Up until the time Adrienne and I got engaged, I never really thought about my wedding or what I wanted it to be like. That's not a really something guys sit around and talk about. There were certain aspects of weddings I'd go to or see in a movie that I liked, but as to where I wanted my own wedding to take place, or what kind of food I wanted...I never really gave it much thought.
But when Adrienne and I began planning our wedding, that changed a bit. As more time progressed, I began to give serious thought as to what I wanted in our wedding. I left color choices, flowers, cake, and things like that up to Adrienne, because let's be honest...She has much better taste than I, and none of that stuff really mattered all that much to me. It was her day, and I wanted it to be perfect for her.
What I wanted was to have a wedding and reception that I would want to go to if I were a guest. I wanted the wedding itself to be classic and elegant, but approachable and enjoyable for the people in attendance. I wanted it to be large enough for all of our friends and family to attend, but I wanted it to be intimate and seem exclusive at the same time. I wanted the reception to be a huge party...We were there to celebrate, not sit around and eat cake. It could have been all those things, I guess, no matter where we had it, but the First Christian Church in Burkesville and Dale Hollow State Park turned out to be absolutely perfect in every conceivable way.
It felt, to me, like a destination wedding, despite the fact it was right in Adrienne's own backyard. Virtually all of my guests had at least a three-hour drive, and most came in a day or two early so we all got to hang out at the hotel the night before. It was almost like an extension of my bachelor party, only much more reserved and more about just hanging out than anything. Thursday night, Clay and I laid around and watched TV...Just like we did countless nights back in our dorm at UK. Friday, a group of us all played golf before the rehearsal dinner, and Friday night the late-arrivals joined us on the patio of the second floor where we all sat around telling stories (almost all at my own expense) until early Saturday morning.
I told myself leading up to the weekend that I was going to slow down and make a conscious effort to soak it all in. It would have been very easy to look forward to the wedding itself all weekend, and let so many other great moments pass me by. And, in all reality, I did a good job of that. I remember thinking to myself early Friday afternoon just before teeing off on the 14th hole that it had felt like the weekend should almost be over, but it hadn't even really begun. And that was a wonderful feeling.
I wish that I could remember the ceremony as vividly as I do so many other things about that weekend. Truthfully, the ceremony itself was so nerve-wracking that I really only feel like I have a handful of mental images. I don't really remember much that was said by Brother Seth. I don't really remember seeing many familiar faces in the crowd. It was just one big blur...A church full of faceless bodies, the teacher from Peanuts squawking in the background, and the occasional private little moment between Adrienne and I as we stood at the alter. And I guess part of me likes it that way...The clearest memory I have of that day is Adrienne standing in front of me, her hands in mine, looking more stunningly beautiful than I could have ever imagined she'd look.
I'm so glad we were able to convince Jackie to have the reception at Dale Hollow. They all did a masterful job of decorating the reception hall, and it was exactly what I would have wanted it to be. I remember walking in early Friday morning and thinking it looked great already, and as Adrienne and I walked in with the room totally done and packed with our loved ones, I was blown away. It really looked like something out of a magazine. During the meal, I leaned over to my best man and said "This is exactly what I wanted from day one." He smiled, patted me on the back, and simply said, "I'm glad."
But it wasn't just the way it looked. It was the feel the room had all night. I looked around so many different times and saw my mom smiling and laughing, or doing the Wobble. I saw Jackie with an ear-to-ear grin, wine glass in hand, having the time of her life. All the work had been done and it was time to celebrate. And because we were there with that great staff catering to our every need, they were able to do just that. Like Liza said...I hope it was worth every penny.
Adrienne and I had the best time of our lives that entire weekend, and we were sitting on the couch last night on the verge of depression because it was over. We wanted to do it all again. From the golf game, to the rehearsal dinner, to the ceremony and reception...I literally could not have imagined it being any better, and I am so grateful to all the people that helped make it happen.
To my groomsmen and friends...You guys took time out of your own busy schedules to travel, rent tuxes, get a hotel room, play golf...Your collective presence made me forget about the nerves and provided me with memories I will cherish forever. It was awesome.
To Jackie and my Mom...You are both amazing women in your own right. Jackie, you spear-headed the planning of the entire thing when Adrienne and I were having to focus on other things, you took the responsibility of making sure the weekend went smoothly and executed it beautifully. We are both eternally thankful for that. Mom...You helped me in so many different ways, I can't really begin to describe them. You were instrumental in ensuring that so many of our loved ones were there, and you deflected any stress I might have been feeling. Thank you for being you.
To Liza...You introduced me to Adrienne. This weekend would have never happened had you not thought me worthy to date your sister. I look back on the version of myself that you knew and wonder how that was possible, but I am so glad it was. Seriously...From the bottom of my heart, thank you for that.
To Leigh...You ran around like a crazy person all day Saturday taking pictures and changing clothes and taking care of an energetic 3-year-old, and you did it all incredibly effectively. Thank you so much...Adrienne and I cannot wait to see all the pictures.
To the rest of my family and friends that made the long trip to attend...I can't explain how much it meant to have you all there to share in the day with me and Adrienne. I mean, I really can't. It was incredible, and I love you all.
I know Adrienne and I will always look back on it as the best weekend of our lives, because I honestly don't know how it could be topped. It was simply perfect in every way.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
I Meant What I Said When I Said I Would Rearrange My Plans and Change For You: Marrying a Turner Girl
Lately I've found myself wondering what the 2006 or 2007 version of myself would have thought if I told him he'd be married in 5 years. He probably would have laughed in my face and told me I was crazy...He isn't going to get married for a while, he'd say. He wants to travel and be able to just worry about himself for a while before he settles down, he'd say. Besides, 30 is the new 20, he'd arrogantly point out. I'd just smile, nod, and say well, we'll see, I guess. Then he'd chuckle, unconvinced, shrug his shoulders and sarcastically agree with me.
I never planned for this. For virtually my entire adult life I knew I would probably take a different path than the rest of my family. I was going to be a late bloomer, in a sense. I was going to wait to marry, not really because I was afraid or avoiding it, but because I just wanted to put off that responsibility for a while. I wanted to be able to live my life at a moment's notice. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and get all of that out of my system before jobs, kids, and raising a family took over.
Then I met Adrienne, and all that stuff I had planned for seemed increasingly foolish and trivial. The only plan I had after that was to be with her.
It just doesn't make sense that my wedding is a mere week away. I've been looking forward to it since the day I proposed to Adrienne, but in a "It's going to be so great when the day comes" kind of way. It's strange how things we anticipate like that always seem to feel so far away, and even if we count down the days, are still able to sneak up on us like an old friend surprisingly grabbing our arm on a crowded street.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my mind, played it out from start to finish over and over, although I know any preconceptions I have about it won't do it justice. I can't really imagine what it's going to feel like standing at the alter, watching the love of my life walk towards me in her beautiful gown, the music playing, and a few hundred sets of eyes fixed directly on her. I almost feel jealous, like all those eyes don't deserve it...That moment should be just for me...For us. But, I also know how ridiculous that is, because she will be sharing that moment, that day, with her mother and sisters. When I remember that, the silly jealousy fades away and turns to excitement because I'm glad her family and mine will all be there sharing in our joy with us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
You see, I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Adrienne Ross Turner.
The Turner Girls are a unique breed, and it takes very little time to realize that. They all exude a quiet confidence that, when pushed to do so, boils over the surface like a pot on the stove that's been filled just a bit too much...Slowly, but suddenly.
They all have a contagious and addicting sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to laugh at their own faults. Poking fun of one another is both acceptable and expected, but God have mercy on the poor soul that crosses that line from the outside.
They all look at life and the daily challenges that accompany it with a sense of joy and exuberance that almost seems fake, but is laced with more sincerity than most people can apply to anything.
They all tell stories about the husband, father, teacher, and friend that left such an indelible mark on so many lives with such vividness and love that the listener might as well be standing in the room at the moment the recollection happened. I love watching their faces brighten when they speak of him.
They all love the little piece of land off Highway 90 in Waterview, that no matter where they go, will always be home. Not that I blame them...Pulling up the driveway makes me feel like I've been sucked into a Ken Holland painting. And I always feel like I'm home when I go there.
I've witnessed a stronger bond between the Turner Girls and some horses and dogs on that farm than most people ever find with another person.
None of them are perfect, and each would be the first to tell you that. Sure, they're confident in themselves, but they fail to cross the fine line between confidence and arrogance. Despite their noticeable confidence, Turner women are built humble.
And stubborn. That innate stubbornness leads to disagreements and the occasional heated argument, just like in any family. I would prefer to stay out of them, but if push comes to shove, Adrienne will always be right (sorry, Jackie, Liza, and Leigh). But no matter the topic of disagreement, or the severity, there is always forgiveness on both sides.
They each have their own preferences, interests, and styles, but influences from all the others can be easily seen. I've never seen a group of people so different and so similar at the same time.
And above all else...The bond that has been forged in them by blood and experience is absolutely unbreakable. There will never be anything more important to them than family, and that has been abundantly clear since the very beginning.
So what does it mean to be marrying a Turner Girl? Well...
It means I have a new-found responsibility, not only to Adrienne and our future family, but to her family too. It means I have a new family that has welcomed me with open arms, and, despite all my faults and short-comings, has somehow come to grips with the fact Adrienne chose me.
It means I know my kids will grow up with an amazing support system from both sides. They'll see great examples of the love, devotion, determination, and hard work from my family AND Adrienne's. It means the stereotype of "dreaded in-laws" doesn't exist for me.
It means if I ever screw up and hurt Adrienne in any way, I not only have to answer to her and her family, but also about 6,000 Cumberland County residents.
It means the woman I get to spend the rest of my life with is a strong, confident, smart, and loving woman built upon a foundation as strong as the one I grew up with. Adrienne and I talked about how similar our families were very early on, and is one of the things I like the most about mine and Adrienne's relationship.
It means I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams. It means I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the rest of the Turner Girls for helping mold Adrienne into the unbelievably incredible woman she is today, and to Liza for introducing us in the first place. Without the Turner Girls, I'd have nothing.
I guess above all else, it means I got really damn lucky.
I never planned for this. For virtually my entire adult life I knew I would probably take a different path than the rest of my family. I was going to be a late bloomer, in a sense. I was going to wait to marry, not really because I was afraid or avoiding it, but because I just wanted to put off that responsibility for a while. I wanted to be able to live my life at a moment's notice. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and get all of that out of my system before jobs, kids, and raising a family took over.
Then I met Adrienne, and all that stuff I had planned for seemed increasingly foolish and trivial. The only plan I had after that was to be with her.
It just doesn't make sense that my wedding is a mere week away. I've been looking forward to it since the day I proposed to Adrienne, but in a "It's going to be so great when the day comes" kind of way. It's strange how things we anticipate like that always seem to feel so far away, and even if we count down the days, are still able to sneak up on us like an old friend surprisingly grabbing our arm on a crowded street.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my mind, played it out from start to finish over and over, although I know any preconceptions I have about it won't do it justice. I can't really imagine what it's going to feel like standing at the alter, watching the love of my life walk towards me in her beautiful gown, the music playing, and a few hundred sets of eyes fixed directly on her. I almost feel jealous, like all those eyes don't deserve it...That moment should be just for me...For us. But, I also know how ridiculous that is, because she will be sharing that moment, that day, with her mother and sisters. When I remember that, the silly jealousy fades away and turns to excitement because I'm glad her family and mine will all be there sharing in our joy with us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
You see, I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Adrienne Ross Turner.
The Turner Girls are a unique breed, and it takes very little time to realize that. They all exude a quiet confidence that, when pushed to do so, boils over the surface like a pot on the stove that's been filled just a bit too much...Slowly, but suddenly.
They all have a contagious and addicting sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to laugh at their own faults. Poking fun of one another is both acceptable and expected, but God have mercy on the poor soul that crosses that line from the outside.
They all look at life and the daily challenges that accompany it with a sense of joy and exuberance that almost seems fake, but is laced with more sincerity than most people can apply to anything.
They all tell stories about the husband, father, teacher, and friend that left such an indelible mark on so many lives with such vividness and love that the listener might as well be standing in the room at the moment the recollection happened. I love watching their faces brighten when they speak of him.
They all love the little piece of land off Highway 90 in Waterview, that no matter where they go, will always be home. Not that I blame them...Pulling up the driveway makes me feel like I've been sucked into a Ken Holland painting. And I always feel like I'm home when I go there.
I've witnessed a stronger bond between the Turner Girls and some horses and dogs on that farm than most people ever find with another person.
None of them are perfect, and each would be the first to tell you that. Sure, they're confident in themselves, but they fail to cross the fine line between confidence and arrogance. Despite their noticeable confidence, Turner women are built humble.
And stubborn. That innate stubbornness leads to disagreements and the occasional heated argument, just like in any family. I would prefer to stay out of them, but if push comes to shove, Adrienne will always be right (sorry, Jackie, Liza, and Leigh). But no matter the topic of disagreement, or the severity, there is always forgiveness on both sides.
They each have their own preferences, interests, and styles, but influences from all the others can be easily seen. I've never seen a group of people so different and so similar at the same time.
And above all else...The bond that has been forged in them by blood and experience is absolutely unbreakable. There will never be anything more important to them than family, and that has been abundantly clear since the very beginning.
So what does it mean to be marrying a Turner Girl? Well...
It means I have a new-found responsibility, not only to Adrienne and our future family, but to her family too. It means I have a new family that has welcomed me with open arms, and, despite all my faults and short-comings, has somehow come to grips with the fact Adrienne chose me.
It means I know my kids will grow up with an amazing support system from both sides. They'll see great examples of the love, devotion, determination, and hard work from my family AND Adrienne's. It means the stereotype of "dreaded in-laws" doesn't exist for me.
It means if I ever screw up and hurt Adrienne in any way, I not only have to answer to her and her family, but also about 6,000 Cumberland County residents.
It means the woman I get to spend the rest of my life with is a strong, confident, smart, and loving woman built upon a foundation as strong as the one I grew up with. Adrienne and I talked about how similar our families were very early on, and is one of the things I like the most about mine and Adrienne's relationship.
It means I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams. It means I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the rest of the Turner Girls for helping mold Adrienne into the unbelievably incredible woman she is today, and to Liza for introducing us in the first place. Without the Turner Girls, I'd have nothing.
I guess above all else, it means I got really damn lucky.
Monday, September 24, 2012
A Chip Off the Old Block
My dad has always been pretty talented when it comes to wood-working. For a guy with little to no formal training, and with nothing more to go on than his own creative intuition, he's actually really good. Take a short walk around my parents' house, and you'll see several examples of his simple, yet elegantly useful work. There's a window on the back wall of my childhood bedroom corralled on either side by shelves and a desk he constructed to provide me with storage and a workspace I spent hours at as a kid. At Christmas, there is a collection of wooden reindeer, each with a name hand-painted on the bottom, sitting atop the entertainment center in the living room. While at first it was just Mom, Dad, Lensey, and I, when Lensey and Josh got married, Dad made a new one for him. And I'm sure Adrienne's will appear up there this Christmas. Behind the house, at the edge of the yard where the grass slowly fades into the leafy carpet of the woods, Dad built a storage shed a few years ago. And hanging on the outside wall, are five decorative wooden plates: one with "Edwards" carved into it, and each of our four names dangling beneath. The plates hung against the brick on the front porch for years, and despite the need for a sanding and fresh coat of stain, Mom decided to recycle the decoration for the shed.
Perhaps his most impressive project, though, is the set of corner shelves he built for the living room. Over the years they have held dozens of mine and Lensey's sports trophies, a collection of Encyclopedias, old yearbooks, examples of Dad's NASCAR models, random family photos, and other knick-knacks families feel the need to keep at an easy reach, despite barely remembering they're there. Those shelves have been integral to the feng shui of the living room, and I spent countless hours as a child looking at memories I made on the sports field, or learning about Mom and Dad's high school antics (Dad's lucky he had enough brain cells left to read once he got to college). Since Lensey and I have both moved out, the trophies have mostly made their way to the basement, and Dad's book collection has slowly grown to take up most of the space.
One glance at the books gives you a pretty good idea of my dad's primary interests: virtually all of them are historical in nature, and a large number deal with local history in some way. One of his favorite pastimes is just driving around forgotten back roads, looking at historical landmarks, or exploring old homeplaces, where little remains other than a crumbling foundation, or vine-covered planks forming the faint skeleton of an old house or barn. When I was a kid, we used to take hikes into the woods in the LBL, where we'd stumble upon a long-forgotten plot of land with an old family cemetery, almost unreachable because of fallen tree limbs and overgrowth. To this day, anytime we pass an empty lot with two big shade trees conspicuously placed, Dad will comment "I bet there was an old homeplace there."
Over the years, as much as I've likely made fun of Dad for being so "nerdy," it has become unmistakably clear that I am my father's son. I've slowly grown into the same kind of person. Last spring, I was walking Liza's dogs one afternoon and spent almost an hour exploring the exterior of the old Marrowbone School. I climbed up the staircase at the entrance and looked in, the floor sunken in, chalkboards still on the wall in the old classrooms. I walked around to the side of the building and looked into the old gym, now a storage space for the mill that calls the old building home. The rims and bleachers were still in place, scoreboards still mounted on the walls, and I found myself picturing the place packed to the gills with spectators, watching the Cardinals take another win.
Adrienne and I spent Sunday afternoon at Natural Bridge in the Red River Gorge, and I was overcome with a feeling of solemnity for those that came before us. I found myself picturing what it must have been like for early pioneers, in a totally foreign place, trying to hack out survival in an unforgiving landscape. I sat in awe at the sight of the towering rock formations, cut out of the land slowly by millennia of Nature doing Her work. I stood on top of the bridge, looking out over the gorge below me, and truly lost myself for a moment. In some strange, intangible way, it made me miss home.
I never gave Dad credit for opening my eyes to the incredible and interesting history that lies so close to home. I liken it to the way history used to be passed down from generation to generation. Stories collected from ancestors over the course of centuries were handed down orally, likely losing a bit of fact to the more interesting exaggerations that human nature is so prone to use...Like a game of Telephone on a massive scale, taking decades to complete. It might not have been the exact same technique; Dad's way of exposing me to history was a bit modernized, and more tangible, but effective all the same.
I was watching a documentary on KET last week (something I witnessed my dad do dozens of times throughout my childhood) discussing the massive wave of death brought on by the Civil War. What we hear about from textbooks and lectures are the numbers, and it's easy to say "Damn, that's a lot of people." But what we don't hear is how people dealt with it. How it affected the friends and families of those lost, many left to rot on sun-baked fields or hastily tossed in mass graves. We don't think about the fact that Gettysburg, a town of roughly 2,000 people, was left to deal with the aftermath of some 8,000 deaths. I found myself totally enthralled...Not because I'm a nerd for Civil War history (I am)...But because those stories were unknown to me. They were human...They were reality.
There's something about exploring old relics of our history that brings those days back to the present, even if our imaginations might be totally inaccurate, and even if we don't have any direct connection to it. But, I don't really think that matters. What really matters is that we do those things; what matters is that we try to remember. So many stories and histories get lost to the turning pages of time...Stories that deserve to be heard, deserve to be told.
I owe my dad a debt of gratitude for instilling in me a sense of respect for those that came before me. Perhaps it was his influence that led me to pursue a study of history when I was in college. I think it was. But, even if that weren't the case, I'm very fortunate to have a father that knows how important it is to remember the past...If for no other reason than to ensure we don't make the same mistakes twice.
Perhaps his most impressive project, though, is the set of corner shelves he built for the living room. Over the years they have held dozens of mine and Lensey's sports trophies, a collection of Encyclopedias, old yearbooks, examples of Dad's NASCAR models, random family photos, and other knick-knacks families feel the need to keep at an easy reach, despite barely remembering they're there. Those shelves have been integral to the feng shui of the living room, and I spent countless hours as a child looking at memories I made on the sports field, or learning about Mom and Dad's high school antics (Dad's lucky he had enough brain cells left to read once he got to college). Since Lensey and I have both moved out, the trophies have mostly made their way to the basement, and Dad's book collection has slowly grown to take up most of the space.
One glance at the books gives you a pretty good idea of my dad's primary interests: virtually all of them are historical in nature, and a large number deal with local history in some way. One of his favorite pastimes is just driving around forgotten back roads, looking at historical landmarks, or exploring old homeplaces, where little remains other than a crumbling foundation, or vine-covered planks forming the faint skeleton of an old house or barn. When I was a kid, we used to take hikes into the woods in the LBL, where we'd stumble upon a long-forgotten plot of land with an old family cemetery, almost unreachable because of fallen tree limbs and overgrowth. To this day, anytime we pass an empty lot with two big shade trees conspicuously placed, Dad will comment "I bet there was an old homeplace there."
Over the years, as much as I've likely made fun of Dad for being so "nerdy," it has become unmistakably clear that I am my father's son. I've slowly grown into the same kind of person. Last spring, I was walking Liza's dogs one afternoon and spent almost an hour exploring the exterior of the old Marrowbone School. I climbed up the staircase at the entrance and looked in, the floor sunken in, chalkboards still on the wall in the old classrooms. I walked around to the side of the building and looked into the old gym, now a storage space for the mill that calls the old building home. The rims and bleachers were still in place, scoreboards still mounted on the walls, and I found myself picturing the place packed to the gills with spectators, watching the Cardinals take another win.
Adrienne and I spent Sunday afternoon at Natural Bridge in the Red River Gorge, and I was overcome with a feeling of solemnity for those that came before us. I found myself picturing what it must have been like for early pioneers, in a totally foreign place, trying to hack out survival in an unforgiving landscape. I sat in awe at the sight of the towering rock formations, cut out of the land slowly by millennia of Nature doing Her work. I stood on top of the bridge, looking out over the gorge below me, and truly lost myself for a moment. In some strange, intangible way, it made me miss home.
I never gave Dad credit for opening my eyes to the incredible and interesting history that lies so close to home. I liken it to the way history used to be passed down from generation to generation. Stories collected from ancestors over the course of centuries were handed down orally, likely losing a bit of fact to the more interesting exaggerations that human nature is so prone to use...Like a game of Telephone on a massive scale, taking decades to complete. It might not have been the exact same technique; Dad's way of exposing me to history was a bit modernized, and more tangible, but effective all the same.
I was watching a documentary on KET last week (something I witnessed my dad do dozens of times throughout my childhood) discussing the massive wave of death brought on by the Civil War. What we hear about from textbooks and lectures are the numbers, and it's easy to say "Damn, that's a lot of people." But what we don't hear is how people dealt with it. How it affected the friends and families of those lost, many left to rot on sun-baked fields or hastily tossed in mass graves. We don't think about the fact that Gettysburg, a town of roughly 2,000 people, was left to deal with the aftermath of some 8,000 deaths. I found myself totally enthralled...Not because I'm a nerd for Civil War history (I am)...But because those stories were unknown to me. They were human...They were reality.
There's something about exploring old relics of our history that brings those days back to the present, even if our imaginations might be totally inaccurate, and even if we don't have any direct connection to it. But, I don't really think that matters. What really matters is that we do those things; what matters is that we try to remember. So many stories and histories get lost to the turning pages of time...Stories that deserve to be heard, deserve to be told.
I owe my dad a debt of gratitude for instilling in me a sense of respect for those that came before me. Perhaps it was his influence that led me to pursue a study of history when I was in college. I think it was. But, even if that weren't the case, I'm very fortunate to have a father that knows how important it is to remember the past...If for no other reason than to ensure we don't make the same mistakes twice.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Bears, Beets, and Battlestar Galactica
Up until just a few years ago, I was never a huge "fan" of any television show. I mean, don't get me wrong, I had my favorites growing up...Home Improvement, Boy Meets World, Family Matters, The Wonder Years, and more recently Family Guy and Justified, which I watch religiously. But, I never got involved with a series. I never connected to the characters in a way that made me truly feel like I was a part of the story.
I mean, I'll watch reruns of Friends occasionally when I'm bored, but I couldn't have cared less about what happened between Ross and Rachel, and I wasn't one of the millions of people tuned in to watch the series finale.
I didn't really understand all of the hullabaloo about how The Sopranos series finale ended in mid-sentence. In all honesty, I've never seen a full episode of the show (HBO is expensive).
But, this spring when NBC finally pulls the plug on The Office, I will be watching. Just as I've done every other Thursday night for the past 6 years. I can honestly say, without question, I will have watched that entire series from beginning to end (yes, I was a couple of seasons behind, but I watched the first two seasons in three days in preparation for the third season premiere). And despite the hours of syndicated reruns you can find every week on TBS and Fox, I will still be genuinely saddened when the show goes off the air.
There is something inherently joyful about watching The Office, even when the storyline in a particular episode is a sad one. I always feel like I'm watching my own life (in some strange, not really at all similar way) unfold from episode to episode. I see quirky little similarities between Jim and Pam and Adrienne and I. I know what it's like to work for a boss that is a complete and utter moron. And I know how it feels to go to work everyday, genuinely despising every second you're there. That connection with the characters on the show, mixed with the hilarious scenarios that play out, always leaves me smiling even if I've seen the episode a dozen times.
I think the main reason I fell in love with the show was the way the characters developed, especially early on in the series. Dwight Schrute went from being an eccentric, almost alien-like freak, to an eccentric and very strange human that cared about other people, even if he had an odd way of showing it. As popular as Jim Halpert is on the show (everybody likes him, except for Dwight), if I worked with a guy like that, I would want to hate him so badly, but would end up being friends with him. In the early seasons, Jim was a lazy, wise-cracking douche bag that got credit for essentially doing nothing, but he was so cool and laid back and friendly that it was easy to overlook the other stuff. I began rooting for him and Pam by the second episode of the show.
And then there's Michael Scott...The bumbling, uncouth, painfully awkward idiot of a boss that you just cannot help but love/despise/feel incredibly sorry for. I really don't think there's ever been a character in a television show that inspired so many conflicting emotions as Michael Scott did throughout his run on the show. Despite the attention the Pam and Jim storyline received (for good reason), Michael Scott was always (and even now that he's gone, still is) the star of the show. There have been instances where you wanted to crawl into the scene and give him a hug, times you wanted to punch him in the face for being so offensive and stupid, and times where you genuinely had trouble watching (despite knowing it is fiction) because something was so painfully awkward. Just as one example...From literally hundreds to choose from...
When Michael Scott left the show in the 7th season, it definitely lost it's luster. Michael Scott had been a constant since the pilot episode, and was the driving force behind every storyline the writers chose to pursue. The humor, awkwardness and the real, human elements that made the show so fun to watch for so long was embodied by Michael Scott. And while the show still remains entertaining to a degree, when Michael Scott left Dunder-Mifflin to move to Colorado, the show should have quit too.
Despite the lackluster storylines that have followed the gut-wrenching departure of Michael (I literally almost cried watching that episode), I'm still looking forward to the 9th and final season that premieres tomorrow night. Although Kelly and Toby will no longer be on the show, I'm interested to see how they tie up all the loose ends. Will Angela and Dwight finally end up together once she comes to grips with the fact her husband the senator is gay? Will David Wallace buy Dunder-Mifflin and put Sabre (and Robert California) totally out of business? How long will Andy and Erin last? Are Pam and Jim going to move onto greener pastures? And...For the love of God...Are they going to bring back Michael Scott for the finale? I guess I'm just really hoping for a good ending.
My Top 5 Office Episodes:
5. "Dunder-Mifflin Infinity"--Dunder-Mifflin launches a new website making it easier for customers to buy paper. Michael believes in good, old-fashioned, personable service and goes to great lengths (hand delivering baskets of food) to win back old clients.
4. "Niagara"--Jim and Pam's long and tumultuous courtship finally culminates in their destination wedding at Niagara Falls. Michael spills the beans about Pam's pregnancy in front of her grandmother at the rehearsal dinner, Andy has to get stitches after injuring his...um...private area, and Dwight seduces a bridesmaid.
3. "Weight Loss"--Probably the most anticipated episode I remember. The Season 5 opener let us finally witness Jim pop the question to Pam in a rain-soaked gas station parking lot. Meanwhile, Dunder-Mifflin participates in a company-wide weight loss initiative, and Kelly uses a diet of water, lemon juice, and maple syrup to try and lose the most weight.
2. "The Job"--In the Season 3 finale, Michael assumes he will be hired for a job that opens at corporate, and holds a Survivor-like contest at Lake Scranton to find his replacement for manager of the Scranton branch. Jim and Karen (who are dating at the time) also interview for the job. After Jim's interview, he drives back to Scranton (leaving Karen in New York) and asks newly-single Pam on a date.
1. "The Dinner Party"--Arguably the greatest episode of any TV show in the history of mankind...Michael, after dozens of failed attempts, finally tricks Jim and Pam into coming over to his house for a dinner party. The rocky relationship between he and Jan comes to a boiling point at the party...Jan thinks Pam has a thing for Michael, Michael tries to get Andy and Jim to invest in Jan's scented-candle company, and Jan and Michael explode in an argument culminating in the police being called. The painful awkardness that makes the show so fantastic is on full, genius display throughout this classic episode.
I mean, I'll watch reruns of Friends occasionally when I'm bored, but I couldn't have cared less about what happened between Ross and Rachel, and I wasn't one of the millions of people tuned in to watch the series finale.
I didn't really understand all of the hullabaloo about how The Sopranos series finale ended in mid-sentence. In all honesty, I've never seen a full episode of the show (HBO is expensive).
But, this spring when NBC finally pulls the plug on The Office, I will be watching. Just as I've done every other Thursday night for the past 6 years. I can honestly say, without question, I will have watched that entire series from beginning to end (yes, I was a couple of seasons behind, but I watched the first two seasons in three days in preparation for the third season premiere). And despite the hours of syndicated reruns you can find every week on TBS and Fox, I will still be genuinely saddened when the show goes off the air.
There is something inherently joyful about watching The Office, even when the storyline in a particular episode is a sad one. I always feel like I'm watching my own life (in some strange, not really at all similar way) unfold from episode to episode. I see quirky little similarities between Jim and Pam and Adrienne and I. I know what it's like to work for a boss that is a complete and utter moron. And I know how it feels to go to work everyday, genuinely despising every second you're there. That connection with the characters on the show, mixed with the hilarious scenarios that play out, always leaves me smiling even if I've seen the episode a dozen times.
I think the main reason I fell in love with the show was the way the characters developed, especially early on in the series. Dwight Schrute went from being an eccentric, almost alien-like freak, to an eccentric and very strange human that cared about other people, even if he had an odd way of showing it. As popular as Jim Halpert is on the show (everybody likes him, except for Dwight), if I worked with a guy like that, I would want to hate him so badly, but would end up being friends with him. In the early seasons, Jim was a lazy, wise-cracking douche bag that got credit for essentially doing nothing, but he was so cool and laid back and friendly that it was easy to overlook the other stuff. I began rooting for him and Pam by the second episode of the show.
And then there's Michael Scott...The bumbling, uncouth, painfully awkward idiot of a boss that you just cannot help but love/despise/feel incredibly sorry for. I really don't think there's ever been a character in a television show that inspired so many conflicting emotions as Michael Scott did throughout his run on the show. Despite the attention the Pam and Jim storyline received (for good reason), Michael Scott was always (and even now that he's gone, still is) the star of the show. There have been instances where you wanted to crawl into the scene and give him a hug, times you wanted to punch him in the face for being so offensive and stupid, and times where you genuinely had trouble watching (despite knowing it is fiction) because something was so painfully awkward. Just as one example...From literally hundreds to choose from...
When Michael Scott left the show in the 7th season, it definitely lost it's luster. Michael Scott had been a constant since the pilot episode, and was the driving force behind every storyline the writers chose to pursue. The humor, awkwardness and the real, human elements that made the show so fun to watch for so long was embodied by Michael Scott. And while the show still remains entertaining to a degree, when Michael Scott left Dunder-Mifflin to move to Colorado, the show should have quit too.
Despite the lackluster storylines that have followed the gut-wrenching departure of Michael (I literally almost cried watching that episode), I'm still looking forward to the 9th and final season that premieres tomorrow night. Although Kelly and Toby will no longer be on the show, I'm interested to see how they tie up all the loose ends. Will Angela and Dwight finally end up together once she comes to grips with the fact her husband the senator is gay? Will David Wallace buy Dunder-Mifflin and put Sabre (and Robert California) totally out of business? How long will Andy and Erin last? Are Pam and Jim going to move onto greener pastures? And...For the love of God...Are they going to bring back Michael Scott for the finale? I guess I'm just really hoping for a good ending.
My Top 5 Office Episodes:
5. "Dunder-Mifflin Infinity"--Dunder-Mifflin launches a new website making it easier for customers to buy paper. Michael believes in good, old-fashioned, personable service and goes to great lengths (hand delivering baskets of food) to win back old clients.
4. "Niagara"--Jim and Pam's long and tumultuous courtship finally culminates in their destination wedding at Niagara Falls. Michael spills the beans about Pam's pregnancy in front of her grandmother at the rehearsal dinner, Andy has to get stitches after injuring his...um...private area, and Dwight seduces a bridesmaid.
3. "Weight Loss"--Probably the most anticipated episode I remember. The Season 5 opener let us finally witness Jim pop the question to Pam in a rain-soaked gas station parking lot. Meanwhile, Dunder-Mifflin participates in a company-wide weight loss initiative, and Kelly uses a diet of water, lemon juice, and maple syrup to try and lose the most weight.
2. "The Job"--In the Season 3 finale, Michael assumes he will be hired for a job that opens at corporate, and holds a Survivor-like contest at Lake Scranton to find his replacement for manager of the Scranton branch. Jim and Karen (who are dating at the time) also interview for the job. After Jim's interview, he drives back to Scranton (leaving Karen in New York) and asks newly-single Pam on a date.
1. "The Dinner Party"--Arguably the greatest episode of any TV show in the history of mankind...Michael, after dozens of failed attempts, finally tricks Jim and Pam into coming over to his house for a dinner party. The rocky relationship between he and Jan comes to a boiling point at the party...Jan thinks Pam has a thing for Michael, Michael tries to get Andy and Jim to invest in Jan's scented-candle company, and Jan and Michael explode in an argument culminating in the police being called. The painful awkardness that makes the show so fantastic is on full, genius display throughout this classic episode.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Time Doesn't Wait For Me...It Keeps on Rollin
It's often a strange feeling when an event you have trumped up and looked forward to for months finally arrives. It's as if a huge weight is lifted, and only because the excitement and build up as you approach it dominates your thoughts and concerns so heavily. You talk about it all the time, think about it all the time, find excuses to plan for it, although all the planning has already been done and you simply want to think about it and analyze it and talk about it even more than you already have. Then, the day finally arrives...It doesn't even come close to meeting the outlandish expectations you had for it (how could it?), and then it passes...Like a shooting star burning up the night sky: You only realize you saw it after it's already disappeared.
Then you're left wondering...What the hell do I do now?
That's how I felt Sunday afternoon as I rode shotgun in Stan's Trailblazer, on our way back from my bachelor party weekend at Lake Cumberland. My friends and I had spent the last three months talking about the bachelor weekend that was to be the cap to our summer...Despite the new members of the crew (Tim, Adam, Clay, and Thomas), it was going to be an old-school reunion: a dip into the Fountain of Youth. We kept saying how wild it was going to be, how much we were going to laugh (which we did a lot...My jaw still hurts). We watched the lineup of attendees morph and change more times than I care to count. We looked at photos of the cabin rental enough times to memorize the pattern in the carpet. And we discussed how much food would cover 12 people...Then bought enough for twice that. We drove every point into the ground, spent so much time thinking and planning, only to watch the weekend come and go in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I have to admit...It was a bit depressing.
I'm not sure exactly why that was the case. There were a lot of contributing factors, I suppose. Maybe it was the fact that our weekend at the lake (the one we had spent so much time anticipating and was so much fun) was over; it was time to go back to the real world Monday morning. Maybe it was the fact I desperately missed my fiance. Maybe it was simply the lingering effects of two days worth of binge drinking...They all definitely played a role. But I think the main reason I was depressed come Sunday, was the realization that all the new memories we created and all the old ones we reminisced upon for those two short days were just that...Memories.
I'll take you back to a funny conversation Clay, DJ, and I had early Saturday afternoon. The three of us were standing on top of our double-decker pontoon rental, enjoying the fact that our lingering hangovers from the night before were beginning to fade. I don't exactly remember how the conversation got started; all I know is DJ and Clay were discussing something along the lines of insurance premiums or tax-deductible donations...Whatever the case, it was something that should never be a topic of discussion under the circumstances we were in.
I simply turned and looked at them and said, "You know...We all got really old, and weren't even aware it was happening."
They both laughed, nodded in agreement, and we joked about how, at some point in the last 4 or 5 years, our on-the-lake conversations had somehow moved from how many beers we could drink, or where all the women were, to how much our employers match on 401k contributions, or if we're getting a good deal on our monthly rent. And, while it was meant to be a joke, I feel like it was something we all thought about a lot as the rest of the weekend unfolded. I definitely did.
Things have changed. The old days we tried so hard to emulate this past weekend have almost totally passed us by, and what little remnants that do remain are swiftly fading away. As we led up to the weekend, we openly compared it to some of the weekends of yore...Acting as if this weekend would be like those, just because it was "supposed" to be. I think we all knew that wasn't going to be the case. And thank God it wasn't.
Don't get me wrong...This weekend was incredibly fun, from start to finish, despite the underlying level of exhaustion that undoubtedly impacted our ability to throw a marathon party. But, it wasn't exactly what I expected it was going to be...In fact, if you had asked the 22-year-old me, I would have flat out thought it was lame. I would have thought everyone went to bed too early, and everyone acted like a bunch of whiny babies. Frankly, we just can't do it like we used to.
I was sitting on the deck under a crystal clear, starlit sky at around 2:00 AM Sunday morning when I began to think about that fact. And, for the first time all weekend, I began to realize that I was perfectly okay with that. I'm honestly not sure why any of us ever expected this weekend to be what we remember those weekends from our college days to be like. We've all out-grown that, and I thought I had come to grips with that long ago. Perhaps, for me at least, it was the heaviness of the fact that it was my bachelor party, or, that thought coupled with a day's worth of alcohol. Regardless, I began to realize I was on the verge of a life-changing event. And no matter how exciting that is (and believe me, it is) there is something inherently sad about leaving that old life behind. It's like graduating from college or high school...No matter how exciting the next step is, there will always be things about the last one you will miss.
My friend Matt flew in from Portland, Oregon, and it was the first time I had seen him in 4 years. And despite the fact we have always been very different people (capable of arguing about virtually anything), and despite the fact we had gone that long without seeing one another, it was like nothing at all had changed. Although there were a few new faces in the crowd, it was like I had been whisked away to a July Saturday in 2005, sitting around a campfire, listening to classic rock, living life without a care in the world.
Those are the things I will miss. I know that the nine of us that had the time of our lives this weekend could do that every summer for the next twenty years, and it would always be an absolute blast. But, I also know it would be different. And that's why I was a slight bit depressed as we traveled back from Jamestown on Sunday. No matter how incredible the future may end up to be, it will never be the same. There's a tinge of sadness to that.
I know I sound incredibly cynical, like a Bruce Springsteen song...Like the best days of my life are behind me. But, in all actuality, that really couldn't be further from the truth; I know that the future is going to be amazing. I really can't wait to see what it has in store for Adrienne and I. I can't wait to marry her, and I can't wait to take that exciting next step. In fact, I'm almost giddy to the point I can't stand it. But, no matter how happy I am in my life, whether it's a month from now or 10 years down the road...Anytime I hear Tom Scholz's guitar wailing that first note of "Foreplay/Long Time," in my mind I'll be sitting around with my buddies, drinking a cold beer, and staring up at the stars with a smile on my face.
A few thoughts: I want to give a special thanks to the guys that made this weekend so awesome...Eric, Clay, Matt, Stan, Thomas, Tim, Adam...You guys are hilarious in so many different, unique ways, and it made the weekend as great a bachelor party as I could have asked for.
DJ...I don't even really have to say anything about you. Thanks for putting it all together, thanks for being my best friend for life, and thanks for spooning with me at the end of th...I mean...Yeah, bro. You rule.
Then you're left wondering...What the hell do I do now?
That's how I felt Sunday afternoon as I rode shotgun in Stan's Trailblazer, on our way back from my bachelor party weekend at Lake Cumberland. My friends and I had spent the last three months talking about the bachelor weekend that was to be the cap to our summer...Despite the new members of the crew (Tim, Adam, Clay, and Thomas), it was going to be an old-school reunion: a dip into the Fountain of Youth. We kept saying how wild it was going to be, how much we were going to laugh (which we did a lot...My jaw still hurts). We watched the lineup of attendees morph and change more times than I care to count. We looked at photos of the cabin rental enough times to memorize the pattern in the carpet. And we discussed how much food would cover 12 people...Then bought enough for twice that. We drove every point into the ground, spent so much time thinking and planning, only to watch the weekend come and go in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I have to admit...It was a bit depressing.
I'm not sure exactly why that was the case. There were a lot of contributing factors, I suppose. Maybe it was the fact that our weekend at the lake (the one we had spent so much time anticipating and was so much fun) was over; it was time to go back to the real world Monday morning. Maybe it was the fact I desperately missed my fiance. Maybe it was simply the lingering effects of two days worth of binge drinking...They all definitely played a role. But I think the main reason I was depressed come Sunday, was the realization that all the new memories we created and all the old ones we reminisced upon for those two short days were just that...Memories.
I'll take you back to a funny conversation Clay, DJ, and I had early Saturday afternoon. The three of us were standing on top of our double-decker pontoon rental, enjoying the fact that our lingering hangovers from the night before were beginning to fade. I don't exactly remember how the conversation got started; all I know is DJ and Clay were discussing something along the lines of insurance premiums or tax-deductible donations...Whatever the case, it was something that should never be a topic of discussion under the circumstances we were in.
I simply turned and looked at them and said, "You know...We all got really old, and weren't even aware it was happening."
They both laughed, nodded in agreement, and we joked about how, at some point in the last 4 or 5 years, our on-the-lake conversations had somehow moved from how many beers we could drink, or where all the women were, to how much our employers match on 401k contributions, or if we're getting a good deal on our monthly rent. And, while it was meant to be a joke, I feel like it was something we all thought about a lot as the rest of the weekend unfolded. I definitely did.
Things have changed. The old days we tried so hard to emulate this past weekend have almost totally passed us by, and what little remnants that do remain are swiftly fading away. As we led up to the weekend, we openly compared it to some of the weekends of yore...Acting as if this weekend would be like those, just because it was "supposed" to be. I think we all knew that wasn't going to be the case. And thank God it wasn't.
Don't get me wrong...This weekend was incredibly fun, from start to finish, despite the underlying level of exhaustion that undoubtedly impacted our ability to throw a marathon party. But, it wasn't exactly what I expected it was going to be...In fact, if you had asked the 22-year-old me, I would have flat out thought it was lame. I would have thought everyone went to bed too early, and everyone acted like a bunch of whiny babies. Frankly, we just can't do it like we used to.
I was sitting on the deck under a crystal clear, starlit sky at around 2:00 AM Sunday morning when I began to think about that fact. And, for the first time all weekend, I began to realize that I was perfectly okay with that. I'm honestly not sure why any of us ever expected this weekend to be what we remember those weekends from our college days to be like. We've all out-grown that, and I thought I had come to grips with that long ago. Perhaps, for me at least, it was the heaviness of the fact that it was my bachelor party, or, that thought coupled with a day's worth of alcohol. Regardless, I began to realize I was on the verge of a life-changing event. And no matter how exciting that is (and believe me, it is) there is something inherently sad about leaving that old life behind. It's like graduating from college or high school...No matter how exciting the next step is, there will always be things about the last one you will miss.
My friend Matt flew in from Portland, Oregon, and it was the first time I had seen him in 4 years. And despite the fact we have always been very different people (capable of arguing about virtually anything), and despite the fact we had gone that long without seeing one another, it was like nothing at all had changed. Although there were a few new faces in the crowd, it was like I had been whisked away to a July Saturday in 2005, sitting around a campfire, listening to classic rock, living life without a care in the world.
Those are the things I will miss. I know that the nine of us that had the time of our lives this weekend could do that every summer for the next twenty years, and it would always be an absolute blast. But, I also know it would be different. And that's why I was a slight bit depressed as we traveled back from Jamestown on Sunday. No matter how incredible the future may end up to be, it will never be the same. There's a tinge of sadness to that.
I know I sound incredibly cynical, like a Bruce Springsteen song...Like the best days of my life are behind me. But, in all actuality, that really couldn't be further from the truth; I know that the future is going to be amazing. I really can't wait to see what it has in store for Adrienne and I. I can't wait to marry her, and I can't wait to take that exciting next step. In fact, I'm almost giddy to the point I can't stand it. But, no matter how happy I am in my life, whether it's a month from now or 10 years down the road...Anytime I hear Tom Scholz's guitar wailing that first note of "Foreplay/Long Time," in my mind I'll be sitting around with my buddies, drinking a cold beer, and staring up at the stars with a smile on my face.
A few thoughts: I want to give a special thanks to the guys that made this weekend so awesome...Eric, Clay, Matt, Stan, Thomas, Tim, Adam...You guys are hilarious in so many different, unique ways, and it made the weekend as great a bachelor party as I could have asked for.
DJ...I don't even really have to say anything about you. Thanks for putting it all together, thanks for being my best friend for life, and thanks for spooning with me at the end of th...I mean...Yeah, bro. You rule.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
*Insert Inspirational Quote About Taking Chances
Moving is a bitch. Pardon my French, but I don't really know how else to put it. There are lots of obligations in life I could do without, but there is no doubt moving is near the top of the list. It's one of the most mundane, inconvenient, and inappropriately expensive endeavors one will come across. I've done it so much in the last 9 years, that I'm essentially a pro at it, and if not for the sheer hatred I have for moving, I could probably make a fairly decent living having people pay me to move their stuff. Since my first move to Blanding I at UK in 2003, I've moved an additional eight times. Only twice have I stayed in one place for longer than a year, and at one point I moved into a house, only to move again two months later. It's mind-numbing to think about.
That being said, there are few (very, very select few) things I like about moving. There's always the excitement of being in a new environment, even if it's just across town. Sure, the means of getting there is always miserable, but the end is new and exciting, at least for a while. Plus, there's the inevitable purge of meaningless trinkets, documents, and long-expired food items that have accumulated over the course of several months, or even years. With every item I pick up to pack away, I might as well be plucking the petals from a wildflower, asking "To keep, or not to keep?" I could furnish a small apartment with all of the things I've thrown out or donated to Goodwill over the years.
And sometimes, you come across long-forgotten items that you aren't exactly sure why you held onto to begin with, but when you discover them, you're so glad you did. It could be an old collection of photographs you stuffed in the bottom of a drawer, reminding you of some bygone night out with the boys...Maybe a faded deck of cards you thought you'd thrown away, or that favorite, paper-thin t-shirt you had been unsuccessfully looking for for months, totally convinced it had gotten lost in the previous move. No matter what it is, with every move I always find something I had forgotten I owned, and it always makes me smile.
As much of an inconvenience as it was moving, this most recent move has brought more excitement and change than any other, save for that first move to college back in '03. Like that one to my first college dorm, this one marks the beginning of a new stage in life...A major step into the unknown. I remember the feeling I had in those last few weeks before I left home for the first time. I was so ready to start my college experience, that I hardly took the time to soak in those last few days of being at home. I knew things were going to be different...I would no longer have Mom and Dad there all the time to keep me on point. I wouldn't have them there to make sure I was up on time in the morning, and I wouldn't have them there to feed me three square meals a day. I knew I wouldn't be able to see my best friends everyday, and I knew there were things I'd miss out on. But the excitement of taking the next step, starting that new journey, totally overshadowed any fear, doubt, or sadness I had about leaving. This time around, it's been very similar.
Adrienne and I will be starting new jobs in just a couple of weeks, and then our wedding is just over two months away. While getting prepared for all of that has been stressful, and even a bit overwhelming, the excitement of all the changes taking place underscores everything. We've had to decorate our first home together, we've had to adjust to living under the same roof for the first time, and we've had to get mentally (and physically) prepared for a demanding, time-consuming career as teachers. But, the newness and the excitement is unbelievable. Sure, it's been difficult at times getting adjusted to all the change, but I think it has gone about as smoothly as either of us could have hoped for.
I know things are probably a bit different for Adrienne, because she's never really done this before. She did live in the dorms at WKU for a couple of years, but home was always close by. Being away from my family is not something I enjoy, but I've done it for so long now, that I've grown accustomed to it. And I think Adrienne is enjoying the change so far, although I'm sure there will be times where homesickness sets in and dominates everything. Lord knows I've been blindsided by it from time to time. But, as she's been told many times, home is only a short drive away. One that I'm sure we will make dozens of times over the next several months, both to her home and mine.
As smothering and taxing as a deluge of change can initially be, even when highlighted by unremitting excitement, we both know the change is for the best. Making the move to Mount Sterling brings so many refreshing opportunities that it makes dealing with the stress a much simpler task. Adrienne gets to start her teaching career, and I get a chance to take my teaching career in a totally new direction. As tough as it may be, we get the chance to grow together away from our families, essentially forcing us to forge our own support system which will only strengthen us going forward as we start our lives in marriage. On the surface, the situation couldn't have worked out much better, from the schools we will be working in, to the community we will become a part of. It seems to be the perfect fit for both of us. Only time will tell, obviously, but we're adjusting surprisingly well and surprisingly quickly.
Hopefully, the next time we have to pack up and move, it will be as homeowners. Because I sure don't want to have to make this a habit.
That being said, there are few (very, very select few) things I like about moving. There's always the excitement of being in a new environment, even if it's just across town. Sure, the means of getting there is always miserable, but the end is new and exciting, at least for a while. Plus, there's the inevitable purge of meaningless trinkets, documents, and long-expired food items that have accumulated over the course of several months, or even years. With every item I pick up to pack away, I might as well be plucking the petals from a wildflower, asking "To keep, or not to keep?" I could furnish a small apartment with all of the things I've thrown out or donated to Goodwill over the years.
And sometimes, you come across long-forgotten items that you aren't exactly sure why you held onto to begin with, but when you discover them, you're so glad you did. It could be an old collection of photographs you stuffed in the bottom of a drawer, reminding you of some bygone night out with the boys...Maybe a faded deck of cards you thought you'd thrown away, or that favorite, paper-thin t-shirt you had been unsuccessfully looking for for months, totally convinced it had gotten lost in the previous move. No matter what it is, with every move I always find something I had forgotten I owned, and it always makes me smile.
As much of an inconvenience as it was moving, this most recent move has brought more excitement and change than any other, save for that first move to college back in '03. Like that one to my first college dorm, this one marks the beginning of a new stage in life...A major step into the unknown. I remember the feeling I had in those last few weeks before I left home for the first time. I was so ready to start my college experience, that I hardly took the time to soak in those last few days of being at home. I knew things were going to be different...I would no longer have Mom and Dad there all the time to keep me on point. I wouldn't have them there to make sure I was up on time in the morning, and I wouldn't have them there to feed me three square meals a day. I knew I wouldn't be able to see my best friends everyday, and I knew there were things I'd miss out on. But the excitement of taking the next step, starting that new journey, totally overshadowed any fear, doubt, or sadness I had about leaving. This time around, it's been very similar.
Adrienne and I will be starting new jobs in just a couple of weeks, and then our wedding is just over two months away. While getting prepared for all of that has been stressful, and even a bit overwhelming, the excitement of all the changes taking place underscores everything. We've had to decorate our first home together, we've had to adjust to living under the same roof for the first time, and we've had to get mentally (and physically) prepared for a demanding, time-consuming career as teachers. But, the newness and the excitement is unbelievable. Sure, it's been difficult at times getting adjusted to all the change, but I think it has gone about as smoothly as either of us could have hoped for.
I know things are probably a bit different for Adrienne, because she's never really done this before. She did live in the dorms at WKU for a couple of years, but home was always close by. Being away from my family is not something I enjoy, but I've done it for so long now, that I've grown accustomed to it. And I think Adrienne is enjoying the change so far, although I'm sure there will be times where homesickness sets in and dominates everything. Lord knows I've been blindsided by it from time to time. But, as she's been told many times, home is only a short drive away. One that I'm sure we will make dozens of times over the next several months, both to her home and mine.
As smothering and taxing as a deluge of change can initially be, even when highlighted by unremitting excitement, we both know the change is for the best. Making the move to Mount Sterling brings so many refreshing opportunities that it makes dealing with the stress a much simpler task. Adrienne gets to start her teaching career, and I get a chance to take my teaching career in a totally new direction. As tough as it may be, we get the chance to grow together away from our families, essentially forcing us to forge our own support system which will only strengthen us going forward as we start our lives in marriage. On the surface, the situation couldn't have worked out much better, from the schools we will be working in, to the community we will become a part of. It seems to be the perfect fit for both of us. Only time will tell, obviously, but we're adjusting surprisingly well and surprisingly quickly.
Hopefully, the next time we have to pack up and move, it will be as homeowners. Because I sure don't want to have to make this a habit.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
I'm More Clark Griswold, Less Cory Matthews
I'm not very good at making plans. As I've gotten older, I guess I've improved somewhat in that regard, but most of my life I've definitely done things off the cuff. So many times, my mom would call me on a Friday evening and ask what my friends and I were going to do, and my answer would almost always be "Ah, not really sure yet." And I guess we liked it that way. It's easy for things to live up to expectations, and exceed them, when you don't have any to begin with. Some of my fondest memories with my friends started with a couple of us just hanging out, and ended with whatever direction the wind took us.
But, when I was growing up, my Friday nights were pretty much set in stone. I'd be in front of the TV to watch Family Matters and Boy Meets World on TGIF, and there was rarely a week that I missed them. To be honest, I don't know what pre-adolescent kids do nowadays...Without Cory Matthews and Shawn Hunter to teach them how to deal with everyday hardships, how do middle-schoolers even survive? Why doesn't every inner-city high school have a P.E. teacher like Mr. Cooper?
When I was entering those formative years, I always imagined high school and college would be like a Boy Meets World episode. I figured I'd have some kind of drama going on seemingly daily. I expected I'd probably live in a downtown apartment in the city where I attended college. I wanted so badly to make flannel shirts seem cool, and I just knew I'd find my Topanga sometime before my 15th birthday.
Obviously, none of those things really came to fruition. For the most part, my high school years were drama-free...Or as drama free as a high school student's life can be. My housing in college was nice (for the most part), but they were very typical living quarters for the average college student. I quit wearing flannel in 5th grade, and I didn't meet my Topanga until I was on the north side of 25. In short, the life I envisioned as a 12-year old was a lot different than the one I ultimately led. And thank God for that.
That really hasn't changed much. I think back to me as a 20-year-old, and I honestly can't remember what expectations I had at that point. I was probably more focused on getting through college and having fun with my friends than anything. But, I'm sure there were times when I worried about what was to come.
There is no question that happens now...On the verge of marriage, I stress about jobs and living arrangements on a near daily basis. I wonder how Adrienne and I are going to make it in a world that seems to be hell-bent on making that impossible. I wonder what it's going to be like to be a father (way, WAY down the line), and how I'm going to handle that immense responsibility. Quite frankly, those thoughts scare the hell out of me. Not in a dreading kind of way, but just in a "all of this is so new and different" kind of way. It's overwhelmingly exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Some people may say they'd do things totally differently if they had known what the future held. I don't agree with that sentiment...I wouldn't want to change the way things are, because I love my life. And honestly, I don't want to know what the future holds. The question I would ask anyone that would want that is this, "What if you don't like what you see?" You could argue that if you knew the future, you could make choices along the way to change it. But, if that were the case, then you wouldn't really be seeing the future at all. You'd be seeing a possible outcome. You wouldn't be able to change anything...You'd just have to wait out the inevitable.
It'd be like waking on Christmas morning with a bunch of unwrapped presents laying on the living room floor. You miss out on the joy of ripping the paper off a box, and being genuinely surprised when you see what Santa brought you.
I think this quote by John Steinbeck explains my stance better than just about anything I could come up with:
"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
Life is a roller-coaster of twists and turns, tall climbs to the top, free-falling drops to the bottom, and sometimes a blind curve into a tunnel. You lose sight of where you are, and before you know it, you come out on the other side screaming your head off, posing for a camera. If you know what's coming, that thrill-ride simply becomes a way to kill a couple of minutes.
The best part of life, and what makes it worth living, is just that...Living. Knowing the future would take that out of the equation. If you knew the destination, then what's the point of the journey? Getting there is half the fun.
If the show had been called Boy Knows World, my Friday nights would have been a bit more open.
But, when I was growing up, my Friday nights were pretty much set in stone. I'd be in front of the TV to watch Family Matters and Boy Meets World on TGIF, and there was rarely a week that I missed them. To be honest, I don't know what pre-adolescent kids do nowadays...Without Cory Matthews and Shawn Hunter to teach them how to deal with everyday hardships, how do middle-schoolers even survive? Why doesn't every inner-city high school have a P.E. teacher like Mr. Cooper?
When I was entering those formative years, I always imagined high school and college would be like a Boy Meets World episode. I figured I'd have some kind of drama going on seemingly daily. I expected I'd probably live in a downtown apartment in the city where I attended college. I wanted so badly to make flannel shirts seem cool, and I just knew I'd find my Topanga sometime before my 15th birthday.
Obviously, none of those things really came to fruition. For the most part, my high school years were drama-free...Or as drama free as a high school student's life can be. My housing in college was nice (for the most part), but they were very typical living quarters for the average college student. I quit wearing flannel in 5th grade, and I didn't meet my Topanga until I was on the north side of 25. In short, the life I envisioned as a 12-year old was a lot different than the one I ultimately led. And thank God for that.
That really hasn't changed much. I think back to me as a 20-year-old, and I honestly can't remember what expectations I had at that point. I was probably more focused on getting through college and having fun with my friends than anything. But, I'm sure there were times when I worried about what was to come.
There is no question that happens now...On the verge of marriage, I stress about jobs and living arrangements on a near daily basis. I wonder how Adrienne and I are going to make it in a world that seems to be hell-bent on making that impossible. I wonder what it's going to be like to be a father (way, WAY down the line), and how I'm going to handle that immense responsibility. Quite frankly, those thoughts scare the hell out of me. Not in a dreading kind of way, but just in a "all of this is so new and different" kind of way. It's overwhelmingly exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Some people may say they'd do things totally differently if they had known what the future held. I don't agree with that sentiment...I wouldn't want to change the way things are, because I love my life. And honestly, I don't want to know what the future holds. The question I would ask anyone that would want that is this, "What if you don't like what you see?" You could argue that if you knew the future, you could make choices along the way to change it. But, if that were the case, then you wouldn't really be seeing the future at all. You'd be seeing a possible outcome. You wouldn't be able to change anything...You'd just have to wait out the inevitable.
It'd be like waking on Christmas morning with a bunch of unwrapped presents laying on the living room floor. You miss out on the joy of ripping the paper off a box, and being genuinely surprised when you see what Santa brought you.
I think this quote by John Steinbeck explains my stance better than just about anything I could come up with:
"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
Life is a roller-coaster of twists and turns, tall climbs to the top, free-falling drops to the bottom, and sometimes a blind curve into a tunnel. You lose sight of where you are, and before you know it, you come out on the other side screaming your head off, posing for a camera. If you know what's coming, that thrill-ride simply becomes a way to kill a couple of minutes.
The best part of life, and what makes it worth living, is just that...Living. Knowing the future would take that out of the equation. If you knew the destination, then what's the point of the journey? Getting there is half the fun.
If the show had been called Boy Knows World, my Friday nights would have been a bit more open.
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