympathy for my continued struggle and an offer to be there for me if I ever need anything, because they know what it’s like. And I deeply appreciate those kind souls because there is so much stigma surrounding mental illness that it makes me physically ill. But as I graciously accept their kindness a dark, ungrateful, not raised in the South, part of me thinks “you have no idea.” My whole adult life I’ve struggled with this. It’s like comparing boot camp to ‘Nam. Is it totally inappropriate for me to say that out loud?

The depression and the Self vs. God crisis…it brings me to tears more times a day then all other activities combined…as in # of sob sessions > than # of all other daily activities. And I listen to my newly minted playlist “Inspiration — Fall 2014” and go through “Came To My Rescue,” “All the Poor and Powerless,” and “Take Heart.” I have no secular inspiration since Taylor Swift broke up with Spotify. I think I’m taking her Spotify breakup harder than my last personal one… no offense, Ex.

And all I want is for my body and mind and soul to be comforted. When my Nana died in July 2011, her sons gave her eulogy. Nana was sick with multiple systems atrophy and her body slowly and painfully shut down over the course of ten years as she stopped cooking, stopped sewing, stopped walking, planned her funeral, and then spent a few more years waiting for the end.

My dad spoke of how one of her greatest joys was giving each of her grand-babies their first baths. She would gently wash them, rub their soft skin with lotion, savoring the experience. Giving them her undivided attention and treating them like they were the most precious thing on Earth. In that moment they undoubtedly were. Then she’d swaddle them in a blanket and gently rock them. Back and forth, back and forth. In his eulogy, dad said he pictured Nana in Jesus’ arms now. And Jesus was slowly rocking her back and forth, back and forth.

How do I get that on Earth?

Look back at your life and think about what you have accomplished. Maybe you went to college (“your mom goes to college”) or got married (maybe more than once, you overachiever). Maybe you’ve climbed like the tallest mountain ever or have seen Wicked 4 times in 3 different cities including London). If that last one was you (or me), Bravo! Maybe you’ve just gotten out of bed almost everyday for 11,220 times or so and did some awesome stuff along the way. One of my greatest accomplishments is the shared achievement of maintaining a BFFship for 20 years! You may be sheepishly racking your brain trying to figure out the last time you actually spoke to a childhood or college BFFL. Or maybe you’re celebrating 30+ years of marriage to your BFF and have totally got me beat. If that is you, comment below with tips of how friendship plays an important role in your marriage. Or tell me how you met. I love Love Stories! Better yet, set me up with your most eligible bachelor friend–you can be a part of my love story! But I digress… Here are 20 ways to maintain a long-term friendship. Make sure to share this with your BFF so that you are literally on the same page.

1. One of you needs to be the photographer in the friendship.
2. One of you needs to remind the other to put the camera down sometimes because despite what one may think, there is a limit to the number of #selfies one should take in one night. I don’t have the exact figure but it’s something like the (# of people-selfie taker) x (# of alcoholic beverages involved)/hours of event+1 selfie per person per hour of time spent on hair and makeup.
3. One of you should have great makeup and hairstyling skills. In an ideal BFFship, both friends would have this quality. It’s no mistake that all of my BFFs have great skills.
4. Realize that one day your BFF might leave you and move to another city. This will be heartbreaking but does not have to be the end of your friendship. It may even strengthen it. I still have a torn piece of a cardboard box where my BFF wrote a message when I moved from Atlanta to Savannah in 7th grade.
5. Keep a memory box. Pretend it’s a relationship–because honestly it will probably last longer than your next relationship; or, in my case, all relationships combined. Ticket stubs, letters, transcripts of AIM messages, etc.
6. Have a favorite restaurant that you go to all the time. Fall to pieces when said restaurant closes. Find a new restaurant.
7. Make sure that you and your BFF balance each other out. Don’t worry about keeping up with sports, global crises, or current events if your BFF is into that. She’ll keep you in the loop. What? Ebola? BFF forgot to tell me about that one.
8. Have morning conference calls. What better way to start your day than encouraging your BFF/complaining about your fatigue and how late you are for work.
9. Know that there will be times/places/things/people/musicians who will, knowingly or not, sort of divide you. Shake it off!
10. When your favorite musician is your BFF’s least favorite musician, express eternal gratitude for their permission to put said musician’s music on your shared morning playlist.
11. Chug, chug, chug! Not talking about the hard stuff. Your BFF wants the best for you and you for her, so hold each other accountable for acts of health like drinking enough water each day.
12. Adaptability. I’m talking about time zones. You can make it work!
13. If you buy a pet to which the other is allergic… First, question your priorities. Then proceed to make sure one room is a pet-free zone for when your BFF comes to visit.
14. If you’re in a long-distance BFFship, there are going to be times that you feel jealous of your friends’ local friends and wonder if they’re replacing you. They’re not. You’re irreplaceable! But if it will placate you, don’t hesitate to send your friend a timely sonnet, portrait, or whiny text to remind them that you exist.
15. Always honor your best friend’s favorite month, even if it’s your least favorite.
16. If you’re both single, crush on brothers or best friends. Constantly search for opportunities to marry into each others’ family. Dig into genealogy if necessary.
17. Your best friend is amazing and you know it. It’s easy to get jealous of them but don’t. You helped make them the amazing woman they are and know that you’re probably equally amazing in different ways–and that is thanks to them as well.
18. Sometimes you might feel so blue that you want to shut everyone out, even your besties. Fight that feeling. Shared joy is double joy; shared sorrow, half sorrow.
19. Have a Pinterest board for each other.
20. Remember to wish them a happy birthday. If you can’t mail their present in time (it’s too risky) then acknowledge them on the internet.

Happy 28th Birthday Leslie Marie! Thanks for 20+ years of making me laugh until I cry, making me look so much better in photos than in real life, and for teaching me the ways of the world (i.e. Instagram, Foursquare, etc.). Thank you for teaching me how to play it cool and for all the times we haven’t played it cool. The world is a better place for your presence in it and my life is undoubtedly more survivable for your loyalty, hilarity, and love. I love your morning hair, your ability to find humor in any situation, and the strength you give me by both example and support. Can’t wait to watch you rock 28 and here’s to the next 20 years of friendship. Omg, there will be so much more technology you’ll have to teach me in the next 20 years.

My morning began with a microwaved 1/2 grande Pumpkin Spice Latte. It was the perfect beginning. I took the dogs out for their quick morning walk where they have a time limit of 5-10 minutes to do their biz before I rush to work. That might sound restrictive but Colby likes to dillydally–ain’t nobody got time for that.  There’s usually tension all around but between the sips and whiffs of cinnamon-pumpkin-coffee I felt atypically at ease. Does PSL stand for Purely Serene Life? Because that’s what I was living.

Unsurprisingly the euphoria continued. I stopped by Whole Foods and Target on the way to work to buy iced coffees, snacks, greeting cards, and, most importantly, pens. Two days ago, I used a bold gel point pen at Sylvester & Co. on Broughton St. and it was a game changer. I always felt I wanted the finest felt pen. And that’s fine for most writing, but I didn’t know what I was missing. That day, in that store, adding my name to their email list, was not unlike Harry Potter finding his wand. We were meant to be. Together we would achieve greatness and banish evil.  I needed that pen in my life. Luckily, Target had three.

Work flew by; I even stayed late as I networked on LinkedIn and tried to determine what my target audience wants to hear from our company updates. The answer? Neither of the posts I wrote.

I arrived home around 6 and fed Colby and Emma. I felt rather sprightly and decided that we should go on an adventure. Never mind that I had eaten literally less than a handful of food that day (work distracted me). Or that I had barely hydrated (we have a weird brand of water at work right now…you know how I am about that).

In a matter of minutes we were out the door. The sun was setting and I was clad in my usual black on black, tank on yoga pant ensemble.  We crossed the busy road where I fell the last time I ventured out of the neighborhood with them…in January. I jumped right back on the horse — eight months later. We were off!

I kinda needed to pee and we ran out of doggie bags before we were even halfway to the trail. We also ran out of sidewalk. So we trudged along the sloped grassy knoll with Colby rubbing his face against the grass for minutes at a time. He either loves the smell of grass or hates his gentle-lead collar. We made it through the marshiest part of the walk where I was slightly thankful for my allergies as they saved me from fully inhaling the signature rotten egg stench of the Islands. I wondered how my dogs with their heightened sense of smell didn’t drop dead from the stink but then I recalled their greeting habits and discerned that one man’s stench must be every dog’s perfume.

Finally we arrived at the adventure part–the trail! It was perfect timing. Single gal. Darkening sky. Uncharted paths. Knotty tree roots threatening to unhinge my slightly staggering steps. All of my past falls reeled through my mind. Broken feet, sprained ankles, and, most recently, the head wound. But I was sober this time. I’m not sure of the difference between the danger posed by a shot versus a tree root, but I hear that sobriety makes falls more socially acceptable. Did I mention I was parched? I imagined the dirty dust sneaking into my mouth and nose, absorbing what little moisture my body had left. Was I in a sandstorm? Paths diverged this way and that and I purposefully took what I imagined were the longest ones. I was still in Adventure Mode.  I came across the occasional male but Colby lunged at each man to the degree that they picked up their pace, ran off trail, and turned back with terror etched on their faces. Colby’s is a face they won’t forget.

I may never get attacked, but I also may never date again. With each heartbreak I endure, Colby becomes more aggressive and Emma gains more weight. I think during this last breakup, she may have actually put on more pounds than me–no small feat. At this point we were an hour in and Emma was lagging behind. I feel for you, girl, but we’re in this together.

Night fell and we were on a path that led us to a road perpendicular to that of our entrance. We were all worse for the wear. Even Colby, the Ironman of dogs, was so over it. I imagined that I might collapse from dehydration and a rare condition where someone really lazy goes for a hike. Admittedly the only thing that kept me going was the sweet sound of Taylor Swift singing her way through all the traumas–and the triumphs– of love. Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of  mine, too. Like the dream of marrying someone who is at least as romantic as I am and maybe a touch more of a dreamer, with great ambition and height (6’1″+ please) and a kind heart and a clever sense of humor. *Sigh*

Also, I was concerned that if I fainted, Emma would only wait an hour or two before gnawing on my arm or leg. After all, she needs her post-workout protein. Colby would scare off any potential rescuers/knights in shining armor. I’d be done in and done for.

Then I actually applied what I think is something called “math” to my predicament. Regardless of how far along I was on my trail, the shortest distance was the diagonal between the two roads (aka my trail).  And so we turned back. You might say we were Homeward Bound, but you shouldn’t.

I loathe that movie.

Oh my goodness, y’all…sorry I haven’t been more present. I’ve been battling a number of short term and chronic health issues this month that have left me deflated and not feeling very creative. I could probably throw together some posts despite my ailments but I just want to give you the best of me — and feeling nowhere near my best makes writing difficult. Unfortunately my actions directly contradict my first post of the year wherein I preach to always do your best and keep in mind that your best will change from day to day. Do as I say, not as I do?

I hope that I will reach a blogging tempo soon that is comfortable for all involved, but in the interim I beseech and implore thee to “Like” My Proper Binge on Facebook and to keep in touch with me there! There you will find everything you wish you saw more of on here: motivational quotes, recipes, and interesting/possibly relevant articles about food psychology, fitness, and miscellaneous. I may even throw in some insight, witticisms, and glimpses of ‘a day in the life’ every now and again.

After all, if it’s not on Facebook, did it really happen?