Advice to my younger self.

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If I could, I would give my younger self a lot of advice.

Advice that I knowingly wouldn’t want to hear.

You see…it may be hard to believe..but as a child I was very stubborn.

Shocker I know.

I would roll my eyes to almost anything my parents told me to do.

But they shouldn’t be mad, I did it to everyone who tried to tell me what to do.

I thought I knew all of life’s answers.

Especially when it came to boys.

Don’t date him Megan he’s a bad kid.

Maybe you should focus on school and not boys.

Megan he cheated on someone before, what makes you think he won’t do it again?

I had heard it all.

Ya see..I thought I had these magic powers.

That I could change someone.

If a guy was a jerk or hadn’t always been faithful in a relationship, I thought I was going to be that person to change him.

That wasn’t just something I did when I was younger, I did it up into my early twenties.

It isn’t the smartest thing to do.

To think that you can change someone.

You literally have no control over what they choose to do.

That was just a small part of my problem growing up.

From middle school to my first year out of college, I was consumed with this thought.

The thought that I needed to have a boyfriend.

I can sit here and blame it on Kate Hudson for days but that’s not the full reason and I know it.

I was fascinated with this idea of love.

I had seen my parents, grandparents, and couples on television completely in love and happy.

So that had to have meant that if you had love, you would be happy.

I wanted someone to love me like that.

Someone to sweep me off of my feet.

To show me affection the way couples in love did.

To quote a Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, “that can’t eat, can’t sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, world series kind of stuff.”

That’s what I wanted.

And I was so consumed with this thought that only true love would make me happy that I didn’t even think of falling in love with the person I saw in the mirror every day.

Not in this conceded kind of way.

But the way where you truly appreciate yourself.

Where you love your flaws, your fears, and everything in between.

That’s the love I should have been focusing on.

Not the love of a stupid boy.

And boys are stupid.

I had a conversation with some girls that I coach yesterday.

My sister and I were hanging around them as they talked about cute boys.

I told them the one piece of advice I wish I would have listened to when I was younger.

Boys are stupid in high school.

And in College too.

Just focus on yourself and the good ones will come.

Now that’s not to say that you can’t marry your high school or college sweetheart.

That’s not at all what I’m saying.

But we’re all just trying to figure life out

We’re all still making mistakes and learning from them.

You can’t expect this big love from someone who doesn’t love themselves yet.

Dating is fine, it’s how we know what we like or dislike in someone that we want as a partner in life.

But being so fixated on finding love isn’t.

I wanted someone to love me so badly that I was looking for it in the wrong people.

Out of all of the boys I liked growing up, I only had one really good relationship.

And they taught me so much about what I wanted in a relationship.

We’re even still friends today.

That’s how I know it was good.

And I’m not necessarily blaming the boys I dated for our bad relationships.

They were all just still figuring life out.

The liars and the cheaters, well they still had a lot to figure out.

But why did I want so badly to find a love with someone who didn’t even know what he wanted.

I wanted love so badly I was blind to everything else.

I was spending hours and hours talking to boys who didn’t really care what I wanted to do after high school.

Giving my heart to boys who would just step on it days later.

Lying to the people I loved most just to protect the boy I was dating.

I did it all.

I was so dumb.

That’s not nice but whatever, when it came to boys I was dumb.

I had good grades, was an pretty good athlete, but could have been so much better if I wasn’t thinking about having a boyfriend so much.

That’s the one piece of advice I would give my younger self.

Out of everything in this world, it would be to not focus so much on having a boyfriend.

To just focus on yourself, and the right one will come to you.

Think about it.

If you have no idea what you want out of life, or even who you are, how do you expect to find this big love.

And if you don’t know who you are growing up, do you think everyone else does?

Chances are no.

No one knows who they are.

We’re all just figuring out life.

When we’re ready, when we finally seem to have this idea of who we are.

When we truly start to love ourselves.

That’s when we’ll find that kind of love.

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Where I’ve been.

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I haven’t written anything in two and a half weeks.

Not sure if anyone noticed.

Or cared.

But I did.

It drove me insane.

It’s all I could think about.

I would sit in front of my computer and just stare.

I didn’t have a single idea that fit my prompts for the day.

No throwback stories seemed important enough.

I couldn’t think of anything fun or interesting for my Saturday fun day post.

And by that point Sunday just felt like I was forcing it.

At the beginning of the year these prompts were exciting. I would jump to my notebook and write an idea out as it came to me.

It was fun.

Fresh.

Exciting.

Then it got boring.

Dull.

Mundane.

It turned into something I thought I had to do versus something I wanted to do.

I wasn’t looking forward to writing anymore.

And that was so upsetting for me.

This is my little corner.

My world.

A space to fill with the words that flood my mind daily.

I felt like I had lost it for a little there.

Do you ever feel like that?

Like you lost your spark?

Nothings wrong in your life.

You’re happy, loved, and enjoying the days as they come.

But that little spark of magic that was yours took a small vacation and was showing no signs of coming back.

That was me.

I lost my magic.

It’s kind of funny.

Calling my writing magic.

But that’s what it is to me.

Your magic is that thing that you do so well.

It’s that thing that ignites a fire in you.

It gives you joy on the darkest of days.

You could be the best at it, or the worst at it.

But it creates this magic in your life that you sometimes forget is there.

Well I lost mine.

I started worrying.

Was my stuff good enough?

Did people like it?

What was the purpose of my writing?

I started doubting every idea I had.

I just didn’t enjoy writing anymore.

But I love it.

I love writing and I don’t care if two people read it or two hundred people read it.

I love it so much.

It’s my escape.

My corner.

The thing that ignites the fire inside of me.

It’s my magic.

I caught a few glimpses of it while on this little hiatus.

Thoughts that would come and go.

 Ideas that sparked my interests and gave me ideas.

They didn’t fit my writing prompts for certain days but I didn’t care.

That was an idea to get me writing more often in the New Year.

It worked, and I enjoyed it while it lasted.

It served it’s purpose and I’m happy it did.

But I’m done with it now.

I’m ready to write as it comes to me.

Like I’ve done before.

Like I love doing.

I came across a sentence in a book that I’ve been reading.

“Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you?”

It was the reality check that I needed.

A slap in the face if you will.

I was afraid.

And I hate admitting it.

But I was afraid.

I had lost that confidence that I had gained from writing.

From sharing my words with anyone who would read them.

And the positive words from those readers.

For some reason I was doubting myself and the ideas in my head.

Doubting the magic that I knew I had.

I’ll be the first one to tell you if I’m being dumb.

And I was being dumb.

I had lost the courage to show my writing to the world.

Something that I loved so much.

Something that brought me so much joy.

Scared me.

Reading this line from the book really opened my eyes.

In order to find your magic, you need to have the courage to bring it to the world.

The thing that gives you life, you must give it life to have it blossom into the beauty that it can become.

Don’t let the fact that you’re scared stop you from finding your magic.

Or in the words of the movie A Cinderella Story.

Don’t let the fear of striking out, keep you from playing the game.

Whatever you love in life.

Whatever brings you so much joy that you want to show it to the world.

Find it.

If you lost it, bring it back.

No matter what, don’t give up on it.

Trust that if it’s taking a break from you, it’s a needed break.

But don’t give up hope.

I lost my magic.

But it’s back.

What’s stopping you from finding yours?

 

50 thoughts I have while driving.

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I have this weird relationship with driving.

At first, I hated it.

I was so excited to learn how to drive.

This was it..my road to freedom.

Or so I thought.

I passed the actual driving test on the very first try.

But failed the computer test the first time.

And second.

And third.

And fourth.

And fifth.

After the fifth they make you wait a certain amount of time before you take it again.

What can I say….I hate taking tests.

During that fun little waiting period in between test, Janelle and I got into a car accident.

It completely ruined driving for me.

So I swore it off completely.

My sister had her license, so why did I need mine?

Fast forward to the day I turned eighteen.

At that age our DMV allows you to just walk in and get your license if you’ve passed the driving test but not the computer test.

I finally had my license.

But refused to drive still.

It was a slow process, driving again.

I didn’t really start driving again until the summer of 2010.

Until I hit a parked car and swore it off again.

I think I started really driving after college.

I had a different job than my sister and basically had to drive.

It wasn’t even until this last September that I drove myself to a new city.

Don’t take this the wrong way.

I am a fine driver.

I just had a strained relationship with it.

I love it now though, for the most part.

We just got off to a rocky start.

Our relationship is like an old married couple.

We fight, and bicker all the time.

But at the end of the day we love each other.

I decided to document our daily commute together to give you all a glimpse into our relationship.

I hope it’s something you can relate to on a spiritual level.

50 thoughts I have while driving.

  1. Why are you so cold?? Seriously let’s turn that heat UP!
  2. Okay okay calm down it doesn’t need to be that hot.
  3. Ughhh nothings on this station this morning.
  4. Or this one..
  5. Or this one..
  6. I give up! I’ll settle with commercials.
  7. Now the real question is, do I want coffee?
  8. I mean I’m tired….and it sounds delicious.
  9. COFFEE IT IS!!
  10. Oh god why is the music so loud?
  11. It’s 6:15 in morning calm it down folks.
  12. Oh god stop yelling….just give me my coffee.
  13. Thank you…now let me leave.
  14. Mmmmm nectar of the gods.
  15. This light…you’ll be the death of me.
  16. If only I could turn left on this red.
  17. But something about the “law” makes it illegal.
  18. Rules rules.
  19. FINALLY.
  20. No no no don’t use your turning signal it’s fine.
  21. Oh I see you’re waiting until the middle of your turn to use your turning signal…makes sense.
  22. I swear I always hit so many red lights.
  23. Oooo I like this song.
  24. Can they see me dancing? No..perfect!!
  25. Woah my straw works as a microphone…BOOM!!
  26. Oh green light…whoops!
  27. Pay attention Megan.
  28. What is the speed limit? 35?
  29. WHY ARE WE GOING 25??
  30. Oh that’s right the speed limit is a suggestion..I forgot..silly me!!
  31. Please turn please turn please turn.
  32. YESSSS!! BE GONE PEASANT!!
  33. (Insert self made car acceleration noises.)
  34. HERE I GO AGAIN ON MY OWNNNNNN.
  35. GOING DOWN THE ONLY ROAD I’VE EVER KNOWNNNN.
  36. Cop.
  37. Cop cop cop.
  38. Was I going that fast?
  39. I couldn’t have been.
  40. I’ll just slowly take my foot off of the gas.
  41. Oh he’s gone…
  42. PHEW!!
  43. Good thing I’m almost to work.
  44. Stay green stay green..
  45. Woohoo made it!!
  46. Just gotta use my turning signal like the good little driver that I am.
  47. Almost there.
  48. Speed bump.
  49. Always forget about the speed bumps.
  50. Anddd were here…Thanks little buddy..be back soon!

Impermanence.

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I usually post story times on Thursdays.

And I want to keep doing that.

But yesterday was different.

So naturally I had to write about it.

It wasn’t the best day.

And it wasn’t the worst day ever.

It just wasn’t great.

And in typical Megan fashion, I took things personally.

When in reality it wasn’t on me.

I was pretty bummed out all day.

You know how those days go?

You spill your coffee.

Get a rude email at work.

Someone says something mean to you.

You run into traffic.

All of the small things that can add up make everything seem worse than it actually is.

That’s how yesterday went.

And most of this week for that matter.

I was super frustrated.

I feel like I’m a good person for the most part.

I use my turning signal, hold the door open for people, and I don’t do anything illegal.

The one “bad” habit I have is drinking too much coffee.

That or swearing as much as I do.

But that’s it.

I’ve always believed in Karma.

Because I had to give myself that reassurance that people who did bad things would have bad things happen to them in return.

It just made me feel better.

With that being said, I get frustrated when bad things happen to good people.

It doesn’t make sense.

Are you supposed to learn some giant life lesson?

Is it going to direct you down this new magical path in life.

Is it all a part of something bigger than we can possibly understand.

I just couldn’t wrap my mind around how all of these bad things were happening to me, small, but bad nonetheless.

What about Karma?

Wasn’t it supposed to help me out?

Didn’t it have my back?

As much as I tried to figure out why these bad things were happening to me, I just couldn’t find an answer

I did however, found a solution to it yesterday.

A temporary fix if you will.

I came across this word that was new to me.

Impermanence.

I saw the word described in a paragraph.

Life is always changing and I drift easily through those changes, good and bad. As I drift through hard times, I can take comfort in knowing that I will leave them behind. As I drift away from good times I can take comfort in knowing that more will come my way. 

It’s beautiful really.

Life is always changing, we have no control over it.

And we have to accept that.

Good things will happen, and bad things will happen.

But they’ll always be happening.

As we experience those hard times we should take comfort.

Comfort in knowing that eventually you will leave them behind.

And most importantly in my opinion, that as the good times come and go, you can take comfort in knowing that more are going to come.

I think that’s harder than going through the bad times.

Watching the good times go.

Graduating from college.

Watching your children move out.

Sending your best friend off to move across the Country.

It’s still hard.

Seeing something that you’ve loved so much change and becoming different.

Taking comfort that you once knew, with something that was a constant in your life, and watching it change.

Wondering if things will ever be the same.

But knowing that no matter what, more good things will come your way.

I took this yesterday and really let it sit with me.

In the peak of my bad day, this hit me so incredibly hard.

And hits me even more as I write this now, reflecting on it all.

I told myself over and over again.

I will eventually leave these bad days behind.

And it helped, believe it or not.

Saying this over and over again made the negative thoughts escape.

I think if you believe in something so much, you can create it.

Even if it’s just a thought.

If you believe in something enough, it’ll happen.

The bad days will be left behind.

And those good days that you love so much, will too be left behind.

But they’ll be back.

Just different.

This gave me comfort yesterday.

Comfort when I was having a bad day.

And I hope that it can help you as well.

That no matter what might be going wrong, big or small, that it will be left behind.

That it’ll be just a memory.

Something that happened to you.

But that you can take comfort in knowing that it’s gone.

And because of it, you’re stronger the next time around.

That time I fell in love with baseball.

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I’ve always considered myself a tomboy.

The Mary-Kate Olsen to my sisters Ashley Olsen.

High five if you get that reference.

I liked running around and getting dirty outside.

I also loved sports, and still do.

I get super into March Madness and love college football.

O-H-I-O.

And fantasy football has filled the last 5 NFL seasons for me.

But nothing gets me quite as excited as baseball.

I never played baseball growing up, and didn’t really care for it either.

I thought it was so boring.

I would just cheer for the dodgers because my dad did.

It made the most sense.

My parents took us to Dodger Stadium when I was 16 and I thought it was so cool.

They were playing the Giants, their rival.

Yelling at Barry Bonds from the third baseline with all of the drunk fans around me. I learned to hate him so fast.

It was so much fun.

I was intrigued. 

Flash forward to the summer of 2009.

I was bored and stumbled across an ESPN magazine that belonged to my dad.

There was an article that featured new players for that season.

I found a new dodger player, Clayton Kershaw.

There were some baseball stats that meant absolutely nothing to me, followed by some fun facts that got my attention.

He was asked “if we turned on your iPod what song would you have listened to last” and he answered with Taylor Swift.

Like what?!

A baseball player who liked Taylor Swift.

SIGN ME UP.

I started watching with my dad to see this Clayton Kershaw in action.

Turns out he was a pitcher, and that pitchers don’t play every game.

I was determined to watch him, and since I had no idea when he would be starting, I would just end up watching the games anyways.

What I thought were boring games, turned out to be a test of my patience.

I learned to appreciate the strategy behind every decision and pitch.

I would ask my dad as many questions as I could.

And I still do.

Because I know there’s still so much to learn.

I filled my summer that year with baseball, and every summer after that.

So many hours were spent on the couch next to my dad, learning about different players.

Next thing I knew I was forming all of these superstitions that mimicked his.

I fell in love with not only the sport, but the act of watching it with my dad.

Picking his brain for everything that he knew about Baseball, and listening to his stories about watching it when he was younger.

I was obsessed.

I bought shirts, hats, phone cases, anything that was dodger blue I was all over.

My dad even gave me a couple of his old shirts that I love dearly.

I started memorizing their schedule and getting excited for upcoming games.

People wouldn’t believe me when I said I loved the dodgers.

In college someone actually called me out and said to name more than 4 players on the team.

It blew his mind when I busted out the entire starting roster.

I was so passionate about the team, so much that I learned to loved the sport in general.

There’s just something about a sport that’s played from April to October, and can take hours to finish.

And there’s nothing like getting free baseball when games go into extra innings.

I can hear Vin Scully now.

I’ll never forget how mad I was when I missed Clayton’s home run on opening day of  2013.

Or that same year when they lost the NLCS to the cardinals. I just sat there and cried.

I wanted it so bad.

Not for me, but for my dad.

Coming to learn and love Dodger baseball with him brought me so much closer to him, closer than we already were.

In July of 2016 Jason and I went to a Dodger game in LA.

I was so excited before the trip, because Clayton was supposed to pitch the day our game was.

I got a sports center alert to my phone saying he had been ruled out for the game,the day before due to a shoulder injury that would eventually take him out for most of the remaining season.

I was heartbroken.

All I’ve ever wanted was to see him pitch in person.

To lighten the blow, we decided to do something special before the game.

We took a pregame tour of the facility and it blew my mind.

We even got to walk behind home plate while the players were warming up.

I actually heard Yasiel Puig as he joked around with other players.

The game was on a Friday night, and on Fridays during the season they have Friday Night Fireworks. Where fans could go onto the field to watch fireworks.

I GOT TO GO ON THE FIELD.

At one point I just kind of stood there in complete shock.

I only wished my dad was there with me.

But I know that one day, we’ll get to experience it together.

This October was an emotional roller coaster to say the least.

I jumped up and down as hard as I could when Justin Turner hit a walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th against the Cubs to win the game.

And the absolute joy that I felt when we made it to the World Series.

To complete silence when we lost.

I got harassed a little here and there, but it didn’t bug me.

I was just sad.

It took quite a bit to get over it honestly, like a bad breakup.

That brings us to today.

168 days until I get to see them play again.

My whole family will be going up to Seattle to see them play the Mariners.

Which doesn’t happen often.

I’m so incredibly excited.

Maybe Clayton will start?

Who knows, but the possibility excites me.

Since 2009 I have become such a huge baseball fan.

 I have Clayton Kershaw, the Los Angeles Dodgers, and my dad to thank for that.

I’ve made it my life goal to see a game at every one of the 30 MLB stadiums.

So far I’ve been to Safeco Field to watch the mariners, the Oakland Alameda Coliseum to see the A’s, Dodger Stadium to watch my boys in blue, and Yankee Stadium.

That one was special.

To see a night game in New York against the Red Sox’s.

I loved every minute of it.

As you can see, my love for baseball has grown throughout the years.

From the 16 year girl who was in awe of Dodger Stadium.

To the girl who will find any way possible to listen to her game while running around at a cross country meet.

To say that I love it is an understatement.

Go Dodgers!!

That time I ran a marathon.

The Boston Marathon Bombings really upset me.

I remember watching it happen on TV and being completely shocked.

How could someone hurt something that I loved so much.

I couldn’t imagine training for so long only to have it ruined by a careless and heartless act.

I really wanted to do something to honor everyone involved in that horrific event.

I remember texting my sister telling her that we had to do something.

We brought up our local marathon, the Portland Marathon in October.

We thought it was crazy.

The furthest we had ever run up until that point was probably 15 miles, how on earth could we do 26.2.

But that didn’t matter.

We wanted to do whatever we could to honor everyone involved at Boston.

So we did it.

We clicked “register” and signed up for our first marathon just 5 months later.

The training started.

It was gradual and then took off.

I got help from an awesome teammate of mine in College, who wrote me a training plan that I religiously followed.

We realized what our end goal was going to be right away.

We wanted to qualify for the Boston Marathon.

The qualifying time for women our age is a 3 hour a 35 minute marathon.

We were going to do it.

We were so freakin excited.

After months of training, training, and more training.

Some of the longest and most challenging months of my life.

The day had come.

God I was so scared.

It was such a scary thing, 26.2 miles, but I knew if I had my sister by my side, I would be okay.

My running partner since birth was going to be with me today and all was fine.

We got up probably around 3:30 or 4 in the morning since we lived about an hour away from the race start.

I remember the butterflies in my stomach on the drive up, hell I can feel them even now four and a half years later.

Listening to my drake playlist over and over again.

Trying to pump myself up for the challenge ahead.

When I got a text from my best friend.

“Give me speed, give me strength, let me fly.”

It reminded me of all of the people I had met along the way.

The support system I had driving up with me to stand around for hours just to watch me run.

We got up to Portland and found our starting area, and most importantly the bathrooms.

My family took pictures as Janelle and I sat and waited.

I remember saying our goodbyes to our parents and my husband, who was just my boyfriend at the time, as the race neared.

It was all starting to feel so real.

Before the race a voice came over the speakers and said that we were going to have a moment of silence for the victims of the Boston Marathon bombings along with a tribute.

And next thing we know, Sweet Caroline played through the streets of Portland.

A song sang during Boston Red Soxs games.

My heart was so happy.

Everyone around us sang along, hand in hand with each other.

But that wasn’t the best part.

They were trying to play the national anthem when something went wrong with the speakers, so they suggested we all sing it out loud.

I had never heard anything more beautiful.

Singing the national anthem with strangers who were spread through the city, all with the same goals.

Who were all running for something bigger than ourselves.

It was something that I’ll never forget.

Next thing I knew, the gun was off.

In typical Megan and Janelle fashion, we got out quick.

We had to get into a good spot and get into a good rhythm.

I was surprised with how good I felt.

Step by step.

Mile after Mile.

I felt strong.

We came up along a group of runners who cheered us on and asked if were were twins.

We answered in sync, like we always did.

He called us the “wonder twins” and as silly as that sounds it motivated us that much more.

We felt empowered and strong, because we were.

We were running a marathon.

I remember even seeing my family a couple of times and hearing them shout our names. It reminded me why I was doing this.

For the people that I loved.

And those who lost theirs that last April.

We just kept running, right next to each other, up until the half way mark.

I had written my paces on my arm in sharpie, to make sure I could hit that 3:35 Boston Marathon qualifying time.

I was feeling great, and we were ahead of pace as we approached the arch of balloons letting us know we were at mile 13.

Janelle wasn’t feeling great, and I was.

I kept trying to walk her through getting rid of her side ache and for the most part it was working.

She could tell I was feeling better than she was, so she let me go.

She told me to leave, that she was fine and if I could do it, to go.

We squeezed each others hand and I was off to do the rest by myself.

I still felt good.

I was hitting my paces and breathing just fine.

Until I approached the St. Johns Bridge.

I had been warned about this bridge.

But nothing could have prepared me for it.

The hill leading up to it was huge.

I could barely pick up my legs.

I was trying and trying, giving it everything I had.

I remember someone coming up behind me and telling me to follow him up the hill.

I tried.

Once I got to the top I had a little more energy.

I was told by that after you get over the bridge, that the rest of the course is a gradual downhill.

I wanted that downhill so bad.

I was feeling better.

Getting my stride back.

One foot in front of the other.

That’s what I kept telling myself.

The streets of Portland were flooded with fans.

Pom Poms, huge signs, and voices louder than you could imagine.

It was so encouraging.

Until mile 24.

At mile 24 my vision started to get blurry.

I felt like I couldn’t see my feet hit the ground.

Like I was moving but I wasn’t.

If that makes any sense.

Looking at my watch I noticed that my pace was starting to slip just a little.

I couldn’t have that.

I had one goal, and I was going to achieve that goal.

Janelle passed me at mile 25 as we crossed the Broadway Bridge.

She told me good job.

I tried to mutter “you too” but just a bunch of sounds came out of my mouth.

I was slowly losing it.

I was so close though.

So close that I could hear the crowd at the finish line.

The finish line that I wanted so badly.

I turned onto Naito Parkway, which meant that I only had about a half mile or so left.

And then it happened.

I fell.

Maybe I wasn’t picking my feet up or something.

But I fell.

Right on my knees in front of everyone watching.

I remember this sweet woman in a pink shirt stopped and grabbed me as she called for the medics.

People in white shirts came running from the sidewalk.

My knee was cut up pretty badly and they wanted to take me off the course.

I told them no.

That I had to finish.

I was only two minutes away from finishing and I needed to finish.

They let me go, and the sweet woman in the pink shirt agreed to run right next to me as we finished, in case I fell again.

I turned the corner to the finish.

And don’t remember anything after that.

Except getting placed down on a bed under a medical tent.

I woke up to an IV getting stuck in my arm.

I freaked out.

Instantly I looked down around my neck searching for my finishers medal.

I found it.

Thank god.

I had finished.

But I didn’t know how.

I blacked out and didn’t remember any of it as I took that final turn.

I had been training my butt off all spring and summer for this race.

But I didn’t remember finishing.

I looked back at pictures of other people finishing.

There were smiles, and hands tossed in the air with the look of pure joy on their faces.

Whereas I, from what I heard from my family, crossed the finish line with a blank stare on my face and instantly dropped.

I found pictures of myself in a wheelchair because I couldn’t walk.

I still ran an amazing time.

I ran a 3:42:59.

I missed qualifying for the Boston Marathon by 8 minutes.

That was it.

Do you know how it feels to want something so bad.

To the point where it’s all you think about?

That you consume your life with it.

To get so close to finishing and not even remembering it?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly proud of myself, and always be.

To be a 23 year old and miss qualifying for the Boston Marathon by only 8 minutes during your first ever marathon?

But I didn’t get my moment.

I didn’t cross the finish line feeling like I was on top of the world.

I didn’t have that moment that I can look back at and remember with pure happiness.

I don’t remember it.

It’s almost like I left it unfinished.

I’m surprised sitting here today, four and a half years later.

It still gets to me.

Crying as I write these words down for everyone to see.

To see that I wanted something so bad and was so close to getting it.

That I blacked out at the end and don’t even remember finishing.

Some people would use that to quit.

Some people would take that moment and never do it again.

They would be embarrassed or say that it wasn’t meant to be.

They would be discouraged.

But not me.

I’ll always have that drive.

That motivation that one day I will remember finishing a marathon.

That I still have so many years to reach my goal.

There will always be this fire under me, reminding me of what I still have to do.

I was and still am so incredibly proud of myself.

I know that one day, I’ll do it.

I’ll run those 26.2 miles and have my moment.

I’ll cross the finish line with the biggest smile imaginable.

And I’ll do it.

One day.

Just watch.

Living in my comfort zone.

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I really didn’t feel like writing today.

Not because somethings wrong.

I just thought I didn’t have anything to write about.

I was trying to think of something life changing or motivational that I could pull out of my pocket and share with anyone who reads this.

I think I was making it too complicated.

I tend to do that sometimes.

Overthink.

Obsess.

Stress.

Trying to get things done perfectly the first time around.

I’m a huge perfectionist, a type A personality, a Monica Geller if you will.

Things just need to be done the way I want them, the first time around.

Is it starting to make sense?

I thought that because nothing inspiring was going on in my life at this moment that I couldn’t write.

That’s just wrong.

I saw a quote on Instagram the other day that had me thinking.

“Nothing good comes from your comfort zone.”

Which, in a sense, is true.

If you don’t take a chance, or try something new, how do you expect to grow.

I’m all for taking chances and trying new things, they can lead to results even better than you ever imagined.

But I feel like I’m being told that if I stay comfortable I’ll never be better.

Yes, if you do everything exactly the same every single day, you’ll never change.

I feel like that’s a bit repetitive, and change every now and then is great.

But what’s wrong with being comfortable?

Is it such a bad thing?

I like being comfortable.

I like my life the way it is.

If I want to get out of my comfort zone once and a while I will, but if I like it, why do I need to change?

Every day we’re told that we need to change.

Our hair.

Our weight.

Our style.

Our workout routine.

Our diet.

That we need to be more outgoing.

That we need to take risks, chances, and live this crazy and carefree type of lifestyle.

That we can’t let anything hold us back while chasing our dreams.

But can we not have goals while living a comfortable life?

Can we not dream these big dreams while living in our comfort zone?

I call bullshit.

Being a mom, wife, daughter, sister, and working an 8 hour job every single day should’t take me out of the running for living the life I’ve imagined for myself.

I have goals.

I have dreams.

I can still accomplish those things while living a life where I find comfort in my every day routine.

I want to write a book someday, that’s my biggest goal by far.

And I can still do it if I’m comfortable.

I think sometimes you can make yourself uncomfortable.

You can change things up a bit, or even go for something bigger.

That’s okay.

But it’s also okay to return back to your comfort zone.

Having a place where you feel comfortable and at home is perfectly ok.

In a world of social media telling us to be one way or another, I feel like more often than none I’m being made to feel like I’m not normal for being normal.

That if I’m comfortable somethings wrong with me.

When, in fact, I feel like being comfortable gives me that comfort that no matter what I’m trying to do, I’ll have a place to fall back to.

I’ll always have a support system and place to call home at the end of the day.

Getting out of your comfort zone is okay, and encouraged most of the time.

But there is something good that can come out of your comfort zone, a beautiful life.