Him: “Do you like being outside?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Do you like granola?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Do you like trees?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Then you’re supposed to like yoga.”

I can still buy clothes in the juniors’ section of the store. I am frequently carded for entrance into bars and the occasional box of Sudafed. I have—as they say—that youthful exuberance that hasn’t aged me a day past 18.

In preparation for attending a homecoming football game at the high school my husband teaches at, he made sure I had an entry bracelet and another teacher to hang out with while he was on the field coaching. He told me not to wear one of his t-shirts that would announce to the world that I was a fan of the home team. When I asked him why I was prohibited from wearing such a shirt, he simply said that I’d blend in with the students, and the administrators harass the students. “No good reason for you to be harassed just to watch me coach a football game,” he said, shrugging. Read More…

I don’t think of myself as a runner.

I don’t have fancy, multi-hundred dollar shoes designed to fit the contours of my feet. I don’t own running clothes that can’t be found on the sale racks at Target. I don’t have a play list designed to match the beat of my feet.

I only have me, in that moment, pushing my physical space to go a faster, further.

It all started with a challenge. I’ve never been an athlete, and what other goal would a non-athlete set than to complete a marathon. And so I did. And I became addicted … to the race culture, the struggles I could overcome, the freedom to go anywhere at any time on my own accord. Read More…

Barbie has it easy.

Her outfits come pre-matched with shoes. Her accessories come bundled with a purse, scarf and sunglasses. She still looks great after prancing around with Ken, shopping and hanging out with the girls. And someone else delivers all her goods to her doorstep without her having to lift so much as a plastic finger.

A full refrigerator stocked full with plastic produce. A pink convertible sports car with the license plate already attached. An ice cream parlor. A concert stage. They’re all hers for the taking. Read More…

It isn’t cheap to be poor.

In this volatile economy, many people find the checkbook feels lighter than in the past and they’re a bit stingier when it comes to doling out spare cash. Stashing away a little extra is easier said than done, as evidenced by a buck slip we received in the mail the other day.

“BANKRUPTCY: You have options!” it declares. “Low fees, payment plans, evening and weekend appointments.” The entire right side of the buck slip is a coupon for $100 off bankruptcy filing. The fine print reads, “New clients only. Certain restrictions apply.”

Well. Clearly this is the end-all solution for anyone considering bankruptcy. I’ve (thankfully) never had to go through something as emotionally draining as declaring bankruptcy, so I acknowledge that I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to make the decision to say that enough is enough and admit you’ve hit bottom. Nonetheless, I can’t imagine any real relief comes in the form of a 2”x2” coupon offering a discount on services you can’t afford in the first place. I don’t know how much it costs to declare bankruptcy, but I can just imagine the conversation in the attorney’s office: Read More…

The “to pack” list rolls down the page. Quantities line up with each item. One alarm clock, 2 sets of hiking poles, 2 pairs of pants (zip-offs?). Should we take the larger day pack or the one with the camel pack? Do we each need one, or can we share?

Preparing for a vacation abroad isn’t an easy task. At one time I was tempted to believe that I could never replace my brand of toothpaste or find a shirt in the right size at my destination of choice, so I absolutely had to pack the larger tube and an extra t-shit or sweatshirt (or both).

I check the list again. Flight information (2 copies), 3 pens, hiking boots, sunscreen (travel size). Read More…

I sit in my office, surrounded by papers and to-do lists. I struggle to determine which work project to tackle next. Through the window, cracked beside me to let in a breeze, I hear the two young boys who live next to us, playing swords as they chase each other around the backyard, up the ladder to the top platform of their playground and down the slide. “Follow me, commander!” one of the boys shouts. “We must hurry!” I peek out the window in time to see one of them swinging a plastic num-chuck around his head like a propeller. “The ship is leaving!” he shouts as the imaginary vehicle becomes airborne.

I turn back to my papers and to-do lists. When did work become work? When did life become so routine and common? When did being creative become thinking outside of the box instead of bursting from within? Read More…

As a traveler and someone who is relatively educated about the goings-on in the world around me, I am acutely aware when someone says something that—to me—is just a bit off color. In planning for an upcoming trip to Peru, we mentioned our plans to someone (for the purposes of this blog, we’ll call him Jack) who in turn said he wouldn’t go south of the United States because “it just isn’t safe.” An attempt at biting my tongue failed, and I commented that there are safe and dangerous places in our own neighborhoods and that being mindful when traveling in Peru is not much different than being mindful when traveling in other places. While recounting the story to one of my colleagues and sharing my frustration about what this person said, she asked me if maybe I was being prejudiced against Jack because he was uneducated. I was tempted to say no, but then I found myself wondering, if you call someone out on their prejudices, are you being prejudiced against that person?

My Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary says that “prejudice” is an unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought or reason. Knowing that Jack frequently makes comments like the one he made about our trip to Peru, and that I’ve had several discussions with him about foreign travel and different cultures, I wasn’t surprised by the comment that he made. In fact, on some level, I probably expected it. I never called Jack prejudiced; I simply relayed the story to my co-worker. Perhaps it wasn’t the conversation with Jack per se that prompted my colleague to question my political correctness but rather my frustration about the situation. Feeling annoyed and wanting to give Jack a different perspective may be a result of my own education and experiences abroad. By bringing Jack’s inaccuracies to light, was I implying he was uneducated or culturally closed off—and as a result, does that make me prejudiced against his view of the world? I encounter people unlike myself all the time, and I try to understand the world around me by listening to what people have to say (even if I don’t agree with them) and responding to them with open discourse. Read More…

With the demise of the Rocky Mountain News comes the slow disintegration of one of our fundamental rights—the freedom of the press. Our right to publish what we want in order to provide neutral coverage on any given topic has not officially been taken away, but with the advent of the Internet, printed materials are quickly becoming a thing of the past … and it could have serious consequences for our communities.

Online media sources, blogs and social networking sites have incredible power in providing us with up-to-the-second information made complete with photos, videos and sound bites. Readers can interact with the news by commenting, blogging in response, participating in discussion forums and sharing the news bits quickly and easily through e-mail. But this easy posting and quick response by anybody on any topic means that neutral, well-researched coverage is iffy at best. Printed news media have a responsibility—an obligation, really—to provide its readers with thorough coverage as well as a forum to explore different sides of an issue through op-eds and letters to the editor. Read More…

A first grader in Nevada recently celebrated his birthday at school with a batch of cupcakes and an oversized gift, which he opened in front of his classmates. Inside was his father, on leave from his second term in Iraq. The child realizes that his dad won’t be hanging around long, though. “He has to work,” the first grader told the Associated Press. “He works in the war.”

These words define this child’s generation. They’ve known nothing but violence. The war has always existed. Isn’t it sad that some children today have only ever known their parents to show up every six months for two weeks at a time? Their parents are contained to letters, photos and Skype instead of being three-dimensional caretakers. Read More…