There's more to life than books you know, but not much more.

I've always loved reading. I think it's something that I've just always enjoyed and I give complete credit to my parents for that. They instilled that love of reading in me early on and never denied me a trip to the library or picking out one more book to take home at the store. I credit that early love of stories and books for much of the success I had in school (well, in the liberal studies areas at least) and the extensive vocabulary I've somehow managed to cultivate. I also maintain that it's responsible for my spelling bee domination in the 5th grade. You read a word enough times, you just remember how to spell it, I guess.

Although I always loved to read, I wasn't always proud of it. In middle school I was painfully shy and very unsure of myself. I wanted to melt into the walls most days and never wanted to be in the spotlight. This is important to know as it makes the rest of this story that much more cringe-worthy. The summer between 6th and 7th grade, the school gave us a booklist and said that the person who read the most books from the list (as well as in addition to the list, if I remember correctly) would receive a commendation at the opening day assembly in the fall. Well, naturally I read all of the books plus some more, but only recorded about half of them in order to avoid the most embarrassing thing to ever happen, according to my 12 year-old brain. I know you know where this is going. Sure enough, I still won the contest and received the commendation, which meant I had to go up onto the stage in front of the entire middle school population, which if you know anything about middle schoolers, was not the most gracious audience. I was completely mortified and got off that stage as quickly as possible.

Looking back, I hate that I was so embarrassed by something that I loved so much, but such is the fragile neuroses of a tween. Luckily, I didn't let the mild trauma of that day deter me from continuing to love the written word and I happily embrace my identity as a bookworm these days. The following are a few of my favorite books that I want to share with you. I come back to these every once in a while (for some, annually) and feel like I'm visiting an old friend.

Of all the works of Austen, this is by far my favorite. The film adaptations, particularly the BBC miniseries are pretty good representations, but there's nothing like reading Mr. Darcy's words to Elizabeth in print for the first time: "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Sigh.

I resisted the Harry Potter craze for a while, but got sucked in while procrastinating in college. I can't help it, I love them. I become completely obsessed when I re-read them and do little else until I've made it to the end of book 7. I just get caught up in the fantasy and magic of it all and can't wait to share these with my kids one day.

Speaking of magical children's books, this is one of my all-time favorite children's books. I must have read this book over 10 times as a child and remember it's yellow cover and cracked spine. I absolutely love the way Matilda, herself a child, takes control of her circumstances and creates a better life for herself.

Growing up in Alabama, this was more than required reading. It was a point of pride for our state. Yes, it brings to light the harsh realities of racism that my home state still deals with on a daily basis, albeit at a different level, but the fact that a young woman from Alabama wrote a renowned novel, read worldwide, well, that's just somethin'. I visited the world of Boo Radley, Scout and Jem, Tom Robinson and Atticus Finch many times throughout my education and continue to do so periodically today.

Disclaimer: Do not judge the value of this book on the quality, or lack thereof, of the film adaptation. It is the prime example in my mind of why some books should be left in the imagination and off of the screen. The book itself spoke to me for a couple of reasons, I think. As in To Kill a Mockingbird, it is set in the deep South, where I come from and consider my home. It also addresses the racial and gender inequities of the time, but in a more peripheral way. I believe it also captures the spirit of the South, but even more than that, the strong bonds between women. It chronicles a decades-old friendship between four women who have literally been there for each other in the darkest and happiest of times. There are very few things more important to me than my friends and I think that's why I relate to this book so much.

So, the question remains.......

Why do they call it a carry-on if you can't carry it on?!

I love to travel. Luckily, I have friends all over the country, and world for that matter, who still enjoy my company and indulge my need to get the hell out of dodge every once in a while. I quite enjoy a good road trip, particularly when it involves a marathon sing-a-long in the car, but a lot of times my destination is just too far to drive. Enter the dreaded airlines and that great American tradition of complaining about them. The airlines have their faults, and many of them. I will be one of the first to bitch, moan, and raise a stink about the things they do wrong, but the reality is I can't get to where I'm going half the time without them. I recently took a trip where I was moved to make some observations about the joys of air travel and all that comes along with such a pleasure. Enjoy.

1. Middle-aged men inexplicably using a rolling backpacks, particularly one with the High School Musical 3 logo embroidered largely onto it.
2. Baggage handlers, who make you wish you had paid the $25 to check a bag, taking their sweet ass time getting your "carry on" from under the plane while you stand outside on the tarmac, tapping your foot, about to have a coniption because you have 30 minutes to sprint across the Charlotte airport in 4 inch wedges (what? they're too big to fit in the "carry on" and they're cute) to make your connection. 
3. Discovering that you have the same literary tastes as the 13 year old sitting next to you (I still contend that the Hunger Games is a great series. I don't care if it's YA).
4. Moving sidewalks that don't move is one of life's great ironies.
5. The questionable clothing choices some people make when traveling (notice I said clothing choices, not shoes, I don't want to hear it about my wedges). Is there a discoteque in Terminal C that I don't know about?
6. The gentle hum of a plane in flight that lulls me into the deepest of slumbers - and gives me the most fucked up dreams you can imagine. It's incredible the things my subconscious comes up with at 30,000 feet. 
7. Reading seriously awful, yet incredibly entertaining celebrity tabloids (USWeekly, Star, InTouch, OK!) and then leaving them at the gate for some other weary traveler to discover with glee.
8. Watching a really cute guy walk down the aisle, thinking maybe this time, maybe this time, only to have him pass by while Grandma, Chatty Cathy, Big Sweaty Guy or Screaming Three Year Old settles in next to you. (Or in my case last weekend - Still Drunk Guy. Swear to God he was sweating tequila)
9. Wearing multiple layers in preparation to either bundle up or strip down depending on the plane's tempestuous climate.
10. The adrenaline rush of running from one gate to another and the resulting triumphant joy of making the connection or the crushing blow of defeat upon missing it by mere seconds.
11. The disturbing, yet satisfyingly mischievous feeling of realizing you got tweezers/razor/matches/5+ oz of liquid through security.
12. People stopping in the middle of the terminal thoroughfare. Think of it like an interstate. Do you just stop in the middle of I-95 when everyone else around you is going 80? No. Don't do it in the middle of Terminal B either. As previously mentioned, frustrated travelers are literally propelling themselves toward their gate, in very tall and uncomfortable, but very cute shoes, dragging a "carry on," that they weren't actually allowed to carry on, smelling like second-hand tequila sweat, pissed that the moving sidewalk isn't moving and they will run you over. And by they, I mean me. Just test me.

Happy Flying!

What's so delicious about ambiguity?

So I've already gotten a couple of comments about the name of my blog. "Where does it come from? How did you come up with that? That's kind of cool, if a little odd. What is so delicious about ambiguity?" Well, I'll tell you. 

The phrase comes from my favorite quote. I'm kind of picky about quotes and use them sparingly and only when I feel they are extremely appropriate for the situation. But this one has stuck with me for a long time. I first saw it on a greeting card and have since framed it and hung it in my bathroom (as one tends to do with framed greeting cards). There are pieces of it that really resonate with me and who am I, but more importantly, challenge me. Here's the quote by Gilda Radner:

Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, or end. 

Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next....delicious ambiguity.

 

I think this originally stood out to me because I like order and I wasn't incredibly fond of change. I resisted change for so long and in so many areas of my life. Ambiguity was not delicious, in fact, it was somewhat rancorous. I spent so much energy hanging onto people, things, ideas, and opinions that I either missed out on something new or smothered the life out of it. You know when you were a kid and you played tug of war in gym class and you were on the losing side and you really wanted to win because the winners got to go to the water fountain first? And you are pulling and pulling and pulling and you feel the momentum shifting to the other team, but you keep pulling anyways and you start to feel the fibers of your arms stretching as far as they can go and you're on your tip toes trying to stay in place and not take that first step that means imminent failure? It's with that kind of intensity that I resisted change.

Until it was thrust upon me. Everyone goes through life changing moments and I've had my share. It's through a series of these that I begrudgingly began to view change as a necessary part of life. And as I began to reap the benefits of some of these changes - the personal growth, the increased sense of self, the positive impact on personal relationships - I began to see it as something that wasn't threatening, but welcome. I finally got what Gilda was saying - you don't always know how life is going to turn out and that's ok. Be present. Be not only satisfied, but excited with where you are and where you've been. I'll be honest, I'm not always great at this, but I try. Real hard. 

 

Who knows where you're going or where your journey will take you, but won't it be fun to find out? Might even be delicious.