The Storyologist

Welcome to The Storyologist. It's lovely to have you here.

I'm excited to continue my original blog in a slightly different form. I loved my journey with the theme of No Other Day The Same. This forum allowed me to look at every day through the lens of trying to discover what would make it stand out from the rest. I truly enjoyed chronicling my journey. The only snag was that after a while, I got to the point where I would almost stage those moments and they weren't truly genuine. The writing felt stale, and it had to change. 

Ergo, I'm ushering in a new concept in hopes that my writing will feel more aligned. You see, the part I loved the most about No Other Day The Same was getting to share my little stories with you everyday. I've been thinking a lot about stories lately.

Stories have always been transformative for me, granting me the gift of experiencing different viewpoints, ways of life, characters, places and more. I love reading, watching and listening to those stories that take me to other worlds. As Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail says, "When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does." I know Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney has formed my identity. Those childhood stories and stories I've read since continue to shape me as a person.

There's another type of story, and that's the stories we hear about people that prevent us from really understanding the truth; the stereotypes, the propaganda, and the biases. I love Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's The Danger of a Single Story because she cautions us against assuming one story can really get to the heart of the matter. Especially in this day and age when it's so easy to accept one story very easily as fact, I believe it's important to seek the deeper story.

There are the stories of who we are, and how we got to where we are today. I love listening to other people's stories. Ever since I can remember I've been listening to stories - stories of incredible courage, joy and greatness. One of my favorite stories is how my grandma snuck her horse named Ol' Doll up a flight of stairs and almost scared my great-grandfather half to death. I love putting the pieces together from stories and thinking about how each story truly is a tiny slice of a whole person. 

Then there are the stories that we tell ourselves that prevent us from taking risks or chances. There's the story that we are running out of time. There's the story that we can't get that job. There's the story that we can't ask for what we want. Those stories are not easily untold. There are some stories that we don't tell at all. The story of the secret desire that we wish for but don't utter aloud for fear of seeming silly or unrealistic. The story of something embarrassing or painful that we want to forget about entirely. Those stories are equally important and sacred. 

So, what's a storyologist exactly? You can't find the term in a dictionary. However, "-ologist" means "a branch of learning" or "a branch of knowledge" or "an expert". I'm skeptical of those who claim to be experts on any subject, however, I'm going to proclaim myself a storyologist simply because I'm a scholar of stories.

I can't wait to see where my new ventures take me as The Storyologist. 

Being a duck

Happy New Year, readers! I hope you are doing well, and that you had a wonderful holiday. Mine was full of cute babies, good food, long walks, family, friends and lots of movie watching and cat cuddling. It's been a good vacation. Here's my parents' cat, Ella, claiming her gift territory.

Today I woke up and had the urge to write. I didn't feel like I should write; I actually wanted to write. I've had this urge several times over the past year, yet most of the time I've stopped myself with thoughts like "I haven't written in so long - I can't start now" and "Do I have to go back and write all the blog entries I said I would write before I write this one? Slacker!" and "Meh - maybe I'll just watch Gilmore Girls instead". Don't judge on that last one. You've all been there.

Yet today I embraced the idea that I wanted to write without judgment. It's something I've decided to leave behind in my new year. Judgement is SO 2014. How liberating!

I've always had varied interests. I've tried blogging, marathon running, painting, salsa dancing, novel writing, Buddhist meditation, yoga and more. I'm still working on embracing my dabbling, since I've always wanted to have one or two areas of expertise. I've always wanted to be able to say - I'm an expert at ____. One website that I love, The Dabblist, is all about a woman striving to remove society's taboo around dabbling. She publishes tons of great resources to experiment with making things with your hands, which is so much fun. Some might consider dabbling flighty or lacking commitment. I prefer to think of it as continually having new mini adventures.

When I looked up images of dabbling, I came up with photos like this:

This surprised me at first. I re-checked my search to figure out why I had gotten images of ducks. Then I looked up the definition of dabbling from Merriam-Webster and came up with two: "to work or involve oneself superficially or intermittently especially in a secondary activity" and "interest to paddle, splash, or play in or as if in water". Upon further research, the image above actually linked to an article called Don't Be a Duck. Stop Dabbling. I read it, and promptly resolved to do the opposite.

I've been trying out new things/dabbling and judging myself, and I'm ready to break my pattern. Here's what happens: I'll find something I really like to do, I'll have a couple of moments where I truly enjoy it, and then I'll put so many rules and regulations on myself that it feels like another obligation and I stop it entirely. For example, I took this amazing Zumba class a couple of months ago. I danced like no one was watching and loved it. Yet shortly thereafter I implemented a schedule for myself, put all the dates in my calendar, and fell off the wagon the next week. Where's the fun in dabbling and trying new things when there's so much pressure to become an expert at every new activity?

So, on this rainy day in Philly, I've decided to think about the New Year a bit differently this time. Remember last year, when I proudly proclaimed all of my blogging New Year's Resolutions? Even just reading that list sends me into a panic now. It was too much, which is why I stopped blogging altogether and felt guilty about it for the rest of the year. I then created my writing website, and immediately started feeling bad for having no clients. I thought it had to be all or nothing, and couldn't see any in-between.

This year, instead of resolutions, I'm all about core desired feelings. Danielle LaPorte has created a really amazing way to think about goals that might seem at first like you're doing it backwards, The Desire Map. She says that in actuality, we are all chasing feelings rather than goals and to-do lists. For me, I've found that to be true. So here's what I desire to feel in 2015:

I desire to live my life in a way to feel these feelings, rather than making a gym schedule for myself. Looking back on the two definitions of dabbling, I'm really loving this one; "interest to paddle, splash, or play in or as if in water". That's what 2015 will be all about for me: paddling, splashing and playing, doing and saying what makes me feel true to myself (starting with this blog post) immersing myself in beauty, having adventures, connecting with people I love, and continually finding my courage. It's not all or nothing. I'm going to live in the in-between. Who knows what this year will bring? I'm excited to find out. What are you excited for in 2015?

There's nothing wrong with being a duck.

Why re-watching Gilmore Girls is the greatest thing in the world right now

I'm already on Season 4 out of 7 of Gilmore Girls and it's been released on Netflix for about two weeks. Can't. Stop. Watching. Why is Gilmore Girls so addicting? For me, it feels like returning to simpler times. Sure, Lorelai might break up with someone or Rory might miss a test, but everything usually works out for the best in the end. And who wouldn't want to live in Stars Hollow where everyone knows your name and festivals happen on almost a daily basis? The food in Sookie's kitchen always makes me desperately hungry and I am continually in awe of Emily and Richard's zingers. I also kind of feel smarter watching the show. It must be all the literary references and fast talking. Sure, Netflix keeps judging me by displaying the message "Are you still watching Gilmore Girls", but I refuse to feel ashamed. Judge away, Netflix. Judge away, world. Gilmore Girls is just as effective as my Grandma's potato bacon soup in this miserable weather. I'm not stopping until Luke and Lorelai finally get together (spoiler alert!).

Back to School

Labor Day marks the true annual landmark of school starting. I've been going back to school for a long time. Even as an adult, I managed to go back to school for quite a while as a teacher. In June I always felt huge relief and accomplishment at finishing the school year, and in September I always felt absolute terror and dread at the idea of the first day of school. By the way, I've been told by several teachers who have been teaching for twenty years and more that this first day of school feeling never completely goes away.

So my past two Labor Days have been a bit odd. My organization still works in schools, so I definitely pay attention to the school calendar. Yet I work year round. So I am left with a mixture of feelings come Labor Day. I wonder where the summer has gone, since part of me still feels it's not a summer when I haven't spent it in Maine and Louisiana. I'm happy I don't feel the impending pressure of a school year, yet it's also an adrenaline rush that I sort of miss. In this game of life, my year simply keeps going. Summer and spring break don't mean much anymore, and part of me does wish I was going back to school in some fashion.

For those of you this applies to, good luck in school, ladies and gentleman!

Why I'm so upset that my hairdresser moved to Texas

In my early 20's, this was how I usually looked after getting my hair cut. This was back when I went to places with names like California Cuts where I paid $8 a pop.

Occasionally, I would even try to cut my hair myself.

I've never considered myself to be a high-maintenance kind of hair girl. My basic routine was to wash my hair, let it air dry, comb through it, and hope for the best.

Then, I actually found my own hairdresser. For once, my hair didn't look like Ramona Quimby, age 8. 

My hairdresser convinced me to buy a hairdryer, use some product in my hair, and get my eyebrows waxed. And come back regularly. Before long, I was hooked. Getting my hair cut was actually fun. I didn't cry after I left. This lady and I started to become, well, close. We talked through our relationships. I was getting my hair cut when the news came out that Michael Jackson died, and we mourned together. We exchanged movie and TV recommendations. I followed her when she moved hair salons, and then when she moved hair salons again. When she became a real estate agent and only worked one day a week, I booked my appointments months in advance so I could get in. I was pretty committed. So you can imagine my dismay when I found out she was moving to Texas. 

How will I tell someone new how to cut my hair? How do I start all over? What will I do now?? Do I go back to the Hair Cuttery?

"I think that the most important thing a woman can have - next to talent, of course - is her hairdresser." - Joan Crawford 

The Piano Man Himself

I was ten years old when I first heard "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. My camp friend and I spent half of our summer coordinating a synchronized swimming routine to that very tune. Who knows why or if we actually chose that song or if it was appropriate for ten year olds to sing about businessmen slowly getting stoned at the top of their lungs, but something clicked in my head and heart and I became a Billy Joel fan that summer.

After performing our routine, we never went back to synchronized swimming again. Perhaps it was due to the fact that we did not look anything like the image below.

Nevertheless, Billy Joel has always inspired me and has always popped up again and again in my life. I had a solo in "And So It Goes" in high school. I tried to memorize (in vain) the lyrics of "We Didn't Start The Fire" in college. "River of Dreams" kept my energy up on many a road trip. So last night when I had a last minute opportunity to attend one of his concerts, the decision was a no-brainer. I was well aware that I would not be seeing this Billy Joel:

Instead, I would be seeing this one:

When an artist has been performing for over 50 years, usually it's understood that the music won't be quite the same as it was in a musician's prime. I saw Bob Dylan a few years ago and was sorely disappointed. Yet Billy Joel showed astounding talent - at sixty-eight years old nonetheless. In fact, if I closed my eyes and didn't look too closely at the big screen, his voice sounded exactly the same as I remembered it from my ten year old days. Moreover, his hands dominated that keyboard, as he played not only his songs but the "Rocky" theme to appease the Philadelphia crowd. He was witty, humble, and genuinely seemed like he was having fun. He saved "Piano Man" for almost the very end and once when he heard someone cry out for that song, he joked that he didn't have to do anything - expect pay taxes.

The crowd, as you might expect, was completely random. It's amazing how ten year olds and sixty year olds could both relate to the music that was rocking out Citizens Bank Park. He played a wide variety of songs, and even though I feel like I know many of them, again and again I found myself exclaiming, "That one's Billy Joel, too?" His range is so wide. He had us swaying, dancing and singing until our voices were completely hoarse. At one point, he brought the Philadelphia born Boyz II Men group onstage and they did an a capella version of "For The Longest Time". Amazing. The best moment of the night, though, was when he completely stopped singing and the musicians stopped playing during "Piano Man". The crowd carried it away, wailing, "Sing us the song, you're the piano man. Sing us the song tonight. Well we're all in the mood for a melody. And you've got us feeling alright."

I wondered how he had such confidence that the crowd would continue to sing, and that there wouldn't just be silence. How could he trust that so many people would know just what to do? Obviously, he's a seasoned performer and this wasn't his first rodeo. Yet it says a lot when a performer trusts that he can lift a crowd up and in return the crowd will do the same. I'm honored to have seen the Piano Man himself perform.

Everything's going to the cats!

The proper saying actually, is "Everything's going to the dogs", a saying meant to convey that everything's going downhill. That's not what I mean to connote with the title of this blog post.

I'm taking care of my friend's fabulous, cranky, amazing, judgmental, cute cat for the summer, and she's managed to take over my pillow each night, push books/computers/meals/anything out of the way for a chance to get in a lap, and have her humans on a tight schedule to feed her several small meals per day.

Today I tried to meditate and do yoga in the morning. The cat of course took over. Observe below.

In short, everything literally has gone to the cats - and I love it!