On Vengeance

I've been thinking a lot about vengeance. Not carrying any out, actually. But more why I don't.

I could tell in the days after his revelations - even through our limited electronic interaction - that something had caught up with the married man. He was scared. Maybe that is too strong of a word. It wasn't really fear. Not yet. But he was definitely concerned to find out if I was headed down the road to vengeance. Because he could see where it ends: noplacegood.

But for some reason, I have no interest in walking that path...

Would I be justified if I decided to head down the road to retribution? Sure. Of course. It's practically expected. They make movies about this shit. Romantic comedies with slapstick hijinks and Nair in people's shampoo. And darker more obsessive films with slit tires and murdered pets. The scorned lover is a cultural phenomenon.

I guess I'm just not that cool... I don't have the time or energy - or frankly the creativity - for that kind of negativity.

My ex tortured me until I took credit for the demise of our marriage... Because I was selfish. And a terrible wife. And selfish. And emasculating. And did I mention selfish? And then I put it together that he had a little girlfriend and was just too much of a coward to admit it and leave peacefully.

Even then, the last thing on my mind was vengeance.

I packed up all of his things. I took special care of his guitars and records. I put all of his important documents in a waterproof case. And I had my parents hold on to the few things he had in storage in their garage, instead of smashing it all like my dad wanted to do.

Because who does that serve?

I did have one small fire over Christmas. My sister had made my ex a stocking just like the ones my grandmother made for us when we were born. A tangible symbol of his place in our family. We found it when we took down the tree at our mom's house. And we burned it in the fire pit after toasting marshmallows and drinking tequila. He wasn't a member of our family any more...

You can almost smell the Christmas Cheer.

But that was just cathartic.

I guess that is the point: I always am more worried about moving myself forward. Learning my lessons. Sometimes helping others learn theirs, sure. But never stooping low. I get mad. I get hurt, deeply. I get disappointed. And I feel every inch of it. But I process quickly and move on. Because you cannot find a solution when your rage blinds. And finding a solution is really what I am all about.

Does that mean I turn the other cheek? Sometimes.

Sometimes I put myself right back in the way of that speeding train. Because I often don't realize I am walking the same tracks. This riverbed looks nothing like that rail bridge! Bam! And sometimes - I'll admit - it's because I think that THISTIME! I'll get to be the one that sends everything off the rails.

It rarely works out like that...

Even then, I take my licks. I can't blame the train. I was standing on the tracks! Instead I give thanks to be alive. Figure out why it hurts the same. Again. And look for a better place to stand.

But why? Why do I focus inward when my outer world comes crashing down?

I saw a meme that said give blessings everywhere and thought, yup, that's me! My influencing style is inspiration (no joke, I took a test). My motto. My ethos. My cause is to make every moment my best moment. My goal is to do only the things that only I can do - to improve this world.

But that still isn't quite why.

Is it a backlash against the cynicism that surrounds me? Is it all wrapped up in my striving to be necessary and important to the people in my life? Because who needs a negative vengeful dick hanging around? Is it because I feel my empathy so deeply and I don't want to feel the reflected pain that my vindictiveness would cause?

Maybe. Yes. Nobody. Yes!!

The married guy said, when it was done, that he hoped I would skip past rage and dive straight into reluctant acceptance. But I truly wonder if I will even get to there? To the reluctance, I mean. Enthusiastic acceptance is so much more my style! It makes it easier to give my blessings everywhere. And frankly, it makes it easier to move on without regret.

The Jump That Saved Me

He told me that he loved me. And then two hours later he told me that he's married.

That sent me into a whole new world of emotions I cannot yet describe. Like I was at once falling down a dark hole and completely set on fire. My head ached. My stomach turned. But my heart already knew...

We had a deal. We went on our first date knowing that he would leave town within a few weeks, that I would just be someone to see the city with so he could avoid spending all his time in a hotel room. But I know - after months of Tinder dates - that I can never hold up my end of that deal. I dove in anyway. It's what I do.

Can you believe this is a photograph? Thanks, again, to my amazing friend.

We had our first date. It was great! Our second was better, even more fun, because he dared to venture past the two beers + food repetition I've grown accustomed to with these Tinder-boys. He took me to a museum! Date three, he cooked for me. And it was clear he wasn't going to live up to his end of the deal either. That's when he started reminding me - and himself - not to get attached.

The rest of our time was like magic. He listened. He got me. He could anticipate what my fast-racing mind was thinking next. He enjoyed how big and bright my enthusiasm can be. He appreciated my passion for my job. He constantly reminded me of my beauty. He quieted my insecurities before I even knew they were bubbling up to the surface. He loved me.

And I loved him, too. I said it first. Because I could tell he wanted me to admit it. And even though he didn't right away, it was so very clear that he felt the same way. We cursed each other about it. And packaged our messages of love with our also very honest messages of hate. Because he was leaving. Because we broke the deal. Because this wasn't part of our plans. Because no matter what we felt it was going to end.

Your blood probably is boiling right now, and you're not at all interested in me romanticizing him. But that little bit of magic is an important part of this story. And so is the part where I already knew...

I read once that humor is a key indicator of reality. That often people use sarcasm or a joke to process the thing their intuition is screaming but that their conscious brain cannot yet see. And I had jokes for days about his wife and kids.

When he told me he didn't have Facebook... And then when I saw an alert on his phone and he apologized for lying on our first date, but said he just didn't want me to friend him... When I answered "yes" to his question of whether I thought I was ready for a real relationship, and he quickly reiterated that he didn't mean with him... When he was walking me out of his hotel and quipped that if his colleagues saw him he would have "some explaining to do"... And then, finally, when he mentioned sending "pictures of us" to his sister when they re-connected. And in response to my, "of your wife and kids?" he said, "ask me what you want to ask me, but be sure you want to hear the answer."

And so I asked. Starting with the one I could bear.

"Do you have any kids?"

"Yes, one."

"How old?"

"Five months."

Fuck. Young. Too young probably for a clean-breakup-and-new-life scenario to be anywhere near reality.

"Are you married?"

"Yes."

Fuck.

There was nothing I could say. He offered to leave. I said no, that I needed a minute to process, but then I was going to have a lot of questions. To his credit he stayed. And he answered them all.

You probably expected me to rage. But I didn't. I cried. I was sad. That wasn't how it was supposed to end. That wasn't how it was supposed to be, at all. But I wasn't angry. I was hurt for her, because I've been on the other end of this scenario. And I was hurt for me, because I believed a lie even though I knew deep down that it was a lie.

I fell apart a little. I said the fear-filled thing that I still pray isn't true, "maybe I am cursed in love." And again he quieted my insecurities. He expressed his regret that he let it get this far. He frustration with himself that he fell in love with me, too. When he really was just looking to be not-bored and maybe feed his ego a little bit.

And then he told me all of the reasons that he loved me. How if he were single he would "do everything in [his] power" to make me his girlfriend and keep me forever. Because I'm perfect. And then he promised me that there is a man out there who will love me even better, who isn't also a lying asshole.

I thanked him.

Laugh if you have to! But I did. I hated him. But I thanked him. Because this man, who had literally no desire for anything but carefree entertainment, who had every reason in the world to remain detached, who obviously has severe entitlement issues that probably should be worked out with professional help, couldn't prevent himself from falling in love with me. And had to tell me, even though he promised himself he never would, because he "couldn't hold it inside anymore."

Compare that to the typical Tinder-boy? The typical any-kind-of guy? Or the Ex...

A cheating, lying, asshole raised my standard of treatment from men! Maybe I should work that out with professional help...

He left. I cried a little more and went to bed. I woke up the next day a little stunned and regretful but mostly filled with appreciation. Even in the beginning with the Ex, even after six months of dating again, those few weeks were the first time I've felt what it means to be truly loved. And that knowledge is going to be very useful, already has been very useful. He put me out of my misery with the string of men who never loved me. And now, going forward, I don't ever have to wonder. I know by comparison if the man on the other side of the table recognizes my worth.

As fucked-up as it all is, I am counting that as a gift.

The Mixtape

I sent a mixtape to a guy I like. A real one. On cassette. With all the excitement and expectation and insecurity of a high school senior circa 1999 (which - incidentally - is the last time I had done such a thing).

It started out as half-a joke. My favorite playground. I love to take an idea too far. To surprise and delight by blasting through everyone's expectations. To make a lasting impression.

What an opportunity!

So I ordered a tape recorder and four-pack of cassettes on Amazon. And spent one long Sunday sifting through my entire music collection. It honestly took forever to find the right set of songs. Music he would like. Messages in that not-often-sung zone of "I think you're pretty great. Let's hang out more. Ok?" I payed special attention to the tones and transitions between songs. I wanted this tape to be a work of art.

I nailed it.

And then, because I am the world's worst at surprises (I get too excited to hold them inside!!!), I sent him a snapchat of the tape. And also asked for his address. I probably could have found it, but I didn't want to be creepy...

The following Tuesday I left work in time to go to the post office and sent it on its way. At that exact moment, the terror set in. While the tape weaved its way through land and air and weather delays, I worried. It was a lot of feelings in one place. And there was no turning back. No ambiguity. No blame it on the alcohol. No hiding from vulnerability.

I emailed the girls and asked for a pep talk. And boy did they deliver!

Side note: if you don't have a pack of fierce beauties who love you more than words and aren't afraid to wreak you with honesty, stop everything you are doing and devote yourself to assembling one!

I carried their words with me as reminders. A mantra: maybe I won't get the response I want - hell, he could hate it - but at least I get to be brave.

And brave is what my musician friend called me when I told her what I'd done. She noticed that I do this kind-of thing all the time: go all in, fling myself off the cliff, dive in head-first without checking the depth. You'd think with a pattern like that I'd get comfortable with discomfort.

Sigh... Nope.

We continued the conversation for a few days. She asked how I recover when I go in big and it doesn't turn out the way I've planned. How do I stay brave enough to do it all again? I had to think about that one for a while. And because I don't really know what I think until I read it back, I tackled the idea in an email:

My dear,

It never goes as planned. Ever. Even when I make a deal with the Universe that this will be the last deal we ever make. Still no. Think of it like a movie. Like every great love story you’ve ever seen. There is always the leap of faith. The first one. The early one when Meg Ryan flies her happy ass all the way to Seattle only to see Tom Hanks get out of the car and hug another woman (not his lover, but she doesn’t know that!!) or Julia Roberts gets cozy in her fancy penthouse suite only to be propositioned by Richard Gere's dick-bag friend who smacks her across the face for refusing. Do you think that was part of their plan?! The stories we tell ourselves never come true in the timelines that we set for them (it’s part of the reason I think SMART goals are bullshit - but that’s another discussion).

So YES! recovery is important. Because recovery is mandatory. When you fling your heart off a cliff like that, you have to have the strength to climb back up. It is the only way to give yourself the opportunity to fling it off again… Because one time when you do, you won’t fall. You will fly.

The hard part is: the only way to truly build the strength for that climb, is in the climbing. 

Photo Credit: That same amazing photographer. 

But you can build other strengths, things to call upon when you are half-way back up and feel like your arms can’t hold on anymore. There are a few reminders that make it all possible:

1) It isn’t going to kill you.

You might feel like you want to die. But you won’t literally die. A boy can reject you. He can take a long look at your pretty little heart and decide that he doesn’t want to see it ever again. And even if he is an immature asshole and decides to stomp it into the pavement before he goes, it won’t stop beating. Hearts are resilient like that!

2) You’ve been through worse.

We all have. My constant refrain about these men is, “what’s he gonna do to me?” Because unless he marries me, controls me, abuses me, separates me from my friends and family, convinces me I’m unworthy of love, cheats on me, and ultimately decides to leave me because I  don’t measure up, then this new guy ain’t got nothin' on what I’ve been through - and that’s part of what I mean when I say the strength comes from the climb.

You’ve climbed out of worse, yourself, my dear. You've marched forward when everything would seem to hold you back. You've flung your heart off that cliff and had to save yourself from the rocks.

3) There is always something better.

I believe in God. I believe I have a fierce and feisty guardian angel. I believe that the Universe has a force and power that is ultimately unknowable and probably is tied up tight with the Holy Spirit. And those wicked three have taken me from nothing to everything. They have protected me from danger. They removed my ex from my life when I was ready and willing to sit in that torture chamber forever. Because they have something better in mind. 

That is part of the movie too. The second leap. The leap that requires you to love yourself and believe that you deserve all of God’s gifts. Think of Meg Ryan sitting at the top of the Empire State Building holding back tears with everything she’s got because she bet on magic and she’s up there all alone. Or Julia Roberts back in that dump apartment she shares with Kit after her whirlwind week. And then, when they least expect it, there they come: Tom Hanks up the elevator. Richard Gere charging into her neighborhood in the limo. 

The key. The critical key. Is remembering that the jump that doesn’t kill you isn’t going to be the jump that saves you in the end. Movies have to keep things simple. Life is bigger and better than that. Not dying (and climbing back up) isn’t the same as flying. And flying is what we’re after here. 

And the last most important thing is relying on your friends. And that’s a baby fling and a baby climb in itself. Because you have to be willing to be vulnerable with them, too. To be honest about who you are and what you want and what you’ve done. And all those baby climbs build strength for the bigger ones.

Take my stupid example: I had to be willing to tell you that I was scared. That’s not the same scope and scale as putting my soul into 60 minutes of music and shipping it 1000 miles. But it still requires vulnerability. And what if you had said I was stupid?  That he’s not that into me and I should have just let well enough alone? That reaction was a possibility I had to face to get the benefit of your enthusiastic support. It’s the same thing with the big flings. It’s why they’re so valuable. And worth all the effort of climbing back up after you fall. 

<3

I don't know if I was quieting her fears or my own. I'm not sure that it matters. We both survived the week.

Unlucky in Love

I send men back to their ex-girlfriends, their former love-interests, their old flames.

A palm reader once told me that I am unlucky in love. She said that the men I want never stay and the men I don't want won't go away - but she could help me out with that for another $50. I declined.

So now I send men back to their old flames. I'm not being dramatic. This is statistically significant. I'm a scientist. I have the data. In the last six months there was the CrossFitter, and the Engineer, and the Lobbyist. And those are the ones I know about (some guys disappear without a Facebook-trace...).

I guess I could be offended by this. Take it to mean that I am so horrendous as a potential love-match that these fetching men have no choice but to seek the comfort of someone they had previously discarded, or previously lacked the courage or the space or the time to pursue.

But that's not really my style.

The way I see it, it could just as easily be my too much (rather than my not enough) that sends these men back down old roads. They come into my life looking for fun, looking for pretty, looking for amusement, and probably distraction. I provide all that. But I also have an inquisitive mind, an open heart, and a passion for the world. A vision. A direction. A life.

I am so much more than a one night stand.

And while it doesn't make logical sense that my too much would bring old embers and ashes back to life, I don't begrudge any of them. I might even understand.

I carried a flame for a man who was not my boyfriend for quite a bit of 2014. It was a shrinking flame - no bigger than a tea light or a birthday candle - by the time September rolled around. But it was a flame nonetheless. In September I also had a seemingly good - and different - man vying for my affection. Paying me attention. Taking me on adventures. Writing me poetry.

And I spent one frigid night in Alaska on the back deck of our wilderness lodge, bundled-up and worrying-out-loud to my travel-partner-soul-sister. Because you see, I was at that point: If I moved even one step closer to the Adventure-Poet, I would have to turn and blow the old flame out. No birthday wishes allowed.

Photo credit: the best photographer I know.

Things took a different turn with the Poet. So I didn't have to take that big breath in the end. But if I had, would it have worked? Or would that change in my gaze, that momentary increase in focus, have brought to mind all the reasons that I struck that match in the first place? How much I love birthdays?

Dim as it was, that flame was the only illumination for an imaginary ideal life. Would I have had the courage to snuff it out and make way for a bright but unknown reality? Or would I have rather poured on gasoline?

The harder question came after the Poet went away (long after, actually, but that's not the point): did I have the courage to extinguish that flame for myself? Without a well-read cowboy stoking a campfire somewhere nearby? Was I capable of making that wish and then sitting in the dark for a while?

If I had spent that $50, I might never have found out...

Resolutions Start on the 2nd

(everybody knows that)

Even my little sister - who refuses to make New Year's Resolutions - understands the importance of giving yourself January 1st to recover.

Last year I spent New Year's with her. I flew down to Florida on Christmas morning and spent 10 days camped out in her guest room. We went on a few walks with her dog. I went for a jog one time. But otherwise we relaxed and read books and shopped. And we agreed that we both needed to start a new workout routine in the New Year.

I had moved a few days before Christmas and didn't have a gym or workout strategy mapped out. My sister had canceled her gym membership for lack of use. So we both decided that we would follow bodeefit.com. We each downloaded the app, which is amazing. And we prepared to start. On January 2nd.

New Year's Day is just too much pressure.

First, I'm always hung over, or at least tired. I don't stay up past midnight very often. And I definitely don't drink champaign after (a lot) of liquor. Ever. So New Year's Eve is hard on my body. Second, lucky New Year's foods aren't exactly diet-friendly. I don't usually resolve to improve my diet, I'm allergic to enough as it is. But it's the principle of the thing... And also there is football to watch. And other equally-important reasons to stay on the couch, like new Christmas books to read.

So resolutions start on the 2nd. And today is January 2nd.

I've mentioned before that I always share my resolutions and goals for the New Year with DrLindsey. We keep each other accountable through email. And provide support when things go off the rails. It's amazing. We check in with each other every quarter. We reevaluate our previous goals. See what we've already accomplished. Replace any that don't make sense anymore - now that life intervened. And encourage each other to succeed.

This year, tho, we took a different approach.

Instead of our typical goal-setting-type goals (that often turn into one more to-do list) we have set... drumroll...

Goals with Soul 

(Watch the video. PS: I love how much she wanted to overcome her striving - I feel that way too).

I mentioned this approach last Spring, when I first found the Desire Map. I bought all-in to the idea of first deciding how I want to feel. And then - and only then - setting goals for the year that will help me achieve those feelings. I bought a copy for DrLindsey right away. And she agreed to take the leap with me.

It took me a while to discover my Core Desired Feelings. I worked through the process over multiple late-Spring evenings, sitting on my back patio. Often with a glass of wine. Basking in the soothing atmosphere. I didn't work on them after overly stress-filled days, or when I was in a rush, or when I had too much other stuff on my mind. I wanted to breathe. And do them right.

I discovered my Core Desired Feelings on May 9th. I was working through the final steps of the process, reading definitions, saying words out loud and sensing how they made me feel. Eliminating any that didn't sound right or feel right or look right on the page. And then - all at once - six little words ripped my heart out.

Authentic. Brilliant. In Awe. At Peace.

They hit me with a tidal wave of emotions. I still feel it breaking over me now when I see them all together in print. I was exhausted. And exhilarated. And overwhelmed. I had never seen anything so true about myself. In any shape or form. And I cried. Oh did I cry.

I tried them on for a few days, and then a few months. And I started to see the connection between those feelings and every decision in my life. The things I wanted to do. The things I didn't want to do. And the burning feeling inside of me that something was amiss - that action was required - when I wasn't feeling the way I want to feel.

I linked them to my work. I crafted them into a vision for how I want to exist in my basement cubicle. And I wear a reminder bracelet on my wrist. I told you: I am all in.

A #truthbomb by Danielle LaPorte. Seemingly made just for me!

So, for the past few weeks I have been working on the next step: setting my intentions for 2015 based on my Core Desired Feelings. And that process has been equally exhilarating. You mean I get to dedicate my energy to feeling good? To feeling the way I want to feel? You mean my metric for success will be happiness?!? I'm in love with the whole thing.

I have four intentions for 2015. Well three and one that underwrites them all:

Build-up a robust and innovative team - this is my intention for work. My justification for pouring all my energy into enabling the people I admire most.

Dig into the depths of me - this one is for me. I spent 2014 rediscovering the girl I lost. And I like her! And I want to know everything there is to know about her!

Write like a motherfucker - this is a quote. And a call to action. Something I need to do. For myself - because I love it. For my work - because that's why they pay me. And for my relationships - because that's the best way I know how to send my love.

Prioritize my health and wellbeing - so that I have the energy to accomplish all the rest.

And they started today! I spent the whole morning working on a surprise for the team. And I know they're going to love it. And I'm writing right now. And I feel amazing. And I'm super blissed-out to have something so true to share with you. And that's the whole point.

I've also exchanged emails with DrLindsey. Because making a public declaration - as fun as it is - doesn't give me the deep, heartfelt support and acknowledgement that only she can provide. Sorry. I'm not sorry. You'll just have to understand...

What I learned in 2014

It's that time again!

I get the feeling that I am late to the game with this post. Many of the blogs and news sites I follow spent the past week on their year-end wrap-ups. And I'm not going to lie: I've been thinking about this post for a few days, now. But I just couldn't bring myself to write it. First, because my January 1 post date is a tradition (I've done it twice!). And also, what if I had learned something amazing last night?

So here we are: January 1, 2015. Spending just a few more minutes looking back.

2014 was one of the best years of my life. Immeasurably better than 2013, for sure. Hanging out at the top of the list with the year I spent in Europe and the year I found my calling. For all the same reasons... This year was momentous and life-changing and deep and broad and bigger than I could have ever imagined.

And I learned a lot about myself, and my passions, and my desires, and my feelings. Way more than I ever could hope to contain in a single post. Or a single conversation. Or a single anything really. So after quite a bit of consideration, I've narrowed my lessons down to two. Two major lessons from 2014. Two big truths that I had not uncovered until this year.

I take up space in the Universe. 

I know what you're thinking: Well that's just silly. Of course you do! You're a scientist! How could it have taken you this long to realize that?! And you're absolutely right. Guilty. My only retort - and it's a whisper - is that our space in the Universe is much more than physical. Even though I had to learn that I do in fact take up physical space, too.

That was the easy part. The physical one. I achieved my goal weight in 2013. And then when that year ended badly I achieved much lower than my goal weight. And finally Rachel had had enough. And she took me out for dinner. And she told me I am beautiful. And then she told me I can't weigh zero. To be clear: I didn't have an eating disorder. I was sad. But the result was the same. I had to realize that I have to weigh something and it should probably be a weight that reflects my strength and vitality.

Recognizing my right - my birthright - to spiritual space in the Universe was much harder. I'm a giver, by nature. And probably by nurture. I was raised to think of others, to have manners, to take care of those around me. It's how we all co-exist helpfully in this world. But I contorted giving to also include not taking. The result is self-sufficiency in a lot of ways, which is good.

The result also is worrying that my thoughts or feelings or opinions might become a burden on the people I love. Taken to its extreme that worry becomes poisonous. And I spent years in a land of extremes, shrinking myself in service of another person's ego. At the time, it was the only way to stay safe. But then that became a habit. And then that became a lifestyle. And I applied it in all the rest of my relationships. And then when I didn't have to do it anymore, I didn't know how to stop.

Until June.

I had a disagreement with a friend. And it hurt me more than it hurt them. And the imbalance made all my concern about burdening them seem so ridiculous. I had to acknowledge my wishes and desires. Out loud. And once it was done, my fear about their possible response was overcome by my indignation and the truth came like a flash: I'm allowed to say what I feel. I'm allowed to take up space in this Universe. But then, that wasn't enough. It's not about permission. It's a fact of my existence. The sentence came forward in big bold print: I take up space in the Universe.

Thank you, NASA.

The only grades that matter are the ones I give myself.

This one was nearly impossible for me to learn. My last five years out of school were no match for the 22 years I spent behind the desk. The books and articles on living my best life were no match for my family's high standards for achievement. And definitely no match for my nature. Because you see, I strive. I get the A. I worry about what I could have done to make that A an A+. I seek challenge. I pursue perfection. I. Strive.

And I apply the same strategies I've honed over two decades for predicting what my teachers and professors will want from me - to get the A - to determine what everyone else in my life will want from me, too. And I don't see their expectations as a burden. I seek them out! They give me something to achieve. A target for my energy and creativity. A guaranteed reward once they're met. And wow, do I love a gold star!

But as my social circle expanded, as my career developed, as my responsibilities increased, all that striving became exhausting. And overwhelming. And stifling to my creativity. And a load that I almost couldn't carry. But how could I say no? How could I turn it off? How could I remove the outside expectations when I had internalized them so deeply? What about my gold star?!?

See what I mean? Nearly impossible. And then...

It seems to me that it always is the counterexample that finally drives a lesson home. Something happens that forces me to ponder simultaneously both sides of the same coin. And then the light turns on. And I get it.

I had a particularly vulnerable few weeks recently. I have been opening my heart and applying my lesson about my space in the Universe and speaking my truth. Especially when that truth will be positive and uplifting to the audience. In essence I am working to show the people I love all of my love, in as many ways as I can design. But all that openness and feeling can sometimes make people uncomfortable - especially the data-driven-science-geniuses I roll with.

And so recently when I opened the lid and poured out my heart, I tried to sit quietly, content in the fact that one of my favorites would get a smile because of me. But instead I sat in the center of my vulnerability. And it was terrifying. What if they didn't like it? What if they didn't understand it? What if it was too much? How would I get my gold star?

And there it was: striving. Only this time I was seriously considering making myself less to fit comfortably inside my imagined-worst-case-scenario of someone else's expectations. Less! How can I strive to be less? That ridiculous question doesn't even fit in my mouth. It is something that I never would say out loud. But I thought it. And all at once every other how can I strive to be... question came into focus. Both sides of the same ridiculous coin. And I get it.

Carne Adovada

The Universe sent this recipe to me.

That's a fact. Maybe you don't believe me or maybe you're rolling your eyes at just how silly this little cavegirl has become. But it's a fact and I have proof.

The Universe sends me things all the time. The things I need to survive. The lessons I need to learn, right when I need to learn them. And pretty little gifts to remind me that there is a higher power looking out for me.

For example, I had been telling the Universe for months that I wanted a purple lacrosse ball (for mobility). I workout pretty hard in the morning, and then I go sit all day, which basically is a recipe for hip-mobility-disaster. So I needed a lacrosse ball to keep at my desk to provide myself some relief when the going got too tough. But I wanted a purple lacrosse ball. My basement cubicle is a drab-brown place and I wanted any new permanent fixture to be soothing and pretty.

Now before you link away because you think I've gone past silly and straight into ridiculous, let me be clear: I wasn't actively telling the Universe I wanted a purple lacrosse ball (you pictured me shouting my desire at the full moon, didn't you?). It's far more simple to communicate with the Universe than all that. In this case, every time I went to a sports store and found only orange or white, I'd lament to myself the lack of purple and walk away. Or when I felt myself getting tight at my desk, I'd think "man I wish I had a purple lacrosse ball right now." That kind of thing.

Fast forward a few months to this Summer. I was out for a run with one of my coworkers to take advantage of the beautiful weather and a long mid-day gap between meetings. We were on the jogging trail complaining about our management (as you do) and half-mocking-half-motivating each other through the final stretch when I spotted something on the side of the trail and had to stop. It was my purple lacrosse ball.

In case that isn't clear enough proof for you, let me describe the setting. We were on a jogging trail. Through a wooded area. With no lacrosse-approriate fields within miles. And I am a scientist working in a male-dominated field. Hell. My running partner and everyone else we saw on the trail that day was male. Where did this lacrosse ball come from? And why purple? Because the Universe sent it to me.

I carried it in and washed it off. Now it sits in a place of prominence at my desk. I let my co-workers hold it while I tell this story whenever someone makes fun of my Vision (white) Board or my claims that it totally works! It's pretty compelling. Stops the cynical mockery right in its tracks!

I also tell this story to friends when they hear me say "I want to be loved like a Brad Paisley song," and they realize that A) I'm not kidding, and B) I'm super optimistic. The Universe delivers!

But back to this recipe.

In June I was on a work trip to New Mexico and binge ate Carne Adovada and green chile. I only make it to New Mexico a few times a year, and my local "new Mexican" restaurant is a sad disappointment, so I started to think that I needed to find a New Mexican grandmother willing to share her recipe with me. I even bought a package of dried New Mexican chiles to have on hand when I found her.

I traveled back to New Mexico in August for work/play and again had the same thought, "I need a New Mexican grandmother's Carne Adovada recipe." I didn't want one from a cookbook or pinterest or cooks.com. I wanted something legit. With lard in it perhaps. And I put the Universe on notice.

Then. At the end of August, I made a new friend. We exchanged normal get-to-know-you information and I found out he was born in New Mexico. I didn't put it all together until a week or so later when I was walking home from the grocery store. He knew about my lacrosse ball so he didn't think I was totally crazy when I texted to see if he happened to have a New Mexican grandmother. He did! AND he was willing to call his mother for her Carne Adovada recipe.

And now I have it.

I had to modify the original to make it SillyLittle CaveGirl-safe. But the flavor is truly authentic. A real gift from the Universe.

Carne Adovada

Yes, those are corn tortillas. Sometimes I "cheat" a little bit...

Ingredients

3 lbs pork shoulder, trimmed and cubed
10 dried New Mexico chiles
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 jalapeño (optional)
3 cups water + 1 cup
3 tablespoons potato starch
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
Pepper

Instructions

Preheat oven to 275 degrees. Remove the stem and seeds from the dried chiles and (optional) jalapeño. Place on a baking sheet and bake at 275 degrees for 15 minutes, careful not to burn the jalapeño. Remove from oven and place in a sauce pan. Pour over 3 cups of water. Place on medium-high heat until water boils. Remover from heat, cover, and let stand for 10 minutes until peppers soften.

Meanwhile, sprinkle the salt all over the cubed pork. In a large pot over medium heat, add olive oil and garlic. Once you can smell the garlic, add the salted pork. Turn the pork frequently to brown the sides. Remove from heat and set aside.

Once the peppers have softened, pour the mixture into your blender and blend until smooth. Return the sauce to the pan and season with oregano and cumin. You can add a touch more salt and pepper here (to taste) if desired, but be careful because the pork already is salty.

Pour the sauce over the pork and turn well so that the cubes are well coated. Let cool to room temperature. Cover and refrigerate over night.

In the morning, pour the marinated pork (and all the sauce) into your Crock-Pot. Set on low and let cook until the pork is fork-tender. About 4 hours. Turn heat to low. In a small bowl, mix the potato starch into the remaining 1 cup (cold) water until dissolved. Pour potato starch slurry into the Crock-Pot and stir to combine. The sauce should thicken nicely. 

Serve with (homemade paleo) tortillas, salad, avocado, etc. Makes 6 servings.

Turkey Burger

This is the best Turkey Burger ever. I'm not kidding around. I'm not even bragging...

I am a huge Turkey Burger fan. When I'm feeling especially lazy and particularly hungry, I'll often walk up the hill to Cheesecake Factory and order a bun-less Turkey Burger with salad instead of fries. It's a weakness. It's my go-to snow day treat (because somehow they're open when everything else is closed). It's warm and savory and comforting. CB first introduced me to the dish and I've pretty-much eaten it with everyone I know at some point or other. My history with that burger runs deep.

But you know I don't really love eating out.

Sure I love good service and new and interesting foods. And I love grabbing a few cocktails and spending social time with friends (new and old). But I also feel a lot of the time that I could make just as good of a meal, or better, for a much lower cost, in the comfort of my cave.

With that in mind, I set out to tackle the Turkey Burger.

But I couldn't just make any old Turkey Burger. It had to be a better Turkey Burger. No matter what, it was going to cost less if I made it myself. And take about the same cook time as I normally spend waiting around in the Cheesecake Factory bar. And I would be able to avoid vegetable oil and the load of sugar (I'm positive) they put into their salad dressing to make me crave it all the time... All amazing benefits. But the taste! The comfort! The history! I had to best all of that to make making it myself worth my while (a girl's got to have her priorities).

Even after I devised the recipe, prepped my mise, and opened a cider, I was bracing myself for disappointment. Don't get me wrong. I know I'm a good cook (please see previous 103 blog posts for proof of my self-confidence). But I didn't know if I could recreate (or especially best) something that I loved so much. On the first try.

But then I did.

I've made this recipe a few times now (and most notably haven't been back to the Cheescake Factory since its invention). I even solicited a second opinion and was assured that this Turkey Burger recipe is one for the books (or the blog, as the case may be...). Please enjoy. And. You're welcome.

Turkey Burger

If you really want to get fancy, stir some garlic and parsley into a tablespoon of
homemade paleo mayo. And don't forget to dress your salad in my French Dressing.

Ingredients

1 lb ground turkey

1 egg

1 cup diced yellow onion

1 cup diced white mushroom

2 strips thick-cut bacon, cubed

2 cloves garlic, diced

1 tablespoon Herbs from Provence

1 tablespoon olive oil

Salt and pepper

Instructions

Place a small sauté pan over medium  heat. Add cubed bacon and cook until some of the fat starts to render. Add diced onion and mushroom, and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring often, until onion becomes translucent and mushroom as released most of its water. Add garlic. Continue cooking until everything becomes brown. Add Herbs from Provence. Stir to evenly combine. Remove from heat and set aside.

Place ground turkey in a medium bowl and combine with egg. Once the sautéed veggies are cool enough to touch, add them to the turkey and combine (I used my hands. It's easier). Roll and pat turkey mixture into evenly sized patties.

Place a large sauté pan over medium heat. Once the pan is hot add olive oil, and place turkey patties into the pan* (careful not to crowd them, you probably will need to make them in batches or use two pans). Cook thoroughly. About 4 minutes on each side. Makes 5 patties.**

*Note: This recipe probably isn't the best for the grill. The ground turkey is pretty viscous and probably would stick to the grill grates and turn into a disaster. I don't know what would happen if you tried ground turkey breast (I prefer the higher fat).

**Note: I wouldn't dream of telling you how many servings that should be. These were so amazing I wouldn't be surprised if a knife fight broke out in the kitchen over the last one (so don't say I didn't warn you!).

French Dressing

I don't know what this is. Or even this. I mean. I've tasted them before. But I'm not quite sure where they came from or how they came to be known as French. In all my time in France, I never once came across a neon-lit salad dressing (but then again maybe I was just partying with the right crowd...).

So. If you came looking for a paleo version of a creamy orange dressing that boasts ketchup as a key ingredient (and let's not even talk about the corn oil). You came to the wrong place. Sorry, I'm not sorry. But if you're looking for an amazing, mustardy, salty, tangy vinaigrette that goes great with literally everything, Welcome!

I learned this recipe from the coolest French woman I know. She tossed it over every kind of green, practically nightly. And mid-way through my year in her home, I graduated from observer to support staff in her kitchen, and often made the dressing myself. I carried the recipe home with me and used it to wow my friends and woo men on let-me-cook-for-you dates (it works every time, ladies). And now I'm sharing it with all of you (because I love you all so much).

I recommend mixing this dressing together in a small resealable glass container. It'll keep for basically ever (not that it will last that long). If you're picky you can put it in the refrigerator, just remember to take it out about an hour before you want to use it because real olive oil solidifies at cold temperatures.

You're welcome.

French Dressing

Now isn't that 1000x more appetizing than neon orange gelatinous goop?

Ingredients

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/4 cup vinegar (raspberry or balsamic)

2 tablespoons stone ground mustard

1 tablespoon dried onion flakes

1 tablespoon dried chives

1 tablespoon dried parsley (optional)

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

1/2 teaspoon course ground sea salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Combine ingredients in a small bowl or salad dressing shaker. Enjoy.

CaveLife: Paleo in Paris

Yes. It's possible.

Sure. Yes. I get it. Cheese is almost a religion in France. And there are bakeries and crêpe stands on every corner. But the food culture in Paris is so centered around high quality meat, fresh game, seasonal produce, and great affordable wine, that it is one of the easiest places to maintain a primal lifestyle. If you're willing to expand beyond the stereotype. 

Surprised? I wasn't. But I knew what I was getting myself into...

The fall of my senior year of high school (so waaaaay back in the old days), when my friends were spending long evenings and weekend afternoons writing essay after essay for their college applications, I was hanging out with my little sister looking for something better to do.

Don't get me wrong. I wanted to go to college eventually (spoiler alert: I did go. And go. And go. That's how I ended up a silly little scientist in a basement cubicle). Just not right then. I had great grades, took AP classes, played 2 sports, did all the community service. I was ready for those applications. But I had other plans.

I had decided the summer after my freshman year, while I was hanging out poolside between two-a-day swim practices, that it might be fun to live in Europe for a year between high school and college. Two-and-a-half years later that was still the plan (I told you I'm decisive).

So I sent a bio and a photo to an au pair agency, hoping that an awesome family would hire me. I didn't have a back-up plan. Didn't submit a single college application. I threw everything into this one idea (because that's what I do). And through the magic of the Universe and my guardian angel, I was hired by an amazing French family.

I could go on for days about all the things that I learned, and the ways that I grew, while I lived with my French family. About becoming my true self, and about courage, and about the payoff when you're willing to take big risks. I could tell hilarious stories about watching beautiful little children experience new aspects of the world for the first time. About climbing on trash cans and breaking toddlers out of locked bathrooms and teaching baby girls their first words.

And all of that is bundled up into my feelings about Paris. And my comfort when I landed. And my faith that Easter weekend with my #1 Loves from Grad School was going to be amazing. And my expectation that the trip was going to help me along the path toward reestablishing myself.

I flew over Wednesday night and landed in Paris about dawn on Thursday. Thankfully, I sleep great on planes (even in coach. I'm little... I fit.) so I had a jump start on getting my body into the right timezone.

I got off the plane at Charles De Gaulle, hustled to the RER (stopping at the ATM for Euros), and hopped onto the next train to the city. What was amazing was that even though I hadn't been near an RER train for years the smell was exactly the same - indescribable - and brought me all the way back to my first trip into Paris. And it felt like home.

My #1 Love Aurelia lives in a swanky neighborhood in the 6th Arrondissement, near the Jardin du Luxembourg. So I got off the train near Notre Dame, popped up out of the RER station and caught a glimpse of the cathedral backlit by the early morning sun. Talk about a "welcome to Paris!" Then I navigated my way to Aurelia's apartment and got my real welcome to Paris (which was really just a lot of screaming-hugging-jumping-up-and-down in the stairwell. Sorry neighbors).

Aurelia made me a delicious breakfast. Then we changed clothes and went for a brisk walk through the neighborhood and Jardin. I hadn't seen Aurelia in years and had so much to tell her (and her me). About life. About love. About work. About play. We finished our walk. Hit the showers. And then headed out in search of low-key tourism and lunch.

We climbed up to Sacré Coeur on Montmartre and toured the basilica.

One of my favorite places to visit when I lived in France.

After the tour, we climbed back down and ordered Salad Niçoise and a bottle of rosé at a nearby cafe.

Yes, we were day-drinking. It's called vacation for a reason.

Then we headed back to the home-base, changed into shorts (because the weather was beautiful) and walked over to the Jardin to do as the Parisians do (lay in the sun and nap). It was probably one of the top five naps of my life.

Ahhhh. Springtime in Paris.

That night, we dined at Le Relais de l'Entrecôte. The restaurant only serves four things. Steak in a delicious sauce. French fries. Salad. And Dessert. When you order, the waitress asks for your wine choice and preference for steak temperature. But be careful. The lady at the table next to us asked for well done, and they wouldn't serve her. You cannot insult the chef!

The salad comes immediately after you order.
This would be the perfect place to go when you're hungry, except for the looong line out the door.

Mine was medium-rare. And yes, I eat potatoes (they totally count!)
And Sally Dee if you're reading this, please forgive the fork and knife placement.
I swear it was just for the photo!

I wasn't kidding when I said there was a line.
We got there just before opening so thankfully didn't have to wait too long.

Friday morning, we slept late and Aurelia cooked a delicious breakfast of veggie hash, tomato, avocado, eggs, coffee, and juice.

Seriously. How spoiled was I?

Then we left to explore a part of Paris neither of us had seen before. In all our time in the city, we hadn't visited the French military museum at Hôtel national des Invalides or Napoleon's Tomb. So this was the day!

The museum grounds are pretty great by themselves because of the funny trees,
the moat, and also because of the cannons. I'm a sucker for copper cannons.

Napoleon's Tomb or as Aurelia called it,
"The most impressive monument to a
personality on Earth."

Then we walked back toward the 6th along the Seine where I snapped my own version of one of the quintessential Parisian pictures.

How can you not love this place? There is beauty around every corner!

We had a little café near the Louvre to perk ourselves up from all the walking. And also to prepare ourselves for the long night ahead. Our other #1 Love Kristin was flying in from Moscow late that night, and we had plans to cook a midnight dinner at home once she arrived. 

We made haste to the markets after finishing our café to collect meat, veggies, and wine for dinner. We also decided to treat ourselves to a delicious snack.

Artichoke, smoked salmon, lemon, olives, homemade olive oil garlic basil mayonaise,
and of course champaign. "Because we can!"

When we were full and mostly drunk on champaign, Aurelia told me all about her recent trip to Kenya and showed me her amazingly-beautiful pictures. I decided then that Kristin and I had to make our next major adventure a safari (of course I planned to ask her opinion, but I also knew she'd say yes)!

When Kristin arrived, we walked down to the RER station to meet her and had another screaming-hugging-jumping-up-and-down celebration on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. Then we whisked her home for a bottle of good wine and our delicious midnight dinner (we even saved her a little bit of the champaign, because we're that kind of friends).

Filet, radicchio salad, and sweet potato fries.

We laughed and joked. We caught up on girl talk. And then we passed out.

The next morning, Aurelia spoiled us again with an amazing homemade egg scramble with fresh veggies and tons of cilantro. 

Seriously. Spoiled.

And then it was time for tourism. Whereas Aurelia and I had both seen a lot of the city, this was Kristin's first time in Paris. So we organized our Saturday around making sure she saw the must-see attractions. We started at Notre Dame because it was the closest.

Happy Easter, right?

Then found a nice little place to enjoy a café and get Kristin her first-ever pain au chocolate. It smelled amazing and would have been tempting, but my café came with a homemade dark chocolate truffle (totally counts).

Ok. Maybe I ate two dark chocolate truffles. Maybe.

We walked around the city some more. I bought an amazing oil painting from the venders on the side of the Seine (that's now hanging in my living room), and a few souvenirs for the less fortunate back home. Aurelia haggled with one of the vendors until she got the perfect Air France poster for a rock-bottom price. And then we headed back to the markets to find the perfect ingredients for our Easter Sunday Brunch.

That was one of the most fun parts of this trip. The food shopping. I love the grocery store. So being able to go daily to the markets, see what looked best, pick out meat and fresh produce to eat that day (or the next) was a real pleasure. We took everything back to the apartment, changed clothes, and headed toward the Tour Eiffel by way of our dinner reservations.

Aurelia asked me when I first arrived where I thought we should take Kristin for dinner on her first trip to Paris. We kicked around a few ideas but nothing could top Aurelia's first suggestion: La Petite Chaise, the oldest and longest continuously operating restaurant in Paris. How could we not? The food was traditional French. The wine was delicious. And this time, everyone had dessert.

To start I had a bacon and egg dish in onion broth... 

... and one of Kristin's escargot.

For my main course, I had the duck breast with pear and a delicious potato casserole
(that I am totally going to recreate at some point).

And of course there was wine.

Yes. I had dessert. Yes. It was Crème brûlée. No. It's not paleo.
I couldn't resist. I didn't eat the whole thing (not even close!)
And still, it was more sugar than I had probably eaten in an entire year...

After dinner, we continued our walk to the Tour Eiffel. It was late, and the tower was twinkling on the top of every hour. There were people everywhere, and the mood was festive and bright.

I probably took 50 pictures. This is my favorite one.

We waited to see the twinkling spectacle close up and then walked across the bridge to take a midnight spin on the cutest little carousel on Earth.

You know all those dreams?
They came true!

The next day was Easter. We slept late, updated social media, and started cooking the prettiest brunch I have ever eaten. I should note, Aurelia did most of the work. Kristin and I sipped champaign, arranged the radishes, and provided the moral support.

Champaign. Juice. Melon. Radishes. Quail Eggs.
Cured meat. Heirloom tomatoes. Strawberries. And a surprise.

We picked quail eggs because a) they're delicious and b) they come pre-painted.

Our pretty Easter table. Between the three of us, we pretty-much ate all of it, too.

And for dessert we had the apple tart from the Parisian bakery. And it was amazing.
And proof that the quality of the ingredients matter: I didn't react to the wheat at all.

For Easter afternoon, we took Kristin up the Champs-Élysées. 

On the way we stopped to watch the lovers attaching
their locks to the railing at Pont de l'Archevêché.

While we were out, the girls talked me into buying a very expensive perfume by one of the oldest perfume houses in the world. To be honest, I didn't need much convincing. I kind-of loved the idea of from that moment taking on a new signature scent. A fresh start to mark the next chapter of my life. I wear it every day (and some nights) and remember not only my #1 Loves but also the feeling of that Easter afternoon, of being truly myself and truly at peace.

Then we hopped in a Taxi and headed back to Aurelia's apartment, because I had a dinner date with my amazing French family from the au pair days. They were lovely and welcoming and just as fun and loud and full of life as I remembered. The kids are grown. And the family make-up has changed. But the spirt was still alive and well. It made me miss Paris even though I was in it. And it made me regret spending so much time away from them. I vowed then to see them all again soon. 

And then that was it. The trip was over.

The next morning, Kristin and I had to catch a flight back to the states. I used the free WiFi in the United lounge to download The Little Prince in French and English. I had left my copy at home, but felt with all the tender emotions and feelings of renewal and life lessons bubbling up in me from the trip, I needed it close to me on the flight home.

On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. 

One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.

I read both versions on the plane and a few other things. I slept. I drank (a little). And I started to transition myself back to real life. Even though it was short, it was one of the top five trips of my life. 

I cannot wait for our next adventure!