Hi, I'm the NEW KID and I'm renovating my life. Wee! Also, which one of you hides candy in their desk?

There's always something a little different in the air when you're at the threshold of "new."

I don't know if you're breathing a little quicker, or perhaps more freely -or that "something" adds just the right dash of crispness that makes you feel a tad bit more ALIVE.

If someone had told me 6 months ago that I would be single, working at a new kick ass job- in lieu of working the multiple freelance gigs I'd worked so hard to acquire over four years, to take on a full time position at a startup in Boulder, living with a girl who I hadn't met yet- who would end up being an inspiration and a great friend, surrounded by new people, new day-to-day, with a new CRUSH....I would've told them they looked in the wrrrroooong crystal ball, sister.

I would have defiantly looked the fortune teller in the face and said, "What what about _____ (fill in the blank)___ because that isn't going anywhere." Then that "thing" that I would've vehemently defended- within a moment would be gone; the "him," the "it," the "complete," the "acquired goal." Suddenly you're the new kid again in a life you'd been working so hard to try and fit into. And you're like, wait,"Fuck...." followed by, "I wish Life included complimentary name tags and arranged movers for you the way France arranges baby nurses for new moms (FINE- I don't know if this is an actual fact, but I saw it in Sicko and I'm going with it.) And also, yay! I remember loving a good packed lunch-but who am I kidding? I'm never gonna pack a lunch. I'm totally living on Starbucks sandwiches and Powerbars."

Ah, but that's the beautiful thing about life- isn't it? If we can gracefully take a step back and look at our lives with a little less attachment to the versions we've vision boarded and penciled in, we realize that the version in the crystal ball we hadn't seen was perhaps a better option.....at least for now. Until the next vision in the crystal ball, that I won't even TRY to peer into.

The sweatpants are on the shelf, my dutiful slippers and cushion in the crease of the couch where I worked for hours on end, won't miss me- they've run their course. The slamming my head against an unforgiving brick wall and asking for new results is also done, hi, gnarly bump smack in the middle of your forehead, you are not welcome anymore.

This time around it's all about fresh, NEW- unfamiliar and brilliantly uncomfortable- all the better to feel the shift and learn to elegantly, cleverly wade through the renovation of your life; elbow deep in fresh paint, sawdust, cherry-picking and Google documents.

I'm the new kid. The one whose fingers are clutching the crumpled brown bag of afternoon snacks in the palm of her hand-carefully organizing her colored pens and sticky notes in perfect piles until someone tells her exactly how she should use them. I'm that moment in a conversation where you're swimming in ambiguity and butterflies. I'm the anticipation, the jitters, the sole of your foot on pretty little eggshells. The "take a deep breath," the "can I sit at your lunch table" and the "I hope he likes me." I'm the, "How do I do this?" and "What the hell comes next?"- the, "I'm not sure if...." and the, "Holy shit." (Holy shit is said often in moments of "New Kid.") I'm the, "I hope this isn't a dumb question," and the "I hope my hands are agile enough, my mind quick enough and my heart brave enough."

The air in the morning reminds me that I've been this kid before....when the sun has barely peaked over the mountains, when my hair was perfectly polished and my eagerness to BEGIN the process of "NEW" was met with perfectly rose-colored glasses, placed gingerly on my nose- and in the process, through every stage of "New Kid" I have grown into a bigger, wiser, more vibrant "kid"and with that I find myself here again, with that same optimism, that same ambition and even larger, more fabulous- slightly theatrical, rose-colored glasses, placed gingerly on my nose.

Do you ever feel like the "New Kid" in your life???

Maybe someone is holding my REAL life hostage? And they're wearing a creepy mask and breathing heavily. Something like that...

"I'm bat shit insane." (Thoughts are things, la la la-fingers in ears- I'm declaring crazy. Maybe a few Xanax, midday cartoon watching and a padded room would do me good.)

A couple weeks ago I lamented to a fellow blogger over the demise of my sanity, whilst clinging to any shred of hope that maybe- just maybe, I could reclaim my future, sans straight jacket.

"I'm gonna start a business....." I pounded at the keyboard with the gusto of the Reese Witherspoon's character in Election- It'll be successful (whatever it is) and maybe I'll go back to school, and I'll be making millions, and maybe I'll write a book about my business, and maybe I'll dress "business casual," and. and. annnnnd- maybe I'll do "consulting," then maybe I'll hire employees and take day trips for meetings on the 40th floor of a high rise, and I'll stand in elevators in big cities all over the country, breathing in other's people successful air while we wait for that, "ding!" of our floor to alert us to go be all "successful and decisive and buzz wordy."

HI, can someone please tell me to 'lay off the bong Bob Marley.' Thanks. All of these maybe scenarios are NOT. MY. MAYBE.

When your whole life sort of "rearranges" -I would say you could interchange that with the word "crumbles" but, I'm being optimistic and crumbling sounds too ruiny, my life isn't quite Rome yet, I'm not that dramatic. -When things "rearrange" you start welcoming a lot of "maybes" in your life that weren't there before, because really you're considering the possibility that MAYBE you missed the boat that housed your "life's purpose" and you're MAYBE the greatest ad executive, or exterminator, or entrepreneur, or fucking Jiu Jitsu master that's ever lived- but maybe at one point in your life you had to choose between door #1 and door #2- behind one door you'd come across struggles, but they'd all ultimately strengthen your character and form the perfectly unique life you were destined to live- behind the other door, you go through a series of unsatisfying jobs, you get a Staph infection from taking your kid to the ball pit at Chuck-E-Cheese and your husband cheats on you with a girl named Candy, who dries snakeskin in her fridge to make belts.

Door #1, or Door #2- do you ever feel like maybe you chose door #2?

When you start to reevaluate all the things that have made up your "story"- the things that make you tick, the goals, the skills that are just innately a part of you- you can find yourself so far in a rabbit hole, that not only, doesn't have the answer you're looking for, but also, ultimately- leaves you doubting all of the things you know are CERTAIN about yourself.

Anytime we start looking at other peoples lives as models for our own and saying, "maybe I should be doing what they're doing..." we may open up or minds, or generate inspiration, which is good- IT'S GOOD TO THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX, as long as you don't forget what's already inside the box you HAVE- if the reason for wanting THEY have, is actually because you don't know how to have what YOU want... you'll only get fuzzy images of what "happiness" means to you- because you're comparing it to what happiness means for someone else. When the "maybe I should...." is so far off of the things you KNOW, maybe what we really should be doing is settling into the fact that maybe you should just let it be for a bit, until all the maybes aren't a question, but they're that steadfast, BREATH OF AIR- the "yes" that breathes a sigh and a weight from your shoulders. The energy that opens the door and knows, without a doubt that it was Door #1....and that everything that lies behind it is in it's right place.

There are a few things that I know for CERTAIN that any job I have from here on out doesn't involve excessive color coding, or intense math- I know for certain that I can come up with a killer idea, but I'll probably hate the idea within 48 hours and have an equally killer idea to follow up with it-I know for certain I'll never be a chef and I have terrible knife skills, I cant stand the sight of wet food and I'm not sure how to pick out a good cantaloupe? I know for CERTAIN that I like to inspire people with words, whether I'm singing them, writing them, or teaching them in a class- I know for certain that I shine brightest when I get to hold court and that I'm the most comfortable when I'm the center of attention- I know for certain this is something I see as a part of (or AS) my job at some point- in which capacity, I don't know yet. I also know for certain that I hate wearing the color mauve. And that three months without sex is simply too long. FACT.

I know for CERTAIN that I'm happiest surrounded by joyful, thriving and motivated people. I know for certain the next job I have will read my blog, love me in spite of it and will be progressive, stimulating, and unique. I know for certain I can't budget to save my life and that my eyes glaze over when someone says the word "stock." I know for certain that I'll never, ever care about the animals as much as I should, and that if I'm supposed to wear my contacts for two weeks, I'll likely wear them for seven. And a half.

I know for certain that maybe all I should REALLY do is continue harvesting and praising and loving all of the bits about me that even if no one else sees them, I KNOW are fucking remarkable....and that all in time, those "bits" will/do come to the surface and the eyes, opportunities and places that matter, laying behind your Door #1 will see them, in all their splendor.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW FOR CERTAIN???

I was a TORNADO of a human last week- Good thing it's Monday. REDO!

Hi Monday, I've never been so happy to see you. Let's make out.

It was somewhere between my car temporarily breaking down, realizing my ex-Love (hi, that's weird to say) had jetsetted off to Japan for a major tour that would go through the U.S. opening for a big artist (whom you all would know), while I was stuck here mending and questioning and not! touring! the! world!, then getting sick (antibiotics mean no drinking? For one. whole. week.) and losing a couple different major freelance jobs in the matter of one week, that I decided I'd like a "redo." Easy button perhaps? Voodoo to release past karma- did I steal from the elderly in my previous life? Hunt ivory from endangered species? What the hell? I was honestly waiting for the last shoe to fall; a gigantic clunky heel of death. Or some incurable stage 5 disease. Boyfriend, gone. House, gone. Job(s), gone. Car, gone. SANITY, to smithereens.

While I was leaning over the hood of my car like the beginning of a bad horror movie, trying to figure out how to open the damn thing, my dress flying wildly (up and into places that onlookers shouldn't have seen) and my hair getting stuck to my lip gloss- I decided that not only did this week suck a hard nut, but that being single did too.

"This is what boyfriends do! They fix car things, or at least talk you through the roadside panic." I growled to myself through a clenched jaw, throwing in a few "Fuck my lifes" in for good measure, "GOD DOESN'T WANT ME TO HAVE POSSESSIONS EITHER?!" I think I maybe screamed that. Maybe. Then I stomped. Because I'M A CHILD. And because my car represents the last ounce of "home" and control that I still have. Control to drive for hours if I feel like it up the highway and back listening to chick songs and ugly crying, or overdosing on iced coffee.

....Or to toy with the idea that maybe one day, I'll just keep driving.....somewhere....until I've found a new life, a nice life- with pretty colored glass jars, sun tea with fresh lemon slices, simplicity and boys that bring you daisies.

When I realized that I had I absolutely no way of fixing my car without some assistance (Hi AAA, you save my life- turns out the battery was just 'disconnected'), I did what any smart woman does in a time of need; I ATE PIE. A LOT OF PIE. Like, a whole fucking pie.

When the pie settled, that choice felt just about as good as a one night stand. Tasty and tempting, but leaves you empty, regretful, void of substance and even hungrier for the "real shit."

Stomach ache in full throb, I realized; The reason all of this was so hard was because I was being manhandled into making choices, starting over and letting go of things that I wasn't ready to. The slate was wiped clean for me and now I actually had to fill it up with something new, but what would that be?

Sometimes when we aren't making choices for ourselves the Universe/Life/Whatever you want to call it, steps in and decides to make those choices for us. They rip off the Band-Aid and make you face the fact that you're trying to hide something under there that needs your attention. It's painful, it stings- you want to tell everyone to "fuck off" and throw the middle finger right up to the sky- I know, I'm the master of this these days. The amount of discomfort you'll feel when you're pinned into making a CHOICE that you weren't making in the first place because it was terrifying, or you were unsure, or it meant facing other unsatisfactory aspects of yourself, is ASTRONOMIC.

It's about as uncomfortable as having a nipple itch when you're leading a PowerPoint presentation.

You're forced into making choices now that you weren't ready to make.....but would you have ever made them if you weren't forced to???

I can't say that I would've. I like to think that I would be smart/creative enough to get myself out of certain ruts that I'd made a nice nook in, but I can't say that that'd be true. So yes,

things are wildly uncomfortable right now. My canvas is still relatively blank, my bank account is shameful, my heart is still pulsing to the rhythm of a twisted and depressive Rachael Yamagata song and sometimes I flip things off. Yes, things.....but in these moments of distress and self-doubt, when I start feeling sorry for myself, or slamming random letters on the keyboard to my ever-patient friends, and whimpering like a puppy into my wine glass, I remind myself of the quote by Rumi;

"This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all!.....He may be clearing you out for some new delight. " Rumi- full poem here.

What will you "welcome" into your life today??