The other week, I stopped in an AT&T store here in Sacramento to get an iPhone 7. Because I’m a big, bad 26-year-old still on her mother’s phone plan, the person helping me told me I’d need my mom to swing by in order to authorize the purchase.
“Well, that’s not gonna happen, because she lives in Georgia,” I told him. We called her instead.
Or at least the country- Hill Yes, am I right? Just kidding, I’d unsubscribe from my own blog if it started getting political.
But seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the amazingness that is women helping women. I’m talkin’ rooting for each other, helping each other out, and going out on a limb to give a fellow female a hand. You’re probably thinking, “So Caroline, is this because you watched Michelle Obama’s incredible speech this past weekend?” Why yes, I did catch it, but I had a giddy moment of enlightenment last week in a much dumber way.
I started getting panic attacks a couple of months after my dad died. I remember my first one so vividly. I was a senior in high school, and I was in anatomy class. That day, we were doing an experiment to determine our blood type, and we were all going to be pricking our fingers and drawing a little bit of blood.
It wasn’t until last Monday that Jeremy and I realized that a glorious, long Labor Day weekend was approaching. On Tuesday night, we decided we should find a fun getaway and go to one of the many gorgeous places near our new Northern California home.
It turns out that if you’re trying to book accommodations three days before a holiday weekend and you’re on a tight budget, you can cross off Tahoe or Yosemite immediately. Cute idea, not gonna happen. When I stumbled upon an $80 a night, “off the grid” cabin on Airbnb, I decided it was perfect… partly because I’ve wanted to try my hand at “roughing it,” and partly because I just really wanted to go somewhere.
I posted a request on social media last week, asking the people who read my blog to post requests for anything they’d like me to write about. As much as I love sitting at my laptop and writing an almost stream-of-consciousness ramble about what’s been on my mind that week, I also want to post about things that interest others. A few days after posting my request, I got an email from a close friend. To put it simply, she asked some questions that I hadn’t ever asked myself. While I’d thought about some of the things she asked, I hadn’t ever verbalized any sort of cohesive answer. After reading (and re-reading) her email, I decided to tackle her questions in a post.
It’s been over a week since I’ve gotten to sit down and write a post for my personal blog, and it’s been an interesting one. I feel like a lot has happened, which is funny because most of my days have only consisted of sitting at my desk, writing, researching, and occasionally talking to my dog. Needless to say, the only major developments have been internal.
I was always pretty Type A in school, and I got a real high from working hard and having it pay off academically. Outside of the classroom, though, I didn’t care that much about working on myself. That’s drastically changed over the past two years, and I’m extremely proud of how hard I’ve worked to become a woman I can be proud of. I’ve spent months upon months forming a healthy relationship with myself, and it’s honestly thrilling. Over the past week, though, I’ve really been smacked in the face with a flaw I still struggle with constantly.
Today would’ve been my dad’s birthday. I think about him every day, but especially on August 9th and February 15th, the anniversary of his death. As most of you know, he died from cancer in 2009 when I was a senior in high school.
I always hear that he’s “watching over me.” I respect and admire people who believe that so unwaveringly, and it makes me feel so good when people say he’s still with me. If I’m being completely honest with myself, though, I’m just not sure that I believe it. First, because I’m not sure what I think when it comes to life after death. I’ve tried to convince myself that he knows the current me, and I just can’t. And second, if there is life after death, I hope he’s doing something much cooler than watching my boring life. In my ideal situation, my dad gets a highlight reel every once in awhile. You know, just cut to the good stuff.
So Dad, on your birthday, these are the things I want to tell you.