"Noble Lives of a Noble Race"

Since I was old enough to understand, I have known that I am 1/8th Chippewa. What this truly meant was always lost to me as a child. I remember I attended Native American group meetings in elementary school where we did different activities. I remember learning how to craft dream catchers in a summer school class.  I remember attending an event in Wisconsin where I ate wild rice in a tepee around a sage-scented fire. All of these events were memorable to me but they really didn't take on any true meaning until recently.

My great-grandmother, Delia LaFernier was 100% Chippewa and grew up in Odanah, Wisconsin on the Bad River reservation. She was born in 1893, shortly after the Treaty of La Pointe was signed which reserved the Bad River reservation land. During the late 19th century, an Indian boarding school, St. Mary's, was set up by the Franciscan sisters. This school was used to convert tribal members to Catholicism. My great-grandmother attended this school, where she ended up writing an Indian creation story for the school. This story was published in a book called "Noble Lives of a Noble Race." After doing some research and talking to family members, I managed to find a copy of her story on Google. An electronic version is actually available to view. After reading this story, that my great-grandmother wrote at the ripe age of 16, I realized how much like her I really am. What an amazing thing to feel a connection to a family member that you know absolutely nothing about, someone that you've never even met. The story, written in a Catholic school, naturally tells the story of a man who found his faith. I definitely don't agree with the Franciscan sisters coming to my great-grandmother's reservation and trying to convert her to this religion, but the story really is good. My great-grandmother was a great writer! Here is the story:

"A Missionary Tale from Lake Nipigon's Shores" by Delia LaFernier, 1909 

On the banks of Lake Nipigon there died not long since, a good old Indian over eighty years old. His Chippewa name is Wa-ba-nan-go-se-ki-wesi, and had been a pagan until three years previous to his death. 

One day the Episcopalian minister asked him to be come an Episcopalian, but the old man said, "No!" Father Specht, S.J., the Indian missionary to whom we are indebted for this story, met this old man on Lake Nipigon, and said to him: "I understand you want to become a Christian." "Yes," he replied, "I want to become a Christian." Then Father Specht said: "But how is this? You have never seen a priest." "Oh, yes," he said, "I have seen Gawaboshtigwan, or White Head" (Father du Ranquet). "And have you never before thought of becoming a Christian," said the priest. "No," said he. "Well," said the priest, "do you want to be baptized?" "Yes," he answered, "I want to be baptized and my whole family with me."  

Then the priest showed him a large picture or Pictorial Catechism, on which were two roads, a Black Road and a White Road, that is, the road to hell in black and the road to heaven in white, and the old man said: "I have never walked in that road" (pointing to the Black Road). 

The priest said: "Have you never been drunk, danced, disobeyed your parents?" 

"No," said the old man, "I have never done anything of that kind." Old Snowbird had grown-up sons and one daughter, some of whom on Sunday would come to church and Old Snowbird, the father, would have his picture of the "Two Roads" under his arm and he would sit on the round near the church. 

Old Snowbird did not know "A" from "B" but he could explain what he knew about the pictures in such a way that it was as good as a sermon for his listeners. Father Specht took occasion in connection with this story to show us how necessary is the grace of God in effecting a conversion. 

For thirty years, Old Snowbird had seen the priest go in and out, at least, at intervals, among his people, but never before had it occurred to him that the Catholic religion was the true one and that he ought to embrace it. Grace had never before spoken to him on this point. Now that he heard its gentle whisperings he heartily embraced its sacred promptings. 

Then, too, it was because Old Snowbird had led such a good life that he merited to be received into the true fold. He had sacredly kept the Commandments, the natural law written in every human heart by the Creator's hand, and St. Thomas teaches that were it necessary for God to send an angel to save those who are of good will, they will not be lost. The writer thinks that Father Specht was the angel sent by God to Snowbird. 

You'll see a photo of my great-grandmother attached. If you've never researched your heritage, it comes highly recommended by me. Be proud of who you are and where you came from. People always told me that being 1/8th Native American wasn't legitimate. But my whole life I've felt this undeniable connection with nature and the earth and I've always felt a connection to the Native American history and culture. I'm going to try and be proud of who I am and not let what people think affect me anymore. My great-grandmother was someone to be proud of, someone who raised my grandfather on the reservation, and someone who knew how to write very well. I can't stop smiling after finding this story. What a powerful and humbling feeling it is to feel a connection to this part of me. It may only be 1/8th of my heritage, but it reserves a very large part of my heart. 

Money, money, money!

Some say the money is the root of all evil. Some say that money is the key to happiness. Which one are you?

I'll admit that I struggle with financial woes quite often. I don't really have enough money to do the things I would like to do in life but if I had a choice to continue living the way I am or to become a millionaire, which would I choose?

To be honest, I'd rather make what I make now than become a millionaire. And as much as I stress out about money, this may come as a shock to many people. People are always talking about winning the lottery and buying an island, investing their millions to turn it into billions, to buy vacation property or a house with 8 bathrooms. But are these things that anyone really needs??

The appeal of becoming a millionaire is confusing to me because I think money creates chaos. The more you make, the more you spend. The more you have, the more people want to take advantage of you. How will you ever know who your true friends are if you are a millionaire? How many people in your life would expect money from you if you became a millionaire?

I'm not saying that I wouldn't like to win some money to pay off my credit cards and student loans but I would never want to have so much money that I lose sight of what's important in life. Being broke keeps me grounded. When I obtain things I don't normally have, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Many people probably think I'm crazy for not wanting to win millions. In fact, I've had people tell me that I'm crazy for not wanting this. But I think too much money makes your heart change. And I like my heart the way it is.

Clumsy!!

I just broke my umpteenth glass while putting away dishes tonight. I cannot tell you how many times I have broken stuff in my apartment.

If I had to describe myself in a few words, I'd have to use uncoordinated, clumsy and awkward. I'm constantly falling and tripping, breaking things, running into walls and cutting myself. I am not sure where this comes from. My mom is pretty clumsy and accident prone herself but I can't help but wonder if I'm causing these issues myself.

I have a hard time being on time to things if they are early in the morning; one being work. I swear I am running late and in a frenzy every day of the week in the morning. And it seems like something always happens to make me even more late, like I spill coffee on myself, break something, pick out an outfit and don't realize it has a stain on it until I am about to leave and then have to change my entire outfit, or I just can't find clothes. The first issue is waking up. My sleeping patterns are completely off balance and I seem to fall into my deepest, most restful sleep only a few hours before my alarm buzzes in my ear.

It seems that chaos, clumsiness and awkwardness just follow me wherever I go. I try to change it by getting up earlier and it will happen for a couple day but then I immediately cycle back into my chaotic crazy mornings.

I am actually amazed that I haven't seriously injured myself. This past weekend I fell down about 5 marble stairs while carrying too many things and was just stuck in my own thoughts and not paying attention. Luckily I caught myself with a heel in my ass and prevented a serious accident. I walked away with minor scrapes and bruises. And thankfully no one saw me either.

One night I woke up to my cat attempting to break into the banana bread on my kitchen counter. I immediately jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to prevent a mess and a pile of vomit to clean up later. Barefooted on my hardwood floors, I turned the corner too quickly and performed a cartoon-like triple slip before landing in the doorway of my bathroom and hitting the wood frame with my arm. It was somewhat embarrassing explaining to my coworkers what happened to my scraped and bruised arm.

I'm afraid it's become a part of daily life for me and as much as it frustrates me, I've grown to not be surprised when I injure myself or destroy something. Sometimes I wonder if this is how I'll always be or maybe I haven't found my balance in life yet. I feel like I'm always in a rush and forget to take time to breathe and take a break from my own over-thinking to actually pay attention to what I'm doing.

I'll get there eventually... I hope. :)

Lead with your heart... even if it steers you head first down a flight of marble stairs.

What She Said...

Throughout my life, I've had a hard time expressing in words to others how I feel about religion. The conversation has created much conflict between my friends and I because I just can't seem to jump on board with what they consider to be the "truth." I think we go through life creating our own truths and no one has a right to tell another person what the truth is. I love my friends and family for all that they are, including their religious beliefs because it is a part of them. I think the important thing is that I feel and believe something...but it's still scattered in small pieces in my heart and in my mind. I believe there is a God and I believe that God is good. Who that God is and what he/she (who says God even has a gender??) wants from me is not something I believe someone else can help me decide. Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat, Pray, Love really stuck with me (and millions of others). She said "God dwells within you, as you." And this is just a piece of a chapter about her struggle to find faith that really resonated with me. And this is what I truly believe...what she said. Thanks Elizabeth Gilbert for expressing into words that I never could! 

"Your job then, should you choose to accept it, is to keep searching for the metaphors, rituals and teachers that will help you move ever closer to divinity. The Yogic scriptures say that God responds to the sacred prayers and efforts of human beings in any way whatsoever that mortals choose to worship—just so long as those prayers are sincere.

I think you have every right to cherry-pick when it comes to moving your spirit and finding peace in God. I think you are free to search for any metaphor whatsoever which will take you across the worldly divide whenever you need to be transported or comforted. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's the history of mankind's search for holiness. If humanity never evolved in its exploration of the divine, a lot of us would still be worshipping golden Egyptian statues of cats. And this evolution of religious thinking does involve a fair bit of cherry-picking. You take whatever works from wherever you can find it, and you keep moving toward the light.

The Hopi Indians thought that the world's religions each contained one spiritual thread, and that these threads are always seeking each other, wanting to join. When all the threads are finally woven together they will form a rope that will pull us out of this dark cycle of history and into the next realm. More contemporarily, the Dalai Lama has repeated the same idea, assuring his Western students repeatedly that they needn't become Tibetan Buddhists in order to be his pupils. He welcomes them to take whatever ideas they like out of Tibetan Buddhism and integrate these ideas into their own religious practices. Even in the most unlikely and conservative of places, you can find sometimes this glimmering idea that God might be bigger than our limited religious doctrines have taught us. In 1954, Pope Pius XI, of all people, sent some Vatican delegates on a trip to Libya with these written instructions: "Do NOT think that you are going among Infidels. Muslims attain salvation, too. The ways of Providence are infinite."

But doesn't that make sense? That the infinite would be, indeed ... infinite? That even the most holy amongst us would only be able to see scattered pieces of the eternal picture at any given time? And that maybe if we could collect those pieces and compare them, a story about God would begin to emerge that resembles and includes everyone? And isn't our individual longing for transcendence all just part of this larger human search for divinity? Don't we each have the right to not stop seeking until we get as close to the source of wonder as possible? Even if it means coming to India and kissing trees in the moonlight for a while?

That's me in the corner, in other words. That's me in the spotlight. Choosing my religion." - Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Om Namah Shivaya - I honor the divinity that resides within me.

Journey to the Crack

When I was in college, I definitely wrote a lot more than I do now. I found some old essays I wrote and thought some of them were worth sharing. This is one of them. I wrote this essay after going on a kayaking adventure with my mom and a couple of friends through the Lake Superior sea caves. Enjoy!

Above me, a Norway pine hangs on the edge of a sandstone cliff and it looks like it might fall into the lake at any moment, its trunk at the very tip of the rock, its branches leaning over the water. My hands are clenched tightly around the paddles, while Lake Superior slowly rocks the kayak back and forth, back and forth. The body of water surrounding me resembles the warm ocean. It's turquoise blue like the waters near a tropical beach, but it's not clear and it's certainly not warm. Instead of palm trees, I see pines above layers of rock. Ripples of turquoise water flow in and out with the sunlight, but I can't see the bottom. When I look down into the deep water, my long time fear of sharks starts to consume me. I laugh at myself and think, "This is freshwater." But the deep murky water surrounding me, the idea of no escape to lane, only caves and deep lake help my fear return. I turn my attention to paddling, as my kayaking partner, my mother, grows tired of paddling alone. She is in front of the kayak, directing us along the shores. 

People come from all over to kayak through the sea caves on Lake Superior. Two men from Missouri were in the kayak in front of us. A couple from Minneapolis was in front of them. The line of kayaks, red, blue and yellow, create a rainbow reflection as we follow the expert instructor into the first sea cave. 

The inside of the cave is quiet, except for the sound of the waves hitting the bottom of our kayak and drumming against the wall of the cave. It's profound the way this experience silences all of us. The same impressed expression is found on all of our faces. Paddles rest on our laps as we float through like we are mutes. We are floating through a geological phenomenon; eroded sandstone formed into cliffs and caves.

The cave smells the way the air does after days of rain, musty and heavy. We can see the crack ahead of us, long and crooked. The sunlight peaks through the entrance of the cave and through the crack, giving us just enough light to view the cave's insides. There are no animals, just damp, shimmering sandstone. 

All kayaks wait patiently, floating in an open body of water beneath stone to enter the crack. The instructor goes first, showing us precisely how to enter the crack. He tells us to slowly direct the kayak into the crack. Once we start going in, paddles go up and turn sideways. Then, he tells us to just float in until we're almost stuck. After a few seconds, he shows us how to get out. Push against the walls with our hands or our paddles until we reverse our kayak out. After two blue, and one yellow kayak enter the crack, it's finally red's turn. That's us. I grasp my paddle, and so does my mother, and we approach the crack.

Maneuvering a blunt, fat kayak into the space where two cliffs meet takes concentration. We turn our paddles vertically and set them on the sides of the kayak as we wedge ourselves into the stone. The kayak moans when it rubs against the side of the cave, and we stop. Our kayak will go no further. Above us we see a thin line of sky and a glimpse of bushes and trees. A hiker on the trail above peers down the crack and waves at us in our red kayak, wedged in. After we wave back and laugh, we float silently in the crack of the sandstone and I think about how connected I feel with nature. Not everyone can say they wedged themselves into the crack of a sea cave. I was in the middle of history, glaciers pushed through, years of erosion and movement. The only way to visit the crack is by kayaking through them in the summer or snowshoeing to them on ice in the winter. 

I reached out and felt the slimy, wet wall of the cave, taking in the feeling, the smells, and the sounds. Once again I felt vulnerable and a little scared, stuck between two stones in a deep body of water, but this time I liked it. 

Here's a picture of "the crack" but it's not my own photo. I couldn't find the pictures we took on our trip! Anyway, if you haven't gone kayaking through these, you need to do it at least once. It's amazing. Living Adventure gives great tour guides. :) Check them out here: www.livingadventure.com

Ahh, Minneapolis... how I love thee! Let me count the ways...

I've been living in Minneapolis for three years now and I am constantly inspired and wanting to write about why I love this city. But I haven't because I'm a severe procrastinator, especially when it comes to things that make me happy and things that are good for my life, for some strange reason. Wow, I think I just opened a can of worms. Blog for a later time, I guess. I will need to analyze that more. The conclusion I come up with off the top of my head is fear. I'm not 100% sure why. ANYWHO...

I am very lucky to have a mother who always wanted to expose me to new and exciting things and most importantly, DIFFERENT things. We took several trips to Minneapolis when I was a kid for school clothes shopping, art museums, science museums, concerts, and sometimes just to get away. I grew up in Superior, Wisconsin and if you've never been there I can tell you it's not very exciting. It's beautiful in so many ways, but there isn't much to do or see besides grand Lake Superior. I remember coming down here and driving through downtown Minneapolis and just feeling alive inside seeing all of the action and diversity here. I would arch my neck sitting in the backseat of my mom's car to get a good look at the skyscrapers surrounding me. For some reason I just always felt like it was where I belonged. I wanted to be a part of the action, to be in the middle of all of the people, to experience differences and the city life. I always told my mom "Some day, Mom, I'm going to live here and work downtown." And here I am. I could probably write a novel about why I love Minneapolis but I've narrowed it down to the categories below. :)

1. ART! Art is everywhere in Minneapolis. Riding the bus home through downtown and then Uptown, I find myself inspired and amazed at all the ways and places art can be displayed. It's on the walls of buildings everywhere, from the shrine of celebrities on a building on Hennepin & 11th (I think), to the wall on 28th & Lyndale Avenue that says "art changes everything." Art is even on the electrical boxes!! How clever! Across the street from my apartment on the wall of the Volunteers of America Building, there's an AMAZING mosaic tree that I absolutely love. Walking around Lake Harriet, I always see someone painting an amazing picture of the lake with the Minneapolis skyline so perfectly placed in the background. And there's constantly someone painting a mural on a wall of a building somewhere. I love seeing it come together and how beautiful and interesting all of it is. It's encouraged in this city to just create and display art pretty much anywhere you want! And it's also meant to prevent graffiti. I love it. I can't express how much I love this part of Minneapolis. It warms my heart on a daily basis. The wall on 28th & Lyndale is my absolute favorite. Art really does change everything.

2. Diversity! What would this city be without diversity? What is diversity? Well, I could be wrong, but I believe diversity is an old, old wooden ship that was used during the Civil War era. Sorry but I had to quote Anchorman there... if you haven't seen the movie, see it. It's dumb but hilarious. Back to REAL diversity! I want to bathe in Minneapolis' deep, ever-changing diversity. I want to try food from every culture and that's the great thing... you can do that in Minneapolis. I'm completely obsessed with Indian/Nepali/Tibetan food. I could eat it every day. In fact, I might marry a man from that culture just so I could eat it every day. One of the best things I think about exposing yourself to diversity is it eliminates judgments and prejudices. The more you understand people from different backgrounds and cultures, the less likely you are to judge them and the less people get hurt in this world. I truly believe that. You can agree with me or not.

Not only is Minneapolis full of many races, religions and cultures, but it's very accepting of people's sexual orientations. How many cities can you get a free copy of a GLBT magazine on every street corner? I am in love with the fact that people in Minneapolis (in most places) can just be themselves. They have a place and they have a purpose in this city. They MAKE this city better! They truly are strong, amazing PEOPLE!! And since I was talking about food from different cultures, that brings me to my next reason why I love this city.......

3. FOOD! I am overwhelmed DAILY on the amount of restaurants and different types of food this city has to offer. I could make a list literally a mile long with the restaurants I want to try and still haven't...and I've lived here for three years. And the best thing is, they are privately owned. They are owned by people who live here and love this city.  The other wonderful thing is a lot of the food is grown on local farms.  It is NOT hard to find a good, inexpensive, organic, Minnesota-grown meal. Finding a chain restaurant in Minneapolis is beginning to be like finding Waldo (which I always thought was hard). I love trying things I have never tried before and learning about new, great meals. Another plus is that most of these restaurants have fabulous happy hours!! Maybe I should also start blogging about restaurants I try... hmm. This may be a future endeavor. On to numero 4!

4. Tourism! Okay even though every day when I'm walking to the bus stop and there's a Twins game, I get extremely irritated with the SEA of Twins shirts, slow walkers, lost people, and people who don't know how to cross the street properly, I secretly love that Minneapolis offers SO much! What ISN'T here for tourists?? Beautiful lakes, parks and bike trails (Minneapolis was rated number 1 biking city), Target Field, Target Center, The Metrodome, The Guthrie, The Walker, Minneapolis Institute of Arts (they have Van Gogh!), The Orpheum, First Avenue; I could go on forever. And even though I am now a "local" and I can't help but secretly get annoyed with the lost people downtown, I love that people want to come here. Because there truly is so much to see and do.

5. Adversity. To some of you, adversity may not be seen as a positive aspect of anything. But I try to look at adversity from a different perspective. I think adversity creates hope. It truly does break my heart to see the numerous homeless people standing with signs on street corners, showing their one remaining talent at Nicollet Mall for coins, and sleeping on benches, but I really believe that people need to struggle to make other people feel compassion and be grateful. Without suffering, there would be no compassion. I believe that quote is from the Bible and even though I'm not an avid Bible reader and I wouldn't call myself a religious person, I completely believe that is true.

You may be thinking "Minneapolis is boring compared to most cities," or "Geez, Nicole, you settled on a city only 2 hours from where you grew up." But I don't care. Minneapolis is an unbelievable city with so much to offer. I've had this conversation with many people and I don't know many people who truly know where they belong and feel a sense of belonging. I know that I belong here. Every time I come back from a trip out of town, drive up 35W and the amazing skyline appears, my entire body is warm; I am home.

I didn't take this photo but I think it's a BEAUTIFUL one!! Ahhh, Minneapolis. I love you. Lead with your heart... it knows where you belong. <3 <3

P.S. I don't know what happened with the font in this blog. I tried to fix it and failed miserably. Sorry!

Long lost friends

I realize it's been a long time since my last blog. Why are summers so crazy busy? I feel like the days just fly by.  And the funny thing is that I really haven't done a whole lot this summer. A few trips back home to Superior, Wisconsin, a camping trip, a cabin trip and that's about it. Anyway, I'm going to get back on the blogging train and try to stick with it. This really is my daily therapy and lately I've really needed it!!! So here it goes...

On July 30, I saw my best friend get married. I saw her dance with her new husband, the undeniable look of happiness on her face in a beautiful, sparkling white gown. The only problem was that she's not my best friend anymore. I wasn't there to help her pick out a wedding dress. I wasn't there to help her pick out flowers. I met her husband for the first time at the wedding and never heard her talk about him and tell me every wonderful detail about him. I knew nothing about this man and honestly, I hardly knew anything about the woman who once was my best friend and had now become someone's wife.

I found myself overwhelmed with emotion thinking about the times with this beautiful bride as teenagers, talking about our hopes and dreams on warm summer nights. Our favorite spot to chat was late at night at the park by my house, lying on our backs in the tennis court under a star-filled sky. We talked about our wedding day and had always planned on each other being included in it. There was no way we wouldn't be. There was no way we wouldn't be friends. The moment I saw this friend in her gorgeous clean wedding dress and how happy she was, I also felt sadness about how things can change so much and confusion about why they had to change.

I can't recall the exact moment she and I became friends. I know we met in the 7th grade and when I became friends with her, I came alive. I became a person I never had been before. She made me come out of my shell and made me feel like it was okay to be me. When I was with her, there was a constant smile on my face. We would go on adventures with each other and become different people. My stomach would ache from laughter after being with her and my face would be red from smiling. With her, I could do anything. I could tell her anything. Most importantly, I could be me. 

As we got older, things changed. She didn't go to the same school as me anymore and the times I saw her were fewer and fewer. I remember the sadness I felt every time I tried to make a plan with her and she said no. My heart was broken that I didn't have my companion anymore. And I never knew why it happened. I always blamed myself and wondered what I said or what I did to hurt her, to push her away. I struggled with it for many years and finally had to accept the fact that we wouldn't be those teenage girls ever again.

Even though it still hurts me to not know why we grew apart, after seeing her on her wedding day, I realized that it doesn't matter why anymore. We both became the people we are because it's who we were meant to be. But I also realized that my best friend is still here. When I hugged her and told her congratulations, I told her I loved her without even thinking about it. The words came out of my mouth like we were 16 years old again. I'll always love her and hold a special place for her in my heart. We might not ever be as close as we once were, but she's still here and I still love her.

This blog is not very well written and it's pretty cheesy. I had to admit that at the end of it so all of you didn't think I'm some kind of loser living in a world where my writing is always good and I always make people emotional. I know it doesn't always happen. I feel like I'm at a loss for words tonight and it's extremely difficult to express in words the way I felt about this friend and what we had. I'm also really tired.

In the end, the moral of the story is.... let bygones be bygones and lead with your heart. Sometimes we have to go through really tough times and things have to change in strange and confusing ways for us to get to where we need to be.

GOODNIGHT!!

Self awareness is key!!

One quality that I think is SO incredibly important to have is self-awareness. Just being aware of the things we say, the things we do, how they affect people, how we feel, is so crucial when living a healthy life. If I lived my life in denial, I'd be struggling even more than I am. I am aware of the things I need to work on and aware when I say something wrong and I admit it to myself and to others.

Many people drift through life with absolutely no self-awareness. These people think they can do no wrong, think they always say the right thing and usually think that everything about themselves is perfect and doesn't need any improvement. Sometimes it's hard to admit that we need to work on a part of ourselves or need to make something better about ourselves. But it's so incredibly important to just admit it and try to do something about it. Take action.

This is coming up for me because there are a lot of things about myself I think I need to work on. For example, I lose my confidence way too easily. I take things people say to heart too often and I get nervous and uncomfortable way too often. I tend to be shy in certain situations and I am almost always putting other people's needs before my own. The important thing is that I've recognized these things about myself I'd like to change and I'm going to try and change them.

Not only is it important to be grateful for the things we have every day, but we should also do self reflection every day. I think we can all try to be better people on some level. That old saying is completely and 100% true: Nobody's perfect.

That's all I have for today. There are SO many things I could write about today and so many feelings/emotions going on but I think the one thing I can take from my day and share is how significant self-awareness is.

Lead with your heart. <3

Single Woman Stress

Most of the time being a single girl in the city is pretty kickass. I get to do what I want when I want, I  can go out to cool parties and check out the single men (which I actually don't do enough), my life is virtually drama free, and I don't have anything holding me back. There's a wonderful feeling that comes along with grasping your independence and embracing it. I love making meals for myself and just having a night for me... have a glass of wine, make myself something delicious and watch a movie... just some good old fashioned quality ME time! I'm pretty resourceful when it comes to figuring out the things that I don't know... and most things I don't have to fix because my rent pays for maintenance in my apartment.

Unfortunately, as I learned very recently, the maintenance person doesn't fix everything!! I've lived in my apartment for almost 3 years now and I vaguely remember someone saying something about the ancient fuse box (building was built in 1924; fuse box can't be much older) above my stove. There were no instructions given, I think just a briefing that went something like this, "Those fuses might go out and you might have to replace them." This was almost 3 years ago so my memory fails me slightly, but I was faced harshly with reality yesterday when I came home and my power went out.

We don't have too many CRAZY hot days here in Minneapolis but yesterday the temperature reached a scolding 105 degrees. I don't have air conditioning and I've been completely fine without it for the past 2 summers (I kind of like being warm... I'm weird). But yesterday was unbelievably hot. I tried to remain positive and told myself when I left work, "At least you have a fan!" Not long after I got home, my fans died along with the power in my entire apartment. First I called my building's caretaker to see if the problem was in the building or just in my apartment. She informed me that she hadn't received any other calls about power outages so it was most likely my fuses. Then came the words that caused me to freak, "You are responsible for replacing your fuses. I don't know how much they cost and I can't help you."

Now it might just be me that thinks this, but something like electricity (especially electricity that isn't used in most buildings anymore) is something you'd want a professional messing around with and not some single 27 year old woman who knows nothing about it. Especially in an apartment complex! I was a bit taken aback by this but also remembered that weird maintenance guy when I moved in telling me something about those dumb little fuses. Needless to say, I didn't know what to do. And every time I looked in that weird fuse box, I pictured myself getting electrocuted. I freaked out slightly.

I thought about my resources. Who can I ask? Who do I know that could help me? Isn't this what any single woman would do? You gather in your mind the people you know who might be able to answer the question at hand. I asked my brother and he said the fuses were simple and just needed to be unscrewed. I still didn't feel comfortable unscrewing them, didn't have the money to buy new ones, and still wasn't 100% confident in what I was supposed to do. Luckily, the power outage turned out to be a building-wide problem and I thought my troubles were over. After 3 hours of reading and sweating on my couch, my power came back on.

Something interesting happened to me in this moment though, and it has happened to me before. I panicked. I felt like my chest was caving in and I could feel tears welling up in my throat. I felt helpless. I don't know many handy people who are close by... I didn't know what to do and my panicking prevented me from just figuring it out! I'm not sure where this comes from but the last time this happened was when I got my car stuck in the snow and couldn't get out. Everyone I asked to help me couldn't and there I was, knee deep in wet white snow... feeling helpless. This time I was knee deep in hot humid air with no electricity. But I felt the same in both situations. I'm definitely the type of person who believes men and women are capable of doing the same things... but let's get real here... there are some things that men are just better at and are just raised to know. Like electricity and fuse boxes, for example. And in my analysis of this panicked, helpless feeling, I decided that it stems from wanting a positive male role model in my life. I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need a man to help me with everything. But would I like to have one that I could call when my fuse boxes go out and I have no clue what I'm doing? Yes. I would like that. I would like that a lot.

Today I got home around 7:00 p.m. and my power was out again. This time I checked the hallway and saw that the lights were on out there. This meant (to me) that the power outage was JUST my apartment this time. I contacted the caretaker to see if she knew what the problem was with the electricity yesterday and informed her my power was out again. She didn't respond. The end result was that the power outage was, in fact, only in my apartment this time and there appears to be some issue with the wiring and the fact that my fuse box is ancient. The caretaker is going to contact maintenance and Xcel Energy to figure out what the the damn problem is.

But I am SO incredibly thankful for good friends. My friend Jessee was extremely helpful in this situation and we were able to figure stuff out penis-free (minus the one guy at the hardware store... hehe). People come and go from your life and the older you get, the clearer it becomes who your true friends are. And Jessee, you are a KEEPER!! I truly believe that everything happens for a reason and everything that happened to me to bring me to Jessee was meant to happen so I could have an amazing friend in my life!!!

I came to a realization about myself today, which I think is pretty awesome. It's always good practice to have those moments where you think, "Why am I acting this way? Why am I feeling this way? Where does it come from?" and to take some time to try and figure it out. Most of the time I'm a very calm, drama-free person. But there have been these moments in my life, these panicked, helpless moments that I couldn't quite get to the bottom of. My reactions to these situations were so unlike ME. Another realization I came to was that sometimes all you need is one really good friend! The Beatles were right....I get by with a little help from my friends. :)

Oh and attached is a photo of my dumb fuse box. For those of you who know nothing about fuses, wouldn't this be intimidating??? RIGHT?!

Lead with your heart. <3

Dear Mr. President

I wrote this letter because I constantly struggle with my pride in America. I don't spend too much of my time worrying about it but there are days where the state of humankind really does get me down. I know it might be cheesy or dumb to some people for me to write this letter, but on some level it does make me feel better. I'm not sure yet if I will send it to our President and I realize that the chances of him reading it are very slim, but I don't think I'm alone with this want to have America represent something good and true again. Take it as you will, but please try to leave your judgments at the door. As we all should.

Dear Mr. President:

This week while working at my downtown Minneapolis job, I peered outside my street level window at the United States Post Office across the street where the American flag waved in the crisp April wind. I stared at it whipping around the pole, the stars and stripes wrinkled and distorted, and I started to think about what I thought that flag represented to me. And I couldn’t come up with anything.

Amidst all of the “birther” rumors, I found myself spending entirely too much time analyzing the state of this country and it’s people. I will be honest with you, I’ve never been a very patriotic person. I don’t have the flag displayed anywhere, I usually don’t sing the “Star Spangled Banner” at events, and the fun of the 4th of July seems to be lost to me. People in this country continue to disappoint me with their judgments, their naïve and ignorant behavior, their love of money and power, their need to partake in violence, and most importantly, the continuing need to work against each other rather than together as a nation.

What kind of country is this when a strong, smart, political figure is elected President, yet one out of four people continue to question his legitimacy? When has any other elected President been questioned about their US citizenship? It has never happened before. And what this tells me is that America hasn’t made the progress I’d like to believe it has made.

I struggle constantly with the want to be proud of the country I live in. I am proud of the rights that I have but it seems that so easily, these rights could be taken away from me. I want to live in a country where people of all backgrounds are welcomed and are not judged because of the color of their skin, their sex, their choice of worship, or who they choose to love. I want the people of our country to have the same rights because we are all Americans and because we should work together.

Why should one person have more rights than someone else if we are, in fact, the United States of America? How are we united in this “land of the free and home of the brave” when not all of us are fully “free”? Those people I consider “brave” are those who wake up every morning and are not afraid to be themselves in a country where so many people are trying their hardest to tell them to be someone else.

I understand that you’re not the only person in control of what happens in this country. I understand that it isn’t easy to be the President of the United States and it’s impossible to please everyone. But it is my true, undeniable, deep within my heart belief that everyone deserves fair and equal treatment. Simply, I feel like it’s just part of being a human to let people live as they please and to leave our judgments at the door. Why does humanity continue to be defined by each individual person? The last time I checked it was the humanrace and humankind and it wasn’t divided out into individual categories based on personal beliefs and backgrounds.

I’m not so sure how much power you really have and I’m really not so sure how much I trust this government of ours. And I know it's almost impossible to change the way people think. But even though I’ve only been of voting age for 10 years, for the first time I thought we had a President who could make me be proud of America again. I still believe you can do this, Mr. President. 

When will we truly be the United States of America? 

Best Wishes, 

Nicole T. Meyers

Professional Writer and Human Being.

Lead with your heart. And please don't be afraid to.

F-Head Kitten!

Most cats are lazy. The life of a cat usually involves these four daily tasks: eat, sleep, poop, lick butt. A ray of late afternoon sun shining through the window onto the floor or bed is a perfect spot for a cat to sprawl themselves out and sleep the day away. Maybe they will find themselves a nice perch on an open window and watch the chirping birds outside before they take a long snooze. My cat Phoebe is a completely different breed of cat. I think she may be mentally handicapped.

The daily life of Phoebe involves these numerous tasks: eat, drink out of the toilet, coo, meow, drown toy mice in the toilet, drink out of the bathroom faucet, drink out of the kitchen faucet, dig an old toy out from under the couch or stove, scratch couch, coo, meow, sleep, scratch mattress, climb in shoeboxes under the bed while mom tries to sleep, scratch chair, make loud, obnoxious scratching noises in the litter box after pooping, get turd stuck on butt due to ingested hair and drag butt on floor leaving turd for mom to pick up, lick butt, eat random crumb on the floor, eat regular food, throw up regular food in the corner because random crumb didn't sit well, meow at mom when she gets home, meow at mom while she gets ready for bed, meow at mom while she tries to sleep, bring toy mouse into mom's bed and drop it on her pillow meowing until she throws it, sit at the end of the bathtub and meow at mom while she showers, lick dirty plates in the sink, eat regular food, throw up regular food in the corner because contents from licked plates didn't sit well, sleep on mom's pillow, throw toy mice around the kitchen, coo, meow, lick whatever mom is cooking when mom turns her back, drink out of the toilet, clean ears and back, climb to the highest shelf in the closet and knock mom's things over, knock water glass over, drown toy mice in toilet, sleep in kitten bed, coo, meow, eat, and repeat.

You might say that she is "quirky" or "special" and you'd be right. She is those things. She's also very difficult to deal with. Tonight I really reached a breaking point with Phoebe and I don't think I've ever been so angry with her! Every Friday at my work we have "Breakfast/Treat Day" where someone brings something in the morning to eat. Usually I bring something bought at the store. Lately everyone keeps bringing these fantastic homemade dishes and I really felt like I needed to up my game with the Friday treats. I found a recipe for cream cheese danish and went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients. Today was a lovely spring day, sunny and 64 degrees, birds chirping, snow melting and I really was feeling all kinds of cheerful, happy feelings. I prepared the danish while Phoebe looked on, trying to sneak a taste every time I turned my back. I'm not really sure when she decided it was okay to jump on the table and stick her nose where it doesn't belong, but she's been really terrible lately. She got her dirty little tongue on the bowl of cream cheese filling but it was AFTER I had already finished preparing it in the pan. Although upset, I didn't punish her too severely because I had already put it in the oven. After 20 minutes, my cream cheese danish was done baking and it smelled and looked lovely!! I set it out on the counter to cool. I turned my back for no more than a minute and caught Phoebe licking the top of the danish. She licked about 3" off the top of my lovely, fresh, golden brown cream cheese creation! I screamed. I screamed at her and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and yelled "NO PHOEBE!!!!" She flinched. I felt bad for scaring her and put her down. But the anger was still brewing inside of me. I sat down on the couch. She curled up next to me and started to purr. I can never stay mad at her for long and I hate that!

And the thing is, cats don't learn! You can't train them! You could scare the hairy turds right out of them and they'd still lick your cream cheese danish. While she laid next to me purring, curling her head upside down and peering up at me with those big innocent green eyes, I immediately wanted to pet her and snuggle with her. But I was still so mad!!! I had to cut the piece that she licked out and throw it away. Tomorrow I will have to explain the big empty space in the pan to my coworkers telling them that I did NOT eat the danish myself, but my stupid cat did!

Although tonight I think Phoebe is a giant F-head (and I'll probably call her that for a few days), I know that tonight when she curls up next to me on my pillow, nuzzling her face on my cheek and licking my eyelids, I'll tell her she's cute and that I love her.

I'm still waiting for her to puke in the corner from the cheese danish she ingested. It's coming. I know it.

Attached is a photo of my F-head kitten. Don't be fooled by her cute, innocent face... she will eat your cheese danish too.

Lead with your heart.

There's No One Like Mom

We encounter so many people on our journey through life. We meet new friends, we fall in love, we fall out of love, we fall out of friendship. Family is the one thing I think we should always be able to count on. In particular, we can count on our mothers. Our mothers brought us into the world, they protected us, they took care of us when we were sick and held us when we cried. As we get older, relationships with our mothers change. Some of us are lucky to still have a mother. (My heart goes out to those of you who lost your mothers.)

And sometimes instead of them always taking care of us, a time comes where it's our turn for us to take care of them. I experienced this recently. For the first time, my mother needed me to take care of her. After having emergency surgery back in December, I was forced to put myself into a position that was not only extremely difficult, but almost felt unnatural to me. Seeing my mom lying in a hospital bed in pain, in fear, and in serious need of me to step up and be there for her, was harder than I ever imagined. To hold her hand while the nurses changed her dressings and looked at her stitches and to hold her hand while she cried because she was scared was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But this is the circle of life. They take care of you and then you have to take care of them.

That brings me to my current blog, while I take the place of my mom in her big bed in the home I grew up in, and she lies in a hospital bed after having a difficult surgery. I really am not a fan of hospitals. No one likes hospitals. They hold some kind of lingering sadness within them, the eyes of almost everyone you pass glazed over with stress and fear. And then you pass those lit up with the happiness of new life being brought into the world. It's this strange place where life begins, life struggles and life ends. A part of me knew that my mom would be okay but sitting in that waiting room, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with uneasiness. Trying to occupy your time and your mind while waiting to hear that the most important person in your world is safe is one of the most stressful things to have to go through. After I finally saw her and knew she was safe, I grabbed her hand and she squeezed mine knowing it was me without ever opening her eyes. She couldn't talk to me; she could only lie there in pain and try and sleep. Usually my mom's snoring problem is one thing about her that drives me absolutely nuts. But at that time, there was nothing recognizable about my mom.  Her hair was pushed back from her face, a defined wrinkle on her forehead, which resulted from her straining in pain, her skin pale and sweaty, a tube come from her nose... not even a glimmer of her cheerful spirit and her quirky sense of humor. Listening to her snore brought me this overwhelming sense of comfort because it was the only normal thing about her at that time.

No one wants to see those they love in pain. No one wants to see them sick, weak and needy. As a very emotional person, I never thought I'd handle it as well as I have. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline or if it's just because I'm stronger than I think I am, but suddenly having this switch in roles (me as the caretaker instead of the one being taken care of) was easier than I thought it would be. I knew that my mom needed me to be strong for her, as she was for my brother and I for so many years, and unconsciously, I just did it. Even during the loneliest, toughest moments, I managed to keep my tears contained. I think I can thank my wonderful mother for this.

She is doing as well as can be expected after an extensive surgery. And I know that this won't slow her down. But if it does, I'll be there ready to hold her hand again.

Lead with your heart. I truly believe it will never steer you in the wrong direction.

Don't judge me!

Judgment is a tricky thing. You never want to be judged by other people, yet you find yourself judging others constantly. I experienced this tonight. I was quickly judged by a guy who I really liked. After one night of drinks with friends, one official date and an analysis of my Facebook profile, this guy thought he had me all figured out. After our date he informed me that not only was it a problem that I consider myself a liberal, but our personalities do not match and he did not see a future. As an honest person myself, I really did appreciate his own honesty. However, I immediately felt judged. I could feel my face flush and burn red while he spoke these words to me and my BIG heart sunk so low that I almost gagged. I felt that his decision was made somewhat hastily and that he judged me without getting to really know me. We all have different opinions about what makes a relationship work, but I don't necessarily think that a couple needs to have everything in common to make it work. In fact, I think it would be pretty damn boring to date someone who is exactly like me because I'd never learn anything. I agree that to some degree, there are things that can't be worked out. But I've met couples where one of them was a Democrat and the other was a Republican. My brother is an atheist and his wife was raised Catholic. These things can be worked through. I feel that I wasn't given a fair chance.

But here's the funny thing. I've done the same thing to guys. I've gone on dates with several guys and one particular thing they said bothered me to no end where I didn't even consider giving them a second chance. I immediately wrote them off in my head based on one thing they said. So am I not just as bad as the guy I was bitterly rejected by tonight?? And maybe even worse considering I never expressed my feelings OUT LOUD? I do admit that I always consider giving the guy a second chance but I rarely follow through with that sentiment. What I am taking from this lovely night of rejection and a little humiliation is that I need to give people a TRUE fair chance before I judge them.

Being judged tonight is exactly what finally brought me to this blog. I've been thinking about starting a blog for a long time but never pushed myself to do it. Tonight I had so many thoughts I felt I needed to share. I don't even care if absolutely no one reads any of these because it truly makes me feel better to write it. And oh, did I mention I am a writer? I'm a full time technical writer in the world of consumer lending which does not leave much room for creativity or emotion. So here I am with my big heart and my big blog in the city of Minneapolis.

Moving on to the "big heart" thing... I used this as my name and title of my blog tonight because I feel like it truly explains who I am. I do have a big heart. It's filled with too much emotion, too many thoughts... it's one big over analyzing, over caring, overbearing monster that often leaves me feeling confused and lost in the world. I wouldn't change my big heart for anything but it does seem to get me into trouble. What I've learned in this completely screwed up, crazy, chaotic world is that not many people appreciate big hearts. Everyone has their own agenda, their own path, whether it be to make a million dollars, to gain power over someone's life or emotions, to get married and have children, to buy a house... whatever it may be. But some people, while completing their agenda and walking down their path just don't care who they hurt along the way and are immune to the hurt that is inflicted upon them. I am the complete opposite. There are some things I can brush off, but most forms of rejection, ridicule and - you guessed it - judgment really takes a toll on me. And it seems that I keep searching for people who understand this, who appreciate it, who don't look down upon it, and come up with zero results. In a nutshell, as they say, this is what this blog will mostly be about... my adventures in this crazy world and crazy city with my big heart. I hope whoever reads it (if anyone) will enjoy it.

I will end all of my blogs with one of my favorite quotes that I heard a yoga instructor say in a class one time. "Lead with your heart." I think we all should really live by that motto. But as I said, I'm really feeling like I'm few and far between.

Good night and be well.