Throwing up in Public

Over the past few weeks I have come to a very important realization:


Crying and throwing up are two very similar concepts to me.


Let me explain, I would pick crying over throwing up ANY day. In fact, when I was a little girl I used to cry WHILE throwing up because I hated throwing up so much. (Something about my body literally taking over and forcing things out of my system beyond my control was horrifying to my 5 year old self.) However, I view them both the same: as completely private, and unpleasant behaviors. When you feel as if you're going to vomit, you don't just stop in the middle of what you're doing and vomit right there, in front of everyone. No, you run to the nearest secure location, whether that may be a bathroom stall, a sink, a back alley trash can...either way, you escape to where you can privately purge up your inside materials. This is the same when I am about to cry. I will literally RUN to a secure location. If you have ever seen me sprint out of a room or a house or a building or just generally away from a group of people, completely unexpectedly with no explanation...its a pretty safe bet that I was either about to puke, or start crying.

I did not realize I had this habit until recently - when my aunt died of brain cancer. (When I got the phone call that she died, I was at the office, and literally sprinted from my desk to the bathroom. High heels and all) A little over a year and a half ago, I wrote a post when my grandfather passed away. I wrote about how this was no ordinary passing, and what a monumental part of our lives he had been all growing up. It did not occur to me then, but we have an abnormally close family and its pretty much an enormous deal when anyone dies - but especially Aunt Karen. Aunt Karen was no ordinary aunt, nor was she an ordinary woman. She was phenomenal, the type of person that you think was possibly born sinless, and not just because she died and suddenly everyone puts on their rose colored glasses and a wretched person becomes God's gift to the earth. Aunt Karen actually was this way - and according to my mother (her sister), she had been wonderful all her life.

This is a tremendous personal loss - the memories I have with her are countless. Summers spent at her house, from childhood through high school. Weekends and nights spent having coffee and watching moves during my college years (I was blessed to go to school 10 minutes away from her) - and constantly having her love, support and prayers for me and my siblings for as long as I can remember. Not only am I completely heart broken for myself, but more so for my cousins who lost their mother, my uncle who lost his wife, and my mother and dearest Aunt Sherry who lost their big sister.

The problem with both throwing up AND crying is that they are my least favorite things in the world. Over this past weekend I got a horrible case of what seemed to be food poisoning - maybe the flu, who knows - and even then I was bargaining with myself (and God) not to throw up. "Just lay here and it will go away. You don't need to throw up. Throwing up will make it worse. It's fine. It's fine it's fine it's fine. Drink some water, we're good" (Then of course later when I was throwing up, I was bargaining with God that now was the time for him to kill me, or Jesus to return. Either one.) However, the truth about throwing up and crying, is that you always feel better afterwards. Somehow I forget this truth every time.

For the past 8 months that she was dying, and has now passed away - I was bargaining with myself not to cry. In August when my mother called me to tell me the news of the brain tumors, I was driving home from work. I quietly said thank you for calling me, immediately hung up the phone, rolled down my windows, and turned my music up. Such a healthy reaction, I know. And when I learned she died - I sprinted to the office bathroom, stood in a stall for 90 seconds (I have a 90 second rule) and composed myself, and then went on with my day. Yes - I am a model of emotional health. But what I didn't seem to remember is that these things always catch up with you. No matter how long you lay in your bed and resign yourself to not throwing up - eventually nature will take its course. No matter how loud your music is or how much fun you're having with your friends - at some point, the tears will come.

For me - it was my worst nightmare. Nature took its course at the funeral. I might as well have been throwing up all over the floor in front of everyone. I stood in the front row of the church, staring at a photo of her - listening as her friends and my family members reflected on her life - and suddenly, I started to panic, "Wait. Wait. What is going on? Wait. Wait... she's actually dead. She's actually dead... oh gosh.... oh no... here we go..." WEEPING. I could not run, I could not hide - I was actually WEEPING in front of the entire WORLD. (Ok, even an audience of one would feel like the entire world to me when I am crying. It was probably 150 people). That's what happens when you swallow your pain, when you shut it out and pretend its not happening - it catches up. And you throw up in public.

Over the past few weeks I have been seeing a therapist - although to her face I call her Dr. Grant, behind her back, I call her Wanda and talk about her like we are best friends. (Unhealthy? Maybe a little.) Wanda has been teaching me how to "sit alone with my pain." When she first told me that's what I needed to do - I laughed at her. I spent a good 7 years of my life feeling very, very sad (and Wanda totally knows this), and ever since then I avoid being sad with sincere enthusiasm. Although that is my "fool proof" way of coping - she told me that I have to process my feelings or else they will become bigger - more overwhelming. Which is true. The more you avoid them, the more power they have. The more random emotional break downs you will have while driving down 88 on a Tuesday afternoon (yep it happened), the more out of control you will feel - like when you're about to throw up, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. The more crazy you will act about things that don't really matter to you, just because it's easier to care about that than what's really happening. She taught me some breathing exercises and also taught me to be quiet and let my thoughts pass through my mind without analyzing each one. We all do it - "Oh great, why are you thinking about that? Stop thinking that. Omg, you're still thinking about it, Seriously? You are completely insane, self." If you sit back, embrace your feelings, focus on your breathing and let your thoughts pass through (like cars on the freeway, Wanda says), the emotions will have less and less control over you. The sudden outbursts and feelings of being outstandingly overwhelmed will start to subside. And of course, because Wanda is brilliant, I have found her to be correct.

So over the past few days (yes, this is new), I have been sitting alone with my pain. Although it's been unpleasant, I have found myself to be much more balanced, calm and unphased. On Saturday I got to spend some time with someone very important to me - someone who knows me better than I even know myself sometimes, and he reminded me of one, essential thing: remembering all I have been through. He reminded me of several events in my life, of how I felt and what I went through during those times. And then he told me this, "If you could get through that, you can get through this." So that's what I'm doing. I'm breathing. I'm sitting alone. I'm remembering the past, and using it to move myself forward.

While I have a long road ahead of me (and an even longer road for my cousins, mother and uncle), I have decided that sitting alone with my pain is a much better alternative to throwing up in public.

...I'm just saying.

Grown Up Land: Male Edition

Several months back, I wrote a post about living in grown up land. This was when I first began working for Cbeyond - and my first real interaction with "the real world."

Like I explained in this post - I had lived in somewhat of a bubble for the first 22 years of my life. While I attended public school for a long period of time, I was still immersed in Wheaton church culture. To say that life at Cbeyond was a culture shock for me, well, that would be an understatement.

I did not grow up with asshole men in my life. I understand that's a strong word, but at this point, it's the only one thats fitting. I didn't grow up with a dad that checked out hot younger girls, I didn't grow up with grandfathers who cheated on their wives or talked disrespectfully of women. I grew up surrounded by the most upstanding men in the world. I grew up watching healthy, beautiful, thriving marriages. While I've had my fair share of bad experiences with guys, I've never put myself through the turmoil that other girls do by dating assholes - because after living with moral, honest men, I can spot a jerk from a mile away. But the type of mean men I am thinking of now pales in comparison to the men I come across at my job. Whether it be the ones in my office, or the business owners I meet with, I am appauled on a daily basis by what I encounter. These are the types of men that make you lose all hope in humanity, that truly instill the idea that it would be rational to turn lesbian, or run off to an island and commit to a life of celibacy.

For instance, I just sat across from a 28 year old male, who was divulging to me his plan to fly to Brazil and have sex with other women before he marries his fiance. Yes, it's a plan. Yes, he thinks it's okay. And yes, HE'S STILL GOING TO MARRY HER! As I watched him intently, waiting for him to break character and admit to this being one large practical joke, because surely, only a completely insane person would find this to be 1)acceptable and 2)appropriate to say OUT LOUD - I was literally fighting back tears and the overwhelming urge to throw up all over the floor, thinking to myself, "Oh. YOU are the divorce rate," while also noticing that my heart was shattering for his poor fiance. She is someone's daughter, she is someone's sister, best friend, granddaughter - and you are going to be unfaithful to her, and then allow her to make the biggest mistake of her life by marrying YOU: SCUM OF THE EARTH! Outstanding.

I make every attempt not to get all "preachy" on here - but if there is anything that literally makes me SPRINT in the direction of the Lord and away from the world, it's this. It's realizing that life a part from God is ugly, empty, and full of pain. When I converse with men like this I am actually overwhelmed with appreciation for my father, and for the family I was born into. I thank the Lord every day that I understand there are amazing men in this world. Yes, men are generally assholes, but the moral, honest and God fearing man is worth waiting a hundred years for. I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life with lots of dogs and maybe a cat, than married to a pathetic excuse for a man. ( I am also just frighteningly comfortable with being alone, but that's another topic entirely. )

I realize not all women have been quite as fortunate. They may not have the perspective that I do - that you don't need to settle, you don't need to stay in a relationship with a guy who watches porn every day or yells at you (yeah those are small things, but they suck). There actually are men in this world who are not like that - I know them. They're my guy friends, my younger brother, my sister's husband, my cousins, my uncles, my dad, every single one of my ex boyfriends (because proudly, I've never dated an asshole, and never will) - they are real. And no matter what I experience from 9-5 each day, I can seek comfort in knowing that that will not be my life. Of course there are those completely insane instances where someone accidentally marries a serial rapist and could have had no way of knowing - - but marrying someone you know is bad and wrong in many ways is not a necessity. I'm amazed at what girls put up with, and I refuse to believe the lies these people tell me that as a woman, I just have to "deal with it." Grown up land very seriously shocks me, every day.

And honestly, in retrospect...weird ex-masturbator shirt wearing guys are officially not looking so bad.


....I'm just saying.

True life: I am a recovering awkward.

This topic is not one I touch upon frequently - especially not publicly. However, I have always counted one of my strengths (and at times weaknesses) to be honesty. I find there is not enough honesty in the world, and sometimes when I engage in conversation I wanna scream, "Just say what you really mean!" If we were to all say what we really mean, if we were all a little more honest with each other, I believe the world would be a better place.

For example, if every celebrity would stop saying they have perfectly sculpted bodies because they are always "chasing their kids around," and admitted to America that they spend thousands of dollars on a personal trainer and eat nothing but protein shakes and rice cakes, us normies would feel a little better about our normie bodies. If every over achiever student would stop claiming they "didn't really study" for that mid term they got an A+ on, and instead admit they didn't sleep for weeks so they could get more flash card memorization in...the student who failed and actually didn't study wouldn't feel like such an idiot. If we could all stop pretending that we don't try and be a little more encouraging to each other... I think we could remove a lot of emotional issues all together. Which is why I am blogging to discuss this constant problem I have:


I often feel extremely awkward.


People who know me on an acquaintance basis might be slightly surprised to hear this - considering I have developed normal social skills, look like a normal person and am relatively successful out of college. However, in the spirit of honesty, I am going to divulge a small truth to you - if you promise not to laugh (too hard).





Yep. That was me. 13 years old, awkwarding out the greater Chicago area. Yes, most people go through an awkward phase and yes, it could have been worse. However - my awkward phase wasn't that brief year in middle school when things were a little weird, my awkward phase lasted 8 years. EIGHT. Think of the most formative, foundational years of your life - and then imagine being awkward for ALL of them. (And in case you were wondering - that is my natural skin color. Once I transitioned out of awkward land, I found other methods to keep from blinding everyone within a 10 foot radius. These methods are time consuming and expensive, it's not just from "walking to and from my car." No celebrity answers here, folks.) We are talking pre puberty, puberty, and moving from puberty to early adult hood...awkward.

While I was not a local news story about a suicide attempt due to bullying because I was super into anime or ninja turtles (because I feel so sad for those poor kids), I can say that boys did NOT like me. Did NOT. At least not the normal ones. I have a very sensitive spot in my heart about a certain group of boys in Middle School who liked every single one of my friends except for me. We are talking TOTAL rejection at middle school dances, general group hangouts and every other opposite sex function ever. The kids called me pale and fugly and "fotch." (Yes, they called me a fotch when I was 12 and I begged my mom to let me dye my hair but she said no - thanks for that, Linda.) In the years that I started noticing boys and when my self esteem started forming, all I knew is that I was ugly. That's what I was told, and that's what was known at school. No matter what my mother told me at home or some random adult in the grocery store who was CONVINCED I would grow up to be gorgeous, all I knew was that in reality - I was ugly. I would go to the bathroom and cry after every fotch joke, this was serious. And this lasted and lasted - and it got worse. Middle School was just the beginning, but enter freshman year at Wheaton North (a public high school of like, 40,000 kids. That's an exaggeration but that's how it felt). My zero curves, night walking 80 pound self had to roam the halls in the shadow of my blonde bomb shell older sister just hoping to get noticed - which actually never happened. The "your sister is so hot - what happened to you?" comments were just a day in the life. And since there was a lot more going on with me at the time - the type of thing that is too personal to blog about, or else everything gets super weird - I spent most afternoons after school crying in my room. While battling acne and staring in the mirror trying to WILL any sort of curve to grow, (seriously, I even tried mind power) being invisible became a feeling that was all too familiar.

And even after I slowly transitioned out of this - junior year hit, I discovered tanning beds, got my braces off and found a blow dryer - the feeling of awkward never went away. And I say never, because it's still there. Even though I am now an un-awkward, fully functioning human, in my head I am still 80 pounds and bright as the sunshine, incapable of having a normal conversation with a cute boy. Even though I look back on those middle school boys (spoiler alert: they always grow up to be ugly) and chuckle because the jokes on them, I saw one of them at Barnes and Noble the other day and suddenly felt like hiding under a chair. How ridiculous! I am 22 years old, fully bloomed (the curve fairy came in college) and the grown up version of a scrawny little 12 year old makes me quake and shake.

But that's just the truth of it - that we all feel a little awkward sometimes. And even though I feel more awkward than maybe my sister does, or those kids I went to school with who never had an awkward phase (you all suck by the way), we all have moments where we feel inadequate, sweaty or like we might have something in our teeth. If we could all just admit to it, I believe that horrible awkward feeling might start to subside. If I had more friends who confessed to downing 5 cupcakes for breakfast, or not washing their hair for a whole week - the little things I felt insecure about that day would just feel normal, because I would know that everyone sometimes comes to work with dirty hair or linty pants, and it's okay. We are human, and we need to stop being so scared to admit it.



So here's my challenge to you: start confessing your inner awkward. Because come on, the truth that my natural skin color shines like the stars at night definitely makes you feel a little better about yourself, and you know it.



...I'm just saying.

Going home for lunch.

As I've declared many times, I am not the most extraverted person in the world. Although I can be bubbly and "turn it on" when it needs to be on - - I would pick being alone over being with others 9 times out of 10. While I have come to know, grasp, love and understand this part of myself over the past few years - as a child, it wasn't so easy.

I always knew I was a little different from the other kids...I loathed engaging in ridiculous activities such as soccer at recess, playing in the snow, and any form of a sleepover. The only reason I ever involved myself in such things was due to social pressures or because it made me feel more normal. I often felt like a weirdo, and I wish my parents had come across the book, "The Highly Sensitive Child" following with "The Highly Sensitive Person" so I could have adjusted better to my unique temperament earlier than age 20. (I spent most of my life thinking there was something wrong with me.) Unfortunately that was not the case. But as I have come to terms with my introverted nature, looking back I remember certain moments and feelings I had that I still have today.

One distinct memory I have, is going home for lunch.

Yes - a magical time. In elementary school we were allowed to go home for lunch. So after the hustle and bustle of morning classroom time, I received the joy of being picked up in my mother's periwinkle blue mini van and whisked away to the safety of my own home for one precious hour of my day. Not every day was a going home for lunch day, somedays my mother would have errands or meetings. These days would leave me stuck in a very overstimulating cafeteria eating a bagged lunch, next to horribly chattery girls making jokes that I never thought were funny, playing with their food in a manner that made me nauseous. I hated this time of the day. For a highly sensitive child, this was a living nightmare. All I would think about was curling up in the corner with my fingers in my ears to get two seconds of peace and quiet before I resumed more overstimulation, afternoon class. Afternoon class was worse than morning class, because the children would come in all hyphy from recess, cracked out on the sugar from their juice boxes and pudding cups. By the end of a full day at elementary school, my 7 year old self felt like passing out.

But going home for lunch was a breath of fresh air. For one hour I had quiet. I had the warm and nurturing presence of my mother, our quiet little house and freshly cooked mac n cheese that I could eat peacefully, in front of the Disney Channel which required no interaction on my part, at a volume that I got to choose. For one hour I was safe from the chaos, from recess games and loud lunch bells and laughter and food fights and lunch ladies who were only lunch ladies because they had miserable lives and enjoyed yelling at children. (You know exactly what I'm talking about.) Going home for lunch was an invaluable time that allowed me to recover from the morning and survive the rest of my day.

But it was always bitter sweet. Because no matter how relaxed and happy I was, 12:45 always came. 12:45 meant I had to brush my teeth, get back in the van, and head back to the chaos. I would walk back onto the playground to be greeted loudly and obnoxiously by the overly chattery girls, who made jokes I never thought were funny and were now hyphy from recess and sugar. I remember I would close the van door and take a deep breath before entering the premises - because I knew I was about to be hating life for 3 more hours. It was an inevitable fate.

While I didn't realize at the time what was happening - (that being introverted is a biological condition, and I needed to recharge my energy by being alone in order to continue to peacefully be with people - man, would have been helpful to know this), I know now when that begins to happen. Although it is quite different now.

Now, my weekends are like going home for lunch. I spend Monday through Friday in an overstimulating cafeteria, with loud people who tell jokes I don't think are funny, who live their lives in ways that make me feel like an alien observing another planet. I get sexually harassed by middle aged business owners, brutally rejected and bitched out by strangers, all the while trying to tune out an ungodly amount of pressure that LITERALLY wakes me up in the night. Although if my 7 year old self had to endure this I would have died at age 8 (not exaggerating), and an actual cafeteria with 6 year olds and their bagged lunches sounds like a piece of cake... my 22 year old self can cope, but not without going home for lunch. Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday I return to a world that makes sense to me. A world that quiets down at 9pm, a world where I feel safe and where all standard morals apply (or at least the ones I grew up with), a world with warm and nurturing people who love me, with old friends who live their lives in ways that I admire. An extremely cute dog and my Christmas scented candles from Yankee, (Balsam & Cedar, Cinnamon Sparkle - invest, I'm serious), with no pressure to be anything but myself - or to do anything but what I want to do.

Although I wish all of life could be like going home for lunch, and that every day would be like the sigh of relief I heave out when I finally pull into my driveway on a Friday - I know that that's not real. And given all that happened in the fall of man, it is a miracle that we still get to go home for lunch, to have little breathers and moments of safety before this cold and overwhelming world swallows us whole for another week. I thank the Lord every day for the success I have had at my job, and for the wonderful home I come back to when it is over.


And when Monday morning comes and a feeling of dread creeps into my stomach - I know that in a few days, I can go home for lunch again.



...I'm just saying

I'm annoyed.

By this.

Please click that link, or else you won't know what I'm writing about.

I am sitting in my bed, all ready to go to sleep, when I receive an email from my dad about an event coming up at Wheaton College. Of course, my father who is married to/the dad of two women that share very similar issues and values (ahem, vanity), was only trying to spark my interest and encourage me to attend said event for positive reasons. While I am not annoyed with my dad, I am annoyed with this topic.

Mainly, I am annoyed with the people who talk about this topic.

Yes, I am all about loving your body. Yes, I am all about embracing who you are, dressing for your body, and caring more about the inside than the outside. But am I all about letting yourself go because God says it's okay? Absolutely not. Why? Because WE STILL LIVE IN THE WORLD.

Yes, that's right. I can write as many books and speak at as many lectures as I want about how image doesn't matter, body doesn't matter, it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter but then as soon as I step outside of the lecture hall, or close my book and run an errand, guess what? It matters. It just does. Why? Because if I was 300 pounds over weight, I wouldn't have gotten the job that I have. I also wouldn't have the wonderful boyfriend that I have. And yes, I do feel comfortable saying that, because if Sam was 300 pounds over weight, I wouldn't have started dating him either. Of course we can argue that it's all about compatibility, love and the goodness of your partner's heart, and I would be the first to raise my hand and agree... but that's after you get past the first step, the initial stage, the audition: physical attraction. Sam nor I would have even stood a chance with each other if either of us hadn't passed that test. I would have never gotten to know how completely wonderful he is if I didn't FIRST find him completely hot. So let me be clear, this blog is not about needing to be hot or thin to get a man, it's about every human being needing to be attractive to someone else in order to even have a relationship. It's just the truth, and we all know it, no matter how many stay at home moms tell us it's a lie.

While I don't know much about this book, or this woman (except that her picture completely diminishes all credibility in my eyes), I will say that she makes a point when saying that beauty is not just one thing, like skinny jeans or long hair etc. People come in all shapes and sizes, and someone who I would not consider to be attractive could be stunning to someone else, and vise versa. I recognize that for most people, the media's standard of beauty is pretty tough to achieve, considering we did not all grow up to be 6 feet tall with perfectly symmetrical faces. However, I will stand by the blunt truth once again that the world cares about appearance. In every culture worldwide there is a standard of beauty that is impossible to avoid. As Christians we are called to be in the world but not of the world (which I am ALL about), but being in the world does not mean "ignore everything the world does and pretend it doesn't exist." That would cause us to stick out in a negative way, in a way that doesn't attract others to want to be Christlike, it would moreso attract others to want to NOT be Christlike. (I know in my experience, as I've blogged about before, even I have come across Christians that make me not really want to be a Christian anymore, you feel me?)

I am completely exhausted of hearing about how the media "lies" to us about beauty being our number one priority, because as far as I know, people have had eyes since the beginning of time. Additionally, God for sure mentions whether or not people are hot in the bible...Esther? Joseph? Sampson? Rachel? The list goes on. (Not to mention that Jacob wanted to marry Rachel instead of Leah because Rachel was prettier, not because her personality was super awesome. I'm just saying.) And why are we not looking at how we are created? Humans are visual beings! Why do you think God created the mountains or the ocean, beautiful plants and animals? Because they are pretty! Is there some secret reason that we are supposed to exclude human beings from this category? Aren't we created in God's image? Aren't we made to admire each other physically? Have you ever seen a completely repulsive looking animal (like this one) yet still oo'ed and aah'ed over its great personality? Absolutely not. Let's be realistic here.

If we Christians could just open our eyes, and maybe have a lecture series or a few stay at home mom novels on how to productively handle the issue of beauty, its importance in our lives and in the world, and how it can be beneficial, it would probably be a lot more useful. Because no matter how hard we try to look away from the magazine covers in the checkout line at Jewel (or Vons, depending on where you're reading this), the magazine covers are never going to look away from us.

And neither are dating prospects.

I'm just saying.

Snooty vs. Epic

I am blogging to share a very serious dilemma that is occurring in my life.

As we have probably already figured out by past posts, fitness is a big thing for me. I am a 4-5 timer a week, fitness is built into my routine. The importance of fitness in my life began after I turned 20 and suddenly learned that eating 7 oatmeal raisin cookies on a daily basis no longer equals size 2. Thus began habitual exercising. (I also no longer eat cookies.) Although I would definitely put working out on a top 10 list of things I hate, it's something I love to hate. Love the results, hate the work. (Kind of like my job). But after I left college land (class at 1pm and lots of chill/nap time) and entered grown up land (up at dawn and home at 7pm), finding the time (and energy) for fitness has become near impossible. I am starting to understand why most women over 30 don't look as rockin as they used to - since these women work full time AND have the joy of children (whom I still hate, by the way). When I get home after a long day of driving/walking/skipping across the greater Chicago area (because that's pretty much my job) - the very last thing I want to do is hit the gym. In fact, you can find me in my jam jams laying on my bed within 10 minutes. Not kidding. Which leads us to our main problem:

My gym is 15 minutes away.

That's right, 15 minutes. And anyone else in the world who loves to hate working out knows that just GETTING to the gym is 75% of the battle.

So here is the option: There is a gym right across the street.

Now before you tell me, "Elizabeth - that's a no brainer. You should obvi join the gym across the street." Let me clarify something. My gym that is 15 minutes away - is LIFETIME. Yes, lifetime. Any lifetime member knows that lifetime is not just a gym...it's an experience. Fitness is no longer just fitness, it's an adventure, a magical escapade that begins once you open the big glass lifetime doors. Lifetime is an escape. You can spend hours there, and in fact, I do. It's one of my favorite pass times. On a Saturday morning/afternoon, you can find me enjoying a 90 minute work out with the cornucopia of exercise equipment that lifetime has to offer. After that you will see me sipping on a protein shake and eating fruit from the lifecafe, all while sinking onto a leather couch in the women's lounge watching HGTV. Following this is hot tub time in lifetime's ginormously spacious hot tubs (because there are 2) (and they are olympic sized). To conclude, an hour of shower/get ready time in the cozy, wood paneled women's locker room. All of this takes place WITHOUT seeing anyone I know and WITHOUT having to talk to a single person. An introverted dream.

Now, before you tell me, "Elizabeth, it's a no brainer, lifetime is LIFE altering." I will say, "I know," but here's the issue: that's only on Saturdays. On week days I have no interest of having a lifetime adventure - all I wanna do is get in and get out. Whether that be a 5am spin or a quick cardio weights session after work, leisurely gym time is the last thing on my mind. And there is just absolutely no way that I will haul my little booty 15 minutes to lifetime. Because there and back, that's 30 minutes taken away from jam/jam bed time. Which brings us to the gym across the street:

The Wheaton Sports Center.

Ugh. Just the sound of it ultimately sucks. I have been cheating on lifetime a little, I got a few guest passes to WSC to try it out, to see if it was tolerable. Tonight was my first time, and it was completely underwhelming. Let me break down the things I don't like about WSC:

- Small

- Not epic

- Lots of people I vaguely know (rando people who graduated ahead of me at Wheaton North, people's moms, old teachers, etc.) (this completely ruins the experience)

- Some people I actually know (old classmates, people's moms, etc.) (even more than ruins the experience)

- The front desk people call the members BY NAME. (This takes away the anonymity of the experience, I want to know zero people when going to the gym.)

- The hot tubs are far from olympic sized

- There is no cafe

- Everyone kind of stares at each other (I mean, what if I trip? Fall off the treadmill? Spill water on my face while I'm running like I sometimes do? Everyone is watching. So awk.)

- It is snooty (elitist, WSC people are generally just snooty and everyone knows it)

- Zero experience factor

But let's be 100% honest with ourselves. When I was having jamjam time on my bed tonight, I thought "ugh I don't wanna work out." But then I thought, "well, it's right across the street, so I might as well just go." And that's the magic that we were looking for. Monday-Friday, I ultimately just need a place that gets the job done. Not to mention, there is coffee. Yes, coffee. Complimentary. All kinds of creamers, funsy to-go cups, all right there outside of the locker room. Can you picture me grabbing a to-go cup of french vanilla after my 5:15am spin class, on my way to work? Unfortunately, I can too.

So folks, at this point, it's my head or my heart. My head says WSC. I am shallow, the bod comes first. But my heart says lifetime, I'm a true introvert and a sucker for epic experiences.

I have until the end of August to decide the fate of my fitness for the next year.

I'll keep you posted.

....just saying

Grown up land

Yes, I know...I have been awful at blogging. But it's only because I have been so busy transitioning into grown up land. And that's what this post is about.

I haven't voiced many of my thoughts on grown up land to anyone, really. Since I got hired at Cbeyond a month ago, I have been so tired/stressed/overwhelmed... the last thing I've felt like doing is talking about more things that make me tired/stressed/overwhelmed. But as I've expressed in my blog before, though I may present a calm and unfazed face to the world...an entirely opposite narrative takes place in my head on a constant basis.

Something happens after you leave college land and enter grown up land... scandalous secrets start pouring out of other adults. Suddenly you are a peer and no longer an inferior whose innocence they must protect. It seems that over the past few months I have been bombarded with the truth about grown ups...marriages of neighbors and friends I always thought were peaceful are actually filled with deceit and contempt; rage and drama occurs privately between seemingly cheerful members of my home church; co-workers in my office engage in consistent competition and disrespect. If I could pick one word to describe the world I have just entered, it would be dirty. When we're little, and even in high school we see grown ups as higher beings. Their purpose is to protect us, guide us and help us when we're in need. But let me tell you...when you enter grown up land as a grown up, you realize that grown ups cheat on their wives, lie to get ahead at work, abandon their little children and cuss at people when they drive. And those are just the things I thought were appropriate enough to mention.

It sucks.

Grown ups are dirty. This world is dirty. While I did not realize it at the time, I have been extremely sheltered these past four years at a Christian college. Although I was aware of the taboo things that happen here on earth, I was able to stay within an arms length of them. Now, I am not only immersed in the earth, but in my generation. Being in a primarily 20-something office, the habits and social norms of 2011 culture have been slammed in my face since day 1...things I will NEVER understand, despite my every attempt. The moral code that my family and closest friends all abide by does not apply, and I am considered an absolute lunatic for the things I believe. While I knew the day would come that I would leave the colony of honesty, kindness and abstinence (also known as Westmont College), it has surprised me that I feel so confused and have spent this much time processing this transition. I lie awake at night and ponder the evils of the world...there's so much I have been learning, and so much more yet to come. I have barely scratched the surface of the corporate world, yet it has left me clinging to God with all of my strength. Although I have started grinding my teeth and have not yet adjusted, I am extremely thankful that I am in this position. I've found in the past that my faith thrives when I'm surrounded with secularism. It is much easier for me to see the goodness of God when I am faced with the alternative. (Because with Christians, it's like "omg, you are so weird," but in the real world, it's like "omg, this is so horrible.") It's not even a choice, it's a given. The only thing, the only being that will keep me on the straight and narrow is God. Without Him, everyone will fall.

I have preached many times about not speaking "Christianese." I have griped and complained about how weird Christians are and how odd our language is for expressing our faith. But as I've embarked into this new world, this grown up land, Christianese thoughts and phrases enter my mind throughout each day. And while I will never become a huge weirdo and bust out ex shirts , (because omg, mark my words, I will never be that weird), I can only hope that my weirdo Christianese thoughts and prayers will shine through my every word and action for the remainder of my life.

Because I don't wanna be a dirty grown up.

...just saying.