We're Moving!

Exciting news! The Beaux Cooper brand has developed and expanded its purpose since it was initially founded and with such change comes a need to grow. It is with great anticipation that I announce the website will be relocating to a new platform and updating its "look" over the next month.

The past four years have been filled with a lot of change and progress as well as a bit of a sabbatical so I am looking forward to the over-due revitalization of the brand and the pursuit of new horizons.

How this will impact you: The URL will remain the same and website access should not be impeded by the upcoming changes. You will still be able to find writing prompts, book reviews, and flash fictions. Keep an eye out for the official announcement and grand re-opening!

Focusing on the Good and Picking Up The Pen Again

Dear Diary,

It has been far too long since I last wrote within your pages and so, with classic obligation, I am here to update you on what has been going on in my life beyond the anxiety and depression I have spent the last two years discovering, researching, and working to understand. The best way to encapsulate that on-going experience is to tell those who may read this: if you are experiencing feelings of depression and anxiety, please reach out to your community and seek professional help. It does get better.

I moved from Laramie, Wyoming to Fort Collins, Colorado after accepting a position with the Office of International Programs with Colorado State University. It has been a wonderful experience to interact with students from all around the world and play a tiny part in their goals of earning an American University education. These students have been a reality check and inspiration to me ever since I started working there and I look forward to the lessons and insights I can glean from them as we interact over time.

Total eclipse: August 2017.

I've had the chance to travel quite a bit around Colorado: hiking 12 miles (round trip) to see the beautiful Maroon Bells, explored the ruins of Mesa Verde, camped in the Rocky Mountain foothills, and stood in the pitch black hollows of the Cave of the Winds. Colorado is an incredible state to live in and explore and I'm enjoying every wild experience I'm having here. Oh, and I learned how to curl!

Cliff Palace at Mesa Verde National Park: June 2018

Maroon Bells, Colorado: April 2018

Learning to curl: March 2018

Guys. I flew a plane. A little Cessna, but a plane no less! This has been a huge bucket list item for me and as Fort Collins was thawing out one February, I decided to hop in the plane and take off... with an instructor by my side, of course. I hope to post something about this experience in my future. It was inspiring and the most "myself" I had felt in a long time! 

February 2018

It only took me two years, but I finally achieved my 2017 New Years Resolution of becoming a Dungeon Master! My friends and I have developed our Guild to participate in Dungeons and Dragons adventures. With their support (and a bottle of wine) I was able to not only achieve this goal, but completely knock it out of the park with props, disguises, voices, and a playlist! This was likely the first truly creative thing I had done in years!

September 2019

In the last two years I have written a lot of research papers for school. I have returned full time to exploring my education under the banner of Anthropology with a minor in History. What can I say? I just really love learning about our story and where we come from. I have elected to add these research papers as part of my writing collection on this website because they are labors of love and contain valuable information. Those who, like me, love history will understand.

My hope is that I will be able to jump back on the creative writing train and start producing works more extensive than a small poem here or there posted to Instagram. I have a few book ideas in mind and plan on bringing the weekly writing prompt back... but... baby steps. 

I think I'm ready.

Best,

Beaux

Me

Hello
It's me
No, not Adele,
I'm not on the otherside.
I'm here.
On your side.
Here to love.
To grow.
To own.
To destroy
Doubt.
Hello
It's me
The writer.
The lover.
The one
Me.
Hello
It's me
Cat mother.
Dog mourner.
Seeker of the
Rainbow road.
Hello
It's me.
It's me.
Just me.
She who is
Enough.

MIA: Me

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything creative, anything beyond work manuals and emails. Perhaps a haiku here and there, but the passion I once felt for it – the feeling that it was the most natural thing in the world to do… has left me. There was a time in my life where writing was second nature. It was something I was born doing; telling stories and communicating my thoughts was my most natural state of being. Writing was something I did not need motivation to do, it just happened.

And I lost it.

I haven’t updated my blog in more than a year. I haven’t written anything with serious purpose in that time and beyond. It is as if I had achieved my dream of becoming a published author so I could check that item off my bucket list and move on to the new thing. That was what I had been telling myself, but now I’m not so sure. There is always more to a motivation than what is on the surface and when I look at the date of my last attempt to write something for my blog, I realize that it was around the same time I started my battle with anxiety, although I didn’t not know at the time that anxiety was what I was actually feeling. In fact, it has taken me this long to see how badly anxiety has taken over my life and robbed me of my joy.

Never one to shy away from sharing my life’s progression on this blog, I don’t see any reason why I would process this experience any differently. The creeping creature of anxiety, the boogie man I could never see, but always feel breathing on my neck has lingered in my life, my chest, my brain dampening my spirit and lust for life for far too long. I have buried these feelings deep within me, smile glazed across my face as I go about my daily routine and I am finally seeing it as an observer rather than just a participant.

In the last six months there have been times when the anxiety was so bad I broke down crying in the shower in the morning, other times where my best recourse was to vomit just to get the heaviness out of my chest. I craved the company of other people; desperate to fill the time of day with another human being and I am so incredibly grateful for my roommate and her understanding as I clung to her company as if it would save my life. You see, it wasn’t loneliness that I feared, but rather being alone with myself. I remember being too afraid to write, even journal, because I was not ready to face whatever demons were within me, these sources of anxiety that, for my own survival, I needed to smoke out into the light. There were mirrors, metaphorical and physical, that I could not face without a swelling of tears in my throat.

And yet, there were days, weeks even, where I felt nothing. Not the cold emptiness of nothing, but just the calm nothingness of “not-anxiety.” Those moments of “not-anxiety” were respites of the new normal, but at my worst they took months to get to. I had been self-medicating to help me sleep at night until I stopped because my fear of addiction, thankfully, outweighed my fear of the anxiety.

For a short while, the last two months, I had the longest respite I’ve felt in the last year. This respite wasn’t “not-anxiety,” but actual peace. I thought I was finally out of it, cured of anxious feelings that could be written off as a “tough year,” but I was wrong. In a most beautiful place, in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, that nasty little gremlin made itself known for “no apparent reason.” It was just there, sitting in the depths of my stomach urging me to burst into tears over “nothing.” Compound my anxiety with boiling frustration and a deep refusal to say anything beyond “my anxiety is getting the better of me” and my afternoon is shot.

Thankfully, for now (ß my anxiety is talking, hello Demon #1), I have a support system who did not let me lock it all away, but rather poked and prodded until I looked at the boogie man and started talking about what I saw. It is a start and I have a long way to go yet.

I'm not sure where this experience will take me, but what I do know is that there are still stories left inside of me. There are beautiful landscapes and characters and experiences wrestling for their turn to be written. I won’t begin my next novel now, but I will begin the training process again. I am going to set some goals, create some challenges for myself with writing. Perhaps instead of creating the writing prompts, I will practice some created by others. It is ok to ask for help. It is ok to seek inspiration from sources beyond yourself. It is ok to struggle and to fall.

And it is ok to let someone reach out so that you can stand back up.

You Ain't Broken

Alright ladies and gentlemen, we need to talk.

We need to talk about this undying need to be "broken" - this glorification of irreparable damage having been committed against your beautiful spirit.

I'm not being facetious. Your spirit is beautiful. But do you know what else your spirit is?

Strong.

Unbreakable.

Untamed.

Ferocious.

Loud.

It might be bruised.

Scarred.

Denied at times.

Cracked.

And it might even feel broken.

But it won't remain this way forever... if you choose to not let this obstacle defeat you.

Obstacles can come at you from all different directions.

They can manifest in so many different ways.

These obstacles can be in the form of facing a fear or running down the bastard who hurt you.

They can seem shallow to others, but are in fact deep gorges cut into your psyche.

They can take moments to overcome, or a lifetime.

Obstacles can be anything.

They can attempt to break you.

Bend you to the point of fracture.

But you decide what lasting mark they will leave.

Let's talk about you.

There is no easy fix.

I'm sorry.

There just isn't.

It's going to take work to stand up to your obstacles and face them boldly.

It's going to take strength to leap these hurdles.

It's going to take a reason for trying.

But you can do it.

Maybe with a little help...

Or a lot.

There's strength in searching for help.

And receiving it.

#SeeGirlTravel: Learning to Be Alone

I can't decide if choosing to be alone while I was single was harder than being alone now that I'm married. When I was single there was that stigma of being a lone woman in public, surrounded by happy couples or more attractive women on the prowl when all I wanted to do was have an adventure. As a married woman I feel a level of protection against that stigma because I have a ring on my finger which clearly states that although I am alone in this restaurant, I am not alone in my life.

Strange how our minds go there, but that's part of the challenge of being independent - the self-conscious voice in our heads that tell us we don't belong somewhere if we aren't accompanied by a friend, lover, or family. We live so much of our lives with other people that being alone, truly alone, in a place where no one knows us is embarrassing. 

Yet, as a wife I felt this need and desire to spend all my spare time with my husband. The idea of intentionally leaving him behind while I went out and had fun felt selfish and neglectful. There was guilt when I had a girls date with my friends. Never mind the fact that I encouraged him to do the same with his friends. You see, I could see the value in him taking time for himself, but I couldn't understand the value it held for me. My husband and I did the math; I have lived alone for only eighteen months, in six month spurts, out of my entire life and even then those months were connected to a spouse to some degree. 

Alone time is a commodity we undervalue and ignore all too often. Think about it. We are constantly surrounded by people we're connected to whether it is work, school, family...Even if we aren't around them physically we have this magic little device in our back pocket that lets us stay connected even when we're apart. Tell me, when you're waiting for the bus to come or in line at the grocery store, or for your oil change do you whip out your phone to occupy your time, to fill the awkwardness of having no one to talk to?

Being alone can be uncomfortable and we often times don't know how to handle it. It takes practice and an easing in to little things to be able to go on and do great ones - like exploring the Sahara Desert on camel back!

Five Ways To Learn How To Love Being Alone:  

Take a day-long road trip: Turn off the radio and just drive. See what it feels like to be by yourself for a while. No distractions - just the road and your thoughts. This is a great way to ease yourself into being independent of others and not feel like there are eyes watching you. Your inner voice of self-doubt won't have room to blossom here because there is no one to judge you for being alone. Drive to the ocean only to turn around and drive home. 

Eat in a restaurant: Your best friend will be a book, so put your phone away. I know, I know - you're going to ask what the difference between being distracted with a book is versus your phone. Simply put, the book is a story while your phone harbors your friends and network. I carry a book in my purse and slowly get through it. I prefer this over putting books on my phone or a tablet because I am seeking that disconnection from being connected to everyone and everything all of the time. A book in your hands has a grounding affect unparalleled by today's technology.

Source

Go to a movie: I did this a few years back and it was my first true experience of being intentionally alone. I spent the day at the movie theater watching two movies, back to back, that I really wanted to see. I felt so rebellious being there because, in my mind, the movie theater is a place for couples or friends. It's considered weird to go by yourself and I have to say, it was a blast! I sat right in the middle of the theater, ate my pop corn, and enjoyed the shows. It was the beginning of my own personal independence movement.

Museums and Art Galleries: Stand before a piece of abstract art and contemplate its meaning. What does it mean to you. Walk through the gallery and spend the day enjoying the talents of others. Take notes in a notebook, sit off in a corner somewhere and watch the reactions to your favorite piece by other people. Or learn something new about the world's history by exploring a historical museum. I envy those of you who live in a large city and have such places available to you in such quantity!

Travel: This is a big one. It took me a while to get to this level of comfort, but it only took a spark for me to fall madly in love with going somewhere by myself, where no one knew me, and making friends, exploring the world, enjoying my time fearlessly. And that's the best part - it's incredible the people you meet along the way, the one-on-one exposure to the culture you're immersed in, the absolute control you have over your day's destiny. It encourages you to try new things and broadens your scope of the world and her people.

This is only the beginning of the adventures you will have. 

Do you do any of these regularly? Fill out the survey below!

My Solo Adventures Include:

Mirrored Images

To begin, I want to give a loving, sincere shout out to all the parents (in every shape, age, and form) who work diligently to ensure the mental and emotional health of their children and the children around them. You are warriors against an established community thought of how we are supposed to look, supposed to act, supposed to exist. Not only are you fighting this with awkward conversations with your children, but you are fighting it within yourselves as well! You, the parents of today’s youth, have one of the hardest jobs in the world and I tip my hat to you.

I was inspired to write this by something I read in my Facebook newsfeed – a friend of mine, who I have known since middle school, has just recently had her first dose of painful self-esteem reality with her three year old daughter. A daughter who is afraid to go to school dressed a certain way because the other children will laugh at her. It is heart breaking. What do you say to something like that? How do you build her in strength rather than encourage doubt? How do you make sure she feels loved and brave and smart and beautiful all day long when you aren’t there to remind her?

Now, I may not be a mother, but I have worked with children as a pre-school teacher and as a component of Child Protective Services (which is the same thing, right? Riiiight.) In that time I have observed some interesting psychology. Mostly, and this should come as no surprise, that children are a mirror of you. Absolutely and completely. If ever I was curious about the home life of the three year olds in my classroom all I had to do was watch them playing “house” or dress up. We even had a little girl shout out to a kid on the playground when his mom arrived “You better get your f**kin coat!” (We all about died.)

Children pick up on our ticks. Our fears. Our speech patterns. Down to the inflection in our voice and the placement of our hands when we are angry. It’s a terrifying thought. These little people are watching our every move, immolating us. Even when we think we’re alone, they’re watching. Listening.

They are watching when we take selfies and say, “Oh God! I look awful! Let’s do it again.”

They are watching when we step on the scale and sigh in defeat.

They are watching when we decide not to eat a cookie because we are on a diet.

They are watching as we put on our make-up.

They are watching when we complain about hating our job, but still go every morning.

They are watching when the self-doubt creeps in.

They are watching when you talk on the phone with your mother or your friend about your neighbor.

They are watching as we throw our clothes around the room because we can’t find anything to wear.

They are watching as we pinch our sides and thighs and upper arms.

They are watching as we airbrush and edit our photos.

They are watching as we yell at the television over a football game.

They are learning.

They hear our negative self-talk and they grow to believe it is normal. And they take it all in as gospel. I remember learning to focus on a child’s actions rather than their character – so saying things like “Thank you for sharing” or “Thank you for using your walking feet” or “Use your words” rather than telling them they are good or bad. The idea is that by not focusing on their character it offers them the opportunity to build it themselves rather than believing they are simply good or bad.

Now let’s take this and apply it to ourselves. What defines you as an individual, a parent, a spouse? What words come to mind immediately when you talk about yourself to yourself? Are you beautiful? Are you honest? Brave? Stupid? Fat? Weak? Strong? Perfect? Overwhelmed? Afraid? Unstoppable? Intelligent? Diligent? Organized? Spiritual?

What words would you like your child to use when describing themselves? What words do you fear they will use?

It is your job as a parent to remind them every chance you have how inspiring, kind, and loving they are – how absolutely perfect they are just as they are.

It is my job to remind you every chance I have of how inspiring, kind, and loving you are – how absolutely perfect you are just as you are. On your days of doubt I want to remind you how flawlessly capable you are of all things laid before you. When you can’t find the words, I am here to remind you they aren’t necessary – your spirit, your time, your embrace is enough to heal all wounds and is often the best medicine. You, my darling friends (and strangers), are uniquely beautiful in action. I love you all.

Never forget the light within you burns brighter than the confusion of this world. We might push it down and hide it underneath layers of magazine covers and false inadequacies, but it is always there, always burning.

And I can see it. 

Fear and the White Nothingness

That moment when you've reached the end of your comfort zone and it's like the edge of a cliff.

You peer over that edge and there seems to be nothing there, just a blank White Nothingness.

No safety net.

No bridge.

Nothing.

And you're already anxious because to get to the edge of your comfort zone you've already had to fight battles. Waging war with your thoughts of self-doubt. You've been victorious so far, because although you were struggling, you were still wrapped within the cozy blanket.

But now you are out. You are on that ledge and you have only two options.

One. You can turn around and wade up to your eyes through those same battles and wait until you're ready... if ever you become so.

Two. You put your foot out over the edge and maybe you fall. Maybe you fall so far down into that white sea of nothingness that you drown and you can't find a foothold to climb back up your cliff to reach your comfort zone. So you decide to build a raft and you paddle on. Or maybe your foot lands on some invisible support that is like a mirror reflecting the White Nothingness from above and you're able to slowly, just so carefully, tread across this unknown abyss and when you look down you see your reflection holding you up. You realize you're not so alone after all.

Maybe in option one you decide that it isn't worth the pain of failure or the chance of success to do something so strange as taking leaps of faith. Leaps of faith in yourself. Maybe in option one you decide that there is nothing wrong with staying in your comfort zone... because, really, there is nothing wrong with staying in your comfort zone. Maybe this way you build up your comfort zone into a fortress of personal growth within your set boundaries and you are content.

But that first step. That first step which succeeds a million tiny steps of anxiety, frustration, and victory is up to you.

There isn't always just two options when you are standing on a cliff. Sometimes, if you look around, you will see that there is a little bench nearby where you can rest your feet. Maybe this bench is attached to a park with grassy fields, swings, and a box where you can build a sand castle. There are big, fluffy trees to offer you shade and wide open spaces for you to run and explore. Maybe you stay here a while so you can adjust to the climate out here on the edge. It might feel like you've run away, but really you should be proud. You are perfectly placed in this moment and exactly where you ought to be for the rest of your life to begin.

You don't have to worry about running out of time because the sun doesn't set in the blank vastness of the White Nothingness. That park can harbor you as long as you need and when you are ready, if ever you are, you can stand up from the bench and go for a walk.

Either direction will work. If they don't suit you, spin around in circles really fast with your arms stretched out until you get dizzy and fall down.

Whichever way your head is pointing - go there.

Weathering the Storm

Recently, I set out on a new endeavor. To those who know me well, they won't be surprised in the least by that first sentence. I have flights of fancy. It's just in my nature. I'm a dreamer and very rarely do I follow through with many of my schemes, but I'm getting better. I'm prioritizing my dreams and plans and thoughts and figuring out which I'd like to pursue and which I'll have a character in a book figure out. So far it's working.

This new endeavor challenges me on many levels, but I'm finding that emotionally it takes a far greater toll than I ever thought it would. 

I get frustrated.

I doubt myself.

I start to believe I'm not smart enough.

I can't do it.

This isn't what I want.

And then I start to cry. I cry because there is a battle going on inside my mind that tells these negative, impacting thoughts they are wrong. A battle against the dark by the light. And some days, the dark wins. But like rays of sunshine piercing through storm clouds, I remember the timeline of my path and future. I remember that this day is only a moment on that timeline and years from now I'll look back from behind the desk of a scientist at the time I was struggling with College Algebra. I'll be able to laugh and stand proud that I fought through the struggle rather than succumbing to it.

And for the days I forget; when the storm pervades and the clouds in my eyes unleash their down pour, my husband steps in and says:

This was a quote his football coach told him during practice and I've come to fall in love with it. It is the strongest voice in my head breaking through the jungles of doubt which have sprouted so fiercely. It means when we try, we try completely. If we screw up, we screw up completely. It means not being afraid of failure and if we are going to fail, let's fail in epic proportions. 

This got me thinking how often this saying could be used in different contexts and how often we need a reminder in our endeavors to go all in and see what happens.

So here is my motivator for you, I hope one rings home:

Be bold. 

Be foolish. 

Have courage. 

Make mistakes fully, completely, recklessly, aggressively.

But Why Now?

I am not a victim of rape.

I am a survivor.

If you're curious, there is a big difference between the two:  A difference in mentality, understanding, and attitude. It's the difference between mourning and understanding…denial and acceptance…anger and forgiveness.

No. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.

I've been strolling through my Facebook newsfeed for a few days now in light of the recent accusations against a certain presidential candidate, and the language used regarding the topic of sexual assault from the men in my life (and some of the women) has been shocking. Even frightening. Questions have cropped up like "Why now?" "Why three weeks before voting?"... and comments like "If it was that big of a deal, they would have stepped up sooner...."

If it was that big of a deal. Why now? Why did they wait? To them, it all seems so suspicious.

I won't make this political. I'm sick of politics. This isn't about him. I'm sick of this election. Aren't you? But I can't take these questions anymore. I can't stand the ignorance. The language. Because why now?

I've harbored my secret, my darkness for fourteen years. My parents and family don't know I was raped. This was a secret from them that I was going to take to the grave. Only a handful of friends know. A few members in my community. A few ex-lovers. They know because they needed to know--because my story could influence how they treated me and how they lived their lives in the future. My story could inspire, and my lessons learned could teach.

So I'm sorry Mom, Dad... but I can't protect you anymore from my darkness.

You need to know.

This is my "Why now."

When I was sixteen, I decided to start dating a friend. He was my very best friend. A person I knew I could trust. A person I would run to when my other boyfriends had done me wrong. He loved me. So why not? After all, a girl really only wants to be loved.

I was home schooled at the time, and so was he. He lived in a somewhat abusive household, so he started to live with us for a little while. We had all the time in the world that we wanted together. It was a teenager's paradise.

It only took a few days for his "love" to manifest itself. At first I enjoyed it. Really, only at first. But then I didn't want to have sex anymore. We weren't using protection. I wasn't on birth control. I didn't want to get pregnant. But my "no's" went unheeded. He turned them into yeses by telling me to "just let it happen" and "you'll get used to it." These phrases would later become my triggers. 

Over the course of three months, I would learn to get used to him sneaking into my room at night and waking me up for sex. I would learn to get used to just fading away into my mind and forgetting what was happening. I would learn to just accept that he was going to do whatever he wanted and it was better to let it happen than to argue. When we were walking or standing, he would purposefully hold me in a way that would make me uncomfortable. He would keep me off balance. It's how he showed me that I no longer had control over my body. It was his now. Not mine.

My mom had no idea what was happening, and I was too scared to tell her. You see, I was more afraid of confessing to my mom that I was having sex than I was afraid of being raped. I could handle the rape. I could contain the secret. I could handle the stress until... one night I couldn't. It was a night when he was staying at his own house and I was alone. I woke up in the middle of this night terrified. I couldn't move my body. My mind was awake, but there was a thousand-pound weight resting on me. I was paralyzed. Then it lifted. I stood up to walk to the bathroom, but fell in the hallway because I lost my hearing. Everything had gone silent for I don't know how long, and then a piercing ringing split through my head. I was left with the worst migraine I've ever experienced in my life. I crawled to my mom's room and woke her up. I was sick. Something was wrong. I was scared.

Just being in her room helped me relax. I felt safe. It wasn't until the next morning that she asked me if it was possible I could be pregnant. I solemnly nodded my head in the affirmative. I know now that these are not symptoms of pregnancy and she knew it, too. I know now that she used that night to find out what I was doing with him. From that day forward, he didn't come over. She set that boundary. She saved my life and she didn't even know it.

With him at a distance, I was able to let the fog of control lift and build the necessary strength to break up with him. When I called him, he threatened me.

"I'll kill myself if you break up with me. I can't live without you." He said through tears. Desperate, he came to where I was staying and begged in the driveway for me to take him back.

I did. I was sixteen. I couldn't have someone’s death on my shoulders.

But nothing changed. It all went back to the way it was, and so it all continued like nothing even happened. It wasn't until a friend of mine showed me that sex could be fun, feel good, and that I had a choice in the matter that I developed enough strength (and anger) to stand up to him. When he threatened to take his own life again, I stood firmly defiant and said, "Go ahead." It was the most profound experience of my life.

In that moment I learned an incredibly important lesson that I still carry with me today: My life is more important. My life is more important to me than any other life on this planet. And at the time, I needed to save it. This grew into many more lessons as I healed and came to accept what had happened to me. As I learned to forgive and move on, I discovered that I couldn't hold the actions of one man against men as a whole. I've become more confident, defiant, and strong because of a sixteen-year-old boy who wouldn't take "no" for an answer. I was eventually able to own my triggers and own this experience rather than allow it to own me. And I'm at peace with it. I do not feel regret or pain and, if given the chance to go back in time to stop it, I'd turn it down. I wouldn't be who I am without this experience, and I really love who I am as a woman and a person.

I was one of the lucky ones, though. I was able to make a healthy transition from victim to survivor and I was able to do it safely. So many others aren’t as blessed. So many others self-medicate with drugs and alcohol to hide from the pain of their internal torture, to fill a void left behind by a monster. So many others become reclusive and are no longer able to build trust. Their life ends the day of their violation.

I cannot judge others by my own experience and neither can you. We each react to adversity, even the same event, differently. Who are we to determine how another should handle their pain? Who are we to proclaim to know better? What right do we have over another human being to prescribe a method of coping? We are no one and we have no right. Even someone like me, one of the lucky ones.

And yet... As I type this, I want to throw up. My hands and my arms are shaking. My heart is pumping. And I am sweating. It's been fourteen years; I've healed. I've forgiven. I've moved on. But I'm about to hit "publish" and let the entire world see my darkness. I'm about to come out of the rape closet to my parents. But I need to do this. I need to say something now. Because it no longer just affects me. It is my responsibility to share because then maybe others who haven't been through what I've been through will better understand. And maybe the dialogue will change.

That's why now.




Edit: It should be noted that before posting this, out of respect for both parents they were informed and the topic discussed. 

Doppelgänger

Some days back my friend shared a photo with me.

I didn't understand at first why she had done so until her sister sharply pointed out:

That's you!

The photo in question was of my friend's sister's friend's grandmother... you follow that?

In 1940.

The gal in question is the total babe on top.

It took me a few more seconds and then I saw it. Forever, I will not be able to unsee it. Here is this woman who is me 75 years ago. And I'll prove it.

We have the same asymmetrical smile. The same eyes. Hell... we have the same damn nose! Even my mother sees it.

All I want to do now is meet the woman, if she is still alive, and see if I age gracefully. Did 1940's me have a full life? Are there any beads of wisdom I need to know from my future self? 

Or maybe I'm a time traveler with amnesia... or I haven't cracked the code yet and still have time! 1940's me is pretty tan so obviously I travel during the summer. 

I've always said I wanted to explore the world more.

Home and Settled In

It's true what they say - I definitely needed a vacation from my vacation! I returned to Laramie worn out and ready to sit still for a while. But living in Wyoming doesn't really afford you many opportunities to avoid the car - if you want to go somewhere, you're going to have to drive! After taking a day or two to just sleep, I finished unpacking my house, cleaning, and decorating my living space to make everything feel like home. The dogs and I have lived lazily for the first few weeks of August, but times are changing. I go back to work on Monday and Fall semester begins at the end of the month. Welcome home!

Now that the dust has settled and my brain is back to full functioning powers, here are the stats and a brief overview of my vacation. Keep an eye out over the next few weeks for detailed posts and reviews.

The month's long road trip took me all over the place. I wanted to make sure I hit all my favorite spots! I think I enjoyed Oregon and Washington more and did more quintessentially Oregon and Washington stuff than I ever did while living there!

Total Miles Traveled: 4733
Coffee Drank - 12
Babies Held - 5
Dogs Snuggled - 10
Cats Cuddled - 4
Beds Slept In - 11
Family Visited - 9
Friends Visited - 7
Lakes Visited - 8
Beaches Visited - 7
States Visited - 6
Towns Visited - 33
Lowest Elevation - 0 (at sea level)
Highest Elevation - approx. 8000 (Yellowstone)
Furthest North - Winthrop, WA
Furthest South - Denver, CO
Furthest East - Torrington, WY
Furthest West - Newport, OR
Total Years of Friendship - 103

When the end of the trip was drawing near, I picked up the dogs in Brewster and my mom and I headed east for the final legs of the road trip. We drove through Yellowstone where she got to see her first buffalo and on through Wyoming where we saw a ton of antelope and hawks galore! 

As it is fire season in these parts, we also had to drive through a wild fire as we were leaving the Grand Tetons National Park. That was a most disfavorable point in our journey. Once we made it to Laramie we only had a short time to rest before rushing off to Fort Collins, Colorado for a wonderful massage and then Denver to send her home on an airplane. 

It's strange to think that I know my way around so many different cities and states. Most importantly, I know where the good restaurants are! And I'm thankful for that. It means I've traveled enough to feel comfortable exploring unknown areas and finding my way to where I want to go. GPS sure helps, too.

Here's a preview of the blog posts to come:

Oregon:

Washington

Idaho and Montana

Wyoming and Colorado

Happy travels!