tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1143029594775663962024-03-05T06:42:48.519-08:00So Type AMy real life.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-47440326360047881362016-01-19T16:26:00.000-08:002016-01-19T16:26:02.476-08:00Anywhere You Go, There You Are.I was heartbroken, so I went to Paris.<br />
<br />
It was only 5 days, so it wasn't really running away. It was more like I was so sad I couldn't think of how to come back to my normal life, so I removed myself from normal life and made good use of the frequent flier miles I'm lucky enough to accrue.<br />
<br />
It was comforting to be back in Paris. To step off the plane at CDG and know which train to get on, which stop to get off, which streets to walk down to get to my airbnb flat. Nothing had really changed and I remembered far more than I thought I would.<br />
<br />
After a month of being terrified to be alone, I found myself in the distracted solitude that travel brings. Where you're definitely alone, but having to concentrate enough on navigating foreign surroundings that loneliness registers differently.<br />
<br />
I went for walks, I went to museums, I went running. I worked, I drank good wine, ate unpasteurized cheese, and after 2 years away got my hands on some decent bread.<br />
<br />
Do you have friends in Paris? People ask, and the truth is, I don't. I always make friends once I'm there, but it's the city I love, not specific people there.<br />
<br />
There were armed military stationed throughout, especially around the more popular monuments. There were metal detectors and security personnel asking you to open your purse and jacket before you walked into stores or metro stops. I've spent enough time in countries where big guns in public are commonplace, but it was still jarring to see in Paris. Scars of a safe city still reeling from tragedy.<br />
<br />
It's a strange realization to come to as an adult, understanding you'll probably always be torn between places. Paris is far away from my family, and friends, and my company, so to build a life there would be hard for a number of reasons. When I'm in Paris, I miss Pittsburgh. When I'm in Pittsburgh, I ache for Paris.<br />
<br />
It helped. Being there.<br />
<br />
Anywhere you go, there you are. My heartache, self-doubt, and bruised ego were certainly still with me while I wandered around le marais, but they were less pronounced. And now that I'm home, I feel more like myself. So sometimes it pays to take a break before coming back to normal life. And if you find yourself needing a break, well, there's always Paris.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-8873784093043312912015-08-03T15:58:00.000-07:002015-08-03T16:06:40.516-07:00For BostonThere are some cities that you fall in love with at first sight. You come up from underground, blinking in the daylight, trying to get your bearings when you're hit with the thought, "I could live here." Just as simple as that.<br />
<br />
That happened to me the first time I walked around Milan. It happened again in Copenhagen.<br />
<br />
There are other cities whose energy and culture are undeniably wonderful. You love visiting. You would never relocate. New York and LA, I love you both, but the daily battles one has to fight to reside in you are not mine to fight.<br />
<br />
Pittsburgh has been my home for a decade. I didn't fall for it right away. Then slowly it simultaneaously charmed, frustrated, and comforted me. After 2 years I fell hard and deep for Pittsburgh and here I still am. Pittsburgh is the longest I've done anything.<br />
<br />
I didn't like Paris all that much our first time together. I mean it's beautiful, sure. The most aesthetically pleasing city in the world. But it's also aloof. You're kept at arms length. I don't like feeling like I have something to prove. Yet that's also what makes Paris so captivating. I kept going back. I started to feel a little less like a bumbling tourist. I got an apartment there for 5 weeks. I naively thought that would be enough time to get Paris out of my system. I miss it viscerally now. I am always thinking of going back.<br />
<br />
If Pittsburgh is my life-long love. Paris is my favorite mistress.<br />
<br />
Then there's Boston. A city that so enamored me during a choir trip as a teenager I was convinced it was my destiny. (Being a teenager is nothing, if not dramatic.) I would go to BU and then get a job. I would raise kids there. I was going to Boston. Pittsburgh was the back up plan.<br />
<br />
Then Pittsburgh became plan A and I haven't looked back. Would do it all the same if I could do it over. But I held onto this thought that somewhere, in some parallel universe, there was a version of me who did move to Boston at 18. Even after the choice for Pittsburgh was made, Boston remained important.<br />
<br />
It was on a trip to Boston nearly 5 years ago that really started Thread. We visited a recycling facility. We had meetings with industry experts despite not knowing what we were talking about. We got drunk in Cambridge after we ran some numbers and confirmed that starting a recycling business in Haiti could indeed be a profitable operation. It was the first place I traveled to with my now colleagues I have been all over the world with.<br />
<br />
2 years after that, I found myself retuning for a conference on social entrepreneurship shortly after i had quit my full time job to focus on Thread. I was so overwhelmed and scared of what I had gotten myself into. I walked up Beacon Hill and thought about that bizarro Boston-based me and wondered if I had made a huge mistake. I kissed a boy on a baseball field at midnight. Our paths haven't crossed since, but he's become one of my most meaningful correspondents and friend, and without Boston we may never have met. I came home to Pittsburgh 5 days later - still not sure I was making any good life decisions, but sure that I was going to stick with them.<br />
<br />
I hadn't returned to Boston until this past weekend when I went because one of my favorite people in the world moved there in March. We caught up in the way you only can with one of your best friends - talking about everything that's happened since we'd last seen each other, swapping stories, sharing opinions to which you both agree, which, ok, doesn't make for good debate, but sometimes it feels damn good to preach to the choir. And Boston? Well, Boston was lovely. It's a real city, with decent public transit, and multiple languages being spoken around you, and wonderful food. There was a festival in the North End celebrating Saint Agrippina. It's always worth celebrating a martyred blonde princess. <br />
<br />
This time though as we wandered around the city and I thought of the version of myself who had come here instead of Pittsburgh, I couldn't picture her as clearly as I could in the past. She was a poorly-formed, ambigious thought, Boston-based me.<br />
<br />
Boston may be the city that got away, but I'm happy that it did.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-16162120615524292542015-07-15T18:14:00.000-07:002015-07-15T18:23:39.769-07:00Death to Car Culture<div class="MsoNormal">
I was almost hit by a car today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This isn’t a novel situation when you’re a pedestrian, but
the encounter today came close enough that my heart was pounding a good 10
minutes after the fact.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first I was shocked. Then scared. Then relieved. Then
livid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t have my phone on me. So don’t tell me I shouldn’t
cross the street with my head down oblivious to the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t jay walking. I was crossing a street at an
intersection, on a green light.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was with my co-worker, we were a couple of feet apart, and
we’re taller than average – it’s impossible that both of us were both in her
blind spot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the afternoon. There was no rain. Visibility was perfect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m telling you this to let you know that in this instance,
the driver was 100% at fault. That’s not always the case. It was here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lee was a couple of feet in front of me. Given the angle the
car was turning and how we were walking, there were a couple of seconds once I
realized the car was not stopping, where I thought, “Lee is going to be hit,
then I’m going to be hit, and there’s nothing I can do about it!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thankfully between us waving our arms around and screaming,
she slammed on the brakes. I heard Lee yell that she was an idiot. I heard
people on either side of the intersection shouting. She stared at us
blankly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we stepped away, she uttered
a weak, “sorry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yea!” I turned and yelled. The only thing I could think to
yell just then. I should have added, “you should be!” but I felt it was
implied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she drove off. I wish I could say I got her plate and
called 311 or something, but I didn’t. I was mostly glad that neither of my
legs were broken.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m over it. I’m so over car culture, but I don’t know how
to make that statement as an individual other than not owning a car, which I
don’t. I’ve never owned a car in my life. Yes, I know how to drive, yes I have my license. Yes, sometimes I even enjoy driving. It's fun. It's also dangerous as hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People moan that social media is the downfall of our
society, but I would argue that already happened decades ago with cars. When it
became our god-given right to drive 2 ton pieces of metal around with no regard
to the fact that we can kill with these machines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driving makes people assholes. My most calm, compassionate
friends get aggressive behind the wheel. Add on a stressful commute, a bad day,
and you are a ticking time bomb with next to no regard to the very real humans
in your path.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been a pedestrian in a city for a decade. I cannot
begin to tell you the things that have been shouted at me for having the
audacity to walk across a street when I had the right of way. Actually, I could
tell you, but my grandmother reads this blog, so I won’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are a lot of things one can worry about in this world,
that don’t concern me very much. I’m not afraid of flying. I’m not afraid to
walk alone at night in the city I live in. I’m not afraid of the flu, or of
eating foods a couple days past their expiration date as long as they don’t
smell funny. I probably should be more afraid of being shot, but that’s a post
for another time. I am afraid of cars. As a passenger. As a driver. As a
pedestrian.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t care if that woman driving was on her way to
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t care if she had just
received tragic news. If she was in an emotionally compromised state, she never
should have gotten into her SUV. Maybe she was under the influence of
something. If she was, there were no checks in place to make sure she didn’t
operate heavy machinery. Nothing she was doing, nowhere she was going, would
have been worth 2 humans. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I think it is ridiculous that I still have to answer, multiple times, when re-entering the country whether or not I’ve had a fever or visited specific African countries during my trip abroad, but renewing my drivers license took nothing more than me paying $25 online.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Self-driving cars can’t come soon enough. Hurry up Google
and Uber, I trust your algorithms a million times more than strangers’ driving
abilities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To everyone else, every time you drive you have the
opportunity to kill someone. I hope it never happens, but please keep in mind
that it could.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Does this make me unpatriotic? It feels like it. Am I better
off moving to a country like Denmark where alternative forms of transportation
are more widespread? Maybe. Except it’s hard to just move to Denmark when
you’re not a citizen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t care if I sound like a preachy liberal. I don’t care
if I am self-righteous about this. Your right to drive is not worth my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-30237014588588950882015-05-27T17:22:00.001-07:002015-05-27T17:22:28.033-07:00StuffFrom 2012-2014, for a variety of circumstances, I moved 4 times. Nothing makes you more intimately familiar with your stuff than moving. Having gone through the process 4 times in 2 years, I can honestly say that there is nothing in my apartment I don't consider to be functional or beautiful. Everything I own at this point, I love enough to pick up and schlepp to my next living situation.<br />
<br />
Living alone has also made me very aware of what stuff I consider important to have as well as the things that apparently I can do without. Books, art, a dining room table - non-negotiable, must-haves. Other things like a sofa are less important. Truth be told, every time I get close to purchasing a sofa I start imagining the plane tickets I could buy with that money instead and then I do that.<br />
<br />
Some dear friends of mine recently purchased a big old victorian house, because you can do that kind of thing here in Pittsburgh. They purchased it as is, meaning they got it for a steal, even for Western PA standards, but it also means the place needs some serious work and is full of stuff from the past several generations who lived there.<br />
<br />
We went over there this past weekend. It was my first time seeing the place and we started going through the piles of stuff, loading most of it into contractor-size garbage bags and discussing which of the furniture seemed cool and salvageable.<br />
<br />
We came across boxes of family photo-albums rotted together, news paper clippings announcing the assassination of JFK, a mink stole with feet and eyes that for a second had us convinced we had stumbled across an animal that had died in the closet.<br />
<br />
There were other remnants of people's lives. A passport with a black and white ID photo. There was one stamp in it, she had visited Ireland. A mortgage for $2,000 for the house from the 1920's, back when mortgages were actual pieces of paper. Pieces of luggage I love to look at, but know I would hate in practice - lugging on planes and through cities with no wheels. A lady should always be capable of handling her own luggage.<br />
<br />
And of course, going through stuff like that makes you think about the fact that someday people will be going through your stuff, whether it's your family, or total strangers.<br />
<br />
What will that be like? The evidence of my life is so different. My love letters are emails. My photo albums and scrapbooks have been instagram for a number of years now. Even my journal is a word document. Will my grandkids hack my gmail account to learn what I was like as a twenty-something in the early aughts?<br />
<br />
I kind of like the idea that when I'm done, there won't be as many trash bags to fill, but rather it will disappear with me. Into the cloud.<br />
<br />
That being said, when a different friend who is moving several states away posted a question to Facebook asking if she should take boxes of old journals with her or burn them, I didn't hesitate in commenting that I vote she keep them. I think it's important to keep the documentation of your becoming, I said. So maybe I'm more sentimental then I'd like to think.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-82451202322271556102015-03-09T06:28:00.000-07:002015-11-25T05:45:35.303-08:00Running Across Haiti<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s summer in Pittsburgh. The season that makes up for the
grey, cold, and god-forsaken month of February. I’m in work out clothes,
hanging out on my boss Ian’s front porch in Friendship. We’re having a beer,
talking about our company, my latest break-up, and running. It was during the
running talk that Ian poses the question, “What if we run across Haiti?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are moments in your life when you know the answer to
something so quickly that you have to wonder if deep down you’ve just been
waiting for someone to ask the question. I say yes almost immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7 months later, I’ve hired a <a href="http://milestogoendurance.com/">running coach,</a> run more than I ever have in my life, and am en route to Haiti to run
230 miles across a country with a group of 17 people who are taking ten days
out of their lives to complete this challenge and raise $75,000 for <a href="http://www.teamtassy.org/">Team Tassy.</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.twitter.com/ianrosenberger">Ian Rosenberger</a> has a great many talents, but one of them is
his ability to collect people – smart, talented, ambitious, people – and
convince them to do crazy shit. The team for this race is no exception. The
group dynamics are nearly perfect. Everyone is interesting, hard working, and
dedicated to making this run happen. We sleep on floors next to one another, we
schlepp luggage, and every time we runners pull into a check-point or finish
line, our support crew is there to offer high-fives, hugs, electrolytes, and
water before you can even ask. The logistics behind something like this are
endless, but everything runs smoothly, thanks mostly to the leadership of <a href="http://www.twitter.com/vivienluk">Viv Luk</a>, Team Tassy’s Executive Director. It’s unreal. Analogies to summer camp are
made all week long. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Poor Dr. Steve is an anesthesiologist, but on this trip he’s
mostly responsible for draining blisters and drilling toenails. My feet have
completely betrayed me. After 7 months of intense training, after back-to-back
20+ milers, I thought I understood how my body would respond to this level of
running. Haiti however, has changed all of that. The heat, the humidity, and who
knows what else have caused my feet to swell and widen to the point where my shoes
no longer fit. This destroys my pinky toes, and my solution is to cut holes
into the sides of my sneakers with Ian’s knife, so that my toes hang out. Dr.
Steve super glues my toes back together. Running is gross.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had 3 goals going into this race:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Finish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Don’t
poop my pants.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> 3)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Don’t
cry on camera.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Halfway through and I’ve completely failed #3. I’m sick.
There’s a cold or flu or some sort of virus spreading through our group –
unsurprising considering we’re spending every waking and many sleeping
moments together. We’ve been saving today’s run for the evening to avoid the
demoralizing heat that occurs after 10 am. I’ve spent the day in bed
unmotivated to do much else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dr. Steve takes my temperature while wrapping up my feet.
101.2. He gives me Tylenol to bring the fever down and tells me we’ll need to
check it during the run to make sure it stays below 101.5, or else I start
putting myself at risk for heat stroke. I go back to the room I’m sharing with
our film crew. I’ve become close with these folks – traveling with them for the past 5 days, falling asleep to the sound
of them editing video and photos. I’m tired, and sick, and frustrated, and
nervous, and when I talk to Taylor and Andrew I start to choke up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you mind talking on camera?” Taylor eventually asks, and
I agree. So, Andrew pulls out the camera, Taylor asks me some questions, and I
cry and blow my nose on film. Maybe it’s footage that will get used, maybe it
won’t. Either way, it’s actually kind of cathartic. I put on my gutted shoes
and Viv and Ian hang back to pace my shuffling self. A Half-marathon later,
Tony Rosenberger hands me a cold Prestige for finishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Haiti is a country of extremes. Extreme wealth, and
desperate poverty. Jungle, and desert climates. Dark and cool for 12 hours a
day, and ruthlessly bright and hot the other 12. I’ve been coming here for 3
years, but am experiencing the country in a whole new way. We run along to the
soundtrack of “blan! Blan! Blan!” being shouted at us every hundred feet by
children and adults. We look a sight, us white runners (with the exception of
Tassy), in our neon running gear and sunglasses passing through towns and
villages. I pass a school one morning as students are arriving for their day. A
woman, a mother I assume, dropping off her child at school runs up to me and
paces me in her sandals and dress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re fast,” I say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” she responds confidently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She runs with me for about a half a mile before peeling off
onto a side road leading to a neighborhood, towards, I imagine, her home. I wonder
what she thought of me. Why she decided to run with a stranger passing through
her space. I wish my creole were better so I could’ve found out. I told her
thank you and have a good day as she left. I wish she knew how much I
appreciated the company.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.twitter.com/teamtassy">Team Tassy</a> works in a very specific neighborhood in Port au
Prince called Menelas. It’s near the water – a network of dirt roads and small
houses. There, Team Tassy works with families holistically, to get them out of
poverty, until the family is self-sufficient and no longer needs them. It’s
long, hard, work. But, they are getting people healthy, getting kids into
school, getting parents into jobs, and the difference those actions make is
drastic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We visit the home of one of the families during our rest day
in Port au Prince. It’s a home I visited 3 years ago, while I was in country
for <a href="http://www.twitter.com/threadintl">Thread.</a> When I visited, no one had a job and 2 of the kids were seriously
sick. We stood and met with the family in the front yard. The house was in
rough shape. The roof leaked constantly. This time though, we visit, and
everything is different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The kids are getting big – their faces are round, and
they’re in school. The older kids practice their English with us. We’re invited
into a newly constructed house built with a foundation made from blocks of
recycled Styrofoam. The father works as a tap tap driver and just paid off the
loan Team Tassy gave him to purchase the truck with. He and his wife help to
mentor new families as they enter the program. This is working. This is why
we’re running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the afternoon, and I lie on a bed with my legs up
against the wall, reading and resting before our last run of 56 miles into
Jacmel. I look up at my legs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think my calves have gotten bigger than my knees,” I say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taylor looks up from her laptop across the room, “But that’s
good, right? Means you’re strong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Totally,” I say. “It’s just weird, not recognizing my own
body.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These legs – these same legs I’ve been distance running with
for the past decade look like they belong to someone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s midnight and we’re driving to the starting point for
our final run, 56 miles from Port-au-Prince into Jacmel. We’re running through
the night to avoid the heat and city traffic. To know Port-au-Prince during the
day is to know streets and sidewalks that are filled. Every square inch of
space is taken over by people, mottos, cars, trucks, and the occasional cow.
It’s sensory overload with sounds and smells and colors unlike anything I’ve
ever experienced anywhere else in the world. At night though, it’s quiet.
Almost post-apocalyptic-like quiet. The streets are empty. It’s both peaceful and eerie.
Outfitted in spandex and headlamps it feels like we’re part of some covert ops
off to do something much cooler than run for the next 12 hours. We take off,
the support trucks ahead and behind us until we clear the city limits and hit
the wide open, empty, dark road. I love running at night. If I didn’t have to
be a functioning human during the day, I think I’d spend most of my midnight - 2 am’s running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next 12 hours pass like a fever dream. I laughed, I
cried, I cursed God and everyone, and experienced moments of utter joy and
bliss. I mentally quit at least 3 times and got altitude sickness at the top of
that mountain. Viv kept me sane, pacing me the last 30 km’s. Owen injured his
Achilles and climbed the peak in a splint. The support crew kept offering
snacks and encouragement despite having stayed up all night. We all met at the
bottom of the mountain, and limped into the finish together. Sun burnt,
blistered, and a little bloodied – we made it. Every one one of us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I’ve known him, I’ve heard Ian say, “It’s not an
adventure until you’re wishing you were safe at home in your bed.” This
experience qualifies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I start writing all of this down during the flight home. A
drunk Canadian comes across the aisle and sits down in the empty seat next to
me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I saw you writing,” he says. “And writing, and writing. Are
you a writer?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” I respond.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What were you doing in Haiti?” he asks, looking over my
shoulder at the scribbling in my notebook.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I ran across the country,” I reply, “and apparently have
just started processing that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He blinks, then says, “I could tell you had a story.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do, and I am
grateful for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04717722666673097566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-90520357944331765192014-09-28T17:44:00.000-07:002014-09-28T17:44:23.086-07:00Summer Reading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IkkMQnqxGH8G6M1S_qioDl7mclFKreFPu_lg58Ciflp9NGqU0WN5VI0Q5fs4UmH-ldJJRV3Hmgm7Blzh1rr7AopZyT3ctCmUqJrfBHOBVtzT51U4u_YjvbNm82qxOuE-loWyH4ehryc/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IkkMQnqxGH8G6M1S_qioDl7mclFKreFPu_lg58Ciflp9NGqU0WN5VI0Q5fs4UmH-ldJJRV3Hmgm7Blzh1rr7AopZyT3ctCmUqJrfBHOBVtzT51U4u_YjvbNm82qxOuE-loWyH4ehryc/s1600/photo.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I come from a family of readers.<br />
<br />
I remember coming home from the last day of 3rd grade, the whole summer wide open in front of me, and my Mom telling me I could stay up reading as late as I wanted because there was no school to wake up for the next morning. That was one of the best rewards ever.<br />
<br />
Even now, when I am home for holidays, the mornings are usually spent with the 4 of us sitting in my parent's living room reading. It's silent except for pages turning, coffee mugs being picked up or set down, and "good morning" when a new person comes downstairs to join the group. It's a really nice way to start the day.<br />
<br />
At the start of this summer I treated myself to a book splurge on Amazon (and picked up a few more through out the season.) Between my front porch, Mellon park, the bar at Franktuary when I'd finish a shift, and several planes, I worked my way through the stack. It was a really nice blend of fiction and stories. The authors made me think, and smile, and tear up, and care about their characters, or see things in a new perspective.<br />
<br />
As much as I love love love my library, there is something special about buying a book. I have some more space now in my current apartment for books, and a well stocked home library is something I aspire towards. Even if books are old fashioned, and a complete horror to move. (I know, I've lugged them all over the city of Pittsburgh from apartment to apartment at this point.) I may love technology, but there is something about curling up with a book, the weight in your hands, the smell of the paper and the ink that I am in no way anxious to give over to a screen.<br />
<br />
This week was the fall equinox and in good timing, I finished the pile of books I had marked for the summer. It's a new season.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-35151861651066033092014-05-06T11:14:00.000-07:002014-05-06T13:38:24.209-07:00Thread + MoopTwo years ago I started the best adventure of my life, which is working full time for <a href="http://www.threadinternational.com/">Thread.</a><br />
<br />
This week, our company moved into our first real office space. It's empty save for a bottle of tequila and margarita mix (we moved in on cinco de mayo). We don't even have chairs yet, so we're sitting on the floor typing on our laptops. We're just so happy and excited to be in <i>our</i> office.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTtSngM9921UOgT5sOFoiyKugVNvjs8zZzLktEwWnvs6L1-8Kpn7iY1jmelBRTQz8j19hBSWz7XMAAgaLY4KUTBTxLCoj3V4Ma8bt9lflTarai_zMHL5FaLSyFa7rXumR8a1WxhmNLEc/s1600/Threadquarters.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTtSngM9921UOgT5sOFoiyKugVNvjs8zZzLktEwWnvs6L1-8Kpn7iY1jmelBRTQz8j19hBSWz7XMAAgaLY4KUTBTxLCoj3V4Ma8bt9lflTarai_zMHL5FaLSyFa7rXumR8a1WxhmNLEc/s1600/Threadquarters.JPG" height="232" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">no chairs, don't care.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Our office.<br />
<br />
It's a big deal.<br />
<br />
Almost as big a deal as the fact that today marks <a href="http://www.moopshop.com/products/moop-thread">Thread's first product collaboration </a>with Pittsburgh-based bag manufacturer, Moop.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.moopshop.com/products/moop-thread"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpis0v2W7JkQWPL6W9QMAac4OG0xgW4m3jtO_yuK07iVFNcZZW-LpZDVLAuA7VTYNsvSiSwJ3leWyFxPrKXVnRvW5bnS0SR2EcCIrnbk9A9SWnzokdS3N7fYtp9G1WdRGj7e1blC3tDg/s1600/Messenger+no.+1+with+Thread+Fabric.png" height="255" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Our fabric is being used in stuff. Stuff for sale. And it looks freaking cool.<br />
<br />
Being able to point to a finished product and say, "that bag is creating jobs, and making neighborhoods safer," makes me proud. Having the opportunity to know the <a href="http://issuu.com/threadintl/docs/impact_report_digital/31?e=10599159/6505650">people responsible</a> for making that fabric first hand makes me grateful.<br />
<br />
Seeing the response from our friends and families as the bags went on sale this morning, has been pretty overwhelming.<br />
<br />
People <i>care</i> about where their stuff comes from. We <i>can</i> use trash as a resource to end poverty.<br />
<br />
It's working.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-75402730755659923162014-04-29T21:03:00.000-07:002014-04-29T21:04:45.641-07:00Coming BackYou're prepared for culture shock. You're warned and nervous and so out of your element that when it happens it's unnerving, but you expected it. Of course you did. You're in another country, speaking another language, surrounded by customs and mores unfamiliar to you.<br />
<br />
What you're not warned about is coming back.<br />
<br />
Which is really the harder part, because you don't expect it to be hard. And it's not hard per se, it's that while you were off galavanting around the globe, life at home held steady. While you learned how to exist in a foreign city, in another nation, and while you had great revelation into yourself, and while you gained confidence and courage that only comes with being completely out of your element, everything else stayed relatively the same.<br />
<br />
Sure time passed. People started new jobs, couples got together or broke up, babies got bigger, but generally speaking things stayed the same.<br />
<br />
Coming back from extended time abroad is such a mixture of excitement and relief at first. You know how things work! You don't have to look up directions every time you leave your house! You get to see all these people who know you, and who you love, and who you've been missing!<br />
<br />
But quickly, everything's just as it was. And you're a little changed, but not different, so you can't help but notice that everything feels flat.<br />
<br />
Flat. That's where I've been this week.<br />
<br />
It's not that I'm not happy to be home. It's not even that I miss Paris. It's the return. It's a weird and difficult feeling to explain. I've been here before, and judging by the way I prioritize travel in my life I'll be here again.<br />
<br />
Other people, much more worldly than me have written about this - one of my favorite descriptions being that if you're not careful, you'll <a href="http://us1.campaign-archive2.com/?u=f7535b861176cc30bddc8246d&id=a7d4caf8a8&e=dd0121ce8f">develop a lifestyle version of the bends.</a><br />
<br />
So I'm reconciling with being back and life being about as normal as it gets. I'm trying to indulge in the things and people I missed, while holding on to some of the habits I picked up. I'm already planning future trips while settling back into a routine in a place I am happy to call home.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-481117738723468402014-04-08T12:32:00.000-07:002014-04-08T12:37:30.047-07:00In Defense of Sharing the Good Stuff<div class="MsoNormal">
Last fall I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while at an
event. “I’ve been following your exciting life on line!” she exclaimed as we
hugged hello.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks!” I responded, then laughed, “I only put the good
stuff up there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which, like most of us is true. My instagram, twitter, and
facebook feeds are filled with photos and musings of good times, fun adventures, food that was divine, and flattering pictures of myself
and my friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are a lot of articles complaining about the lack
of realness in the way we curate the information we share publicly. How our
lives all look shinier and more put together then they actually are, and how we shouldn’t feel bad
when we see our friends doing amazing things, because they’re only posting the
good stuff. How going on Facebook <a href="http://www.economist.com/news/science-and-technology/21583593-using-social-network-seems-make-people-more-miserable-get-life">makes us depressed</a>, because as humans we can't help but compare, and if you're comparing your life to a hand picked feed of only good times, how can you not feel depressed that your life doesn't measure up?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I want to say that I support us sharing the good. If you
want to share the personal, bad, and/or everything else in between, that’s your
decision and good on you for doing what you want. But, I’m sick of us vilifying
the sharing of good stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Personally, I think it’s a very pessimistic view to say the
photo streams we have aren’t real because they’re capturing happy,
exciting, or accomplished events. They are obviously real life. We took them
during our real lives. And yes, bad stuff, confusing stuff, sad, awful stuff has happened to all of us and was just as much real life, but I don’t think the good should be
discounted based on the fact that it’s what we may want to remember or share in public setting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Similarly, the feeds of my friends: creating, celebrating,
having fun, falling in love, exploring new places and kicking ass at their jobs don’t fill me
with despair. They’re god damn inspiring! I’m friends with these amazing
people, building lives they want and working hard to make that happen.
They are talented, beautiful people and I love having insight into the parts of
their lives they are proud enough to share.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been posting more to instagram while in Paris than
usual, because, well, everything is foreign and more catches my attention
and curiosity. Being more aware of my surroundings in Pittsburgh is something I
hope to take home with me in a couple of weeks. Anyway, one of my friends
posted a comment under a picture I took from a morning run through the Jardin
de Tuilleries which said, <span style="font-family: inherit;">“<span style="color: #3d4452;"><b><i>So thrilled to see you enjoy the magic
of Paris and to share it with us. Hooray for living dreams!</i></b></span></span><span style="color: #3d4452;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which, is a remark very true to her personality, but also
struck me as such a pleasant and wonderful way of looking at the noise that is
social media. How it’s thrilling to see someone you care about enjoy him or her
self and share that enjoyment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I defend the re-touched wedding pictures, the creatively
posed engagement and pregnancy announcement photos, the look at me having this
awesome adventure profile pic, and the photos where your kids look angelic and
are getting along. I’ll even stand up for cat pictures, food porn, and selfies with
your significant other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is too
short to not find the beauty in it, to share that, and to revel in how we all
interpret and experience that beauty differently.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-45087483145615609062014-03-19T00:22:00.000-07:002014-03-19T00:25:00.788-07:00An American in Paris<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm sitting in my small and charming apartment in le Marais. Slightly buzzed on <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">côtes-du-rhône</span>, and <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">très contente.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
It's hard to write anything other than PARIS IS AMAZING AND I LOVE IT HERE for this post, and while that is true that's rather boring.<br />
<br />
Paris is amazing and I do love it here. Everything is beautiful, everything is delicious, and the children (not to mention the rest of the population) are so well dressed. I can walk 15 minutes from my apartment and be at the Palais du Louvre, which is incredible. I skip home with a freshly baked baguette that requires no butter, or jam, or nutella, or anything it already tastes so good on it's own. I spent Sunday afternoon wandering around the left bank with a gentleman who told me my eyes are brilliant. Life is pretty great here.<br />
<br />
A lot of my life feels the same. I work, I see my Thread team every day for huddle, I grocery shop and cook myself food. I wake up and do yoga, and go running. At the same time, everything is scary. Every time I leave my flat it requires concentration and learning and the probability of making a fool of myself, and that is thrilling and fun and nerve-wracking.<br />
<br />
I am very much alone here. But I don't feel lonely.<br />
<br />
Having this space (literally an ocean's worth of space from real life) with time to think, and walk, and write, and draw, and eat, and read, and sip espresso, and people watch is wonderful.<br />
<br />
Maybe one day I'll reach a point in my normal life where I can build real time for all of those things in my day to day. Maybe I'll get better at treating my beloved Pittsburgh like a tourist and forcing myself to go, and see, and appreciate the things I take for granted as a local. Maybe I'll learn to really get out of my comfort zone without having to go half way around the world.<br />
<br />
Until then, I'm seeking asylum in Paris.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-88121254523412223102014-03-02T11:49:00.000-08:002014-03-02T11:51:22.771-08:00Dirty DishesThere is a certain satisfaction waking up the morning after you've had a party, and your furniture is still slightly askew, and there is a pile of dishes in your sink, and you're finding glasses set down in corners and on top of bookshelves.<br />
<br />
I love it. I love the evidence that there was a bunch of people hanging out in my space. Cleaning up doesn't even phase me because I am so happy that it happened.<br />
<br />
In college, at <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2010/05/brets-gurl.html">the Polyhouse</a>, after big parties on Saturdays we would spend Sunday mornings drinking pots of coffee and eating waffles, and then the 6 of us would clean all afternoon, trying to get the spilled beer smell out of the living room carpet, and would eventually make dinner. Is it weird that some of my most nostalgic memories from college come from cleaning up after parties with my roommates as opposed to the parties themselves?<br />
<br />
I hosted a pot-luck on Friday to welcome home my boss, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/ianrosenberger">Ian,</a> from the desert, and as a house-warming for myself. It was crowded and loud and fun and I loved it. This new living situation of mine is wonderful for a lot of reasons, not least of which is that I can entertain again.<br />
<br />
I was in the kitchen, getting drinks and helping people find serving spoons for their dishes.<br />
<br />
"Kelsey, do you want help putting out the salsa?" asked Heather.<br />
<br />
"Sure," I said. "Here are some bowls to put them in," and handed her bowls.<br />
<br />
"You can just send them out," said Aunt Janet* "they're ok in the containers they're in."<br />
<br />
"Oh no," I said. "I mean, I know no one cares, but they need to be put in pretty dishes."<br />
<br />
"I understand," said Heather, scooping the salsa into the bowls.<br />
<br />
"My Mom and Aunties would be relieved to know this happened," I explained.<br />
<br />
So presentation resulted in some extra dirty dishes. It made the women who raised me proud, even if they don't know it, and it made me happy to see them stacked in the sink the following morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Aunt Janet is technically Ian's Aunt, but everyone calls her Aunt Janet, and I've adopted her as an aunt here in Pittsburgh.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-72389309541544723162014-02-26T08:23:00.000-08:002014-02-26T08:24:49.020-08:00It Must Be NiceToday I quit my gym.<br />
<br />
I do this every year when it starts to warm up and running outside doesn't make me want break down into a sobbing mess. I did it early this year, because in 2 weeks I am moving to Paris until the end of April, and when I get back it should be spring in Pittsburgh.<br />
<br />
(If we're still experiencing polar vortexes in April, I am convincing the EU to grant me a visa and am not coming back.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, the gym manager of course asked me why I was ending my membership, and I told him about Paris, and how I have a job that allows me to work from where I want, so I was taking advantage of that.<br />
<br />
"Must be nice," he replied. He said this twice in our brief conversation actually.<br />
<br />
To which I smiled and said, "It is. I'm really excited."<br />
<br />
Because it is nice. In fact, it is thrilling. I can't quite believe that this is my life right now, because this kind of thing - picking up and moving to Paris for funsies - is something I thought about, and read about, but didn't think would actually happen to me.<br />
<br />
Much of my life now consists of things that for a while I didn't think would happen to me.<br />
<br />
And it didn't just happen. I didn't just wake up one morning with a job that required travel and therefor gave me airline mileage points so that I could accrue a free flight to France. I didn't suddenly have a job structured in a way with colleagues who trust me enough for me to leave the continent for 5 weeks and still operate business as usual. I didn't suddenly have a job I find invigorating and fulfilling and that challenges me.<br />
<br />
All of this took time and effort and sacrifice and the trust and support of a lot of people. And it could all go away very quickly.<br />
<br />
It is worth it though. So worth it. Building a life you really want is worth every moment of fear and stress. It is worth every breakdown, every panic attack, every time you question '<i>what did I get myself into</i>?'<br />
<br />
Things like moving to Paris, or landing your <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/06/threads-first-birthday-or-what-start-up.html">dream job</a>, or <a href="http://www.crowdrise.com/300milesforhaiti">running 150 miles in the desert </a>don't just happen. The people who do those things rarely just get lucky and find themselves in the midst of that kind of situation. Those experiences are hard to get to. So hard, that they seem impossible until it's happening. So hard, that even when you are experiencing <b><i>so much joy</i></b> from doing that impossible thing, there will <b><i>still</i></b> be fear and doubt and uncertainty.<br />
<br />
If you want it though, it's worth it. Or at least worth what you learn in the process of trying.<br />
<br />
Life is too short for "must be nice"'s.<br />
<br />
Do the work. Make the time. Save the money. Experience what must be nice.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-87744883652609137872014-02-24T16:48:00.002-08:002014-02-24T16:48:40.824-08:00SWAG<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not a good dancer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And after years of never feeling
more self-conscious than when on the dance floor, I have reached a more adult
stage of life where I don’t care, because dancing isn’t about how you look
(unless dancing is your job, in which case, look good), dancing is about having
fun. And I am not about to let my inner critic stop me from having fun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That didn't keep me from being extremely nervous
before my first <a href="http://www.sweatandbutterjournal.com/2013/12/interview.html">SWAG</a> class last fall however. SWAG, stands for Sweating With A
Goal, and is basically an hour of pretending to be a back-up dancer in a dance studio
in Bloomfield. Not only had it been ages since I had attempted to follow any
kind of choreographed dance, but I can’t tell you the last time I tried such a
thing in front of floor to ceiling mirrors and a large group of strangers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, my friends raved about it – and I needed to break up
the monotony of running with something, so I finally forced myself to go. I was
pretty awful. I bumped into the people next to me lunging left instead of
right. I had to stop and watch and try to jump back in every song. I avoided glimpsing
my reflection moving stiffly and awkwardly. I had so much fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
SWAG has quickly become a weekly tradition that I look
forward to. I wouldn’t say I’ve improved much, except that some of the routines
have become more familiar, and I don’t bump into other people as often. So on Monday
nights, I trek over to Bloomfield and spend an hour bending-and-snapping and
looking ridiculous, but having a blast doing it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Usually we like things we're good at.<br />
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
But sometimes it’s real good to just do something you’re bad at.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-57727023747627687342013-10-08T18:09:00.000-07:002013-10-08T18:15:19.872-07:00Responsibility and Personal GrowthIn March, I was at <a href="https://www.google.com/maps?layer=c&z=17&sll=40.466038999999995,-79.964968&cid=5934238777234654273&panoid=D6xzcrt5wuD06VpcLykVJA&cbp=13,297.52843336060505,,0,0&q=espresso+a+mano&ei=eqpUUp7WKcK6igLV2YC4Bg&ved=0CKMBEKAfMAo">my favorite coffee shop</a> when my computer crashed. <br />
<br />
Now, last winter was <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/12/reflecting-on-2012.html">not exactly my best season</a>. Winters are hard in Pittsburgh, I was broke, I was stressed, and I took this fairly common technology hick-up as a very personal affront from the universe.<br />
<br />
My laptop died, and I started crying. In the coffee shop. <i>In front of people.</i><br />
<br />
Because, I had work to do and needed a computer to do it. We are a new company, it's not like we have extra laptops to use if one crashes - we all rely on our personal laptops. I didn't have extra money to spend on computer repairs. And, perhaps the most inexcusable thing of all is that I had nothing backed up - meaning 4 years of my digital life may have just disappeared.<br />
<br />
Most of my <a href="http://www.threadinternational.com/">Thread </a>work was backed up in Google docs and email. But my personal stuff; photos, and music, and the journal I keep to save all of the stories I don't want to share publicly - gone.<br />
<br />
Jenna was with me, and told me to pack up my stuff, took me to lunch, then dropped me off at the Apple store. Where, it was determined that my hard drive was ok, the repair would be a minimal charge, and I would have a working computer again in 24 hours. I bought an external hard drive on the spot, and sat there for 2 hours while they backed up everything.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we do live and learn.<br />
<br />
So yesterday at 4:30 pm, when my laptop crashed on me 14 hours before I was going to be on a flight to San Francisco for a week, I wasn't even phased.<br />
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I made an appointment at the genius bar and planned out a worst-case-contigency-plan, which involved buying an ipad in case they couldn't fix the problem that night so that I could get work done from San Francisco. Not only was I now a responsible adult with her laptop backed up, I was a responsible adult with an emergency fund. And I know, I know, emergency funds shouldn't <i>really</i> be spent on ipads, but if that's the solution that was necessary, I was ready for it.<br />
<br />
I didn't have to buy an ipad. They rushed the fix so I had a working machine again in 2 hours. I've found the Apple Geniuses to be incredibly accommodating people, and wish that more customer-service interactions involved them.<br />
<br />
6 months and everything about my response to the same situation had changed.<br />
<br />
And obviously, this whole story is nothing but a first world problem. But I also feel it's symbolic of my response to my life in the past 6 months, which is to say that the stuff causing me to burst into tears last March are such fixable and manageable problems now. That's nice to know. Even if it also means there are a whole host of new seemingly personal affronts from the universe to deal with.<br />
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<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-7651116125742838382013-10-01T20:14:00.001-07:002013-10-01T20:14:20.056-07:00Marathons, Montreal, and MarriageThe past 2 weeks, since returning to Pittsburgh after my most recent trip to Haiti have been kind of a blur. A blur in which I haven't spent much time at home or sleeping, but have been having a lot of fun.<br />
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<h4>
Marathons/Montreal</h4>
So we'll start with Montreal. Back in January I made the resolve to make <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-year-new-place-new-goals.html">running in cool places</a> a focus for 2013, and signed up for the Montreal Marathon. Because I had never been there, because it was a fall race, because I love Poutine and everything French and so how could I not love this city?<br />
<br />
In a power of persuasion I didn't know I was capable of, I somehow convinced the owners of <a href="https://twitter.com/franktuary">Franktuary</a> to sign up with me. None of them had completed a half or full marathon before. Somehow, despite them running a restaurant, and my <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2013/07/shifting-identities.html">failing at any real training program</a> due to working at said restaurant and traveling back and forth to Haiti once a month, we decided it was still a good idea to go and try, and run this race and see what happens. The majority of us, myself included, having decided that the half was enough of a challenge, planned to stop at the 21 k mark.<br />
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It was cold and rainy and we started the race on the bridge, which felt like being at home, and was miserable. Our coral finally got to cross the start line, and I took off, quickly losing my friends in the crowd, determined to get myself warm and to end this race as soon as possible. It took a couple of miles, but then I hit my stride, and a fast one (for me) at that, which carried me all the way through till mile 11 when I had to walk a couple of blocks due to a charlie-horse, and then ran the rest of the way home. I did not complete the full marathon as planned, but I did manage a PR on the half, shaving a full 7 minutes of my best half marathon time, and making a sub-2 hour marathon seem less like a distant dream and more like a real possibility if I put some focus on it.<br />
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Everyone finished the race - Tim finished the full - and that night we all hobbled out to a great restaurant where we ate our weight in moules et frites, and toasted to running farther and faster than we ever had.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfpodh1831BFVbNUXulMKT15GSCXtPFRAtT0JVtPq1laAtKxxXL9BANI3TsEAoEqyLWWSMgQ8E3WKlOx2uA9VXWRkie2DFQfcq9sn25hg-9yiOomrA70DnqxzGifzzXHvXJBp_zJ7Mns/s1600/Montreal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfpodh1831BFVbNUXulMKT15GSCXtPFRAtT0JVtPq1laAtKxxXL9BANI3TsEAoEqyLWWSMgQ8E3WKlOx2uA9VXWRkie2DFQfcq9sn25hg-9yiOomrA70DnqxzGifzzXHvXJBp_zJ7Mns/s400/Montreal.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Starting line bridge, new PR, Prosecco.</span></div>
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Montreal was a great town, and I was reminded of how much I love exploring a new city. Megan and I did some <a href="http://instagram.com/p/enY4Wavgqk/">thrifting</a> at some great vintage stores on Saint-Laurent boulevard, we ate poutine every day, and ordered pastries in french fresh from the boulangerie in the morning. </div>
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<h4>
Marriage</h4>
Last weekend, one of my closest friends and former <a href="http://sotypea.blogspot.com/2010/05/brets-gurl.html">poly-house roommates</a> got married, which is one of the most grown-up sentences I've ever typed on this blog. Kurt is one of the most genuine, kind, and fun people I have the privilege to know and to celebrate the fact that he's chosen to spend his life with a woman who is as kind and genuine and fun was a joy.<br />
<br />
Everything was beautiful, the bride was gorgeous, the food was delicious, and we all camped out after the reception. Then, woke the next morning to waffles and mimosas in the barn, which quite frankly is my dream come true. We also had a roommate reunion, and it's so good to see and spend time with that group - my first chosen family - and see us grow up and into ourselves and hear about the adventures everyone is on. Also, I had the best dates ever. <a href="http://sotypea.blogspot.com/2011/02/things-precisely-tells-me-as-i-leave.html">Chris</a> and <a href="http://instagram.com/gohomealyssa">Alyssa</a>, let's just go to all the weddings together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwmrwf5o0Bz7J0zdjz-vAsgwuNnIfKy_n6-HJLrADIhqFfAjjCQRCV-O3Z5y9BNsQpx_4XswpAzR9A0ZPlMu5PeqJ07BpQeLeTwtckkainXbSR3l-1iRWc_l_mJ0Y-f8Hrp3G2Igrwlg/s1600/Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwmrwf5o0Bz7J0zdjz-vAsgwuNnIfKy_n6-HJLrADIhqFfAjjCQRCV-O3Z5y9BNsQpx_4XswpAzR9A0ZPlMu5PeqJ07BpQeLeTwtckkainXbSR3l-1iRWc_l_mJ0Y-f8Hrp3G2Igrwlg/s400/Wedding.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The mother-son butterfly kisses dance and the best wedding dates ever.</span></div>
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The highlight though, was that 6 years ago, while living together, we made the bet that the first in the group to get married would have to dance to butterfly kisses at their wedding for the mother/son or father/daughter dance. I didn't really expect that I'd be the first married out of this group, but can I just tell you what a relief it is to know it's not me? IT'S A HUGE RELIEF! Kurt - a true gentleman - lived up to the bet, and it was the best mother/son dance I've ever seen.<br />
<br />
It's been a couple weeks of feeling pretty lucky to know some pretty cool people.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-64337160670672732872013-09-02T16:46:00.001-07:002013-09-02T16:48:36.223-07:00SpaceIn the past year, as I experienced living with people with whom I was not previously good friends, I have realized just how important my living space is to me and my emotional well-being. When I first moved out of the loft I shared with Precisely, I was renting a room in a house owned by a couple I met on the internet. It was cheap, it was flexible, it was in a good neighborhood, and I figured it would be fine.<br />
<br />
It was fine, but it also made me more unhappy than I realized or wanted to give it credit for. I missed having a space that felt like mine. I really missed entertaining and having people over. It was isolating and lonely.<br />
<br />
Luckily, it was also temporary and didn't last for very long, and I like my current apartment very much. So much in fact, that I signed on for a full year lease, and then decided that some upgrades need to start happening because if I'm going to be staying here, I want to like it.<br />
<br />
As much as I love traveling, as cool as I am with living out of a suitcase and sleeping in strange beds, and as much as I get a thrill from adding to my frequent flyer account, I also really like having a home base. And more importantly, for that home base to be a place I am happy to come back to. So, I've started nesting again, and it's really nice.<br />
<br />
I started with the kitchen. My Mom, who is the best, came out for the weekend to help me, and she got everything started while I worked, and kept painting while I ran out to send emails or make phone calls, took me out to dinner, and showed up with multiple bottles of wine. Thank you, Mom. You made what would have otherwise been a tedious long weekend for me really fun and easy. Because here's the thing about painting. I always think it's going to be a breeze, and that it will go quickly and I'll enjoy it, and then I start and within 10 minutes I'm completely over the whole thing, but I've only covered half of one wall with one coat of paint, and have to keep myself motivated for hours until it's finished and I vow to never paint again.<br />
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I digress - back to the kitchen. It turned out so well. I'm very happy with it. And having a kitchen you like is so important, isn't it? Here are some perfunctory before and after pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNyrqZtt8W6zruCKpwcjqN5XYyCu3mjdTnw7g8x7Wd7wYGEf3O96SSnd3M2MAJO3jZWn8Yjqb2VQjmttMTQQUNUZfEu2O3Vuoh26wfgamy8iGDbn1SOinnzVt3dE_poBjSaJNwFK2sLQ/s1600/Kitchen1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNyrqZtt8W6zruCKpwcjqN5XYyCu3mjdTnw7g8x7Wd7wYGEf3O96SSnd3M2MAJO3jZWn8Yjqb2VQjmttMTQQUNUZfEu2O3Vuoh26wfgamy8iGDbn1SOinnzVt3dE_poBjSaJNwFK2sLQ/s400/Kitchen1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Before: ugh. Boring white walls, fake wood cabinets making the whole room seem much darker than it actually is, there is nothing inspiring about this room.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5WJLs9cqMgVAIId5kpo7JG5vlMQZhhMid9eXMABGjXlaKuZT5OZ6x1vjtB5hDxDybCbyeqVGHYbY3yF7CgpySOLKm2P-QVKJ0_9I5MH_3GBiYECiG1yAv0fADQC3iKVLZyNBZ6flqEc/s1600/After1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5WJLs9cqMgVAIId5kpo7JG5vlMQZhhMid9eXMABGjXlaKuZT5OZ6x1vjtB5hDxDybCbyeqVGHYbY3yF7CgpySOLKm2P-QVKJ0_9I5MH_3GBiYECiG1yAv0fADQC3iKVLZyNBZ6flqEc/s400/After1.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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After: So much brighter! So much better. To quote <a href="http://stylebyemilyhenderson.com/">Emily Henderson,</a> "I'm gonna cook so hard in this kitchen!"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHeHAMGPJvN7Z68i3WJbs9JQEOna2aA0d3hky9Ct6CKFFOdvc_nxlb_5oddAVRIu9k4qOVMigcU9EDzukLPXnek4rzWPmXdtWw1q7I2gmoorkR6FGI-0_bctml_Grk8aL3QfMAbWs3W1c/s1600/Kitchen2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHeHAMGPJvN7Z68i3WJbs9JQEOna2aA0d3hky9Ct6CKFFOdvc_nxlb_5oddAVRIu9k4qOVMigcU9EDzukLPXnek4rzWPmXdtWw1q7I2gmoorkR6FGI-0_bctml_Grk8aL3QfMAbWs3W1c/s400/Kitchen2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Before: Those cabinets were the bane of my existence.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWuF2E1Y6jZrVPbdJNZNlOPNhaQ0KZwrtgqfgcMK481Ny8IR0P1PdbcvQGTzG2dFm9lJ_Ty5LGueiCTsKjSbWWKMCtEt63NXwi9qm65XY2ChLU_2oM1I7ufgWsmpPYziP-2qQxgoDMBg/s1600/After3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWuF2E1Y6jZrVPbdJNZNlOPNhaQ0KZwrtgqfgcMK481Ny8IR0P1PdbcvQGTzG2dFm9lJ_Ty5LGueiCTsKjSbWWKMCtEt63NXwi9qm65XY2ChLU_2oM1I7ufgWsmpPYziP-2qQxgoDMBg/s400/After3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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After: Paint makes everything better.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWepuEYcPrkxmr_etAPweG5vumCuF0v2Ejqtw-zNLZ8p3HAnXypr7AF-8khFatAgf1Ub1jIVBvUaZJWo46qVxWSBtx8eIJqUPxSZVRI772OsmiOXniuzZ0jcTwK62f3XJBFumMZ92dsAo/s1600/Kitchen3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWepuEYcPrkxmr_etAPweG5vumCuF0v2Ejqtw-zNLZ8p3HAnXypr7AF-8khFatAgf1Ub1jIVBvUaZJWo46qVxWSBtx8eIJqUPxSZVRI772OsmiOXniuzZ0jcTwK62f3XJBFumMZ92dsAo/s400/Kitchen3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Before: Expansive, maddening, never ending white.</div>
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After: Color and artwork (courtesy of my talented<a href="https://twitter.com/hifromkelly"> best friend</a>). Now it's a room I actually want to spend time in.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3nnUbdArghHQPLUj6hr9UxyacldHtXriATIZi74IthBJNs7iaa2i0oQPFt0eUffRSR9-q1lCMmaACwUaqlQAy-C5aYKoTsLSRgKvhzCUhYqaIgfH9XhCULJ9VX9Ua1N9WBQjO-vI12A/s1600/open+cupboards.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3nnUbdArghHQPLUj6hr9UxyacldHtXriATIZi74IthBJNs7iaa2i0oQPFt0eUffRSR9-q1lCMmaACwUaqlQAy-C5aYKoTsLSRgKvhzCUhYqaIgfH9XhCULJ9VX9Ua1N9WBQjO-vI12A/s400/open+cupboards.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We also left the cupboards open on either side of the sink, mostly so that I can show off my collection of stemware (a girl's gotta have priorities), and I love them. I love these cupboards so much.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMFAJtWrD6dGyf09w8dtFBysUvpq29X9bJQfZW8KM_iTeuoyjk7wPIy-kFh8oemnfUzecR3Xs4pX9yEDZxsKub_We1jTrZGrxWZRK8wh1G_3kKPOP4eAWuxcUnVXsQz5L28a5sgAJQG4/s1600/compost.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMFAJtWrD6dGyf09w8dtFBysUvpq29X9bJQfZW8KM_iTeuoyjk7wPIy-kFh8oemnfUzecR3Xs4pX9yEDZxsKub_We1jTrZGrxWZRK8wh1G_3kKPOP4eAWuxcUnVXsQz5L28a5sgAJQG4/s400/compost.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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My mother also disapproved of my former compost collection, which was happening in an old tupperware, so we bought a new one. Problem was, we could only find jars without lids, which doesn't work, but a piece of scrap fabric, an old hair tye, and some chalk board paint later - it's the cutest compost jar ever.</div>
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I still have some plans for this room (like getting rid of the table and putting in a tall butcher block counter along the wall instead) - but it's good to have goals. Life is boring when nothing needs to be improved on. In the meantime, come over. I'll make you dinner.</div>
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<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-56890873902094303142013-07-28T16:24:00.000-07:002013-07-28T16:24:10.339-07:00Shifting IdentitiesIt took completing two full marathons before I felt comfortable calling myself a runner. Which, is completely ridiculous since I think that anyone who runs can claim that title for themselves if they want to.<br />
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Once I embraced it though, the title of runner, I embraced it whole heartedly. And not only did I identify as a runner, but a marathon runner, and this identification was more important to my internal narrative than just calling myself a runner.<br />
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I'm registered for the Montreal marathon on September 22. That's just 8 weeks from now. And I've had to be honest with myself this week and admit that I haven't been training for it. I started to, at the beginning of June, and it was fine. But then, I started traveling to Haiti more frequently, which I love, but which is more often than not a place where I can't run. I didn't take into account how disruptive working in the service industry is to a schedule - especially a training schedule. I just can't work until 2 am and then get up 4 or 5 hours later to run for a couple of hours before the day gets too hot. Marathon training takes a toll on every aspect of your life for a couple of months, and I haven't been giving it that space.<br />
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I've still been running, but not training, and haven't done anything longer than 12 miles in the past 2 months. On Thursday, the first day I was able to have time for a run since getting back from a week in Haiti, I took off determined to really step up my game, throw myself into it for the next 2 months, and be ready for Montreal. I made it 3 minutes before I had to stop and walk. Exhaustion from the trip finally caught up with me, and it wasn't just an "I'm bored" mental block, I was too physically tired to run that day. So I walked. I walked on Friday too. This morning actually, was the first run I've had in 2 weeks. And it was good, but it was only 3 miles. Not the 15 it should have been.<br />
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Running is wonderful because it's an incredibly personal exercise. Training for a marathon even more so, because you discover parts of yourself and your mind that aren't part of your day to day but that only come up when you are pushing yourself into the boundaries of your physical capabilities. It's fascinating and rare and a little addictive, which I think is one of the reasons us distance runners stick with it.<br />
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Usually having a bad run, or being this far off from my training schedule would have me feeling extremely guilty. Because that's the other thing about running. It's personal, so messing it up and doing it poorly makes you feel bad as a person. But, when I'm honest with myself, I'm not training poorly because I'm lazy or a bad person. I'm training poorly because training for a marathon isn't a top priority in my life right now.<br />
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My schedule and focus has shifted a lot since I last trained for and ran 26.2 miles, and that level of running is just not as important to me as other things going on right now. Because really, we make time for what matters most to us, no matter how hectic or crazy or unpredictable our day to day life becomes.<br />
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And that's the scariest part of all of this. Admitting that this marathon is not as high a priority for me as it used to be. Because it means that the former title of "marathon runner" that played such an important role in my self-identity, has changed. And it means that my internal narrative needs to change with it. Which, is a good thing because people are complex and constantly evolving and if my priorities were exactly the same as they were 2 years ago then that would be boring.<br />
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I'm still going to Montreal. We'll see how these next 2 months go, and if I am ready, I'll run to finish. If not, then I'll run a half-marathon in a beautiful city, with some good people, and eat poutine, and that will be fun too. Because running is still important, even if running that kind of distance has become less so.<br />
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<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-66793004947917641042013-06-28T07:00:00.001-07:002013-06-28T07:01:48.680-07:00TwoThere is a scene in one of my favorite movies, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0032904/">The Philadelphia Story</a>, where Katherine Hepburn's character, Tracy, is planning her wedding and her mother asks, "but what will we do with all these people if it rains?"<br />
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"Oh, it won't rain, Tracy won't stand for it." answers Tracy's younger sister.<br />
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Which is generally how I feel about the weather, especially when planning an event. On Wednesday, we threw a birthday party to celebrate Thread's 2nd anniversary of incorporation. It took place on a roof patio of a restaurant a few blocks from our office. It was supposed to thunderstorm. It didn't. I wouldn't stand for it.<br />
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Two years, and it's still thrilling and exciting and even though aspects of this <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/06/threads-first-birthday-or-what-start-up.html">crazy job</a> are beginning to feel normal, there is nothing else on earth I would rather be spending my time doing.<br />
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Plus - I get to spend most of my time with these guys...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSyGvRVj0Qd3FW4-ZXpuAZyB5UailLRYXwAiUHsLiUPGbxhCyKfmrokTj-w2wRQWImhPSM4qkqxIYU0yp4JATOFLPH5DnIkbGLGtAMwamCZhyV6bDIa4kL3zAkXYQm6LRXZ7-uOE2kdA/s1600/Team1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSyGvRVj0Qd3FW4-ZXpuAZyB5UailLRYXwAiUHsLiUPGbxhCyKfmrokTj-w2wRQWImhPSM4qkqxIYU0yp4JATOFLPH5DnIkbGLGtAMwamCZhyV6bDIa4kL3zAkXYQm6LRXZ7-uOE2kdA/s640/Team1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Y'all are the best co-workers, travel-companions, emergency-contacts, chosen-family a girl could ask for.<br />
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Happy Birthday, <a href="http://www.threadinternational.com/">Thread!</a>Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-34850155672660032052013-05-23T17:40:00.000-07:002013-05-23T17:40:53.763-07:00Life Lately...is so sweet.<br />
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And I'd like to take just a second to acknowledge that. Because it is so easy to get wrapped up in nonsense that isn't real problems. And because I usually take the viewpoint of wanting to live like a shark - constantly moving or else I'll die.<br />
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And sure, I don't have a lot of money. I don't have a car. My hair needs a trim, my bed isn't made, I could/should probably weigh 5 lbs less, I'm single, and I spend a good deal of time worrying that I'm frivolously wasting my defining decade and that I'll wake up in my early 30's horrified at the life I've built for myself.<br />
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But today after I wrapped up a day of work at a job I love, I went for a run, and then I walked home and read a magazine on my front porch while it poured rain, and drank a glass of wine. And I was happy.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-16967447497814793792013-04-20T13:01:00.003-07:002013-04-20T13:02:02.191-07:00Twenty-Six<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I will land on my feet this time,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">knowing at least two languages and who</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">my friends are. I will dress for the </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">occasion, and my hair shall be</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">whatever color I please.</span></i></div>
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- From Crossroads by Joyce Sutphen</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED2khcxL7w9gdIgYzaka8J-aAO6xCoM7d6oYBE0fCtigqAmOHAr1UqCQmwEd_keL-aUX-oUTOYP24VSbkfqw58_gjq_CNAn8UAZX8bj_j7hkIa7EL1EGyWwBMugw6xey3KcY3j5p5poM/s1600/Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED2khcxL7w9gdIgYzaka8J-aAO6xCoM7d6oYBE0fCtigqAmOHAr1UqCQmwEd_keL-aUX-oUTOYP24VSbkfqw58_gjq_CNAn8UAZX8bj_j7hkIa7EL1EGyWwBMugw6xey3KcY3j5p5poM/s320/Beach.jpg" width="240" /></a>.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">On the beach at Malibu with <a href="http://www.twitter.com/lisamindelle">Lisa.</a> One of the awesome parts of my birthday trip to LA.</span> </div>
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25 was kind of a crazy year. Real fun, but a little crazy. Here's hoping that 26 is just as fun, and maybe just a little more stable.</div>
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Thanks to everyone who celebrated with me over this past week. Y'all are what makes life so sweet.</div>
Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-44988864329215418292013-03-16T08:14:00.003-07:002013-03-16T08:17:34.181-07:00Consuming - What I've learned about buying from a year of being broke."Pittsburgh Millionaires" was the term my friends and I used for ourselves when we graduated from college and had our first salaried jobs. I was not making ridiculous amounts of money by any stretch, but I was paid decently and coming from supporting myself as a student on 3 part time jobs in an affordable city. It's amazing how quickly you acclimate to making more than twice as much money as you did the year before.<br />
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I knew I had a cell phone bill, but didn't know (or care) how much it was because I could pay for it. I went out to eat 5 nights out of the week, because why not, I worked a lot and cooking is hard, and then I'd throw out food that went bad because I didn't eat it. I bought furniture and clothes to fill up the expanded living space I moved into. I did some fiscally responsible things like saving for retirement, paying off my credit card every month, and not purchasing a car, but looking back now, I want to know what did I do with all that money?<br />
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Some of it was really well spent. Plane tickets to <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2010/08/leaving-makes-you-realize-where-you.html" target="_blank">Israel,</a> and <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/04/home-again.html" target="_blank">Italy</a> and Haiti. Running shoes and <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/11/3822.html" target="_blank">marathon entries</a>. Tickets for me and my sister to go the opera, some fantastic meals with good friends, and bottles of wine that got shared over conversations I cherish.<br />
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A lot of it was wasted on lattes I barely tasted but drank out of habit, cheap shoes from Payless or Target that I wore 3 times and hurt my feet so much I never wore them again or that fell apart within a few months, take out food that other people cooked for me even though I was perfectly capable of preparing food I had already purchased myself, late night ice cream runs, and cheap clothes I bought just because they were on sale.<br />
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Then I quit my job to start a business, and re-entered the world of supporting myself through part-time work.<br />
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Suddenly, I knew down to the penny how much that cell phone bill cost. Groceries were bought and planned and used completely. I can count on one hand the number of new clothing items I've purchased this year. Lattes became an extravagant treat. I knew exactly where the little money I had was going, and while there were things I missed, I was surprised by how much of what I cut out I didn't miss at all.<br />
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Being broke sucks. Feeling stressed about money, and adjusting your social life because you can't afford to go out with people, or do things you love to do is not fun. Luckily, things at <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2013/02/a-personal-life.html" target="_blank">Thread </a>are going well, and we've even started to compensate ourselves a little. We're not at full salaries yet, and I'm not giving up the part time jobs, but I can have some disposable income again, which is so liberating. This time I am determined to make sure I'm aware of how I spend it.<br />
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The more I learn about supply chains and companies and their products, the more I become aware of just what I support when I purchase stuff. High quality, whether it's things, food, or experiences cost more. Unfortunately, we've become such a consumption based culture that we feel as though we have the right to cheap, fast, vast quantities of products all the time. We don't. Not without huge expense to our environment and/or other people.<br />
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I look at the vintage clothing my grandmothers have given me and I think, I don't have anything of my own that will likely last long enough for me to give to granddaughters some day. The more I learn about food policy and the industrial practices and medications and ingredients we ingest, the more I believe in the importance of knowing what you're eating, and where it comes from. The more I dig into supply chains of the products I buy for so little money, the more I realize I am directly supporting practices I don't believe in or want to support at all. The more I learn about landfills and the amount of money and resources being buried underground as we throw things away is terrifying. The more I've been forced to give up, the more I am aware of what I really want and miss being able to buy, as opposed to consuming out of convenience or habit.<br />
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So, moving forward I am trying to change. To focus on quality and not quantity. To focus on experience over stuff. I will budget for and pay what I have previously considered an outrageous amount of money for a pair of shoes or a beautiful piece of clothing, because it will be something that I love, and that is designed and made well, and that will not fall apart after one season, and doesn't endanger people's lives in it's production. I will pay 3 times more for the grass-fed beef, because it's worth it and because I do not need to eat meat everyday. I will not buy stuff just because it's on sale or impulsively because I can. I will put that money towards a plane ticket to see people I love, or to run a new marathon, or something else awesome that years from now I will appreciate having been part of my life experience.<br />
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Consumers hold a huge amount of power. Your purchases, donations, and the way you spend your money can influence products and policy. Make sure what you're spending it on is worth it.<br />
<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-27591514210546427992013-03-07T16:54:00.000-08:002013-03-07T16:54:13.674-08:00Sleep Over"Will you come to our sleep-over?" She asked me excitedly.<br />
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"Yes!" I replied without hesitation.<br />
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The sleep-over was organized by Megan, one of the owners of the restaurant I work at. Her husband was out of town on business for the week, and she invited the Franktuary ladies over for a good old-fashioned girls-only slumber party.<br />
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"Why are you having it on a Wednesday?" one of the cooks asked us, "that's the middle of the week."<br />
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"Because," I responded, "We are grown-ups. And when you're a grown-up, if you want to have a slumber party on a Wednesday, you can."<br />
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This is why adult-hood is awesome.<br />
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We planned on make-overs, truth or dare, manicures, and hair crimping, you know, typical slumber-party stuff. We ended up drinking wine, and eating junk food, and talking until late at night when we all got sleepy and went to bed. So, it was pretty tame by slumber party standards.<br />
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It's such a childish event, but it was really fun.<br />
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It's easy to experience isolation and loneliness in adulthood, especially before you start a family of your own. And even though we all have our own apartments, with our own comfortable beds, there was something comforting about showing up with a sleeping bag and pjs knowing you wouldn't be going home until the morning.<br />
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And just like when we were kids, we lay in the dark waiting to fall asleep, giggling. Even though we're grown women.<br />
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Am I tired today? Yea.<br />
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But, as Megan wrote in the email inviting us all over - <i>Tiredness is just the price you pay for fun times sometimes.</i>Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-17568322124490715862013-02-12T12:18:00.000-08:002013-02-12T12:18:33.278-08:00A Personal Life"So when are you at your other job? During the day?" asked a co-worker of mine at <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2013/01/slinging-hotdogs.html">the restaurant.</a><br />
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"During the day, sometimes at night, sometimes on the weekends," I replied. Which is true. No one starts a business to cut back on the hours they work each week. Luckily, at <a href="http://www.threadinternational.com/" target="_blank">Thread</a> we have incredible flexibility as to when we work, so I feel like it all balances out.<br />
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"Do you have a personal life?" he asked.<br />
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<i>You mean, do I have time to date anyone?</i> I thought in my head, but didn't say out loud, instead offering an off-handed comment about personal lives being over-rated.<br />
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And maybe that's not what he was implying by "personal life," maybe he was just curious if I did anything other than work, but either way, this idea around a "personal life" and it being something removed and separated from what I do on a daily basis irks me.<br />
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I work a lot because I love it. And <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/06/threads-first-birthday-or-what-start-up.html" target="_blank">this job</a>, this work, has allowed me expand and change my perspective of the world. It's made me aware of issues and problems I didn't know existed. It's expanded my social circles and introduced me to interesting new people. It's made me complete tasks, and solve problems, and develop skills I didn't think I was capable of having or doing. It's made me afraid and vulnerable and has drawn me closer to people than I thought was possible. It's allowed me to make connections around the world, to seek out new knowledge, and to ask for help almost constantly. It's made me grow, as a professional for sure, but also as a person. I am a better person for having taken this job. If that's not personal than what is?<br />
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I think that starting a venture has to be one of the most personal things you can do in life.<br />
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So while entrepreneurs might be the only people in the world who willingly quit a 40 hour week to take on an 80+ hour work week, I don't think it's at all at the expense of having a "personal life."<br />
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Sometimes, we even find time to date.<br />
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<br />Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-44254152605561442672013-02-06T19:39:00.000-08:002013-02-06T19:42:16.862-08:00Cut<a href="http://www.thesartorialist.com/photos/on-the-street-the-cut-amsterdam/">The Sartorialist</a>, in a post last week wrote, "I've said it before and I'll say it again, a great unique hairstyle/cut is one of the best things a cash-strapped young lady or gentlemen can invest in."<br />
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And I thought, "I am a cash-strapped young lady! And I am sick of long hair, and it is time for a change."<br />
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So yesterday, I changed it up.<br />
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It's the shortest hair I've ever had, and I love it. Even in a photo taken with my laptop camera.<br />
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Thank you <a href="http://evolvemodhair.com/">Beth</a>, for working your magic once again.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114302959477566396.post-56706384720735341552013-01-29T13:25:00.000-08:002013-01-29T13:27:48.828-08:00New Year, New Place, New GoalsI moved this past weekend, which was possibly the least painful move I've ever done. Still, there's nothing like navigating icy steps, arms full of a bow and arrow, wine glasses, and a hula hoop to make you take stock of your life.<br />
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Anyways, I'm still getting settled, but feel good about this new apartment - with more closet space than I know what to do with (that's a lie, I finally have room for all my clothes), good lighting, and a big front porch with a swing.<br />
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It's nice starting off the new year, with a new place to live. And even though I did goal setting back at the end of December, I've clarified a bit more what I want out of this year, and thus will spend the next 11 months focusing on the following:<br />
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<b>1. Working really hard.</b> I love to work. I have for years. It makes me feel productive, it gives me a structure to my schedule, it allows me to be my best self. I also now, have the fortune of having a job I love, one that scares me so much I feel nauseous sometimes, so I know I'm doing something right. I also know if there's one thing I learned in the past year, it's that <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/12/reflecting-on-2012.html">it's always less scary on the other side</a>. Also, this job I love so dearly is helping to start a business in a developing country... so, there's lots to do. I am not worried about work-life balance (which I think is a myth anyways) right now. Right now, I want to work my butt off.<br />
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<b>2. Running in cool places.</b> After completing <a href="http://www.sotypea.blogspot.com/2012/11/3822.html">3 marathons</a> in the city of brotherly love, I have decided to expand my racing horizons. I am not a very fast runner, so a race is a great way to see a city. It's also a great reason to go somewhere I've never been yet. That being said, I've registered for the Montreal Marathon in September, and am trying to talk all the runners I know into coming with me. So far, I've got 1 other commitment, but it's early yet. <a href="http://sotypea.blogspot.com/2011/02/things-precisely-tells-me-as-i-leave.html">Chris</a> and I are also looking at a wine country half marathon in May, and I'll be on the lookout for some fun races throughout the summer.<br />
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<b>3. Making new friends and meaningful connections.</b> Ok, this one is kind of always a focus, because really, what else matters more than human connection? But for the past couple of weeks, I have been saying yes to last minute brunches, clothing swaps, 6 am yoga classes, late night best-friend real-talks, gallery crawls, and hanging out for a beer after work with new friends. And it's so much better than staying home watching Netflix. Spending time alone is good. Giving yourself time for reflection, and relaxation is important. Spending time in situations where you're meeting new people, and making those new connections is really important too.<br />
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<b>4. Looking cute while doing it.</b> One of the few things I have control over in my life right now is my physical appearance. And, now that I have all this closet space, I should have no trouble seeing all of my clothes. I really like clothing, and fashion, and have every intention of reflecting that on a daily basis. You don't have to wait for some special occasion to look awesome. Look great on a Wednesday.<br />
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So there you have it. 2012 was all about ripping my life apart and 2013 is all about settling back into it. Work, running, relationships, fashion. This is what's important.Kelsey Hallinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04504812128075620367noreply@blogger.com0