i purport to not being close minded about most things. i’m always “that girl” who gets annoyed by people who knock stuff openly without trying it. one time i practically forced a girlfriend to eat the most miniscule amount of hummus anyone’s ever seen just to prove to her that she CAN expand her boundaries and like it; she did. i felt justified. i think she still eats hummus today. and she still likes me a lot. whew.

but most of the time i don’t push people unless i feel entirely comfortable because, more often than not, that person is protecting himself for whatever reason. so when i get pushed, i try to be understanding, knowing that someone is annoyed because my preconceptions aren’t meshing with my balls-to-the-wall persona or that person’s perceptions.

do i judge “the southwestern united states” based almost entirely on a week i spent in albuquerque with my parents when i was 16? yes.* but i loved the cool, dry desert nights and the red mountains. and i’m willing to check out arizona and sante fe before making a final ruling.* do i judge las vegas because it’s home to the skeeziest airport i’ve ever been in, plus i don’t have any desire to gamble or put myself in situations where i’ll likely make awful decisions?** yes.

i suppose this could make me close-minded, just like not really wanting to eat mussels because they make me gag when i see them might make me close-minded.*** but i don’t think i should have to force myself into eating or doing or living certain ways just to prove to myself (or others) that i can like other things. i KNOW i can like other things. but why waste my time on what i’d consider a minority of dislikes or preconceived notions when instead i can be out exploring the trillions of things i DO want to experience?

i recognized when a pal called me out tonight that i’ve probably imposed on lots of people throughout my life; pushing them to go beyond their comfort zones, probably to some degree for my own self assurance that i can help “raise someone’s awareness” or even to help THEM realize the potential that exists.

i suddenly remember a certain (arguably) colossal failure when i was head coaching gymnastics during grad school, and one of my gymnasts at age ten had zero self-confidence, and all she had to do was a back walkover on low beam by herself. all her teammates had just done it. people were celebrating and supporting her. i stood next to her but wouldn’t spot. she stood there and whined and whined. i told her to trust me, that i wouldn’t ever expect her to do skills alone that she couldn’t handle. when she finally got half the guts to do what i already knew she could do alone, she chickened out and fell on her head. she hurt herself because she chose to bail out. and she held me accountable.

she didn’t trust herself, so of course she couldn’t trust me, but i was too impatient and dumbfounded to accept that someone with all logic and reason and reassurance would still choose to NOT try something fully.

literally from that moment forward decided she didn’t want to be a gymnast, or at least not one of mine. at the time i tried to reason with her, but a voice in the back of my head kept saying, “there are eight other girls waiting for you to get out of the bleachers and go help them learn.” i don’t know to this day what was the right choice, but i turned to her mom and said, “if she doesn’t want to work with me and trust me, i can’t really do anything to help her.” she never came back to practice. i hope she found something that didn’t cause her so much emotional anguish.

but i realized tonight that i’ve probably alienated a few people on the way to helping others find new independence and new delights, and although i feel bad about the former, i do find comfort knowing i try walking the line between choosing my battles and following my gut.

except when my gut gives me the flu. stupid gut.

* this is close-minded. i get it.
** the last part is too true to be considered close-minded. keep reading for my “pick my battles” bit.
*** or sane.

it always bugs me when people say, “ew, i hate being sick.” who LIKES being sick? seriously? i’m sure hypochondriacs actually are uncomfortable when for once their crying results in an actual illness. even they can’t feel satisfied.

i’ve had the flu the past few days. on wednesday night at 11:30p, after a long-ass day following a long-ass week complete with a major wedding in tampa and some extensive aptitude testing plus an evening of networking, i found myself jammed in the back seat of a two-door scion, wedged between my coworker and my ceo, whose sister was on his lap, with another coworker driving and a client in the passenger seat. don’t ask.

truth was it was hilarious. one of those moments that never would have happened while i worked at george mason, or at least in the department i worked for no money and even less respect. i vowed when i left that job that i’d never assume the kind of negativity and politics i’d jumped feet first into. my credo lives on today.

so when i woke up thursday morning feeling nauseous, i hoped it was just the two sam adams and piece of a chicken quesedilla some strange dude offered me. it wasn’t even that good.

but the doctor yesterday, after spending two days feeling awful practically living in my bathroom when not sleeping, said it likely wasn’t food poisoning. it was probably the flu. awesome! but she took my blood to rule out hepatitis (umm) or liver issues (eeehhhh) just in case. i mean, i’ve managed to drop nearly ten pounds in three days, and aside from my vanity telling me that was a fast-track to bikini season, my headaches and supreme drops in energy tell me otherwise.

i miss my mommy when i’m sick. when everything hurts and i can’t get comfortable and i’m too tired to sleep and my cat doesn’t even want to be around me and my face is without color and i can’t stand up straight, i feel like i’m not 27 but 7 and waiting for her to make it all go away. when instead i have to suck it up, drive to doctor allison and then to a lab where a nice woman stabs me and steals my blood (actually she was the best ever) then drive to the grocery store where people steer clear of me (rightfully so) as i grab a $6 bottle of pedialyte (aka thick dymatapp-flavored fructose salt syrup), a couple cans of soup i’m not allowed to eat for 24 hours and popsicles, i don’t feel more independent. i really don’t. i just feel intensely tired and lonely. like all of these things should have been brought to me.

especially when all this happens precisely on arguably the best day of the year — my company’s annual dinner — which happened to be a retreat at a ranch where i could have been horseback riding.

all bitching aside, being sick is important because (a) it makes me feel more alive when i’m not sick anymore and (b) it shows me instantly who cares tremendously for me. i can pick up the phone and call a couple friends who are willing to drop what they’re doing and bring me soup, if only i could have eaten it. or come give me a back rub knowing full well that’s probably not the safest thing to do. or send me texts to call when i wake up so they don’t interrupt my sleep but still get the lowdown on my current state. these are the people who WANTED to bring everything to me, but me being an adult and arguably too stubborn made me act otherwise.

i’m lucky for my friends. i know that. who knew getting the flu could make me treasure it more?

an interesting conversation i had over the weekend with a new friend yielded a brilliant idea: writing without geographic restriction.

this isn’t a new idea; in fact, i’d say most writers who are independent in some way manage this kind of lifestyle swimmingly. but having wrestled with being “stuck” in a location or two with all of my post-collegiate experiences so far, the idea of having a full-time job (read: not freelancing) with benefits and being allowed to live anywhere is fascinating. dare i say, relatively perfect for my current state of mind.

right now i want to go everywhere, do everything, meet everyone, and see every sight i’m able to see. i want to check out seattle and portland and austin and san francisco and aspen. i want to see the stars at night in the arizona desert. i want to see dear isle for myself and mooch off the neuberts in st. pete and rent out lloyd’s place in southern california.

then, if not before, having had my fill of domestic adventures, i want to check out mew in amsterdam, and see salzburg and basically anywhere in switzerland. head back to the gold coast of france after swinging through burgundy and the loire valley, then hang my hat in monaco, cannes, and nice for a while. i need to see that place gabs went with keith in italy, and give the country overall another shot since my first experience there wasn’t so hot. i have to see iceland, scotland and ireland, for sure. juji’s recommended germany, and i wouldn’t mind catching another bullfight in madrid. i have to get sweaty on the dance floors of ibiza, then maybe head up to london with umbrella in tow.

before i spend too much time in europe, i’ll head to south america and check out brazil and argentina, of course. i’ll let the wind blow me to new zealand where i’ll hike copious amounts and catch a flight of the conchords show in wellington, then promptly ask jemaine out for a drink afterwards. after we’ve spent a few days making out, i’ll call it quits and head to sydney, where i may just relax for a while.

maybe.