Grace.

"Welcome home"

That always put a smile on my face when customs does that.
Like America truly missed me.

Even though it was 1am by the time I got home, I threw my entire bag in the laundry, took the longest shower ever and had a beer with my dad. I slept like a rock in a bed with clean sheets, but woke up a bit early being on Mexico time. After a large cup of coffee, I decided a run on the beach was in order. Even though it was Thanksgiving Day, there were plenty of Californians, well being Californian. Surfing, BBQing and family rollerblading. Running on the beach is something I have always loved to do, but this run was particularly pleasent. I felt like I had a new sense of appreciation for my home, Orange County. The amount of comfort that the beach gave me was more than usual and the sense of belonging my extremely surprising. I went with this odd combination and ran as long as my out of shape legs could go. During this run, I had a sort of revelation. I am currently in a place in my life where I can literally do whatever I wanted. I could go to New Zealand for the next three months, 6 months, even a year.

OR

I could stay in Portland, get a job, work more, travel in a few months? Go to Europe? Snowboard Whistler for the season? Work part time and train for that marathon I've always wanted to run? Take the GRE and apply to nursing school? Take Spanish classes, like really learn it? There's so many things on my bucket list that I now have the time to complete now that I'm not in school.
So right now, two weeks from now, I could be in New Zealand or in Portland or maybe even in Canada. I'm thriving in this newly realized place in my life and I'm gonna go with it. I'm 24, healthy, young, free, living for me and never ignoring the grace that I'm finding. Remember that book that I found in Nicaragua? I'm realizing it found me.

Utila Island: overcoming my fear of the ocean and becoming an official scuba diver

Last week the Dutch boys (that you may remember from Ometepe and San Juan Del Sur) told me they would be stopping in Leon for a few days before heading up to Honduras. After a few fun days in Leon I decided to come along with them to Utila Island off the Alantic coast of Honduras. On the bus ride we met Liz from Ireland, Lauri from Sweden, Josie and Patricia from Finland and an additional two Dutch boys Jacco and Brady. After 15 hours on the bus and one obnoxious border crossing we called in a night in San Pedro Sula.

The next day the plan was to take the bus three hours to La Ceiba and take the only afternoon ferry at 4pm to Utila. We learned that taxis in San Pedro Sula are rude, unruly and hardly take you to the right place. So the nine of us got separated on the way to the bus terminal but somehow all reunited with in minutes of the ferry leaving in La Ceiba. We all survived "the vomit comet" to Utila Islandnand were welcomed bombarded with dive instructors from every dive center in all of Utila, and that's a lot of people throwing flyers in your face. When they learned we were traveling in a group of nine that attacked us with freebies left and right. Next thing I know we are at Parrot's Dive center being offered free accommodation, free t-shirts, free snorkels and a free night on one the cay's for a party night on our own personal island! We chatted about this over free beer of course. Lauri and I were planning on NOT scuba diving while on Utila, but snorkeling, hiking and other not under-water activities. Steph, one of our instructors to be, convinced us to try the first two days and if we hated it, we could drop out without paying. I agreed, hesitantly.

Ok, here's the low down on the ocean and I. I'm afraid of it. Something which I only realized in the last couple weeks. I thought I just didn't care for it, like I liked being around it but I could do without being in it other then a few minutes. It makes no sense seeming how I've grown up next to it. I mean, I was literally born somewhere with the word beach in it: Long Beach, California. My family was a typical southern Californian family with a pool that I basically lived in it according to my baby book. Which my parents even wrote "olympic swimmer" in the under the box that said "most likely will grow up to be..".

From there we moved to Oregon where we still lived by the beach coast. However it was also too cold and/or stormy to actually get in it, so lakes and rivers were the water source of fun in the summers. Then at age twelve, I moved back forth from Oregon to Orange County still enjoying both sources of water as a teenager. I really began to resent Orange County when I moved back for a year after high school, my friends were only concerned about how drunk they were going to get that weekend and when I started talking about my new curiosity in the world they gave me baffled looks. "Why? Why would you ever want to leave California?"

Maybe in turn I began to resent everything Orange County stood for including the ocean? Orange County is home and therefore the ocean is home. I'll always respect it in that sense, but there was so much more in the world, not to mention better beaches. This was around the time that shows like "Laguna Beach" and The OC" were getting super popular and the hype on Orange County skyrocketed and everyone who lived there felt more entitlement in the world than they already had. This made me feel more like I didn't belong and definitely contributed to getting the hell out of Orange County.

My mom said something interesting to me before I left on this trip, "Why do you keep going to places where the traveling is focused around the beach if you don't like the ocean?" I've been thinking about this a lot since I got here. Then when someone else made me realize I am in fact afraid of the ocean I put these two ideas together and started contemplating my newly realized fear. I consider myself someone who is not a fearful person and actually enjoys anything of the "adventurous" nature. So I decided to figured it out and stick with the dive course. Attempt to understand what it was that I had against the ocean by submersing myself underwater for five days and getting my open water diving certification. The first three days were awful, I was petrified the entire time. I dreaded the dives and was so happy to be done with them. I even got food poisoning in the middle of it and had to face scuba feeling like death. I had heard of people who go diving hung over and puking through their regulator, it's totally doable, so you wont drown. This is even somewhat of a positive being that the fish rush over to feed on last night’s rum consumption, grossly funny. However, I’m a secret puker no matter the circumstance, I hate puking in front of people. Vomiting underwater, through my regulator, in front of about 10 people would most definitely further my level of discomfort in the ocean and probably add a whole new level of traumatizing to the experience. Luckily the nausea pill a lovely Irish girl gave me kicked in and I wasn’t forced to share the bad pork with the fishes.

 I felt like I was wasting my money until I began to not hate it and my paralyzing fear became less and less. I was definitely the baby of my dive group and when I completed the skills that scared me, I felt like a little league player hitting their first home run. Child like sensation of accomplishment, purest of it’s kind. Toward the end of the week I actually enjoyed the dives. I felt safe and prepared for anything that could go wrong.

I think my fear and resentment for the ocean has been a combination of things. I think Orange County's attitude has a lot to do with it on the disinterest part of it all. The actual fear being how unpredictable the ocean is and the sole reason why most people have fear, the unknown. We know more about the ocean than we do space. That’s insane to me, and terrifying. But I do keep finding myself attracted to parts of the world that are focused around the ocean, suggesting it intrigues me, which is completely true. It may even be a whole new world of exploration in my story.

Overcoming fears, give you strength to conquer the next and then the next. 

Empowering, nothing but empowering. 

the exposition of selfishness

29 hours left in Portland and its always a bittersweet goodbye, you would think that I would by use to these goodbyes. I've done them a lot. Leaving for camp every summer, California and my handful of times galloping off into the world. I've been told lately that I'm an extremely selfish person, which is hard to dismiss in that I try to live a life that is anything but selfish. However I look around to what I'm leaving coming back to and couldn't disagree more.
I've worked extremely hard to create what I have and internally be where I am. I deserve all of it. Being emotionally, mentally and physically responsible can easily be perceived at "selfish" but in actuality you are the only person to report back to at the end of the day. You can't make everyone happy, but you can make yourself happy.

I found this leaf in the midst of packing. I had saved it from last Fall, and a symbol of the person who picked this leaf up off the ground close to a year ago. I look at this leaf and have no regrets. None.

young and stupid

To sum it up..

oh hey regret, I knew you'd come around

This was suppose to be just a redo of a single class. A simple easier round two. But instead it has been a material reminder of failure, regret and static behavior. In turn amplifying other confusions unrelated to biology and to sum it it up, a big UGH.
January 5th I went diving under my bed to pull out my enmorous box of the dreadful left overs. All the remains of every science class that decides my future of being a nurse, or not. Saved exams, quizzes, flash cards, midterm reviews, diagrams, notes and notes upon notes waited for me. I sorted out all the winter term anatomy and physiology documentation into piles of old exams, notes, lab stuff and personal notes. I took notice of the amount of paper and taking advantage of no one being home, I bawled. I cried like a fucking baby. To put so much work into something only for it to mean nothing, to do it all over again.
Ok so I'm retaking this one class because I got a C in it, why? Break-ups aren't exactly a piece of cake and happen to effect my grades. How could I let something effect me like that? It was two years ago when that relationship ended- its now two years later I'm retaking A&P 302 which I was taking during that time hardship and its two years later, I feel similar emotions. Two years later, I moved on from that relationship, I dated someone else, traveled and lived in a different country for 6 months, made new friends, kept old ones, lived with my best friends on a dime, continued to do what I loved and discovered new ones. Yet I find myself feeling like I took 7 steps backwards. I feel like I didn't learn a damn thing.

Symbolism is a silly thing

If my metaphors haven't sunk in by now this isn't necessarily about the actual retaking of this one class, it just happens to be a physically existing piece of my life that happen to be a monumental one. This is me doing what I do, comparing and contrasting the past and present. The result? Not impressed two years later, I made some stupid decisions. I sit here two years later feeling like I didn't learn a single thing when it comes to relationships. Humans, what poorly made creatures when it comes to emotions. I think I do an ok job with the "would of, should of, could of's" and not to dwell on them, because I do believe life happens how its suppose to whether it plays out one way or another. Going about the approach to life is the challenge..

January 10th the regret got the better of me. Regret beyond the most detrimental emotion to exist and brought me to throw the towel in, give up, game over, no more, I'm done. I had a few that decided to pick up that towel and hand it back to me..

David
Carly
Allison
Rena
Misty
Lyndsey

Thank you for recently saving my sanity.

January 12th
One success, phenomenal friends they never fail me.
Now how to face.. regret.

that piece fits... and I didn't force it

I'm exactly where I'm suppose to be. Exactly.
Coming to this realization has put so much beauty back into my life.
Story of typical me, never being content. But right now..

I am.. content.

A sort of content where lessons are being learned,

 hurdles are being crossed and the acquirement 

of the abilities to keep up with this chaotic world. 

A sort of content where I'm allowing things 

to happen and letting go of the force fit.

A sort of content where the pressures are put on hold.

A sort of content where I'm crying one day 

and on cloud 9 the next.

I suppose you could say

I'm finally becoming content 

with myself and not searching

for the environment that 

I feel content.

retiring "easy"

She even knows I run.

I had a drink with a friend last night, well about 10 hours ago because sleeping seems to be a past time lately. I've known him for all my years in Portland and knows me well, knows my habits, past. The chill of 20 degree dark night creeps through the door sets the tone to our conversation. Discussing our future is less exciting from when we were 20, the job market is depressing and having a bachelors degree means close to nothing. The natural pessimist he is we end with the usual conclusion, take out as many credit cards as possible and travel the world then out with style, taking the debt with death. I smile in regard to the familiarity that this conversation brings. Although the pessimist has simple answers for himself, somehow he has not so simple answers for me and I remember, I remember the love I have in my life. I'm always apprehensive to give the spiel on my constant battles that he is ever so use to. Instead I try to enjoy his wit and company which seems to be less and less as jobs begin to conflict. He sees through me, as he always does and I try to make the situation causal, as I always do. My tactic failed and his words absolutely did not. I gave him the details and his response was beyond moving. 

"If it takes months to years, in the end you'll be much farther then most people, 

easy is easy for a reason, anything that is worth it is hard, you're worth it". 

I'm not 18 anymore. I'm not 19, 20, 21, 22, I'm the awkward age of 23, a conflicting age of what's easy and whats progressive. I know I have reflected a lot on my age in this blog, because my age is a huge reason I am experiencing and not experiencing what I am. I believe this time is going to be the hardest, not necessarily because the situation is the hardest I will endure, but because I'm truly allowing myself to heal this time. Without distraction, without running, without replacement. It's easy to resort back to old ways, especially when the opposite party finds strength in the same securities. It's easy to throw the towel in and give up and I was, I was on my way to an identical path that lead me here in the end. My friends have a way of saying the right things and not even be aware of it. I will not accept easy. I'm facing it head on, like Henry Ford said. This time the airplane will take off against the wind with force, but what is different this time will be the absence of a crash landing.