On Sunday while at Father’s Day Lunch, I overheard my dad talking to my sister about a project my niece was working on. He said, “Tell her Pops said to suck it up and just do it. The sooner it’s done – the sooner it’s over… and then that will be it.”

It made me laugh out loud for several reasons.

1. I flashed back to every scrape, bruise, dread for doing something and hurt feeling I had as a child.
2. The concept of “sucking it up” and just doing “it” is so simple, but so stinking hard sometimes.
3. There’s not a single thing I’ve been faced with more in the past six months than having to do hard things, “sucking it up” and pushing through them.

Doing hard things implies that some encounters/feelings/moments in life are just going to be hard – regardless of the variables; however, it shouldn’t play a role in doing or not doing. Sometimes we just have to close our eyes, grit our teeth and power through whatever the “it” is.

To quote my favorite Johnnyswim song, “The only way over is through.”

If there were ever a mantra that was instilled in me at an early age – it’s this one. Even though it’s more apparent in my life now, it’s not new. It was repeatedly taught to me by my parents. My dad’s advice to my sister/niece wasn’t any different than the advice I got throughout my own childhood.

When I was knocked down on the soccer field as a kid, Dad could be heard from the sidelines saying, “Rub a little dirt in it and keep going. Keep moving. Let’s go.”

We also had similar conversations when a test was too hard, or worse when a friendship or relationship failed.

I wasn’t all that excited to hear that at the moment (rubbing dirt in scrapes and scratches burns, by the way). But looking back, it worked. And now, today, I still hear that voice in my head when I’m up against what feels like the world or you know – when I want to cry.

Even into adulthood, my life has been marked with all the “suck it up and keep going” moments. And over and over, I’ve learned in a multitude of ways that some things are going to be hard – they are going to hurt emotionally and physically – but the world will. not. stop.

Of course, the immediate satisfaction that comes from finally making it to the other side or overcoming an obstacle is the “hell yeah!” moment that many of us strive for. But lately, this isn’t where I’m hanging my hat.

Somewhere along the way, I have found that the lessons I’m learning when I do the hard things outweigh the “hell yeah” (although, I still yell it exuberantly because that just feels good).

My experiences of late have proven that when I sit down and reflect on how I conquered certain obstacles (physical and mental), I’m face to face with moments that contribute to being a better doer, a better leader — a better human.

MURPH is a hard thing.

When I set a goal to complete MURPH – a Crossfit Hero Workout (1-mile run, 100 pull-ups, 200 push-ups, 300 squats and another 1-mile run) – in a 14# vest by May, I knew two things to be very true:

1. It would be hard.
2. It would push the limits of my physical capabilities.

I’ve mentioned before, but if you’re new around these parts – I like a good goal. I like to quantify effort and measure results. Crafting plans and creating timelines is almost as exciting to me as achieving the goal itself. [If it’s at this point where you realize I’m a total nerd, no worries. You’ll get used to it soon enough.]

I have learned from prior years that I can’t just wake up and “do” MURPH – even scaled. Some can (high five to you beasts out there). And while I may be the neighborhood nerd that can help you write a 4-point plan to achieve your own goals, help you with your technological issues or plan an event from top to bottom – I am not a superhuman in the gym.

I was going to need more work than the average Joe. And by more, I mean a lot.

Lucky for me, I have a coach that often pushes me to set my sights on doing big things, to set the bar to make sure it’s attainable and then helps with a game plan to get me there. I also have a support system around me that encourages me to go after what I want. So I went after it, and the lessons I learned over the course of training have been way more valuable than doing the actual workout.

So, here I am… sharing the top three things I learned while doing one of the most mentally and physically taxing workouts I’ve ever completed.

1. The byproduct is often greater than the goal itself.

When I began training in January, I could not do a full military push-up repetitiously. I could knock out a few, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. Often, they made me so mad that I just stopped altogether (productive, right?).

Quick background of a jankety shoulder.

I’ve dislocated my shoulder four times since Labor Day of 2014. Once in a kayaking accident, the other three times in the gym doing normal things like… sit ups, reaching for a bar and reracking my barbell.

The first two times, I bounced back into push-ups like they were my favorite movement to do. But after the third time, I quit working on them. Starting over, what felt like constantly at the time, was a pain in the ass. And what initially started as a blatant disregard for making them better transformed into fear and doubt. “I can’t do military push-ups.”

Internal dialogue is my biggest enemy, and I knew this would be my weakest link for MURPH. And in true fashion, it almost broke me during those first few months of training. But, I stuck with it. I committed to knocking out several each day – 50-75 on high volume training days, 100 on low volume days.

At first, it was three or so at a time – then five… and in a short time frame, I was able to knock out 10 in a row.

In the gym, we often talk about the art of consistency versus the art of intensity. One will always outweigh the other, and nothing proved that more than through training for MURPH.

It was my job to show up and put in the work. While I did both for the opportunity to check off a goal, that goal is behind me. What I pulled from a consistent approach to training continues to move alongside me each day when I walk into our gym. And! The bigger takeaway is that doing hard things can produce results I can use in my daily life – overflowing into my work, my relationships and more.

2. Regardless of training, there will always be something out of my control.

From my last post about introversion, you might gather that I don’t love a crowded gym.

When MURPH day arrived, I agreed to meet a friend early so we could get started 15-20 minutes before typical class time. But, when I walked into the gym – there were SO. MANY. PEOPLE. I was overstimulated by noise, people and the thoughts in my own head.

It took several minutes before I could calm my brain down. I had to get to a place, mentally, where I understood that a crowded gym is an environmental factor and that it has no control over the training I had completed in preparation.

While I could not control the crowd any more than I can control the weather – I could control my attitude and my effort.

I encounter people, situations and moments every single day where I can’t control certain factors. But, me… I always control that. I’ve still got miles of work to do to control the looks my face can produce as an immediate response, but that’s another post for another day.

3. Having a “why” that’s stronger than the “what” provides for a foundation of purpose that is unrivaled.

Shortly after planning to complete this workout in a vest, I opted to tie my “why” to a cause I’m very passionate about – law enforcement + education.

Last year, I established the Blue Line Legacy Fund to help law enforcement officers, their spouses or dependents of to achieve their educational goals. To help with funding, I created an online fundraising campaign to go along with this workout.

For every $10 raised, I wore an officer’s name on my vest. With a community of people I’m so proud to be a part of, we raised right at $1,500 for the scholarship fund and I wore more than 40 officers’ names (both fallen, active and retired) in honor of the risks they take.

I said it then and I’ll say it again – NOT A SINGLE PERSON will care that I did this workout in the future. But, if one more person had a better understanding of the risks our officers take or if one more officer/family member is able to achieve an academic goal without a financial burden – it means more.

MURPH was the what, but the why behind it became personal and impactful at a different level. When I didn’t feel like training or when I wanted to quit, I put on the vest and I trained. Some days it was the very last thing I wanted to do, but not doing it wasn’t an option. My “why” meant sucking it up and doing hard things.  

Reality is full of a lot of hard things.

Honest moment: MURPH hurts. Assisted, modified, scaled, non-scaled, with a vest, without a vest – it’s hard any way you slice it.

At round six of 20, I hit that point (all too early) where I wanted to throw up. But at every corner of doubt and every “let’s quit” moment, I found myself digging deep to hear the positive voice in my head that kept breaking each movement down – step by step – reminding me that this whole thing was bigger than me.

MURPH isn’t designed to be easy. It was meant to be a challenge and its purpose was deeply rooted in maintaining a baseline of physical fitness while in a battlefield.

When we do hard things and we embrace the suck that comes with it, we prepare ourselves for so much more – whether it’s for the purpose of completing a goal, handling a tough work environment, navigating relationships or something equally as complex.

MURPH was hard. Some things just are. The question is whether we rise to the challenge, sucking it up when it’s hardest and making it to the other side with a bucket of lessons learned from the experience.

I have so much to say.

But, sometimes I don’t. And… by sometimes, I mean a large percentage of the time.

Often, it depends on the scope of the week – how many people I’ve interacted with, how much energy I’ve expelled and if the topic at hand warrants any feedback from me at all.

But, the very worst is when I have so much to say, but I cannot physically form the words.

This doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but if it’s a really busy work week or if I have interacted with large groups of people for more than a few days in a row – I turn inward. And, it’s SO hard to keep it from happening once that snowball is down the hill.

I’m in this place this week.

Monday and Tuesday were long work days filled with what seemed like 23,593 things. I collapsed on my couch as soon as I walked through the door Tuesday night, and I knew it was going to be hard to get through the rest of the week. That’s kind of a tough realization when it’s only Tuesday.

Wednesday came with its own litany of issues and here I am on a Thursday – just waiting for a glimpse of Friday to appear. I don’t find myself here as often as I used to, but when it happens – I damn near shut down completely.

Conversations are attempted, but they are often met with blank stares and some nodding that I can only hope gesture the right thing. Of course, when it doesn’t – I get really in my feelings because adding guilt for being low on energy to actually being low on energy makes PERFECT SENSE.

Growing pains.

This kind of stuff happened ALL OF THE TIME when I was in high school. But, I didn’t realize “it” had a name until college.

I never thought I was broken, I just thought I was different. I didn’t have the same boundary-pushing, eagerness to be the life of the party or to be around large crowds of people.

It was nothing for me to spend a Friday night walking around a bookstore for what seemed like hours, only to pick up dinner and head back to my room to settle in for the night.

I wasn’t depressed or shy (I’ve never been one to not say what I think if it’s warranted), I just had a hard time being around people after too much interaction in the days before.

In college, that meant classroom time and extra-curricular activities. When you live on campus, you’re surrounded by people always. My weekends spent alone were the result of all of that interactivity throughout the week.

Somewhere between my freshman and sophomore year, I took an introvert/extrovert assessment. It came with a lot of language to read and I was enamored that there were words and reasonings that described me to a T.

I was very clearly, without a shadow of a doubt, an introvert.

The path forward.

It wasn’t a lightbulb moment or anything, but it did give me a benchmark to use as guidance. And as I continued my way through school with a deeper understanding for how I gained and used my social energy, social situations weren’t as hard and I didn’t feel [as] guilty for being alone when I needed to.

But more than that, it allowed me a more introspective opportunity to learn how to work with others who are and aren’t like me.

Truth be told – I feel like I’ve adapted, somewhat well, to a very extroverted career path with a very introverted approach. I also seem to frequently be adopted by extroverts, and often I’m met with:  “There’s no way you are an introvert.”

Therein lies the irony… This is a perfect example of a moment when I have so much to say about a topic I’ve come to be decently educated about, but I won’t.

The reality is that my internal dialogue is going 100 miles a minute about how you probably don’t care about all of the research and studies – or the characteristics of what an “introvert” really is. I will go back and forth over whether this conversation requires the energy needed to convince, educate or defend.

This has nothing to do with the person asking the question, and everything to do with how I have to be protective over how I spend energy.

I am required to use words and visual imagery to be successful in my job. It takes a lot of mental and physical energy. So, this dilemma of energy depletion can completely wreck my world…. If I let it.

So, I cage a lot of it. Seems like the responsible approach, right?

I pick my battles and I push through the harder parts. And during weeks like this week, I fake it until I make it.

What you don’t see is how I crash as soon as I walk through the door or how I will sit in my car in my driveway – in the dark. Because for even just 10 minutes or however long it takes, I can just be still.

Regardless of how well I toe that line, some weeks come out swinging before I can stand up and Friday is a perfect picture of a sloth crossing a finish line.  

Improvising, just to adapt and overcome.

Over the years, I’ve had to learn very hard lessons about what it really means for my “charm batteries” to be depleted and what I need to do to be recharged. But, it’s still not easy.

I struggle daily with being a professional communicator – who also wants to not communicate at all.

Case in point – this week.

Godspeed to the people that have interacted with me before 7 a.m. this week or who I saw in the grocery store but said nothing to.

However drained I end up being, professional and personal growth comes from learning what it means to do what is best for me.

Sometimes that means I forego my 5:30 a.m. wakeup call to be in the gym for an extra hour of sleep, and sometimes it means I sit on my couch and pretend I have zero adult responsibilities while watching hours of mindless television.

On Wednesday, I did the first; and this weekend, I plan to do the second.

I know, for me, that resting and recharging is what I need to not be a crappy human being who forever seems to not have enough coffee.

Because at the end of the day – I can’t go and do for others if I don’t do for myself.

And if there has ever been a bigger lesson for me to learn in my 30s, it’s been that one.

I’ve been a member of Versus Strength and Conditioning for a little more than six years. SIX YEARS. For reference, that’s longer than any long term relationship or any job I’ve held – and a hefty 55-60% of the time I’ve called myself a Hattiesburg resident.

I refer to them as my safe space, and I recently told Steve (owner and coach extraordinaire) that the 2012 version of me would have never imagined needing them as much as the 2018 version of me did need them.

He, along with Mike, Kellar, Matt, Jamie, Nate and Anna have all championed me through half-marathons, new skills and the never-ending rehab of a jankety shoulder. But more than that, they’ve helped me cultivate a mindset that allows me to push through the hard stuff – like in 2018 when the job got harder (and harder), my best friend moved (what feels like) a bajillion miles away and when Stella the dog died.

2018 wasn’t a complete jerk; but frankly, country songs have had better endings than those last few months did for me. Regardless – no matter how tired, sad or emotionally depleted I felt – I found my way to my friends in an aluminum building and at a train station who helped me push through the day.

I can’t tell you how many times a simple text message from a coach or our workout crew kept me from spiraling to the most comfortable, yet dangerous, space for an introvert: on my couch, alone. They kept me from internalizing and dwelling on the hard stuff. Instead, they provided an alternative solution by encouraging me to show up each day.

Long day at work? Show up.

Sad feelings about missing my best friend? Show up.

The day after Stella passed, I asked Steve if I could just come use the rower. I didn’t want to do a workout, but I needed to do something. He told me to show up.

At the very least, I am a rule follower. So, I did.

Throughout this season and like many others, showing up was the easiest decision to make and also the hardest thing to do. I had to trust that the rest would fall into place if I just got there.

Spoiler alert: it did. I made it to 2019 with my feet somehow still on the ground largely in part because of this place and these people.

I really shouldn’t be surprised by that. For everything that I’ve ever thought was too hard or unreachable, they’ve encouraged me to go, do and endeavor. While not always successful, my journey to being a better human has been chronicled through my relationship with some of the best coaches and people I get to sweat alongside.

Consistency is greater than intensity.

Thanks to the recommendation of a few coaches, I’ve been reading/listening to habit philosophies by James Clear. He specializes in how we build and maintain habits and how they play an integral role in achieving goals. Oddly enough, it all ties back to the art of showing up (regardless of the arena you are in).

He said recently in an interview on a podcast, “Be the girl who puts on her running shoes each day – not the girl who aspires to run three miles.”

I’m a list maker, a doer and a goal setter. I like crossing things off a list. I like being held accountable for doing what I said I would do. However, shifting the perspective from goal setting to building and maintaining an environment for success was a lightbulb moment.

Simply put – if we don’t prepare our environment for what we’re trying to do, we’ll never get to a place where we succeed.

With a job that produces tasks that need to be completed at the rate of water spewing out of a fire hose, I live daily with the expectation that nothing will be the same as the day before.

If I could paint a picture of total anxiety for someone who loves structure, boundaries and rules – this is probably it. It took me awhile to adjust, but it also provided an opportunity to build and create systems that help me prioritize and mitigate the day.

For me, that includes waking up at dark-thirty, putting on my shoes and showing up to put in some sweat equity for an hour or so before the day begins.

The alternative is a drastic shift in my day, I don’t feel like I can organize clear, cohesive thoughts, my energy levels are low and I’m downright grumpy.

Y’all, this is the equivalent of me showing up to run a race with only one shoe tied, completely dehydrated and my shirt inside out.

Consistently showing up has made a vast difference in my life throughout my time with Versus, but specifically over the last several months.

When I walk through the gym doors or find my way to the train station platform, I’m greeted with motivation to do harder things that continue to aid in building a better/tougher mindset to tackle the day ahead of me.

I joined Versus all those years ago for the same reasons everyone joins a gym – to feel better about myself physically. But, the reward of consistency over intensity has been so much more.

Trusting the process.

I have the patience of a toddler, and six years is a long time to see the other side. But, I think that’s what has made this whole thing more special. It’s also allowed me a better understanding of how being better emotionally and physically goes hand-in-hand with hard work and a consistent effort. For me, this translates directly to real life application.

I have some very lofty goals for this Spring: sub-27 minute 5K, a faster 10K and Vested MURPH are at the top. Weight loss is in there somewhere, too. But, I’ll never get there if I don’t show up.

In addition to showing up consistently, I’ve been putting in extra work after the gym and on the weekends. I’m also in the throes of better food habits. Rabbits don’t have anything on my ability to put down a raw bell pepper as a snack.

But real, honest moment? The scale hasn’t moved and some training days leave me feeling so defeated. What keeps me going is the fact that this is all about more than crossing a finish line and checking off a goal.

It’s about a lifestyle of choices that leave me feeling better and capable of tackling whatever is ahead of me.

Years like 2018 will always be around. 2019 may be better, but hell – it might be a repeat. Regardless – mental toughness, the ability to show up and do hard things, will continue to be the byproduct of the physical work I put in. All of which is only amplified by a team of people who continue to believe in me.

If you don’t have a Versus, you should find one. Surrounding yourself with people who can keep you moving even when you feel like you can’t is worth its weight in gold. Iron sharpens iron.

Grief is a weird thing.

It’s also probably a weird thing to open this blog with, but whatever – it’s my party. I’ll do what I want.

I don’t mean that the scope of the grief process is weird. But its timing… how it manifests itself in the most random of ways – that, that is the part that has been so weird for me.

For the last few weeks, I’ve tried (failed) to adjust to having four less legs in my home. It’s been exactly three weeks since I said goodbye to Stella Dog. And, it hasn’t been the moments when someone asks about her or asks how I’m doing that have taken me down. It’s been the sounds that aren’t there any longer.

The crunching of fabric in her bed as she made no less than and no more than three circles before snuggling in for the night, right next to my bed.

The jingle of her dog tags when she decided I was sound asleep and that the couch was a comfier bed than her own.

The constant shuffling of blinds on the door as she would stick her head around them in an effort to see outside. Her cue that I didn’t raise the blinds on schedule so she could adequately begin her day.

The barking when she would hear my car door shut.

The tapping of her nails on my floors as she raced inside (at a breakneck speed) for a treat.

And, her low breathed growl because the cat across the street was standing in my front yard taunting her – again.

Every day, I’ve looked for these sounds that have grown a part of my routine for the last eight years. I listen so hard for them, but they don’t come.

Yesterday, I glanced at the front door and realized I’ve still been raising the blinds on the front door so she can see outside. It was a split second thought while I was taking off my shoes from work, and it broke me.

Therein lies the hardest part of grief – its jolt of randomness.

Those moments were woven into the fabric of our days, but I didn’t realize it. Now, the lack of them catches me off guard at a variety of times. It punches me in the gut and an overwhelming sense of sadness creeps in.

Sometimes, tears fall. Sometimes, I try to lean into the sadness. But most of the time? I gather my things and I bolt… to the store to pick up something I really don’t need, to get in a workout or back to work.

Feelings, emotions and all the things that go with them have always been hard for me. And while logic tells me that Stella was never meant to be with me forever, that this day was going to come (whether in a few days or 10 years), logic doesn’t matter.

Grief doesn’t pay attention to the logic of “what.”

Four legs or two, it’s still loss.

And, it should be said that I genuinely thought I had experienced heartbreak before; but, nope. Past relationships and lost friendships have absolutely nothing on what I experienced while sitting on the cement floor of the vet’s office.

Real heartbreak happens when you hold the boss of snuggles and the keeper of all of your secrets as she lets go.

Processing the time.

I’m a friend of logic. I lead with thinking instead of risking. I absolutely, 110% did not have enough time to process and think about the decisions I had to make in the last few days of her time with me.

If I had to pinpoint the exact thing that eats at me a bit, it’s this. I know I would have never had enough time, but I don’t feel like I got even a sliver.

In under eight weeks, we went through several vet visits and what felt like a hundred blood tests. We knew something was causing her to have a few symptoms that seemed non-life threatening, but she acted as normal as she always has (for the scope of what normal was like for Stella).

She didn’t whine, act scared or even whimper. Not to mention, her blood tests came back good – across the board – every single time. At no point did I think what was ailing her might be cancer or even that she had been fighting it for a very long time.

A heightened calcium level presented a need for a final exam that revealed two masses. And in a matter of 48-hours, just shy of celebrating her 8th year with me, she became a completely different dog.

Stella was motivated by food her entire life. She would knock you over for the treat in your hand – or even your own food. When she wouldn’t eat real bacon, I knew something was really wrong.

In two days… she was gone.

Two days.

Stella’s story.

Stella was around for every adult decision I made after graduating college. She was a part of keystone moments in me figuring out who I am and what I want out of life.

In a column I wrote for a local paper in mid-2017, I talked about my very specific story with Stella.

How I had zero compassion levels when I brought her home.

How she never clamored for my attention as a puppy – a few snuggles and then she was good to go lie on her corner of the couch.

How she would sit in the middle of the road, just because she could.

How she challenged my patience in every which way, but taught me a world about loyalty, grace and love.

How she helped me grow up and become a better adult.

I think those are the moments that made her more than just a dog. And even in the last of her time with me, she continued to teach me about pushing through obvious pain, loving with abandon and stubbornly fighting against the inevitable regardless of the inevitable.

The oncologist believed she may have had cancer for almost 18 months, if not longer. I’ve doubled back through every sign or symptom that might have been there, and I’ve come up empty handed.

Stella lived her life without giving way to the things she couldn’t control. She snuggled. She tore through cheeseburgers at a lightning speed, she backed into as many back and ear scratches as possible, she jumped for treats, did tricks on command and took every walk like it was the last one.

We could probably all learn a thing or two about living life from her.

The grief will pass.

I know that the bulk of grief will eventually pass. Those punches and random moments won’t always cause as much sadness. And one day, the random moments will trigger reflection of a life well-loved and lived.

But for today, I am trying to lean into the sadness, to be present and to feel my way through the hard emotions. And in true Stella-fashion, she’s still teaching me in her own stubborn way.

Eighteen months ago, I stopped writing about my everyday attempt at being a better adult. I made a job hop to city government; and instead, I focused on surviving the torpedo of information and task level that came each day.  Processing life through the written word took a back seat, and I’ve missed it.

If I know anything to be true, it’s that the growth of my ability to tell a story is dependent on a consistent approach to writing and the practice of using vivid action to describe how I tackle life. 

So, here we are. On the last day of 2018, I’m launching a new corner of the Internet where my everyday stories, thoughts, ideas and more will find their home. 

Before we really get started though, I want to give you a rundown on what you will what you won’t find here. 

What will live inside these pages:

• A very real and honest approach to my life as an introverted communicator.
• This includes how I subdue the busy of my day job with friends/family, food, fitness and copious amounts of coffee (and a splash or five of bourbon).

What will not live inside these pages:

• The inside scoop of my job. If you are here for commentary on the inner workings of city government, you will be disappointed. As exciting as it is, this space will serve as a place for me to freely write about all the other things I don’t get to write about daily.

From my latest tale in not being able to adult all that well to the neverending journey of being a healthier version of myself, you’ll find stories that might make you laugh, cry or maybe even both. Who knows? The good thing is that coffee will always be involved, and! If it’s the right time of day, so will bourbon. 

Thanks in advance for going on this journey with me. We’ll see where it takes us. 

This post first appeared on an older blog in September 2015 and was republished by a local paper when I began writing a re-occurring column. It was a catalyst for a lot of writing that followed and I wanted it to permanently live here.

I live in Mississippi, I am 28 and I am not married. I can easily jump into a ditty about Southern expectations, but I’d rather tell you a quick story.

Last year, I joined a Bunco group. For those not familiar: this game involves high-octave shrieking when one wins a round, cackling conversation, drinks and food. Our group is hilariously fun to be around, and I enjoy playing for the company and conversation. Maybe not so much the squealing that comes with a perfect roll of the die, but I digress!

We’ve been together for a little over a year, but sticking with it was a rocky start for me. During my first encounter, I was placed at a table full of people I didn’t know. My introverted anxieties would normally be paramount in this situation, but they were quieted with a glass of wine (clearly, I’m easy to please). I can enjoy a good social hour just like the next person, but I have a hard time with small talk. I don’t hate it, but I usually have to get myself to a place where I can feel comfortable with it. Alas, there was no time and the niceties began before I could do such a thing. The girl to my right began asking questions.

What’s your name? Oh good. Easy. I can handle that.

So are you married? What? Wait. Why is that a question? I shook my head. I saw her eyes dart down at my empty ring finger, and then she rallied for a third question.

Oh, so what’s your boyfriend do? Why are any of these questions appropriate? We aren’t friends. I don’t even remember what she said her name was. I quickly muttered, “I’m not in a relationship,” and kicked back the rest of that glass.

The first three questions weren’t enough, she pressed on: Oh really? Why not? Someone… please rescue me. Would everyone think I’m a lush if I went for a second glass? It’s only been five minutes. 

My resting face is somewhere on a scale of sadness/uninterested and “WTH?” I can only imagine what nonverbal I was sending her, but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. Thankfully the game began shortly after the final question was asked.

Our group laughs about this story now, and no one can recall who sat at my table that night (we’ve had several drop off since those initial months). She is a mystery, but her questions – those! Those will live on forever.

While maybe the perception, marriage by 23 and children by 25 isn’t the norm for everyone. Those things aren’t bad if that’s the route you choose (and many of my dearest friends have), but it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.

After my current relationship began, I had a conversation with a friend. He said, “I’m kinda surprised. I didn’t think you dated.”

Wait. What?

He also received a blank stare, but I like him so I let him explain.”You don’t seem like one of those girls who ‘needs’ to be with a guy.” He continued to explain that he thought I was more focused on my career and that my priorities were different.

Oh.

Without a doubt, I have been very career-focused. I was ready for college in the 9th grade, and I was ready to hit the real world shortly after. I don’t fold clothes very well and vacuuming puzzles the hell out of me, but my career? That’s always been the non-negotiable. Those goals have been the driving force between point A and B. Because of them, I’ve achieved a lot in a short period of time and I’ve been able to travel a lot.

With the “I am an independent woman, hear me roar” talk out of the way, let’s be real. Being career-oriented doesn’t mean I don’t want to settle down and be married.

Hasty generalization or not, I think everyone wants to feel wanted and to be in a relationship where they share their life with someone else. It’s human nature, but I don’t think it’s something to rush (not that all do).

When I was 25, I didn’t think two seconds about not buying a house because I wasn’t married. I learned way more than I imagined through that process. And one day, I’ll be able to use that experience when I sit next to the poor guy who feels like putting up with me for the rest of our lives – as we sign papers on a new home, together.

I’ve always leaned heavily on the fact that everything happens for a reason and in its own time. One day, that time will be my time. But until then? I am pretty happy with living a very full life, and checking off boxes on my ever-long bucket list (like Ireland again in 2016). I enjoy life with people I love and I laugh A LOT. Relationships are great, but they don’t run on a timeline.

Who knows? Maybe things will change when I figure out how to wrangle the vacuum cleaner or actually fold clothes instead of letting them hang out in the dryer for eternity!