“Write blog post” has been on my To Do List every week since roughly October.

I suck.

I know I am tempting fate when I say this, but part of me misses being unemployed (knocks on wood, spins in circle three times, throws salt over shoulder). All that time spent at the pool reading educational writing/marketing books… all that time spent on my laptop at the dining room table writing and sipping wine in the middle of the day (don’t judge, it spurs my creativity)…. all that time fretting over my finances and my future… oh wait, that’s right - being unemployed mostly sucked.

But I really miss the fact that I had the time and energy to be unnecessarily creative. I started this damn blog with gusto and, like so many other things in my life (e.g. Operation Clean Out Closet), abandoned it unfinished shortly thereafter. It appears the title - Half-Cooked Lasagna - is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Well, a few weeks ago I read a fantastic book called Naked, Drunk and Writing by Adair Lara. It was totally motivating and I highly recommend it to anyone with any interest in writing. The book made me realize that the reason I find it so easy to put off writing - something I very much enjoy doing - is that I’ve been taking this blog too seriously. I’ve been struggling with its direction - What’s it supposed to be about? Who’s it supposed to be for? And now I know that really, when it comes down to it, it’s for me. Just me. It doesn’t really have to be about anything, and it’s okay if not every post is a winner. The most important purpose it serves (or should serve, as it were) is for me to practice my writing. I’m probably never going to turn into Perez Hilton or the chick from the Julie/Julia Project, and that’s okay. If it gets me in the habit of writing more often, and inspires me to pursue my goal of having an essay published somewhere, then it’s a success.

I’ve been a chronic procrastinator since probably Kindergarten, so we’ll see if I can overcome this debilitating affliction and get my ass in gear. Wish me luck!

Love this. I can relate to this right now. This is me - both of them. Big and goofy, lacking grace, confidence and certainty, but possessing a certain level of intuition, intelligence and a strong desire to do right by those I care about… desperately seeking the guidance of that wiser, calmer, elusive part of my brain that knows just what to do to make everything come together.

I’ve been absent from the blogoshpere lately (I’m sure you saw the shocking national news reports covering my silence), but not because I forgot about it or I don’t care. I started a new job (hooray!) so lack of time and capacity to concentrate have definitely been factors. But more than that, it’s been my uncertainty surrounding what to write about. I’ve got about a half-dozen half-written posts about all sorts of random things, from the heartbreak of being an FSU fan to my trip to Alaska. I may still finish and post them, but not until I feel as though they’re good enough to share with you. (All three of you who might read this - hi mom!)

So in that regard, this photo also represents me searching for inspiration. For ambition. For purpose. In my writing, in my personal life, and in my new career path. I just need to keep looking within myself.

Stay tuned…. I think it’s coming.

College football is back, baby. In this piece from from Sports Illustrated.com, journalist Andy Staples paints a humorous picture of why we love the game.

I cannot freakin’ wait for Saturday. GO NOLES!

With all this earthquake hullabaloo, I thought it might be appropriate to re-post an article I wrote several years ago during my internship for a travel website. I didn’t feel Monday’s quake in southern Colorado, and I obviously didn’t feel Tuesday’s quake in Virginia. But the following is an account of a rather large one in Hawaii that I was practically in the epicenter of and still didn’t feel. You can blame it on the superior suspension of a Jeep Wrangler, I guess.

The sun had not fully risen yet and already the mosquitoes were feasting on our flesh. In the pre-dawn light, we studied our map and loaded our rental Jeep with all the tourist essentials. The adventure that lay before us entailed crossing Hawaii’s largest island, from Hilo to Kailua-Kona, where my boyfriend had arranged a private fishing charter. He expected that by the end of the day we would have unforgettable tales to tell of majestic marlin and catching “the big one.”

He was right about the tales, but we could never have guessed their topic.

Just after 7 a.m. we slowed to a stop at a red light in the center of town. We were listening to our Tampa Bay Buccaneers on the radio when all of a sudden the signal went completely dead. There was no static, no interference; just complete silence, as though someone at the station had pulled the plug. At that same moment, B gave me an urgent nudge.

“Look at that,” he said, pointing upward. The streetlight, which extended out over the road on a long steel arm, was shaking up and down violently. A row of palm trees lining the waterfront was also swaying back and forth, despite the lack of movement in the humid October air.

“Well that’s pretty strange,” I said nonchalantly.

“Maybe it’s an earthquake,” joked B.

“Yeah, right. We would’ve felt that.” We shrugged our shoulders and went on our way, completely unaware that we had just been witness to the largest earthquake to hit Hawaii since 1983.

30 minutes later, as we wound our way north into the mountains, we began to realize our theory was not so silly after all. Fallen rocks littered the highway around every bend. Each turn brought another heart-stopping moment as B slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with a boulder. We could smell and taste the fresh soil still lingering in the air.

Men climbed out of their trucks and cleared away rubble with their bare hands. At a gas station, a group of nearby residents had gathered for an impromptu town meeting amongst the shattered light bulbs and fallen signs. Their children stood alongside the road waving their arms and shouting to passersby.

“Slow down! Rockslide!”

Eventually the radio airwaves sprang back to life and we learned that a magnitude 6.7 earthquake had struck just off the Kona coast at the precise moment we were at that stoplight in downtown Hilo. Homes were damaged and electricity was out as far away as Maui and Honolulu, yet we had not felt the slightest vibration.

We didn’t get much farther before the highway was closed due to dangerous conditions. B contacted the fishing boat captain, who told him the trip was still on. So we turned around and headed across the island on the infamous Saddle Road, ignoring the clause in our rental car contract that forbade us to do so.

The road itself isn’t what kills people, the locals told us, it’s the careless drivers who speed along its winding curves. But with the morning’s incident we practically had the route all to ourselves. For 86 miles we watched nearly every possible landscape unfold outside our windows – lush rainforest, volcanic lava field, upcountry meadow, and finally arid desert as we approached the west coast. Our quiet contemplation was interrupted frequently by messages from the Emergency Broadcast System. It occurred to me later that was the first time in my life I had heard the real thing and not just a test. (Incidentally, the second time would come the very next day as we navigated through Volcanoes National Park in a veritable monsoon.)

In the end, we found out the hard way that marlin do not respond well to large earthquakes. After four hours and $500 we hadn’t had so much as a nibble. Too tired to enjoy the sea turtles lounging on the black sand beach, we pointed our Jeep back toward Hilo.

We climbed into bed that night with our eyes glued to the nonstop national news coverage of the quake. It was hard to believe we had been in the middle of it all and not even been aware. B and I created many special memories on our trip to Hawaii, but we will always remember October 15, 2006 as the day the Earth moved…. and we missed it.

discoverynews:

doree:

npr:

The dog of slain Marine Jon Tumilson refused to leave his side during the Navy SEAL’s funeral earlier this week in Rockford, Iowa. The heartbreaking photo taken by his cousin, Lisa Pembleton, shows Tumilson’s dog Hawkeye lying by the casket. (via The Daily Treat: Animal Planet)

No, it’s fine, I totally felt like crying at work today.

Dogs continue to amaze

I have no words. Just a hug for my Hank.

And while I’m on this Tony Robbins-esque rant, here’s another of my motivational favorites. You’ve got to run down your dream, because it’s not going to just come to you. Sing it, Tom.

In case you don’t know the song I refer to in the previous post, here it is.

In a job interview yesterday, one of the questions the interviewer asked me was, “What has been your greatest accomplishment so far?”

Without hesitation I answered, “Going back to school.”

Maybe that’s lame. Maybe another candidate answered, “Winning the Pullitzer,” or “Starting my own company,” or “Beating cancer and raising four kids as a single parent while circumnavigating the globe in my homemade dinghy.” Well, lame or not, it’s my truth.

It’s not even about the fact that I made it through all those difficult upper level courses (with a 3.96 GPA, thank you very much) and came out alive on the other end with a master’s degree. It’s the fact that I had the courage to take control of my own destiny that I’m most proud of.

I was 17 years old when I first set foot on the campus of Florida State University as a freshman. All I really knew about life back then was that I liked to act and dance, I loved FSU football, and I was chomping at the bit to get out into the world on my own. Fortunately the registrar’s office lets students go through the first year “undecided.” Perfect, because that’s what I was.

Fast-forward to sophomore year. I had now matured to the ripe old age of 18. I had become well-versed on proper keg-pumping technique and knew how to pour beer into a red plastic cup at the angle necessary to avoid a nasty, foamy Bud Light head. I’m sure I learned other things too, but these were the key takeaways. And this is when they start pressuring you to declare a major.

I remember flipping through the course catalog and briefly considering the programs that seemed interesting to me… English, Journalism, Zoology, Social Work. I’m not entirely sure why I shot them all down, other than I must have perceived some limitation or deficiency in my intelligence and potential. The default choice was Theatre, because that’s what I knew; that was my comfort zone. I acted in every play in high school, and I was involved in a pretty intense competition/performance dance team. I used to fantasize about performing on Broadway and who I’d thank in my Oscar acceptance speech. That’s what I really thought I wanted to do with my life.

Turns out I wasn’t all that good at it. I suppose I was better than your average bum off the street, but I obviously didn’t have what it takes to “make it.” And the more I thought about moving to New York or L.A., waiting tables, constantly worrying about my breast size and the brand of my sunglasses and when my big break would come, I realized that was actually not the life I wanted at all.

The problem was, I had no idea what I did want. After an eye-opening semester studying in London (more on this later), I reluctantly accepted my degree, knowing in my heart that something wasn’t exactly right. I spent the next seven years wandering the Earth, both figuratively and literally. I travelled to far-flung places, had experiences that make me jealous of my former self when I recall them, and tried on a bunch of different jobs for size. Nothing fit.

I was heading down a path on which I was unchallenged, unfulfilled and unhappy. I desperately needed to change the trajectory of my life.

Going back to school was the obvious decision, but it still wasn’t an easy one to make. Seven years had passed since I graduated from college. That’s seven years of dealing with everything life throws at us - the ups and downs, the celebrations and disappointments, the lessons that are painful to learn. Seven years of believing I had to settle for what I thought I had become, all based on a choice I made as an idiotic teenager. To go back would mean to uproot every shred of stability in my life, and hang my hopes and dreams on a hypothetical. That’s some scary stuff right there. (Of course wanting to be a writer didn’t help assuage my fears, for obvious reasons.) I was worried sick I was setting myself up for another failure, only this one could potentially cost me my home, my relationship and my self-worth. But I had to listen to that inner voice that was screaming at me, telling me that I was better than I thought I was. Just like Steve Jobs said, I had to have faith that the dots would somehow connect in my future.

So, blessed with the support of B and my amazing parents, I went back and immersed myself in the unfamiliar territory of a field that I’ve subconsciously known was right for me since about third grade. And it fit like a glove. Now I’m a professional writer (okay, fine - a currently unemployed professional writer, but whatever) and it feels really good to be able to say that. I know I’m just an infant in this game - I’m still trying to find my voice and I’ve got a hell of a lot to learn - so I can’t say that this is the happy ending… yet. But it’s certainly a promising start.

By this point you’re probably thinking, “Wow, that Allison sure is full of herself.” I swear I’m not telling this story to toot my own horn and say, “Look at me! I’m so brave and amazing!” I’m telling with the hope that maybe someone reading it might be inspired to do the same. It truly isn’t easy to sit down and take a hard, honest look at what’s not working your life, and accept the fact the you are the only one with the power to change it. But it’s not impossible. In fact it’s necessary. Life is too damn short to live half-heartedly.

The Avett Brothers said it best in their song, Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise:

“Decide what to be, and go be it.”