'Timber Processing' Man of the Year

My job is unlike most. I'm not just a writer, I'm a cool writer. Being a trade magazine writer concentrating on the forest products industry means I have a lot of useless knowledge of supply chains, a working understanding of lots of heavy machinery, and perhaps most importantly, a realization that I am not like the rest in this field. A feeling of otherness I have never experienced before.

As a upper-middle class white girl from Atlanta that went to the right schools and ended up in a sorority at Alabama, I've never felt "otherness." Then I became Jessica Johnson, Associate Editor with Hatton-Brown Publishers. Since I began the Woods Barbie journey, things sure have changed—but the otherness never went away. If anything, it was amplified.

I remember as clear as a bell meeting old Tommy Battle in Wadley, Ga. in the meaty part of a Southern summer seven months pregnant with Fitz and Alex. It was hell. He stared at my belly for a good five minutes before speaking. Then he was unsure he wanted me to poke around his hardwood sawmill; I ignored him and walked right on in, asking the questions I needed to, showing him I wasn't some shrinking violet. When we finished, I got in the car, drove to a Hampton Inn, promptly took off my maternity work gear and laid on the bed with the air on 50° trying to cool off. I was not shrinking violet but I was hot as hell. I felt like I had something to prove. I feel like I have something to prove.

The otherness changed drastically though in late 2015. My boss announced that for the first time in 28 years, the annual Timber Processing Man of the Year award, an award that recognizes a figure in the sawmill business that is involved in their community, runs an excellent and high producing mill, and is involved in furthering the positive face of the lumber business, was going to be Jill Snider Brewer.

As the only woman on the editorial staff I was tasked with writing the story on Jill, her mill and why she was worthy of the award. It was a huge honor for her and for me. The following is an excerpt of the editorial I wrote for the Man of the Year issue, which hits mailboxes around the world this week. It was my "I am woman hear me roar" moment. It was the definitive point where I decided to stop noticing my otherness and just do my damn job. Stop acting like I have something to prove and realize I've proved it. I deserve what I've gotten and everything I have coming because I haven't stopped working hard. I now just have to keep the path.

From One Woman To Another

 I’m really proud of what came about from just two girls at two very different points of their sawmill exposure having a conversation. Above all else, Jill Snider Brewer inspired me. I’m a twentysomething young mother with a lot to learn about life and about sawmilling. She told me repeatedly she didn’t have all the answers, but the more I listened, the more I realized how much her comments about running a sawmill actually apply to real life.

When I spoke with Jill about the importance, and perhaps greater ineptitude of certain folks (read: fathers) on details she laughed it off. We then wound the conversation back to the topic of the day. I noticed how she was shy at first to tell me about her accomplishments and overall signature on Snider Industries. She told me at first she wasn’t so sure she wanted to accept the award at all. Throughout the interview she kept attempting to deflect the spotlight. Defaulting to her employees and her father as the real face of Snider Industries. “I’m always happy to be in the background, hopefully making everything successful,” she told me. 

That’s when it all came full circle. A real leader whether, in the home, in the front office or in the filing room, doesn’t try to be in the spotlight, they only care about setting everyone up for success.

I’ve read nearly all 28 Man of the Year stories, and that’s one thing they all have in common: a desire to set their mill, its employees, their communities and the lumber industry as a whole up for success.

It just took 28 years, and a woman, to articulate it.

Forward Progress

Raise your hand if you're at work today…just me?...it feels like its just me. #privatesectorlife

I love this quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. that Oshkosh Kids shared on instagram earlier. I've noticed over the last 16 months that not only has everything changed in day-to-day life since F&A were born, duhhhh, but that my mindset has changed.

This quote made me think of all of the times over the last year where I thought we weren't going to make it; where it was just too damn hard, and yet, we woke up the next day and tried again. I frequently tell our daycare director, "There's always tomorrow; we'll be better tomorrow," when I forget sippy cups or nap mats or that one time Mark dropped Fitz off with only one shoe on… We don't always fly, but we always move forward.

via Oshkosh kids insta

It's Not Easy: Mothering, Malro and Me

From the moment I found out I was pregnant with the twins I went through a few really difficult times. When you live in the Bible belt and don’t do things in the conventional way, people talk. And people judge. And people suck.

In fact, as clear as a bell I can think of one girl who was so jealous that I got pregnant, she was, and continues to be, mean to me. It took me a long time to realize her jealousy was why she was so wretched to me, and while it makes me sad, it also makes me angry. Angry because mothering is freaking hard and I got enough of my own guilt about working and being a good mom and a good wife and making it to Church on time that I don't need a bitchy acquaintance.

But mainly it makes me angry because of December 5, 2014: The day I handed my newborn son to a stranger with the very real feeling I might not see him again. How dare she take out her jealousy on me that I got pregnant "easily with twins" and everything fell right into place.

For the entire time the twins were in-utero I was in incredible amounts of pain in my hips, back, fingers and belly. I was unable to eat for days at a time. I struggled to walk. I didn't talk about it because it wasn't anyone's business and it was just part of an extremely high-rick pregnancy.

Yes, I delivered them full term, vaginally. I also lost so much blood I had to receive a blood transfusion and came very close to receiving it through a PICC line. There’s always more to the snippets of things you hear…

Then there was December 5, 2014. Yea, it was so easy to hand a two-month-old over for surgery and not know what was going to happen. To be in actual hell for four hours while a nice man you met four hours prior was moving your newborn’s intestines around to save his life. Yea, that was real easy.

 

I don't want this reflection to come from a place of anger—I am so incredibly thankful for CHOA-Egleston, Dr. Meisel and God for watching out for Alex; for making Alex "all better." We were so incredibly blessed throughout Alex's entire malrotation surgery and recovery; I have a lot of guilt when I think about it. He hit the milestones he was supposed to right on track.

But what I didn't think about would be the after. The indelible mark I would be left with. In the immediate days after we left the hospital I did nothing but cry and worry and feel sick to my stomach. I watched Squeaks like a hawk.

Overtime my fear abated, but never left. Every single time he eats, I feel nervous. When he goes a few days without regular loose bowel movements I wake up in cold sweats, go into his room and make sure he's still breathing and not covered in green vomit.

I hear myself constantly say, "You have to be careful with Alex," which is nearly always countered with, "Stop being overprotective."

The worry faded, but it never went away because for those three weeks we waited for surgery and the week we were in the cocoon of CHOA-Egleston 4226, everything went smoothly. So, obviously the other shoe is going to drop and rock my world.


Except it hasn't really. A few days ago, after a few weeks of Fitzgerald struggling to make dirty diapers of any kind, Mark asked me, "Do you think we should have him tested?"

There it was, the other shoe. I survived one malro baby; I could do it again. But Fitz isn't showing any malro signs. He eats like a horse. In fact, he eats too much bread, which is why he's always constipated. I frequently catch him snatching crackers off Alex's plate. That's why he's clogged and he enjoys daily doses of milk of magnesia.

Intestinal malrotation affects one in 500 live American births. It is a congenital condition that happens during the first trimester of pregnancy and can show signs immediately after birth or never at all or sometime in between. It's a scary thing to deal with. Once you've survived a malro baby, it never ever leaves you.

Yea, it might be easy to have sex and get pregnant, but mothering? The day in and day out? It might seem easy on instagram but it actually is really, really hard.

Tomorrow marks one year. I don't know how I will feel as the day progresses. I am so glad I listened to my little voice, that I fought for my son, that Dr. Meisel saved his life and gave me a ferocious toddler who loves Peeps and ice water just like his momma. But damn, it hasn't been easy.

There is one element of tomorrow that will be extremely easy. As a family of four we will all watch the SEC Championship game together, no machines, no cords, no nothing. Just us and our beloved Tide. I'm so grateful for that! Roll tide, beat the gators!!

 

To the Woman at Target Saturday

I'm sure you didn't mean to. I'm sure you weren't just another one of those people who love to start “Mommy War” battles. I'm sure you were just a person with an opinion.

See, at first, Woman at Target, when we bonded over the terrible baby tank tops, I thought I found another annoyed mom. Because, seriously, WTH with the tanks Carter's? Instead, you jealously asked, “Aren't you relieved you don't have to actually take care of your kids?”

When the look on my face changed from a frustrated smile over what I could possibly send my boys to school in for class picture day to “Are you kidding me?” You followed the unanswered question up with, “Well, I mean, since you send them to daycare.”

Still, nearly two days later, I'm speechless. You're right, I don't change my son's diaper at 10am on the average Tuesday. I'm not the one that gives him his baby puree at 3:30. But, I am the one that takes care of him.

I work so he can have clean diapers, and so we can pay it forward a little with Every Little Bottom. I might not have the afternoons alone with them to hang out and go for a walk when it's nice. Instead, I'm listening to my interview tapes, furiously transcribing: living out the dream I had before I became a mother, the dream I still have, the career I love.

See, what I didn't say when you asked me that question Woman at Target, when I elected to sputter  about needing diapers and hurrying away, was that for all the pity you have for me, I have it for you too.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the women that stay at home, y'all push me to do Pinterest crafts and bake reguarly. Without you, I would probably re-watch every single episode of Grey's Anatomy. But you seemed so hell bent on making the distinction, that I don't take care of them. You must have such a closed off mind.

When you saw me I had my infants solo because my husband was off with my step-daughter. She's no Mia Hamm, but she's chosen soccer as her sport and we try to make sure he goes to nearly every game. Instead of dumping them at my in-law's for some free babysitting, I wanted to get them out, experiencing the world, showing them sights and sounds they wouldn't see from the comfort of our living room.

But I knew it would mean getting almost run over in the parking lot (twice this past weekend, but whose counting?) Watching people let the door slam in my face, or not give me room to push my double stroller. If I wasn't taking care of my kids we wouldn't have made it out of the parking lot, much less through the doors and to the back of the store, to the baby department.

You should know, Woman at Target, that when I did finally make it to my car after pushing my double stroller with diapers balanced precariously on the top, I cried. Because part of me wants to be the one to give my son his baby puree at 3:30 Wednesday afternoon. But a bigger part of me wants to be making plans to head to South Carolina in two weeks story gathering. Who are you to tell me which way is better?

I'm a great mom. I'm sure you are too. Isn't that enough?

Boys, don't hate me.

Today I went back to work. I left you. But don't worry, I'll be back!

Spending six weeks at home with you guys was something I will never forget. Not just because of the sheer boredom I sometimes felt, or the bone deep exhaustion, or the time that Fitz got poop on my sweater, the wall and his own feet, no not because of that. Well, maybe because of that. 

But now I'm back to work and you're hanging with Miss Fannie. And being your momma is just one of my many titles, not my only title. I have thought about this day for many months and surprisingly it wasn't the hot ass mess I thought it would be. I was only marginally late for work. Fifteen minutes is total progress! I didn't cry when I closed the door, or when I was in the car. In fact, I felt oddly at peace—like this was how it was supposed to be. Which, honestly, I haven't felt in, uhhhh, seven months or so?

You're going to grow and change so much under Fannie's watchful eye and I am going to miss it. I'm sure I will miss some small milestones, big ones too. I know I will have plenty of "Momma Guilt" when those things happen. But I also know that when I come home at night I am going to be so much more present with you than I was these last few weeks. I will no longer take feeding time, when you stare up at me with those big brown eyes, for granted. I'll even be more present for your diaper changes. Okay, that one's a lie, I’m still pawning off the green shit on your father as often as possible. 

There are so many adventures we've yet to go on, so don't worry, every morning when I shut the door, I will be back.

Three Hundred and Sixty Five

365 days ago my life changed, in a very big way. I don't think I really took time to let it sink in that I was moving, that I was no longer going to be in a town I called home for so long. That I was no longer going to be comfortable in my own life. That I was going to struggle like I never thought possible. (That, one year later I would still struggle like I never thought I would.)

365 days of waking up and wondering if today would be the day I snapped, packed up my crap and moved home.

365 nights of going to bed in an apartment I pay all the bills for, myself.

Today I turned in the keys to my first grown up apartment. I am slowly moving away from my old self.

I'm becoming a real grown up. Not the fake one I've spent a few years pretending to be. I wonder what the future will hold. When I moved to Montgomery I had no idea what to expect. I thought I had things pretty well figured out, but I don't—I have no flippin' idea what I am doing, where I am going and who I will become.

The dogs are alive and well. I've managed to pay most of my bills on time. I don't have insurmountable credit card debit. I'm doing better than the national average. I know who I am. I have an idea of who I want to become.

Things aren't perfect, but I'm learning to let go of the perfect ideal I had in my head and roll with what is actually happening. Roll with the punches, isn't that a famous Jerry Maguire line?

I've never been good at looking back: I just get melancholy; I am not a person that really likes change. Ironic, because I love adventures and yearn for the day where on a whim, with some planning, I can just up and travel the globe.  

But here I am, looking to day 366 of living in Montgomery in a new (to me at least) house, with boxes and tote bags and my prized possessions shit everywhere… I'm sure it'll get unpacked and organized eventually, just like my life.

For now, I'm going to enjoy having a porch swing and some early Summer weather. Or at least try to.

Wednesday Wisdom

This past weekend almost the entire Johnson crew, or really I guess the entire Williams crew plus Watsons and Johnsons!, gathered in Tuscaloosa for some family Easter fun and to celebrate the Baptism of sweet Saylor Grace. With three kids and lots of adults, more than half with Johnson blood running through their veins, it was definitely a fun, loud, hilarious weekend.

Saturday night, Kristen and I, over a pair of Sam Adams' summer ales, playing at a pink train table with her wonderful son, got to talkin'. Talkin' about life, love, the Internet, family, grammar. Basically Kristen was throwing down some wonderful big sister advice and I was soaking it up like a sponge.

Then she dropped this line. It is something that will never leave me in the time of 140 character snippets, one-picture stories and five paragraph blogs.

She is totally right. 

New Year, New Me

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I won't wax poetic on New Year's resolutions. I've never been a big resolution keeper, and with Lent seemingly right around the corner it always felt like I was giving up a bunch of stuff all in the beginning of the year. There are some things I would like to be better at with 2013 just beginning. I've seen the people that do little checks on themselves as almost mini resolutions, for each month, of course, I thought about doing that as well. 

But this morning when my alarm went off at 6am for my run, and I successfully pressed snooze until 7:23am I felt…happy. Rested. Ready for the day. So I didn't do the early morning run, whatever. I was in a much better mood. My hair was much messier though.

So that's becoming my New Year's resolution: stop pushing myself to do XYZ. If I do it, great. If not, it will happen some day, some how. New year, new me...sorta. Just like when I discussed how I plan to start using Pinterest, I'm going to take this change one day at a time. While I am making this effort, I'm going to be revamping the blog, saying good-bye to my little bird and hello to a regular posting schedule.

I vowed to make 2013 my year. So as each day passes, as long as I live it to the fullest, I've made that day my day. And little by little I'll make it my year.

I hope to start if off by celebrating another BCS National Title.

Roll tide my friends. Roll tide.

Pinterest's Significance

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This morning, I came across a post from a sweet lady I know only in the virtual sense. We are worlds apart, even though she lives just 45 minutes from me. She is a sweet, kind, Kindergarten teacher with a toddler and husband. She writes today about not letting Pinterest be a compass of sorts. Not letting Pinterest define you as a mother. Not letting Pinterest define you as a failure because you can’t cook like Paula Deen and someone somewhere pinned it to some food board. Though the post is aimed at mothers, it is so true for us twentysomething girls too, to an extent.

Here are a few of my issues with Pinterest:

 It’s no new phenomenon. My Momma has been doing it for decades. In fact, she’s an active pinner, but still refers to magazine rip outs from 2001.

It causes anxiety. Everyone’s got to have a wedding board…yet, most of us aren’t engaged. Everyone’s got to have a baking board…yet, when was the last time you made 4 dozen from scratch 7 layer bars for yourself? Everyone’s got to have a fitness inspiration board…yet, when was the last time you actually did one of those workouts? Maybe anxiety isn’t the right word, but it leaves me feeling like I lack something. I lack the ring. I lack the cute kid. I lack the fabulous fashion. I lack the metabolism to make chocolate wasted cupcakes and eat them without feeling like I have to bitch about it because it’s a few hundred calories my ass just doesn’t need. But I still pin. I still hold out the hope that next week I’ll get around to that healthy smoothie.

 I don’t have the cash to decorate my ~1100 sq. ft. apartment like Nate Berkus and frankly, I don’t want to. But yet, I used to pin all sorts of “dream home” stuff. Yes, I would love to have pink shutters on stacked stone. But in reality, I doubt I ever will. I know that sounds negative, but it’s time us twentysomethings embrace what we have. Lusting after things is always important. Hell, I’m saving up for a trip of a lifetime. But, I am also aware that my furniture doesn’t match; some of it is rescued from Goodwill that I’ve either painted/refinished/modgepodged for around $35. Surviving this part of life means when you can have the next Nate Berkus decorate your house, you enjoy every minute of it.

 I like to bake. I like to cook. I’m very crafty. I’m what you would call a creative person. I’ve been doing stuff like that my whole life. But even I can’t decorate a cake like the one’s some of these stay at home moms, or girls still in undergrad, have pinned (and possibly created.) Because you know what? I’m 24. I have a full time job. I throw parties where the main component is alcohol. Mind you they are damn good parties, but it’s like college with a better (or worse depending on who you are) bank account. I’m fine with that. Because at these parties, I make glittered cupcakes and from scratch macaroni and cheese that gets eaten at 4am. But for lunch today I’m probably going to have a frozen dinner and that’s okay too.

Part of this is a pep talk to myself: I am constantly in a state of moodiness. Some days nothing but contentment washes over me. Some days all I want to do is brood and/or cry about what I lack. Part of that is because of social media: the twentysomethings best friend and biggest adversary. XYZ friend from high school just got engaged in Bora Bora and posted 3546 pictures on Facebook, OF COURSE you HAVE to spend an hour looking at every single one. Which is about as productive as looking at the wall.

This is my life. Not someone else’s. Nothing is wrong with the girls that have 12456 pins about crap they will never use. But it’s time I start getting real with myself. I’ve, for the most part, stopped pinning. I’m going to slowly make my way through every pin I have. If it’s nothing but a link to a pretty picture of cookies? Delete. Recipes I try that fail? Delete. Recipes I try that I love? Stay.

I’ll pin to “Hair/Makeup/Nails” but I’m about as inept at doing my hair as I am with trigonometry. It’s high time I recognize I’ll never be a whiz with certain things. I’ll never be anyone besides me: a whiz at baking, bartending and crafting. The rest? It’ll sort itself out. Our mothers became excellent people without Pinterest and other social media sites. I bet we will too.

A Blue Sort of #posituesday

It's one of those days where everything seems to be off. Which I hate because it should be #posituesday.

I've mentioned before about how changing my life so drastically has had ups and downs. Today seems to be one of those downs. In fact, it has been a down week of sorts. I have flashes of happy and content but then flashes of sheer disappointment.

Disappointment in myself for my current state of discontent. Disappointment in how I woke up a few days ago and realized that all the weight and muscle I worked so hard to lose/gain in the beginning of the year is gone. Disappoinment that no matter how hard I try to stay digitally connected to my best friends, a phone call or a gchat will never be the same as grabbing beers at Innisfree to catch up on gossip.

I've read Mommy blogs that discuss not saying never and not taking yourself too seriously. I've learned to never say never, I mean I can't with the job I have! As far as taking myself too seriously? Yeah, that has never been my problem. I've leaned on friends, mentors from school, even my former boss. Yet, I still have this burning feeling that I'm disappointed in myself. Maybe it's the weather: I've never been a "rain" person. Maybe it's the three day blues from having some vacation: being in a cubical is not as fun after a vacation…

I'm disappointed in myself for feeling so blue and being so self-centered that everyone wants to hear about it. It's supposed to be #posituesday, which I'm spinning this week. Every once and a while it's okay to feel blue. It means you're alive and feeling all the other feelings too.

At least that's what I am going to tell myself. I'm giving myself today to feel blue. I'm going to power though my responsibilities and then spend all evening in front of my sad little Charlie Brown tree reading a delicious Nora Roberts romance.

Friday Favorites

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 My dear sweet friend Caitlin, who is amazing and just all around a light in my life, does a series on her blog called “Friday Favorites.” (Which is where I got the image, I mean, let’s be serious I am nowhere near that illustrator inclined, but I digress.)

Our company had “Thankful Thursday” yesterday, and it made me realize how lucky I am to do what I do. I complain a lot about it, but at the end of the day, I am lucky to have the job that I do. Is it my favorite thing? No, but it’s work. And it is a work I enjoy, most of the time. Being in the thankful spirit has also made me realize how many things I consider my “favorite.” How many people I am lucky to call “favorites.” But I guess that is another post for another time.

Here’s what I have been favoriting this week:

My obsession with Maury Povitch grows with each day. Due to popular demand I have stopped live tweeting the episodes, but I think I just might bring that back. Life might be rough, but HEY!, at least you aren't 35 taking a DNA test to find out if your husband is really your brother/cousin/sister. God, I love Americans.

This past Saturday I was in Death Valley alongside my favorite Alabama fan, my father, to watch the Tide roll. I've been lucky enough to sit in the stands of some pretty incredible Alabama football games: Iron Bowl 2008, SEC 2009, National Championship 2012. This experience was like none other. Roll damn tide.

Decorating for Holidays is something my Momma passed down to me. I've started decorating my little bar area for each of the Holidays. By and large Thanksgiving is my least favorite of the choices, but I do think it came together quite nicely. I just need some apple pie moonshine to really complete the look...

Yes, I am sensational. At times. Maybe?

Last night’s episode of Bachelorette taught me so many things.

Like how, given a set o’ steamy kisses in exotic locations, and a fun day on the racetrack, Arie’s super skinny tie in Charlotte night 1 can be forgiven.

 Or how I really don’t use the word sensational enough. Though, that was more the men in my life don’t call me sensational enough. Such a great word, sensational, especially when using it to describe the object of your affection. I am pretty sure I would melt on the spot if someone crushingly handsome looked at me unsolicited said, “Jess, you are sensational.” ***Bonus points would be available if he said it when I felt I looked a mess, or was rocking a giant Daddy sized tshirt and running shorts. 

I’m big fan of the show, and if you follow me on twitter you might notice that I am a complete child of the 21sy century when it comes to my Monday nights. I am simultaneously texting with some of my best friends and my Momma, and keeping up with some of my favorite snarky Twitter accounts (@POSSESSIONISTA, @jenniferweiner to name a couple), all while watching the drama unfold.

Momma and I just doing what we do best.

Monday’s are my least favorite day of the week work wise, do you know how hard it is to pretend to be productive on a Monday? Especially when you work with three men that are always trying to freeze you to death!! But I digress. There is something about Monday nights that put a spring in my step, even on the roughest of days. The clock hits 4:45 and I bust out of my cube on a mission. I make myself a fabulous dinner, indulge in a few adult bevies and settle in.

I always wondered what my post-grad life would be like. How would I mesh my college self, which may or may not have had a little too much ridiculousness on the reg, with a more serious, working girl mentality. Oddly enough, Bachelorette last night showed me exactly that.

Monday through Friday from 8:30(ish on most days) to 4:45(on the dot), I am Jessica Johnson associate editor with Hatton Brown Publishers, a little bit of woods and a whole lot of Barbie. I’m me, to a steal a one liner from that dreadful new Willow Smith song. I gchat with the important people in my life, check for daily posts from Suri’s Burn Book, Guy in Austin and some of my favorite Mommy-bloggers. But I also scan Market Watch for news on the EPA and tier 4 (google it), edit scientific garbage into readable information, tell the stories of sweet older men trying to develop businesses their sons and grandsons can be proud of. I mesh my ridiculousness with my seriousness.

I haven’t lost myself along the way. I may have a career now, but I’m still a little lost, drinking a little too much gin, staying up a little too late, and making excuses for why I never fit a long run in.

If I ever need clarification on how I would make it all work, I’ll remember the summer Emily was the bachelorette and how, just like Arie made that hoodie work for him, I made my life work for me.

Wistful Wednesday

Life seems to be spiraling toward a post-grad life I've successfully avoided for 5 full years now.

It's not that I just don't want to grow up—it's not having a plan. It's not knowing where I'm living in six weeks or what I'm going to be doing in six weeks. I love my parents, I really do. But moving in with them, jobless, after spending (roughly) $120,000 on this education? BARF.

So this Wednesday I'm not wordless; I'm wistful. Wistful for Freshman year where skipping class and day drinking wasn't such a big deal. Wistful for going out with Mallory every night of the week and not having a monster hangover.

I'm (almost)(sorta) ready to start my post-grad grown up life. Until then, Immma be a little wistful.

Fresh Start...

I feel like I am constantly making promises to myself...I will be faithful about writing in my journal. I will be faithful about blogging. I will be faithful about crafting/cooking/baking. I will be faithful about writing letters to my Nanny. Yet, somehow, life "gets in the way". I'm a little under 4 weeks away from a second undergrad degree. It's almost really time to be a big girl. (Which TERRIFIES me.) This year I've made some big personal changes. I've tried to use this online journal as a tool to express myself, but as a writer, I just don't think I'm there yet. Too much crazy nonsense as gone on. This year has taught me how lucky I am to have the family and friends as a support system that I do. Say a prayer for a few of us, as we anxiously await job offers and big girl lives!! I did however make a promise to myself and one of the members of my writing staff: I will get healthy. Since she is doing a weekly blog on HCA about her quest for a healthier lifestyle, I decided to do the same. Below is simply a re-post of the original piece. There are a few eye opening sentences in there! But wish me luck as I spend the next 4 weeks exercising, eating right, and trying like hell to “grow up”!

I've never been an athlete. I enjoy sports (what girl raised in the South doesn't?) but I've never really played one. Along the same line, I've never worked out, like really worked out. In high school I was a ballerina, and I have done yoga for the better part of my adult life. But I never really considered those sports. I use yoga to center myself and to just be quiet for a half hour each day.

When I gave Ashley the go-ahead to start writing about her getting healthy plan, it got me thinking: am I as healthy as I could be? No. I'm on Pinterest, so I see all the skinny girl recipes, workout plans, and various motivation tactics. Why am I not using them?

I've always had an excuse in the past: I'm too busy, I want to spend my free time doing something else, blah blah blah. Well the reality is, I'm always going to be busy and I'm sick of not feeling as good as I could. Plus there was this one thing that happened....

My boyfriend broke up with me.

You could say it was amicable (which he does and I don't). You could say I'm bitter (I was, let's be real), but now I'm using it as motivation. I'm using it to remind MYSELF how awesome I am.

Like Ashley, I don't have a goal weight in mind and I haven't decided to follow a specific plan. I've just decided that I want to have a healthier lifestyle. I gave up sugar for Lent, which has been painful let me tell you, but I've seen myself making smart snack choices because of it. Now, when Sunday came and Lent drew to a close, you can bet your bottom dollar I was in a sugar coma all day long. But I do hope that going 40 days without it will help me continue to make smart choices, even when I could technically have that cookie. I want my clothes to fit better and my muscles a little tighter.

I've downloaded an App for iPhone called "Lose It" which is allowing me to track my calories for the day, both food and exercise, by entering in what food I eat and what exercise I do. I've pledged to myself that I will take my dogs walking each day outside for at least 30 minutes, because they need to exercise too! In a moment of sheer stupidity (no other way to put this for a girl that is decidedly NOT a runner) I signed up for a 5K in 2 weeks. With the goal of running a half marathon in 2013. So you'll see me at the Rec pretty much every day on the treadmill. I'm the one sweating to death, watching Jeopardy.