In September, I was all like, “I’m totes going to Germany in 2012!”

I figured I’d work out the details later.  Like, you know, paying for a trip to Germany.  Now is later and it’s time to get serious about saving.

A year after paying off my credit card debt, I am still out of credit card debt, but I haven’t saved as much as I’d hoped.  Mostly because I started working less and traveling more.

My inclination toward minimalism has helped me avoid the temptation to buy a bunch of stuff I don’t need, but I think I can take it further.  I want to go to Germany!

Another thing to consider: working up the courage to travel outside of the country alone!  For a person who rarely minds being alone, it strangely freaks me out.

Ashley, Nicole, Ashley

I forgot that waiting for someone at the gate used to be possible until I got off the plane in Boston, and I saw Ashley standing there.  Good planning with a dash of good luck meant that she flew into the neighboring gate a few minutes before me.  We hugged, we cried (not really), we skipped (again, not really), we sat next to a woman with a dog named Starbucks while we waited for Nicole to pick us up (really).

We first got to know Boston in the dark and the rain, while starving, but still Ashley and I were like, “The leaves!  Who knew they came in this many colors?  Why does anyone ever stop writing songs and poems about these leaves?”  We moved on to other topics of conversation, but periodically throughout the weekend one of us would say again, “the leaves!”

After grabbing dinner with Nicole’s boyfriend, James, we finally got to see Nicole’s apartment.  I knew it had character, but I was not prepared for how much character.  Low ceilings, a nook, and stairs it’s a miracle I didn’t fall down.  Except that one time when I kind of did fall down, but it was dark and no one saw me.  We set up camp in the living room, which Nicole’s awesome roommates were surprisingly okay with, and busted out the Dawson’s Creek DVDs, which we watched until we all fell asleep at an embarrassingly early hour.

As we proved in Boston, traveling and being in the company of other people does not mean giving up valuable time spent with our laptops.  Every morning, we enjoyed coffee and internet time.  We really prefer communicating through Twitter DMs even while sitting on the same couch.  I know there are more people reading this who understand than don’t understand it, so I guess I won’t try to defend it except to say that there is something hilarious about sneezing and then receiving a DM that says, “bless you.”

Since it was 11/11/11, we discussed wish theory while eating crepes.  We wanted to make sure we did it right, you know?  I hope right means sitting in a Target parking lot, because that’s what we did.  Making up the rules ourselves, we decided to make our 11:11 am wishes secret and then our 11:11 pm public.  Except it was 11:12 pm before we remembered to make our public wishes.  Whoops!

Friday afternoon, we went downtown to see Blue Man.  While Nicole, the stage manager, was preparing for the show, Ashley and I went to a bar and enjoyed a well-rounded meal of fries, fried pickles (which I did not know were a thing), and beer.  Suffering from separation anxiety, we drew a picture of Nicole on a napkin and propped it up on the table.  I think we both forgot to be embarrassed about it until the bartender commented.  When we left, he asked us if were were taking our friend with us.  Yes, obviously.  Blue Man was hilarious and amazing and Nicole did a fantastic job.

Since all three of us participated in VEDA, and it was really the thing that transformed us from blog friends to fly-across-the-country-to-visit friends, we held a meet up that night, so we could see Joey and Germana’s faces.  They do indeed have faces!  But I didn’t touch them, because that would be creepy.  VEDA people: they were as awesome as expected, but who would really be surprised by that?

This Summer in Austin, we started the tradition of making one Pinterest recipe every visit.  Saying we means taking a lot of credit I don’t deserve, since I have no idea what I’m doing in a kitchen, but I did document the event and I did enjoy the Cinnamon French Toast Bake on Saturday morning like it was my job.  Since returning from this trip, I feel like I should be eating a huge breakfast of sugar every day.

Full of sugar and coffee, we took off for Harvard Square to drink more coffee and meet Kate.  She walked by us a few times, because my text said only, “we are here” without the added, “we’re the girls sitting at a table looking at our phones.”  It was lovely to meet Kate and discuss important issues like Dawson’s Creek (we wanted to take her home with us to watch more) and meeting bloggers (how it’s not scary until someone tries to take you home to watch Dawson’s Creek).

We tried to walk around Harvard and pretend we were Rory Gilmore making the tough decision between our dream school and Yale, but the campus was locked down (we think because of Occupy Harvard).  We just stared longingly through the gates, which I think Rory would approve of given the circumstances.  Then we went and bought wine across the street, which I am less sure that Rory would approve of (at least until she went through that rebellious stage in season six).

As it was getting dark, we headed back to Nicole’s apartment for #winetoreach.  Kristen came over, and then Liz and her friend Meghan showed up a little later with whipped cream vodka in hand.  Whipped cream vodka was even more amazing than expected and it immediately made it more difficult for me to pay attention to the drama of Dawson’s Creek, especially since every character on that show who drinks either falls off a pier and dies or finds some other way to screw everything up.

I would probably have more thoughts on meeting Liz for the first time if I had felt like we were meeting for the first time, but I didn’t.  I’m not sure how this makes sense, but I feel like the more bloggers I meet, the less they surprise me.  Maybe because I don’t expect them to anymore.  Liz did apologize for hugging me, since word on the street is that I’m not a hugger, but I would just like to state for the record that I have no problem with hugs.  I’m just not very good at them.

More from #winetoreach: there were tiaras.

Sunday morning, we ate funfetti cake for breakfast and worked on our half marathon training schedule.  Right, because some time on Friday, I agreed to run a half marathon in February.  A thing I haven’t done since 2005!  This will be interesting. Then we vlogged (warning: so much giggling), cried (not really), petted each other (really), and took off for the airport.  13 weeks until we’re reunited; hopefully, we’ll be in better running shape.

Last day sadfaces.

Oh, how I wish I had a life interesting enough to back up that title.  Short answer: not much.  I understand if you’re disappointed to hear I’m not running away to Germany with Zac Efron.  I share your disappointment!  But, listen, he’s not really an option for me and I am not at a point in my life where running away seems necessary.

Except I’m kind of running away to Boston today.  And, I just, I can’t even, ahhh, I’m so excited!

I don’t mean to make myself sound weirder than I am.  By most accounts, I appear pretty normal.  I’m generally friendly.  I can talk about a lot of things.  I like most people.  All of these things even more so with a glass of wine.  But I’m still kind of surprised to find people who get me.  And it’s something of a shock to find people I can spend endless hours with and not think, “Well, this is fun, but I would like to be alone now.”

Ashley and Nicole are those people.  We talk.  We laugh. We sit in comfortable silence. We tweet at each other while within arm’s reach.  They are just my kind of people.  And the universe requires us to get together every few months, so after San Francisco, Vegas (with just Nicole), and Austin, it’s now time for Boston.

We actually started planning the Boston trip when we were still in Austin, and we’re already planning on a February trip to Austin before Boston has even begun.  This is serious business.

While we’re on the subject of meeting kick ass blog friends, less than a week ago, I was bemoaning the fact that I have known both Katie and Liz for more than three years now and  I still haven’t met them.  Then all of a sudden, Katie decided to come with us to Austin in February, and Liz decided to take the bus to Boston this weekend.  Lesson learned: say what you want out loud and things will immediately fall into place.  More realistic lesson: saying “I want to meet you, like, right now” is more effective than saying nothing.

On almost no sleep, I’m going to go travel across the country now. That is what’s really going on.

I’m going home to Washington today!  Lisa is getting married.  True story: more than once when I have been talking to bloggers in real life, I have mentioned a friend and someone has said, “You mean, Lisa?”  In every case the answer has been yes.

Lisa who has been my friend since the very first day of ninth grade (and who recently betrayed me by moving to DC) is getting married in Seattle.  I will be doing my part by walking down a marble aisle in crazy heels while trying desperately not to fall.  That is just the kind of friend I am, though we have already decided that me falling would make a great story that we would probably reference forever.  Maybe that is just the kind of friend I am. (What I’m saying is that if I fall, it was totes on purpose.)

Lisa getting married seems like a perfectly normal thing, but it is also kind of absurd, because we generally talk about ourselves as if we have never accomplished anything and will die alone, Lisa with her cats and me with my books.   For instance, we both did really well in high school (and have always and forever done well in school), but when we were waiting to get a test or paper back, we would talk as if we thought we had failed.  Every time, regardless of how often the grade was actually an A with an underline (or the elusive double underline, which only Lisa ever received).

We talk about ourselves now as if we have not accomplished anything since high school, but Lisa is a lawyer and I am very close to a PhD.  We also don’t live with our parents and have never spent time in a foreign prison.  I haven’t even mentioned that we are accomplished board gamers.  I don’t expect that Lisa actually getting married will change any of this.  Even when we retire like the Golden Girls, we will probably still talk about ourselves like we are not expecting an A with an underline, whatever that might represent.

So, it is going to be a great weekend.  Congrats to Lisa and Matt!

I have been really fortunate to get to see many of my favorite bloggers this year.  Fortunate that I saved money, made plans, purchased non-refundable plane tickets, and then showed up.  So I guess I made it happen, but I still feel fortunate.  Mostly that I have such amazing people to go visit in the first place.

Today I am traveling North to visit Bri!  She is pregnant (a fact we both learned the last time I visited her) and this weekend is her baby shower.  I expect it will be amazing just based on how adorable the invitations were.  We also have plans to drink hot chocolate at The Ritz.  Few things sound more perfect than that.

I also get to see my oldest internet friend Sophia!  Okay, so she is just barely older than I am, but we have been friends since the Summer I started blogging.  Our chats are some of my favorites and we finally met more than a year ago, but she just recently moved back to the West Coast and I am so happy to see her again.

Totes excited, internet.  Totes excited!

The title is in reference to the first post I ever wrote about meeting bloggers: Making it Happen.

I will go to Germany next year.

I’m not sure exactly when or with whom, but I’m going.  This will require me to save money and possibly work up the courage to travel outside of the country alone.  Both real challenges, but I’m up for them.

To Germany, because I am mostly German (and a lot of other things to smaller degrees), I have studied German off and on since middle school, Germany is really significant to the history of theology, and people post really pretty pictures of Germany on tumblr.  Mostly the last one.  I thought of the others after I’d already made up my mind.

This year I have been trying to travel around the United States as much as possible, but I see now that it is a lifetime project.  I will stop kicking myself for not studying abroad when I was younger, and just get started now.

[photo source]

So my friend Lisa is getting married.  And I’m in the wedding.  I even have the purple bridesmaid dress to prove it, though to my extreme disappointment, it is completely free of giant bows.  Lisa likes bows, but I guess she also likes us and thought it would be rude to make us wear them down the aisle.  You know, in front of God and everyone.

Last weekend, we went to Vegas to celebrate the getting married thing.  My friend Amanda* wanted me to tell you a little about it.  It was my first time staying at the Venetian, a hotel where you can take a ride in a gondola without going outside.  You can also eat Mexican food while watching other people ride in gondolas–something we did twice. Or you can get a drink in a ceramic tower–something we did only once.

I’ve been to Vegas in the Summer several times, but never in August. The lack of hurricanes and flooding made complaining about the weather seem ridiculous, but it was so hot!  Too hot to really walk up and down the strip comfortably.  Too hot to insist that we see the Bellagio fountains more than once.

We made Lisa wear a sash that said Bachelorette and a tiara that said Bride To Be the entire weekend, which she did without complaint even when people yelled, “Congratulations,” “Happy Birthday,” and “Don’t do it!”  Appropriate story to tell a bachelorette: you and your husband have been happily married for 26 years.  Inappropriate story to tell a bachelorette: your wife left you because though you are Canadian, you are clearly not that charming.  And to that guy, I say, “Be quiet, I’m trying to enjoy the Bellagio fountains!”

Amanda** handed out these scratch cards the first night.  There were three lines and you would scratch off one thing on each line to get your dare.  I think most of them were things like: 1) Wink at a stranger. 2) Kiss his cheek. 3) Punch him in the face.  I swear I am not joking when I say that mine was, 1). Walk around. 2). Alone. 3). Acting Very Upset.  The universe knows me so well.

Because the internet is weird and amazing, I happened to be in Vegas at the same time as two other bloggers: Patrick and Lauren.  We managed to sneak away from our bachelor/bachelorette parties long enough to spend a really well-documented hour (two vlogs, a picture, and some tweets) chatting in Paris.  I didn’t know Patrick before we started VEDA this month, I only just met Lauren at BiSC in May, and they didn’t know each other at all, but I had a lovely time talking to them.  I guess when you’re a blogger, you have friends everywhere you go.

I walked as fast as I could from Paris to Monte Carlo, but I still missed the other girls before they went into the ice bar.  They don’t let you have phones in the ice bar and it’s not a place you can see into, so I happened to enter right as they were leaving, but of course we didn’t see each other.  It was the kind of mix up that could only happen in sitcoms before cell phones made it possible to always know where other people are.  Thankfully, Amanda*** rescued me before I froze to death or started a conversation with a polar bear.

We woke up the next morning to find there was not a baby or a tiger in our room and we made it home in plenty of time for the wedding, because it’s not until October.

*Amanda is not her real name.  She asked me to call her Amanda.
**Again, not her real name, though not all that different from her real name.
***For the record, this is only the second fake name I’ve ever used on my blog.  I’m sure you can guess the other one unless you think I really know a person with the first name Adorable.

Going home is a different experience every time.  Moving away was important for me.  I didn’t realize it until I left, but I needed to leave.  The first Christmas I came home after moving away for grad school, I was apprehensive.  I still had the memories of coming home after my first semester of college–a trip full of cliched emotions and crying while I wrote “You really never can come home again” in my journal late at night.

I didn’t have that experience again, but coming home that Christmas was still emotional.  I walked around the streets I’d driven and ran during some of the most dynamic years of my life and I had a lot of thoughts about the person I had been then and the person I was becoming.  That went on for a few years.  Coming home was a major time for reflection.  Those were valuable trips, but I had to prepare myself for them.  I had to take a deep breath before stepping on the plane.

I thought it would always be like that.  Coming home would always be about confronting your former self.  Full of nostalgia and feeling. But then one Christmas I prepared myself for an overwhelming wave of feeling that never came.  I enjoyed time with my family.  I laughed and ate good food.  And that was it.   I purposely visited places I’d spent a lot of time, trying to make myself feel something big, but I didn’t.

Again I thought this was the way it would be from now on, but my last trip was different.  For the first time, I realized that I was ready to move back.  Since my parents are reading, I should say that I am not going to move back, but I don’t have the same desire to be away that I did before.

Not as a means of forcing nostalgia, but instead to put clearer images in my mind for the fiction I’m writing (it all takes place in Washington), I did visit former haunts.  The five different houses I lived in from the time I was born until the time I moved to California are all within a few miles of each other, so the full tour takes very little time.  Nothing I saw should have been surprising, but somehow it all was anyway.  In my memory, the colors are more vibrant and the lines are sharper.   In reality, everything is smaller and more muted and the people who moved into the houses after us are doing everything wrong.

The biggest shock was visiting my elementary school.  I’ve driven by hundreds of time.  When I was in high school and exactly as tall as I am now, I walked by it every day on my way to catch the bus.  But somehow I felt like I was a giant walking through a miniature village.  (Or, I suppose, it would be a normal sized village if I’m already a giant.) The gym/auditorium/cafeteria looked about as big as my apartment, the long walk from the fields to the classrooms is no more than 50 yards, and the monkey bars that are responsible for all of the calluses on my hands are no longer there.  Before I got back in the car, I had to text my friend Elyse, who I’ve known since first grade to ask her when I became a giant.  She said it was that fourth grade growth spurt.  This is why she’s still my friend 20 years later.

It is hard to preserve memories when you’re confronted with images that contradict them, but I’m pretty sure everything was brighter and sharper when I was growing up.

Me, Katherine, and Nicole! (photo taken by suki)

I’m back from Bloggers in Sin City and I think I speak for everyone when I say my feet really hurt.  Seriously, so much walking in fancy shoes.  Also, I had a ton of fun and finally met some people I’ve known on the internet for years now.  And Nicole (@nicoleisbetter) did an amazing job of organizing everything.  Just one more thing, you should be there next year.  May 17-20, 2012.  More info here. Start saving now.  The end.

Oh, wait.  Not the end.  But I’m out of transitions, so I’ll say the rest in bullets.  (This is obviously a pretty limited take on the whole event since I’m one introvert and it was a meetup of almost 60 bloggers.)

• I’m within driving distance of Vegas (it’s about four hours away), so it was cheaper for my roommate Nicole (@NicoleMarieSays) to come here first and drive with Jenn (@jennbizzle) and Nico (@nicopolitan) and I to Vegas.  I hadn’t seen Nicole since #SFNYE, so we tried not to knock each other out with a tackle hug. A hospital trip would not have been the ideal start to the weekend.

• We took two cars, so I have no idea what Nicole and Jenn talked about, but Nico and I talked about gutsy winds and made plans to become cloud detectives.  This guy in the truck in front of us on the road was speaking very dramatically with his hands, so we amused ourselves by imagining what he might be saying.  Then we survived ALMOST TWO HOURS IN THE DESERT WITH NO CELL SERVICE.  At a certain point, I had to save my soul by giving up staring at my phone, willing it to connect.  Life without twitter is no life at all.

• We finally arrived in Vegas fashionably (or not so fashionably) late and checked into our room at the Flamingo.  Probably the coolest hotel room I’ve ever been in.  Nicole and I immediately decided never to leave.  I mean, everything was pink and we had a view of the Bellagio fountains.  Perfect.

• The first event was an open bar at the hotel.  Even before I proceeded to drink everything there ever was (including vodka and cranberry, beer, a tequila shot, and several things I don’t remember), I wasn’t nervous.  That’s really weird for me, but bloggers are just the best people. Per #BiSC tradition, I got @writetoreach written on my arm and then flashed it at everyone I talked to.  Several people told me I looked exactly like my profile picture, which I was strangely proud of. Good job looking like yourself, Ashley.

• We ended the night eating burgers, which I’m guessing is the only thing that saved me from a terrible hangover the next day.  I said a lot of things (please refer to the previous bullet where I said I drank everything), most of which I don’t remember.  But I do remember Nico, Jenn, and Katherine (@purekatherine) making me cry.  Listen, if you say nice things to me, I will not forget it.  I may just flatter myself by awkwardly repeating those nice things here.  A drunk Nico said something to the effect of, “I get the feeling that Ashley just thinks she’s this girl who writes, and she doesn’t know how much what she says resonates with us or that when you know her, and you’ve made absurd jokes with her, you feel this different ownership over her words.  Like, you read her, but I know her.”

• The next morning, though hangoverless, Nicole and I tried to hang out with everyone by the pool, but we were tired and struggled just to stay awake and contribute to conversations.  So, we gave up early and with Katherine and Kaci (@kacijohanna), set out to first find some coffee and then some tigers.  As Nicole put it, we found our personalities at the bottom of those coffee cups.  The tigers were found at the MGM grand and then we ate at the Rainforest Cafe before heading back to the hotel to pass out for a few minutes and then fancify ourselves for happy hour.

• That night we had the most amazing drinks at the Sugar Factory.  I mean, it was like dessert+alcohol=heaven. Then I failed a little at fondue before we went to Absinthe, which was this amazing show at Caesar’s Palace.  I don’t even know how to explain it.  Circus on crack minus elephants?  There was the thing on rollerskates and the other thing with adorable Hank and the keg stand.  You just had to be there.

• Like the old ladies we are, Nicole and I gave up early that night and returned to our room to drink and play Apples to Apples.  Let me tell you what that really looked like: taking one sip of Dragon Fruit Skyy Vodka and falling straight to sleep.  The following day, we heard about all the amazing fun we didn’t have, but wow did we sleep well.

• The next morning, we caught brunch with Katherine and then made a better showing at the pool where we drank Blue Moon and got ourselves sufficiently crispy.

• That night, we dressed up in our fanciest black, white, and gold outfits and went in search of food.  Nicole and I ended up at this awesome chocolate place called Max Brenner where we had a totes romantic dinner and talked about deep things like divorce and The Baby-sitter’s Club.  Those two things are related.  You see, we both connected with Kristy and Stacey because their parents were divorced and so were ours.

• We sadly arrived late for drinks that night at Saxe Theater, which was also a secret bachelorette party for Kaci, but we caught the end of it and then it was time to walk to PURE.  If you’ve known me for more than ten minutes, then you probably know that I only use the word clubbin’ sarcastically.  But, guys, I went clubbin’!  And, wait for it, just a little longer, keep going, I danced! I would like to thank the vodka for sponsoring my dancing.  After spending months telling Katherine that I don’t dance, she witnessed it for herself and I think she was shocked at how little convincing it took.  Like, none.  Slow clap for vodka.

• When our feet couldn’t take anymore, Nicole, Katherine, and I took off for the hotel again.  We changed into more comfortable shoes and then went downstairs to the casino.  But, Nicole and I aren’t gamblers, so we went for a walk down the strip.  Arm in arm we tipsily walked down to the Venetian.  The things we talked about I am considering turning into a regular feature called Deep Thoughts with Ashley and Nicole.  I mean, not really, but don’t be surprised if I start my next five posts with, “as Nicole and I were talking about in Vegas . . . .”

• Again, by some miracle, we felt perfectly fine the next morning.  It was a goodbye brunch and then we hit the road to head back to Los Angeles.  Jenn, Nicole, and I enjoyed an NSYNC concert in our car, where we ate Sun Chips and talked about people doing bad things to dead bodies.  We all stopped in Yermo, California to see the dinosaurs, turtles, and ducks.  Of course we have dinosaurs in California!  One of them is Nico.  We finally got back to my city, but we weren’t quite ready to say goodbye, so we enjoyed one more dinner together at Buca di Beppo where we were asked at least three time if we were celebrating anything.  We said we were celebrating surviving Vegas slash the rapture.

• I had to take Nicole back to the airport that night, because staying forever simply wasn’t a reality.  I could not have asked for a better roommate.  On the way home, I realized I hadn’t texted her all weekend, because she had pretty much never been out of my sight.  If you can spend that much time with a person and talk about The Baby-sitter’s Club, then it must be love.  We’re already making plans for our next trip.  AshleyD and Austin, we’re coming for you!

• Katherine stayed with me an extra day, because we wanted to watch Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure together.  It was better than expected!  When I was dropping her off at the airport, we were saying that it sucks to say goodbye, but with the internet, it hardly feels like a goodbye.

A meetup of almost 60 people is overwhelming, especially if like me, you are terrible at such things.  I had some regret that I wasn’t able to really connect with everyone like I would have wished to, but it’s just not possible with a meetup of that size and, as far as I can tell, that’s every reason I need to go back every year. This year we waved from afar.  Now we can spend the next twelve months high five-ing on the internet.  Next year it’s hugs and after that, I’m pretty much yours forever.

I totally fail at linking to all the amazing people there, so see here for a full list.  Also, I am not sponsored by anyone and do not write any sponsored content, but I’ve linked to many sponsors of #BiSC, because they made an awesome experience available to us at a super reasonable rate.

On my way back from Vegas, and I realize that almost everything I have to say about it, I wrote in a post exactly two years ago. Blog rule: every time you go to Vegas, you have to add another exclamation mark to the post title. This is the third time I’ve been to Vegas since I started this blog. By the end of the year, there will be five exclamation marks.

It’s become something of a tradition for my dad, sister, brother, and I to meet somewhere every year. Last year, it was Phoenix. Vegas this year and the year before Phoenix. Next year we’re thinking Nashville.

My favorite thing to do in Vegas is probably to sit by the pool. People always say, “You can do that anywhere!” But, the point is that I don’t. I do it in Vegas. And it’s lovely. I’m now a lot further along in my book and my skin is this tannish-red color. The pool side drinks are pretty sweet too.

It was also really nice to spend time with my family. We’re all very independent, kind of serious, and definitely focused on our own things, but we love to make each other laugh. We might make fun of each other non-stop, but we kind of, sort of love each other a lot.

Back to life where I don’t start every day by the pool. I don’t mind as much as I may pretend.

I’m at the airport waiting to catch a plane back home.  This morning I was sitting on a couch with Bri and Katherine watching High School Musical 2 where Troy Bolton (Zac Efron) works out his feelings by speed walking and fist pumping through a golf course.  Walking has long been a coping mechanism for me, but sitting on that couch, I realized I’d been doing it wrong.  In the first place, I should be singing.  In the second, jazz hands are required.  I resolved to change my ways.

Then I was walking through the airport by myself. Listening to David Gray. Big thoughts and feelings after me.  People I don’t know rushing by.  Jazz hands at the ready just to make myself laugh.  It was one of those perspective-shifting moments where you feel okay with all the things unknown and unresolved, because if you can be happy walking by yourself through an airport, then you’re probably happy in life already and you’ll be okay even when things are difficult.

I joke about being emo, because I’m so introspective and I love depressing music, but the truth is that I’m incredibly optimistic.  It is built into my worldview, the new possibilities rushing toward me in every moment and my ability to choose one or many. It’s metaphysics more than feel-good theology, but it has implications for how I live my life.

I’m never stuck.  I’m always choosing, even when I stand in place afraid of going in any direction.  I’m powerful and I’m creating my life.  I’m not doing it alone–I don’t make all of the decisions that affect me–but I always have some degree of freedom.

I see the world this way.  It’s not something I have to convince myself of.  And I feel really lucky for that.  It’s why I think theology is so important.  It changes even how you feel when you’re walking through an airport unsure of what direction your life is taking, but excited by all the possibilities.

Time to catch my flight.

I wasn’t planning on going home this Summer.  A friend is getting married in October and for lack of money and vacation time, I was planning on just going home then and skipping my normal Summer trip.  But, I was sad about it.

I saw my dad, brother, and sister in March and my mom and step-dad in May, but I’ve never gone 10 months without seeing Washington.  I miss the place.

It would appear that going home is about more than just seeing the people there.

It means a lot to me just to be there.  Driving through the cities where my fiction takes place, walking by the water, sitting on my parents’ deck writing.  It brings me some kind of peace.

Last week my mom called me and insisted that I come home at least for a long weekend.  Apparently I was just waiting for the call, because I didn’t need any convincing.

It seems exactly what I need.  I can’t wait to see my family and to have some kind of vacation this Summer is such a relief.

I grew up in Western Washington.  I live in Southern California.  I’ve always planned to one day return to Western Washington.  Now, I’m thinking that journey is going to require a number of detours.

At camp one year, we had to introduce ourselves to everyone by choosing an adjective that started with the same letter as our first names.  I introduced myself as Adventurous Ashley, because it was the only thing I could think of.  Fewer things could be further from the truth.  I’m not adventurous.  I never have been.

I’m not scared of new things.  I’m actually a person who enjoys change.  But, adventure is something else.  I think that requires leaving the house and I’m what you’d call an inside person.  For that reason and a few others, I’ve done very little traveling.  Embarrassingly little.  I’ve really never been interested until now.  At 26, suddenly I want to see things.

I want to travel like I never have before, but I also have this desire to do more than just visit a place for a short while.  As a person and especially as a writer, I want to really experience a place.  I want to live there.  It started pretty simply with a thought that I want to live in New York City, as impractical as that may be.  But, it didn’t stop there, because then I thought of DC and Boston and Portland and Chicago and San Francisco.  Give me a few more weeks and I’m sure I’ll go international.

I don’t know if my life is big enough to fit all of this in.  In some ways, the life of an academic allows for this flexibility, but in other ways it doesn’t.  I’ll probably have to go wherever I can find a job and given the best of circumstances, I will get tenure, which will pretty much cement me staying in the same locale for the duration of my career.  But, there’s the fact that I will be starting my career later in life (30!) and then there’s sabbatical, and while we’re dreaming, maybe writing will allow for even more flexibility.

For now, I’m going to focus on getting from California to New York.  It’s going to take a few years, because I’ve got money to save and a PhD to finish, so in the meantime, tell me if you’re happy where you are or if you can picture yourself somewhere else.

The first time I came home after going away to college, I had a mini-breakdown. Actually, I was an emotional wreck my entire freshman year of college, and I only broke down when I went home because I thought that would be the one place I’d feel sane. Even as I stare at a journal entry from December 18, 2002, where I affirmed very dramatically that you really can’t ever go home again, it’s hard for me to remember what was so troubling. I guess I was looking to be comforted by home, and instead it felt empty and different.

Now when I go home, I’m really not bothered. It is different. I am different. But, I no longer have the emotional need for a safe haven from the world. I guess that means I’m growing up. I don’t know. These days, I look forward to going home because it’s a chance to see my family and just relax. I get treated amazingly well for a number of reasons, because a) I have awesome parents, b) I’m the baby of the family, and c) I’m gone most of the year.

Here are some of the (mostly lame) things I like to do when I’m up in Tacoma, Washington:

1. Take a tour of the six different places I’ve lived in my life. It’s pretty easy because they’re all within a couple miles of each other.

2. I like to hang out at a coffee place called Bertolino’s. I mean, it’s Western Washington, so my choices aren’t limited for coffee, but Bertolino’s is my favorite because it has free WiFi, an awesome atmosphere, and it’s usually abandoned. I fear every time I visit that I’ll find it’s out of business.

3. I like to shop at Fred Meyer. It’s a store I grew up with, and never thought to miss until it wasn’t there anymore. I can’t even say what’s special about it. It has everything.

4. Putt putt!! That’s mini golf for those who don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s a regionalism or not, but aside from “pop,” it’s the only thing that Californians make fun of me for saying. I have two favorite places to play putt putt; there’s the course with a view of the dump (seriously) and the one with the haunted boat. The latter gives trophies, so it’s my favorite.

5. I like to take walks around the golf course by my parents’ house. It existed only as a gravel pit when I lived there, but now it’s a beautiful place to enjoy the view of Puget Sound. The trail is deceptive, though. It’s something of a death march.

This list is not exhaustive. These are just a few things that have occurred to me while sitting here.

I spent the weekend in Vegas. It wasn’t my first time there, but the last time I visited I was 17, so drinking and gambling were both out. I probably never would have made plans to go myself, but my mom and sister were flying in for a concert, and since I live only about 4 hours away, I thought I’d drive over and meet them. I was mildly excited before I left, but I kept thinking to myself that I’m just not a Vegas person. That thought holds some pretensions, but mostly I mean that I’m not the type of person who, you know, does fun things like people do in Vegas. Most of my hobbies involve me being alone and quiet. I don’t go to clubs. I don’t party. I’m lame.

Despite my apprehensions and pretensions, I was determined to have a good time. It was difficult at first. I walked into the hotel and was assaulted by noise and lights and smoke. Somehow I’d nearly forgotten that people smoke. Living in Washington and now California, seeing someone smoke inside or anywhere really, is so foreign. I had to wait a while for my mom and sister to get there, and though I wanted to sit and read, I didn’t want my sister to happen upon me in such an act. She’d be so disappointed. Finally they arrived, and seeing my mom was so worth the wait. Not only do I love her, but she showed up wearing a rhinestone tank top with a Hawaiian shirt over top, black pants, a brown belt, and white tennis shoes. Only a fanny pack could have improved upon the look.

It took me until the next day to get used to the smoke and noise, but it did happen. I started to look around more. I realized that my generic GAP/Old Navy/American Eagle uniform made me one of the better dressed. I took pride in this. Then I went to the pool, and everyone was wearing bathing suits, though only about 3.435% of them had bikini bodies. I figured if they were comfortable dressed so scantly, then I could be comfortable wearing a tank top (I know, gasp!). My sister bought me a drink, and, like everyone else, I carried it around with me as we walked down the strip.

Vegas was working on me. It was slowly persuading me not to take myself so seriously. I never abandoned my need to wear matching clothing, but by the day we left, I felt comfortable out at the pool in my swim suit for the first time in years. Vegas feels refreshingly honest to me somehow. At home we pretend we’ve got everything together, but in Vegas there’s no shame in letting it all hang out. At least, that was my experience this weekend. I went in with expectations that were then flipped upside down.

It’s one of my goals to live more honestly and be more comfortable with myself. I just didn’t expect to make progress in Vegas.