February 17, 2014 4

26 of the most important things ever

By in another witty life lesson., life.

These tiny 26 things I know. And that might be it.

Love,
26 years of screwing up and succeeding, caring too hard and sometimes not hard enough

*     *     *

1. Start each day like it’s your last day ever birthday. Eat a cupcake if you need to. Then get to work.

2. There is nowhere you’re “supposed to be” at 26 or any other age.

3. No one defines you me but you me.

4. Everything in life is better when its shared. Except socks and dessert.

5. If it breaks you, hurts you, or forces you to go against your principles, your morals, or your family… it will *never* be worth it.

6. Make your friends family. Make your family friends. Easier (and better) this way.

7. 100% of my unhappiness is comparing myself to others.

8. I always have a choice.

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February 4, 2014 0

25 tweets that sum up the #creationdebate

By in community., culture., life., religion., social media.

Creation-Debate

I missed the Creation Versus Evolution Debate tonight on account of the Spaghetti Factory being awesome. But I caught up on Twitter a bit later and found no shortage of commentary (#socialmedia for the win). Now I *did* actually watch listen to the 2:43:32 recording online and can sum up my own thoughts in these few observations…

  • Nye was a better story-teller.
  • Ham was very much so into semantics.
  • Nye wins the Twitter debate.
  • Ham still supported by creationist backers.
  • “Go Seahawks” -Nye at 1:10:09
  • This or the Super Bowl commercial reruns? Reruns.

This post is merely a recap of #creationdebate tweets. If it sounds slanted or biased — how terribly atypical of “media” — it’s because it mirrors the sentiment of its tweeters.

PS: I particularly like the melting pot of a Twitter crowd the debate pulled together. Among tweeters: @whatwouldyouDOOdoAngry White Republican, @thetweetofGod, @thebooksluts, the Dean of Credibility, Pokemon Online, Pokemon Episodes, the Otaku Atheist, Gabe the Babe, the Wolf of Walgreens, Ungodly news, Bert, Josh, John, Bashot, Carl, and Shay. Touche.

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January 23, 2014 0

What I know about marriage (after 3.4 years)

By in another witty life lesson., love.

I’ve written this post for no other reason than that I was recently reading Elizabeth Esther’s post What I know about marriage (after 16 years) and was inspired to tag on. Her post is far better than this one.

What I know is just… what I know. How do you know something or not know something? You’ve either experienced it yourself, or you’ve been a close witness to it a repeated number of times which, according to some theory I can’t remember the name of, must make it true. After 3.4 years I feel capable of dishing out these thoughts with no consequence or reward as to what someone else does with them.

One major thing I know is that marriage is different to everyone. The institution of marriage, the noun, the verb, the concept — it’s subjective, up for interpretation, to each his own. Marriage is also a relative thing — relative to your own personal experience related but not limited to the topics of: legally-defined marriage, commitment-defined marriage, love and all that goes with that, and (because we are a species that conducts comparative analysis even if only in our heads) hate and it’s entourage of side effects. Marriage can also be influenced by practically anything. Culture, emotion, E. L. James, your friends, your past, your mind, your imagination. And, lest we forget, marriage is the recognized social, ritual or legal union of two people, voluntarily upheld until its not.

Ok, great. Now that we are properly confused and none the wiser, here’s a few things people told me about marriage:

In marriage, there are no secrets. I’m good at no secrets. Secrets aren’t really my style because (in grade school) I could never keep track of who I told secrets to, who I didn’t, and what the secrets actually were. And I work in digital marketing where secrets make for great headlines and are known to improve email open rates. Quite frankly nothing is so secretive that you can’t tell the person you married. This is one area, in marriage, I use the golden rule — I keep no secrets from my husband because I don’t want him to keep secrets from me.

Marriage is hard work. How many people say this a day? A billion? An additional million if it’s a universally bad day for married people? 500,000 less if it’s Valentine’s Day? This is the most flawed (albeit, shared) of all marriage advice. Fool me not, it’s not advice at all. It’s more a statement or a warning, like “objects in mirror are closer than they appear”. Aka: Marriage is no(t always) a picnic. But actually I think it’s a flawed statement because “hard work” is as subjective as “ugly” or “easy” or “spanking your kids”. Hard work motivates some, and drains others.

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January 1, 2014 1

Goodbye but not forever

By in another witty life lesson., life.

Happy 2014! I’m celebrating — and missing — the year behind. I wrote most of this post in my head two weeks ago from above the Tasman Sea… the beginning of a long route home, and of another new life.

*

If you ever get the chance to visit New Zealand, you should plan to stay awhile. Maybe a year or two. It will still never be enough.

The last time I was this sad I was at the SeaTac airport boarding a flight to New Zealand after we answered the call to move there (literally) on a whim and a prayer. We were just taking off and I stared out from my window seat at my home further and further away in the distance. I cried. I put my head back and cried like home just broke up with me three days before prom. Even when you’re sure of a decision, it doesn’t make the hardship about it any easier. I cried every day for weeks when I first got to NZ missing everything I know.

Last sight of NZ from the air. Not forever though.

Last sight of NZ from the air. Not forever though.

New Zealand is the very hardest and very best parts of my life — like  college and boyfriends and climbing that dumb mountain but on a totally legal version of LSD. For months, maybe a year, I hated it. I hated living away from home and family and unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks at the Olive Garden for $6.99. I hated missing birthdays, and first baby steps, and scones from the Fair. I hated paying 24 dollars 50 for an individual pizza and eating lettuce that tastes like it was pulled right from the ground to my plate. I hated ‘camping’ in someone else’s tiny apartment for $400 a week without my pots and pans. I hated most of all that I had no one to talk to, no one (in my timezone) to share in the hole home left in my heart. I imagine it’s a lot like what Simba felt when he left home. People told me living and getting adjusted to a new place takes at least a year. But we’re so awesome I knew we could nail it in maybe six-seven months. #wrong

Our first year actually caught up with us. We came back from Christmas and the next month turned into another year. I found my own Timon and Pumba. I decided to get over myself. I stopped waiting for everything to happen to me. I learned the (probably very timely) lesson that you can choose your happiness, and when you’re happy and content, you’re better at everything — you’re a better employee and wife and friend (“amen” said my husband twice before I kicked him in the shin for being rude). We traveled. I went a few places like, I don’t know, 22 by plane in 12 different countries. Living in New Zealand, whatever. Stacking up the Qantas points as a world traveler, NBD. Husband applying for jobs behind your back (and denying he ever told you he was doing this), WTF! Good thing I believe in the motto of the #yolo and that I decided one fine August day I’d be with this man forever… because otherwise he’d be cut off from this fortune. But I don’t do well alone so here we are…

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November 17, 2013 0

Two truths and a lie

By in life.

Two of these stories actually happened; one happened only in my head.

*     *     *

One.

Up front: I keep this household under control. None of that status-quo-society’s-expectations-of-who-we-should-be crap. I don’t “have to” do the dishes. I can come home late from working hard at my job. I can marry a Republican and not completely lose every ounce of sanity I possess. I can stop our run early because the ice cream man passed by.

It’s Saturday, which means it’s against the rules to get up before 11 but we made an ambitious exception to set the alarm for 8:00. We’re kind of like runners now, “realistically dedicated” to taking it to the road when we can, which means we run about 2-3 times per week. (ie. 200-300% more than we used to run. Can’t fight the numbers.)

8:03 am: (barely-alive Lindsey) Are we doing this?

(sleepy Colin) I don’t know. You pick.

(straight-to-the-point Lindsey) You pick, and don’t talk to me.

(seriously-not-at-all-using-his-brain Colin insistent on making me the most angry person in the entire world by nudging and poking me) I want you to pick.

(absolutely-furious Lindsey) DON’T TALK TO ME.

11:25 am: We get out of bed.

So we might have missed our morning run, but we made up for it tonight because we are that dedicated. So we’re running. And I’m sweating. And I’m kicking butt. Then half way through the second song on my iPod…  just a faint melody. It’s so familiar. Warming, welcoming, nostalgic. Suddenly I’m back in the 5th grade craving a Choco Taco. It’s the ice cream truck I can hear, and it’s quickly approaching.

Inner thoughts: Keep running, lose calories, want to die OR $3 for an ice cream and 100% more happiness. #icecreamforthewin

Three truths and a lie | Lindsey Talerico-Hedren

Better than running any day.

*

Two.

I watched a man throw up three times last night at the dinner table. I don’t even really understand.

Colin’s work has a client who sent his boss an email. The email was so inspirational that boss guy wanted to help out client-related somebody for something. And that’s how we wound up at the 11th annual Fight Night — a black tie, tickets only, white collar boxing event for CanTeen (an NZ charity supporting young people living with cancer). Such an incredible charity event. I watched a debuting-pro box to raise thousands of dollars for kids living with cancer. His CanTeen kid, who lost his leg to cancer in April, called him his brother.

We were at Jared’s table. Jared is an ex-rugby player from Sydney who has recently taken up boxing for fitness and the good cause. Jared’s dad used to be married to the woman with the fake blonde hair across the table but they split ages ago because she is a liar. Everyone’s remarried now, friends, and here tonight to support Jared. The young chap is Jared’s dad’s grandson who doesn’t say much. We don’t know Jared. I learned all this from the family friend sitting next to me.

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October 2, 2013 1

The beginnings of Dreamshare

By in another witty life lesson., collections., World Vision.

Dreams are the foundation of all hope. Dreams grow in us, fill our hearts, give us courage, and lead us into the future. Dreams make us believe in the possibilities of tomorrow. (from sharemydream.org)

It’s amazing what you learn when you ask children what their dreams are. So many of them want to be doctors, nurses or teachers. They want to do things like help others, or spread knowledge, or provide for their family one day. They want to be police officers and soldiers so they can protect their people and country from “robbers” and “enemies” and they want to be lawyers so they can be figures and authorities of fairness and justice. Such beautiful aspirations in the hearts of children whose tiny voices quiver with shyness, and eyes shine bright with hope and ambition when they talk about their dreams.

I’ve been totally lucky. I’ve been the listening ear to the dreams of dozens of women and children in India, Cambodia, and Malawi in the last two months. I’ve sat in thatched-hut homes, on the steps of a school block, at the edge of a beloved football field, in children’s clubs, at netball practice, and under the shade of giant baobab trees all the while listening, soaking in, and drinking up the beautiful dreams of people I hardly know. People I maybe just met, or have spent a day or two talking with, who share the deepest parts of their soul with me. We don’t often think of our dreams this way — as something so sacred. But something I know, our dreams are the hopes that are closest to our hearts. And here they were, sharing theirs with me.

The beginnings of #Dreamshare | Lindsey Talerico-Hedren

(CAMBODIA) Such an amazing young woman. Sokhoeurn is 19, just finishing up her last year in school before chasing her dream to be an accountant. She told me when she was little she never dreamt of her future–she never thought she could. She was sponsored 6-7 years ago by someone in the U.S. and because of that she has been encouraged to dream as big as she can.

The beginnings of #Dreamshare | Lindsey Talerico-Hedren

(MALAWI) Sweet, little Prisca. Her dream is to be a law expert because she wants to bring fairness to her village.

(INDIA) Love Meena! Her dream is to be a doctor. I asked her why she wanted to be a doctor and she said: "Because the hospital close to our village closes early. Too many people do not get help. I want to help them."

(INDIA) Love Meena! Her dream is to be a doctor. I asked her why she wanted to be a doctor and she said: “Because the hospital close to our village closes early. Too many people do not get help. I want to help them.”

#Dreamshare is the most humbling campaign I’ve ever had the opportunity to work on. Being on the receiving end of stories brimming to the edge with hope and faith of dreams of all kinds and types and sizes… it manages to make you feel really small. Like your maybe but a drop in the ocean. And at the same time dreams are so powerful in passion that you can’t help but feel like this ocean is the only place you want to be — in the company of people who believe, who have faith, and who won’t let you give up on your own dreams.

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August 2, 2013 6

First dance

By in love.

Today is the three-year anniversary of the day of my favourite moment in the whole world. 

*

Our song was playing; I know because we planned it for just after the toast. But I might as well not have even heard it. I was long gone, lost completely. All my senses were consumed with one thing: the man I loved right in front of me, dancing with me, looking at me, holding me… and that’s how forever begins, I’m sure of it.

Of course I know the words of our song by heart. Colin introduced me to the band in the days when we first met; when our dates were at Starbucks and the Olive Garden and I brushed my teeth before I went out. He would always play it in the car. A subtle hint, I think, for our future. You wonder if God does that on purpose — plants you small hints at your lifetime ahead. For today, I didn’t need to hear the words to know the song, because it’s been in my head all along.

We were whispering to each other even though no one else could hear inside our universe. I don’t know what other people talk about while they dance but we talked about the ordinary things of the moment. Like the fettuccine and the weather and our families and how I wished I could take off these shoes. The kind of ordinary conversation that makes no sense because it absolutely captivates you for none other a reason than it’s with the person you love. And then you’re holding onto the moment, fingers-laced, ready to retire from any better feeling for the next century.

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