Graduation

My high school graduation song was called “Graduation,” by an artist known as Vitamin C.

I know... it's so original.

I have to admit that I groaned when it was announced that my graduating class**1 had chosen it by "popular vote" (wherein the popular kids voted and the rest of us let them). The song was cliché, it was preppy and it was a montage of stereotypical high school moments that stereotypical high school types could relate to. Although it set my eyes to rolling about my brainpan, it was an understandable choice for my classmates to sing as they vied for attention on what would probably be the only day of scholastic achievement in their Podunk lives.**2

And so, realizing that this would not be my only day of scholastic achievement, I set my distate aside and learned the damn song.

On graduation day, I stood up and sang:

“And so we talked all night about the rest of our lives:
Where we’re gonna be when we turn twenty-five
I keep thinking times will never change
I keep on thinking things will always be the same.”

I got the experience over with, and I scampered out those swinging double doors. I left my Alma Mater behind me and didn't stop for even a moment. In fact, I didn't even bother to remember Graduation Day as my fifth high school reunion tootled past.**3

I graduated high school in 2005. That was eight years ago this past June. And I haven't wasted time reflecting on it since that day.

But the start of the school year echoed with unsettled resonation in my belly this year.

This is my second autumn during which I haven’t headed back to school. It’s noteable to me now because my most recent alma mater stands between my new home and my workplace: I drive right by it twice a day now, so the increased student activity this week caught my eye (and threw off my commuting schedule).

Last year, it knocked my socks off simply to be part of the world of graduates - I reveled in the new-to-me world of working full weeks (and even time-and-a-half overtime, instead of just extra straight time when I should have been studying) during what had been scholastic semesters. I could keep reading for fun well into the autumn when the weather got cooler and I wanted to stay inside with fresh applesauce and a fun chick lit. I didn't have to abandon my sitcoms in favor of an evening session with Developmental Psychology or Algebra for Almost-Idiots.

This year, it took a sturdier revelation than The Beginning of The School Year to rattle my hosiery. Sure, the fall semester was the catalyst... but that only set in motion the real focus of my unease.

This year, I am 25 years old.

I have survived for one quarter of a century.

I have met all of the biological markers (16 = car; 18 = graduation; 21 = drinking; etc) that society imposed.

I have a beautiful home, a wonderful man to share it with, gainful employment and reasonable health.

I'm officially on my life's path.

No more "I'll get there..."

No more "Next Steps..."

I'm there.

This year, I am the personification of That Future Self that we sang about on Graduation Day.

I mean, of course I've done oodles. But What I Expected and What Came to Pass are two different pictures entirely.

Did I know then that - just weeks before my freshman semester began - I would abandon the college into which I had been accepted in favor of living at home and commuting to the local Technical Institute instead?

No.

Did I know then that I would decide that my first degree wasn't what I wanted to practice for the rest of my life, smack dab in the middle of my final course for that very degree?

No.

Did I know then that the boyfriend I had only just met would propose?

Well... I hoped. Every girl hopes that her high school boyfriend will propose. But I didn't know.

And I certainly didn't know that I would choose to finally leave him less than two years after that proposal and accept that Mister Available - especially Mister Available-In-High-School - is almost never Mister Right.

Nor did I know that Mister Right would mosey into my world just a few months later, right when I had decided that hope didn't have a place in my world anymore.

(Mister Right tried to hide his Right-ness behind exhaustion and Pennsic grime. It didn't work. I found him anyway.)

So it seems the song was right to ask those seemingly pointless questions.

If High School Me had seen a snapshot of me today and had to guess what was behind my future smile, would she have known my story?

Not even a little.

High School Me thought she was destined for an easy, artsy path.

I expected I would become the next interior decorator on Trading Spaces.

I would make oodles of money and my high-school boyfriend would jump at the opportunity to marry me.

I would start producing babies with rapidfire speed, and would seamlessly transform to a successful stay-at-home Mom who kept a fabulously tidy house, fabuolusly tidy children and a fabulously tidy relationship with their father - all while writing childrens' books and poetry out of our guest bedroom/office and making more than I had earned working full time(plus) in the "working world."

High School Me wouldn't have anticipated that I would be hired on in small business eighteen months after high school graduation, that I would sit idly by as the company sold out to a faceless corporation, or that I would continue my toils therein as I approached my seventh anniversary of employment despite my languishing creativity.

High School Me would have been heartbroken to know that my father would never see me march to Pomp and Circumstance again, although he would hug me tight on the day that I finished my Associate's coursework just three short months before he passed away.

High School Me's eyes would have widened questioningly to find my name to be on the paperwork for my first home alongside Mister Amazingness's, and that my signature reflected my birth name instead of a married name. And she would have been confused to find that the third resident was a quadruped instead of a toddler.

But most of all...

High School Me would have passed out cold at the idea that my journals and notepads spent years boxed up and collecting dust. She would have cuffed me to find how poorly I had treated my artistic potential. And she would have walked out of the room when she realized that I allowed writing to fall not just from my list of priorities, but out of my life completely.

Maybe it was the English papers that made me feel so literate in High School. The final years of schooling offer options for Creative Writing instead of just book reports, so no doubt the newfound freedom of my pen felt like fresh air beneath my atrophied wings.

But after high school, writing fell out of my favor.

College got in the way.

Work got in the way.

Life got in the way.

And you know what?

I just sat there and let them.

I knew it wasn't right - I had a couple of journals I would dive half-heartedly into on occasion, typically when things seemed darkest. I would have literary diarrhea, purging whatever was bothering me, and then turning back to "real life" and letting the negativity (and, admittedly, the positivity too - writing isn't only for the brokenhearted...) fester until I popped again.

I knew it wasn't right, but I didn't have time, energy or inclination to make it better.

It was on May 23 in the eleventh iteration of two-thousand that I published my first blog post. I had been free of my broken engagement for almost a full year, and had just completed my second (and final of the immediately-planned) college degree. I was looking for a new creative endeavor, and my neverending tirade against my co-workers and celebrations of my new relationship on my favorite social media site prompted me to start something more organized. The blog just seemed right.

I wrote in that first post that "I never intended for [my corporate position] to be a long-term employment situation. I finished one college career and began another, and still found myself toiling diligently behind the same desk and within the same maze of cubicles as months drifted by in a haze. A few years, experiences, and misunderstandings later, I have changed positions within the company, and the company has changed beneath me. I have grown and changed myself, becoming a very different person from the girl who began with this company so long ago."

I was quite serious.

Corporate shackles weren't how High School Me envisioned my future self, especially at the relatively young age of 25.

In recent years I've come to see them more as golden handcuffs; my distaste with corporate employment overshadowed by my fondness for reliably paying my bills and having a little money left over to live comfortably with Boyfriend of Amazingness, enjoy our hobbies and support my family.

My scholastic revelation this year has led to a serious consideration, though.

What's stopping me from pursuing a career in writing, as I so desperately wish to do?

Of course, the immediate answer is money. Writing doesn't pay. Published works are what pay. And significant time must be spent writing before publicity is gained, and even then publicity does not immediately equate with wealth and riches... which makes tossing aside the handcuffs in favor of my laptop and a lawnchair an irresponsible option.

Irresponsibility just isn't my bag.

Recently, with the purchase of our new home and the introduction of our new four-legged youngun, Boyfriend of Amazingness and I have settled into a wonderful routine of domesticity. Which makes it all the more important for me to get up in the morning and go to work, so that this lifestyle that I so enjoy may continue well into our future together.

But it also makes it all the more difficult.

With a beautiful home, a snuggly Young Master and a loving Boyfriend of Amazingness inside, dragging myself out the door just to pay the bills each day breaks my heart just a little more deeply.

"I could be writing," I think to myself as I drive in to work.

"I could be brainstorming," I consider as I stare blankly at my computer.

"I could be plotting," I sigh as I reach for the ringing phone.

But Could Be didn't get me to my two-hundredth blog post, did it?

Could Be whispered gently that perhaps it was time to put aside the status-quo and reach for something better.

Could Be persuaded me that there were more fitting options.

It worked when I graduated high school and made my way into college.

It worked when I started my blog and finally embraced my creativity.

It worked when we moved out of our apartment and into our beautiful home, committing to one another with our signatures and a dance in our not-yet-moved-into kitchen.

In time, I'm hoping it will work for me again.

Two-double-zero blog posts, my ReaderFriends. Thank you for indulging my whims, catching my tears and sharing my sparkles.

It is my fondest hope that we can forge onward into two hundred more, that the sunshine will far outweigh the grey and that there will always be something shiny to share.

**Sunny Smiles**

**1 Note: Not MY class – just the class I graduated with. My class didn’t graduate until a year later.

**2 I’m not being snippy. I grew up in a Podunk town and went to a Podunk school where there was legitimate concern every year whether all of the seniors would march on graduation day. Moving on to college wasn’t often an option that was taken. Graduating from college was even less likely. There’s a reason I fought tooth and nail to get out early.

**3 Another side-effect of not being "part" of your graduating class, and instead graduating with a group of students a year your senior: They don't think about inviting you to the reunions. And your own class doesn't invite you, because you didn't graduate with them. I suppose it's probably fortunate that I didn't leave any lingering marks upon my high school - Otherwise I'd have to go to homecoming or something.

Random Act of Giggles

As the end of the year approaches,**1 I've been thinking about this year's New Year's Resolution. And how I really haven't seen it through.

I've had some serious cases of Stress Monkey over the past eleven months. That doesn't mean that the next month can't be a turning point... Or that the following twelve months will be an opportunity to slack off from this particular endeavor. It just means that I haven't gotten there yet.

As I was contemplating this fact today at my local soupery, a gaggle of teens in front of me were being just slightly obnoxious. First they weren't in line at all. Then they were all in line, in front of me. It was mayhem. And I was hungry. And they were between me and my soup.

But I tried to be positive.

I turned to the woman behind me and said "I think it's possible we may be stuck behind an amoeba."

She looked at me puzzlingly and said "What?"

I giggled. I explained the morphing-and-growing student body ahead of us, and how I really just wanted my soup.

She smiled and said "Do you want to hear a joke?"

Thinking that perhaps she needed someone just to listen, I obliged (albeit with a little confusion as to how we had arrived at that particular conversational point).

And she promptly made me giggle so hard that I dropped my purse.

To The Woman Who Stood Behind Me At The Soup Place Today:

Thank you for sharing your sparkle. You're an inspiration, and you totally brightened my day.

Thank you for your Random Act of Giggles.

With A Smile,
Sunny

**1 Seriously. It's coming.

Why do mermaids wear seashells?
Because B-shells are too small, and D-shells are too big.

Friday, Gamer Style

It hasn't been a snazzeriffic week in SunnyLand.

In fact... most of the week has downright sucked.

But today, I decided it would not suck... and would be awesome instead.

True story.**1

So this morning, much like the character we know and love (and my beloved co-hobbyists**2), I armor-suited up.

"How so?!" you ask?

Here's how:

• Puffy Pigtail Buns of Nonchalant Excellence (+3 in combat against naggers who appear in cubicle doorways. IE: "Sunny, I asked you yesterday and this morning to... Oh! Cute hair!")
• Vacation Necklace of Happy Memories (+2 in combat against negativity. For instance: political ads daren't populate my computer screen today, because my pendant sparkles them into silence.)
• Purple Sweater of Ultimate Plunginess (+5 in combat against self-doubt. Just try to look in the mirror and find fault when your eyes are immediately drawn to how fantastically purple and skinny you look.)
• Butt-Tastic Blue Jeans of Cleanliness and Wonder (+3 in combat against unsightly office-worker seat-sag. No explanation needed - you know what I'm talking about.)

And most importantly...

• Purple Glitter Pumps of Ultimate Power (+10, because they're purple. And glitter. And they're shoes.)**3

So Friday can bring it. My horoscope says five stars (and Boyfriend of Amazingness is having a four-star day, too, so I'm feeling excellent by proximity, too...) and it's payday and I've refilled my candy jar and I might even get out of work early to go enjoy a tasty beverage and a street vaudeville show.

Because, ReaderFriends, I'm awesome and I know it.

**1 Flagrantly word-lifted from How I Met Your Mother. Give them the credit - it's their words, I just sprinkle them liberally over my life.

**2 <shamelessplug>Want to learn more? Visit your local chapter. </shamelessplug>

**3 I work with Engineers, remember? A wise person once said "An extroverted Engineer looks at someone else's shoes." It's important.

My Dawdling Brought To You By...

There are so many websites out there for me to waste time on. 

There are my social networking sites where I can chat about really important personal issues, and post links to my amazing blog. That being said... I liked it better when I could throw virtual sheep. There's just nothing quite like flinging a fuzzball through the cyberwaves to show a loved one how much you care.

There are video hosting sites where I can watch almost anyone do almost anything. A three year old singing about the sweet names her mom calls her ... A college student dancing like a maniac...or even a baby monkey tootling about on its favorite swine. (Yes, dearhearts, all links here are to the *actual* websites, where the *actual* authors are credited. Call me crazy, but someday, if someone ever decides I'm worth copying, I want me some credit, so I try to repay in kind.) Again, I reiterate - watch almost anyone do almost anything... in almost terrifying clarity.

There are websites where I can shop... Websites where I can find recipes... Websites where I can sit on my tukkas and just listen to some tunes... The Internet is full of wonderfulness.

But today's web-focused delirium is brought to you by The Online Corkboard.

I managed to avoid the preliminary rush of excitement over this phenomenon. I mean, my physical environment is clutteriffic anyway. I have my Wall of Pictures. I have a three-month calendar, a weekly calendar and a weekly planner (and still I can't keep on schedule or on task). I have piles of paper on every available surface... Including my guest chair.** I have plenty of crap around without littering an online corkboard with Items of Interest to Me. I'm an (optimistically speaking) artist, for goodness sake. If it's shiny, or sparkly**1, or of any interest whatsoever... I'm going to click on it. And then I'm going to waste time.

Which I did. I trawled through photos of DIY clothing... dance photos and makeup tutorials... I even found a clever advertisement for an open Engineering position. But I didn't see anything I was anxious to "RePin."

So when I stumbled across a new website in the same vein, but focused upon a male audience... My interest was piqued. Which, of course, is always the way of it: Women develop something completely inane. Men turn this inane-ity into something sexually based, therein creating something completely different and completely interesting. Women find it and are outwardly shocked at the blatant nature of it... While inwardly they bitch slap themselves for not thinking of going to The Sex Place right from the start.

So I opened this new website. And, of course, was bombarded by awesome: Bacon... Star Trek... A fantastic Guide To Eating Anything Delicious You Will Ever Encounter (Except Bacon)... And, of course, the Token Female In Various States of Undress. (No, kidlets, I will not provide a link to that. I'm a *good* person, despite some prevailing opinions. And if you get grounded, who will visit my blog and make me feel validated that someone is reading my words?) In essence, this site was filled with things I *actually* take an interest in... With so far fewer of the baby goods that I have no need for. (Note: the Man Version does have this, which is made of baby and awesome. Win.)

So with a slow day approaching me tomorrow, I ask you my ReaderLoves - Do you have a favorite Pin or Nail to share here? I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

**All the better for discouraging unsavory characters from loitering in my cubby.

**1 Vampires NOT included. 

Glitter on the Inside

Happy New Year, oh Friend of the Reader Persuasion!

I hope your holiday was fantastic and full of fun. Whether you lit a menorah, trimmed a tree, regarded an aluminum pole or celebrated in another fashion entirely, I hope your days held all the beauty and awesomeness that the end of the year can bring.

In addition, I hope you got totally tanked over New Years and started the year doing something fantastic – like locking lips with a local beauty who you would never have had the nerve to approach. Or perhaps streaking down Main Street. Whatever suits your fancy.

As we ring in 2012, I can assure you that there are a host of New Years posts populating the Blogosphere talking about “changes” and “new beginnings” and all that jazz. And you know what?

That sounds like a plan to me.

The New Year *is* a time of new beginnings. It’s a time to use old traditions to make a new start for a new segment of your life. And perhaps the most popular New Years tradition – outside of Excessive Alcohol Consumption or Public Displays of Affection – is the New Year’s Resolution.

Now, I live with a New Year’s Naysayer. Yes, it’s true… Boyfriend of Amazingness is not one for the following of the New Year’s Resolution.** And, for the most part, I agree with him.

I’ve always made resolutions shortly after New Year’s. As a volunteer at a local Center of Organized Religion, I sit down with the kidets every Sunday and try to do something constructive with their time (outside of eluding the sermon and having snack). So, at the first of the year, it’s kind of a given that we’ll do Resolutions.

Since we’re following tradition, there’s a certain protocol we follow:

1)      Arrive in class and realize that it’s the first Sunday of the New Year.

2)      Scramble around attempting to find where we “Safely Placed” last year’s resolutions.

3)      Find the old resolutions and distribute them to the troopers.

4)      Read through old Resolutions – hilarity ensues.

a.       Spelling

b.      Artwork

c.       Weird resolutions that were achieved

d.      Conventional resolutions that were not achieved.

5)      Brainstorm as a group for new resolutions.

6)      Distribute construction paper and Colorful Writing Instruments to kidlets.

7)      Assist with spelling.

8)      Offer guidance to kidlet who insists that her only resolution is to talk to the boy she has a crush on.

9)      Offer suggestions to kidlet who insists that he’s “too old for this baby stuff.”

10)   Share new resolutions.

11)   Put “Somewhere Safe.”

12)   Eat Snack.

Despite its outward appearance, it really is a fun process. Watching the kids see what they created a year ago, realize how they’ve grown, and move forward a year older is an inspiration. (Because if I tell myself that often enough, I won’t feel old as I regard their fresh young faces and realize that I was an adult before they were even born.)

It’s also a chance for me to exercise a little childlike optimism of my own.**1

There’s something liberating about sitting down with a blank sheet of construction paper and a fresh pack of crayons to create something lasting… Like a list of things to try not to screw up over the next twelve months.

Popular resolutions of my own have included:

*Remember the location of these resolutions on New Year’s Sunday

*Clean more often

*Eat at home for less than $15 a meal

*Start yoga classes

*Make more time for family

But while these resolutions were fun and exciting, I usually ended each year with a list of things that left me feeling as though I had wasted twelve months of my life not accomplishing some very basic tasks.

Sure, there were always resolutions I completed. I did find time to visit my family. I do clean when I have time, and sometimes when I’m really not hungry, I can save an entire meal’s worth of money by just having a peanut butter sandwich.

But one can definitely see where BoA is coming from. New Year does not equal Prepared To Conquer All Inner Shortcomings.

So instead of creating a big long list of goals I wouldn’t realize last year, I decided to try a different route.

I could focus my energies on lots of little endeavors, or I could focus on one really big, really important aspect of my life.

So that’s what I did.

Last year, I resolved to Follow my Bliss.

What does that mean? It meant doing whatever made me the most happy. Some days, that was sitting on the couch with a bag of potato chips and a Disney movie marathon. Some days, that was dance workshops. Some days, that was writing. And some days, I would indulge in a nice sulk. Sometimes I would even cry.

But at the end of the year, I was a happier person. Making decisions because I was on a conscious mission to increase my personal happiness led me to have one of the most positive years of my life.

(Don’t worry, I’m almost done being a sap. Sit tight.)

So as this year drew to its inevitable close, I spent more than a little time worrying about what new commitment I should make to a Better Sunny in 2012. Following my Bliss is a life choice. It’s not something I did for a year and will now move on from – It’ll be a permanent part of who I am because I was able to devote a full twelve months to make it part of who I wanted to be. Looking back, I had no idea of the impact it would have. Looking forward, it scares the snot out of me to think what my next decision might be.

But, after much deliberation, I settled on one I thought I might be able to stick to.

(One that will rock Boyfriend of Amazingness’ socks, because he thought I had picked one very different from what I’m about to tell you. Or, at least, phrased differently. Don’t worry, honey – I promise not to go nuts.)

For 2012, I will attempt to follow one goal:

Share your Sunshine.

2011 had its ups. 2011 had its downs. Tumultuous would be a great way to describe it, but sounds a little more negative than I would like. Maybe “exciting” would be a better word to convey the changes and adjustments and fantastic new turns that popped up in the road.

But there were times throughout the year when – while I was still focused on following happiness – I forgot what happiness I had right then. I would get wrapped up in stress, or sadness, or anger, or stress (think that might be a big one?) and forget that I’m Sunny for a reason. I have sparkles inside that are meant to be shared. Sparkles that are easily smushed by negative emotions. Sparkles that wants desperately to escape. Sparkles just waiting for me to let go of that pent-up breath, so they can ride the Peppermint Breeze to freedom.

So, ReaderFriends – How will you share your sparkle this year?

**A fact he makes up for tenfold in his application of beer and kisses. So really it all comes out in the wash. Isn’t life grand? :)

**1 Because, you know, I do that so infrequently.