Summer Travels: Cincinnati, Part 3

I woke up Sunday morning already in a decent mood (which is unusual for me!), because there was very little that could possibly happen to make this birthday worse than the last one. I mean, it could kinda suck, and it'd still be, hands down, way better than last year's. Last year, I spent my 32nd birthday in the car with my parents, driving from North Carolina to Cincinnati, taking as much Benadryl as I could to make me sleep, in more emotional pain than I had ever been in before in my life. And for someone who is a cult survivor with PTSD four times over, and who lost her brother at the age of 9 and is estranged from her sister, that's saying something. My ex had just told me the day before, after a month of agonizing waiting, that he was not planning on getting back together, and that he didn't even want to try and talk about things. We'd had such great plans for my birthday, and I had thought this was going to be the best birthday of my life. Instead, it was hands down, without any question, the absolute worst birthday of my life. And as Amanda pointed out to me on my birthday this year, I've had some pretty crappy birthdays. I spent my 32nd birthday in so much emotional pain that it physically hurt, and I wanted to die. I got so many texts and FB messages from people saying, "I really don't feel like I can wish you a happy birthday, but I didn't want the day to pass without acknowledging that I know it's your birthday."

This year, I was in a much better place. No, I'm not fully recovered, and as I have said before, I'm really not sure full recovery is actually possible from something like that. But I'm in a good place in life. I'm mostly happy with things. I live in an amazing city in a gorgeous state, with a ton of friends. I have this awesome boyfriend who loves me a lot, and whom I love a lot. I have a job which allows me to support myself for the first time in my life.

I got ready for the day, and met Andy, Skip, and Linda in the kitchen, waiting for me with birthday muffins. They sang "Happy Birthday," much to my chagrin, and Andy gave me my birthday present: this awesome reindeer leather and pewter bracelet! Seriously, guys. Does it get more Dauntless than this?

Andy and I headed to my cousin Anne's house, where my birthday party was being held. Anne was incredibly awesome and generous to offer to host my party so I could see a bunch of friends! Andy had already met my aunt Sandy and uncle Ron when they were in Colorado over Mother's Day, but he also got to meet my uncle Bob and aunt Judy (Anne's parents), and my cousin Jon's son, Nate, and Anne's 2 year old, Faye (who seriously looks just like a little elf, and is so freaking adorable). Faye liked Andy a bit, and kept telling everyone that she was going to share cake with Great Aunt (my mom- she calls my dad Great Uncle!). Amanda and Mike came with their girls, and my other bestie, Christi, drove all the way from Evansville, Indiana (3.5 hours!) for the party, and to meet Andy. Melissa and her husband, Jason, drove all the way from Indianapolis, as well- a solid 2 hour drive. Heather and Carrie also came, and I got to meet Heather's fiance, finally. They all got to talk to Andy for a while, and then all the guys at the table left, leaving me with five of my closest girlfriends, who of course then gave me a lot of straight talk about stuff with the ex, and how much better for me, and more mature, Andy is.

After the party, Andy and Christi and I went to Graeter's, since she had driven so far, and...why NOT?! We sat and ate our ice cream and chatted for a few hours, before Christi left for home, and Andy and I headed back to the house.

It was a good birthday. Not only was it a good birthday, but it was also so much better than the one before, and I loved getting to spend it with so many people I love, and with this amazing guy. I was able to receive birthday wishes and not feel devastated by them. Instead of holding on to hope that my next birthday will be better, in order to even live through the day, I was able to enjoy the day, and think, maybe next year will be better. But even if it's not, that's fine.

Summer Travels: Cincinnati: Part 2

Saturday morning, we both were feeling our day at King's Island a little bit, but not horribly. I had planned on lots of things for the morning, but our tiredness wound up overriding those plans. However, we did manage to stop at Jungle Jim's in Fairfield. I wish we'd had more time, and that I'd had more energy, but I at least somewhat managed to introduce Andy to the marvelous heavenly place that all Cincinnatians know and love. For those of you who don't know, Jungle Jim's is a pretty one-of-a-kind international market outside of Cincinnati. It has old animatronic animals from Show Biz Pizza and displays from Coney Island, way back in the day. They have the world's largest collection of Pez, and a whole wall of Jelly Bellies that you can put together to make your own mix. They have a giant selection of beer from every region of the nation, more wine than I see even in most liquor stores, and as many specialty liquors as you could possibly want. They also have a giant section just for cheese. What could be better than a great big selection of cheese? There's produce from all over the world, and you can even get fresh kangaroo meat there. The dry goods section of the floor is set up by country, including the more obscure ones, like Bulgaria and Macedonia. There's more varieties of olive oil there than I knew existed, and if your heart's desire is a 50lb bag of rice, you can get it at Jungle Jim's for all of $20. They even have different varieties of pop from every region of the country, including those that are really obscure. And the icing on the cake for me? They have the Midwest's largest gluten free section. Shopping there is an experience and a dream. We both walked out with, among other things, our own selections of Jelly Bellies.

Then, we headed up to Franklin, to visit the Smith family. Amanda and I have been friends for going on 18 years, ever since our ATI days. We've helped each other through a lot, and I was the maid of honor in her wedding, in 2009. Her 5 year old daughter, Katy, and I are bookends. Katy was born on July 1st, and I was born on the 31st. Katy always loves it when I come to visit, and thinks I don't come around nearly enough. It had actually been a year since I had seen her. When we got there, I picked her up and said, "Did you know it's been a year since I have seen you?" She laughed and said, in a very grown up tone, "I actually did know that." The girl is smart. She never ceases to amaze me. Ellie, who is 2, is a little (read a lot) less outgoing than Katy. It takes her a while to warm up to people, but she usually does, eventually. Andy and I sat and talked with Amanda and Mike, and somewhat played with the girls for a couple of hours. It was a good time, and by the time we had left, I managed to get the thumbs up on Andy from the bestie, which is always a good thing!

Before going home to get ready for dinner, I drove Andy around my old neighborhood, and showed him the house I grew up in, and the house my childhood best friend grew up in. I pointed out different landmarks and talked about different memories. Then, we went home, where Skip and Linda were finally waiting for us! It was good to see them, as I hadn't seen them in over a year. They took us to dinner at the Christian Moerlein Lager House, which is situated between Paul Brown Stadium and Great American Ballpark, right on the Ohio River, with a fabulous view of the Suspension Bridge. The Lager House was the location of my 30th birthday party, and both the food and environment are phenomenal. We had some great conversation with Skip and Linda, and had a lovely walk along the riverfront.

We got home, and Andy and I watched the last Harry Potter movie on tv, and still managed to get to bed long before midnight that night, which was pretty amazing after a few late nights in a row. I went to bed thinking about how that day had been infinitely better than the same day last year. 

Summer Travels: Cincinnati: Part 1

For my 33rd birthday, Andy and I took a long weekend and flew to Cincinnati to visit my family and friends. We managed to pack quite a lot into just a few days, and managed to maximize our time by flying in late Thursday night, and flying out Monday evening (flying from Eastern to Mountain time is amazing!). My parents picked us up at the airport about 11pm (bless their elderly hearts- this is well past their bedtime, especially for my mother!), and deposited us at my Cincinnati home in College Hill, where we had the house to ourselves, as my other parents, Skip and Linda, were at their other home in Indiana (if you followed that, kudos). It was after midnight Eastern time, and still after 10pm Mountain time, so we were getting tired. I set Andy up in his room, and kicked on the window A/C unit in my room, and we went to bed.

The next morning, we got up and headed out to King's Island, which I hadn't visited in 19 years, since the summer I turned 14. I brought my back brace with me, so I could ride some roller coasters. Yes, I have a loose piece of bone in my spine, and yes, I have chronic spasms as a result. Yes, the piece of bone can dislodge and make my spasms worse. It can also, potentially (though unlikely), hit my spine in such a way as to paralyze me. Should I go on roller coasters? Probably not. But here's the thing. If I didn't do everything I wasn't supposed to do, my life would suck. So I weigh the risks with the benefits, and make my decision. I happen to have a back brace that is extremely effective, and cinches up so tightly, it makes it hard to breathe. If I'm having issues breathing because of how tight my brace is, ain't nothin' movin' in there.

We got to King's Island around 11, and while the heat wasn't oppressive, the humidity was. I was amused by the fact that I was sweating like crazy, but I could also breathe. In Colorado, I have moderate to severe asthma, depending on the day. But in the Midwest, where oxygen is abundant, I can breathe like a champ. I found myself taking unnecessarily deep breaths all weekend, just because I could. I was walking and running all over King's Island, and not once did I have to stop, double over, and break out my inhaler. It was amazing.

The first thing we did, was take the elevator up to the top of the Eiffel Tower, which is a 1/3 scale model of the actual tower, and looked out over the park and over Mason. The roller coasters looked little from way up there! After heading back down, we started on the rides: the Viking swing, the Spider, the Scrambler, etc. I'm sorry, no matter how old I get, giant swings, and spinning rides will always just be FUN. We kept looking at the roller coasters, trying to decide which ones we wanted to go on, and which ones I thought might not ruin my back, and the one I kept wanting to go on was The Diamondback. This one has been around King's Island for most of my life, and looking at it, and its extreme ups and downs, I kept trying to convince Andy to go on it with me. He kept hedging, but after a while, he finally said a solid, "HELL no."

Instead, we went on the Tower Drop. In case you don't know, this is a ride that takes you straight up about 26 stories, and then just...DROPS. We got on, and as it went up, I asked Andy if I had ever told him I'm scared of heights, which made him laugh. I actually am terrified of heights. But I have also decided not to let that fear dictate anything I do in life. So I deal. We got up to the top, and the waiting began. The thing about this ride is not the drop. It's the waiting. We have no idea when it's actually going to drop, and that's more terrifying than anything else. I'm sure the wait was only about 60 seconds, but it felt like several minutes. After a few seconds, I suddenly realized I had made a horrible mistake. Oops. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that ride. NOTHING. In all seriousness, I wanted to DIE. I actually wanted to die right then, right there. Because the only way I was going to get out of that ride, was to actually drop dead. Suddenly, the ride dropped, and then stopped, and I went, "Huh. That was like...nothing." I realized two things: 1. The game was more of a cruel psychological joke than anything else (followed by an awesome thrill!). The real terror is not the drop, it's the anticipation (there's actually some really deep philosophical stuff to delve into there, but maybe another time). 2. I have actually been through worse in life. We all have been on our share of sketchy elevators in our lives (especially if you've spent any time at ATI's Indianapolis Training Center). But I have never been afraid of any issue on any elevator after surviving the elevators of the Cosmos Hotel in Moscow. While there in 1998 with about 400 other Americans on a mission trip, my mom and I were staying on about the 24th floor, along with a bunch of others in our group. We got on the elevator one afternoon, to go up to our floor. We got to between the 23rd and 24th floors, and our elevator got stuck. Not only did it get stuck, but it suddenly began shaking violently. Then suddenly, it dropped. Several floors. Then suddenly stopped again. Well, we just wanted out at that point. But after a few minutes, it started shaking again, and then, again, free fell. I was pretty sure I was going to die at 14. Well, we finally made it to the lobby in one piece, and we couldn't get out of that elevator fast enough. None of us went near that elevator the rest of our time in Moscow. Going through that very unplanned freefall has a way of putting regulated and safety-tested rides that are supposed to drop in perspective.

After the Tower Drop, we went to the other side of the park to ride The Beast. This is a wooden roller coaster with a number of tunnels, and is older than I am. The Beast is one of King's Island's classic rides. I had never been on it before, though that's hardly believable for someone from Cincinnati. The ride is freaking awesome. It's the perfect level of scary and thrilling, to maximize the fun without getting to the "Oh dear God we're going to die, get me out of here" stage. Andy's experience was slightly more terrifying, as tunnels make him fear for his life, as he's 6'1". But the ride was fantastic, and I was so excited to actually be riding a legit roller coaster, despite my back. Andy loved it so much, and got such an adrenaline high from it, that he decided he wanted to go on the Diamondback. About the time we got off The Beast, I hit my wall. 5 hours of rides and crowds and walking and humidity were taking their toll. I looked at him and said, "No! You had hours to go on this ride, and you gave me a solid no, and I'm done." He admitted this was the case, and we started to leave. On our way out, he said, "I'm going to tell everyone I wanted to ride the Diamondback and you didn't want to." Which got a smack and a tongue lashing from me, which only made him laugh. Men.

Our day at King's Island was tons of fun, and we ended it by having dinner with my friends Kevin and Joe. Other than the fact that Kevin and Andy kept riffing puns back and forth all night, it was mostly fun. After dinner, we went back to Kevin's to watch the extended version of Batman vs. Superman (omg, so much better than the original cut), and ate UDF ice cream. It was again after midnight before we got home, but we definitely slept well, since we were absolutely exhausted. We had more going on the next day, but that story will come in part 2.

Poker Face

No, I'm not quoting Lady Gaga. I'm actually working on my poker face- and my poker game. As I have mentioned in earlier blog posts, Andy and his family love poker. I'm not exaggerating. Guys, they love it. While none are professionals, Andy and his brothers have all gone to Las Vegas at times to participate in the World Series of Poker (otherwise known as WSOP). I've long wanted to learn how to play poker- not as much for the game, as for a greater understanding of various metaphors in everyday speech, as well as poker references in movies. But Andy has been teaching me now, and I'd actually like to be able to play in some tournaments with him at some point.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, a bunch of people (mainly men), get together at the little restaurant in Andy's community and play Texas Hold'Em. A couple weeks, ago, Andy and I went on a Tuesday night to join in. I was thinking...just a handful of people, a couple hours, no worries. Nope. There were three tables, with 22 people total. I was the only female playing. Yaaaaaay.

Andy bought us both in (I gave him the literally $5 I had to spare- being out of work for months has a way of catching up with you!), and I informed the table that I had played before, but not much. I asked a lot of questions, and mostly did okay. I wasn't the first person out, and Andy did the second allowed buy-in for me. I picked up a few more things along the way that I hadn't known before, and just overall got stronger in my understanding and playing ability.

While poker is just...poker to a lot of people, it's not just a game to me. It's scary as hell, and takes a LOT of courage for me to really work on getting good enough to play with strangers and in real tournaments. And there are a lot of reasons for that.

First, my parents have loosened up a LOT since I was a kid. No, they weren't anywhere near ATI level when I was little (pre-13), but they were still on the more conservative side of the Catholics and Evangelicals we spent time around. While they don't seem to have issues with non-compulsive gambling anymore (just like they have no issues with non-compulsive drinking, etc.), when I was a kid, they presented gambling as always a bad thing. It was a waste of money; an unwise chance to take with your resources. I remember once when one of my classmates at Little Flower brought in something for Show and Tell that her dad had brought her from one of his gambling trips to Las Vegas. I didn't have any idea what gambling was, but I remembered the word. I also have zero memory of what it was that Sarah was showing, but I remember I thought it was cool. When I got home, I talked to my mom about it, and she said, very seriously, "Oh dear. Gambling isn't good. It's very dangerous." Living with that kind of mindset for most of my life, well...it's hard to break away from.

Second, I'm an INTJ. Which means I loathe being bad at something. Even if I'm just starting. I hate it when people know I don't know what I'm doing. I hate being the worst at something. It's okay if I'm not the best (though I would prefer to be, of course), but as long as there's at least a person or two or three who end up being worse. While I'm usually not the first person out, and I have been told by a few people I definitely don't suck for being a beginner, I still don't like not being at least...decent. Yes, I realize this is an ego thing. But it's an ego thing that goes all the way back to my identity and sense of self worth. More than love, I need respect, and to know I am respected. I don't like it when people don't think I know what I'm doing. There was a guy at the poker table who was ragging on me because he knew I had little to no idea what I was doing. Sure, it's part of the game, and I need to have a thick skin. The better I get, the less it'll bother me. But for now, putting myself out there is incredibly uncomfortable and scary.

Third, I may be high functioning, I'm still Autistic. That means I'm more uncomfortable around people I don't know than your average person. It also means that picking up on social cues is incredibly hard. Trying to play a new game that requires a lot of thought and strategy, as well as actually being able to read the people around me, is even harder and scarier.

Putting myself out there as a poker player is scary as hell. But I'm not going to shy away from it. I think I can really enjoy it as I get better. Moving here has been all about challenging my comfort zones and becoming more Dauntless. Silly as it might sound, learning to play poker is part of that. So as uncomfortable as it is for the time being, I'm going to continue going, learning, and developing my skills. Hopefully, I'll end up being halfway decent. Time will tell, I suppose.

Nerve

*Spoiler alert: this post contains spoilers from the movie, Nerve, which does not open until July 27th. Read at your own risk.*

A few weeks ago, Andy got an email offering him a pair of passes to a free pre-screening of Emma Roberts's new film, Nerve. We had both been interested in seeing the movie when we saw the previews while watching Now You See Me 2. So when he forwarded me the email and asked if I was interested, I basically responded, "Well duh."

When the day came, we headed to the Highlands Ranch AMC theater after work, to make sure we got tickets. Passes did not guarantee tickets- the tickets were given out on a first come, first served basis. We were early enough, and claimed our tickets.

While Andy was sad that the movie started with no previews, I thought it was awesome to have a movie just start for once, without sitting through what sometimes seems like hours of theatrical trailers for movies that may or may not interest me.

The opening was more reminiscent of a teen flick than the action thriller that followed, but that was likely the point: things often seem benign enough, but then end up being far, far from it.

18 year old Vee was finishing up her senior year of college, and unhappy about the fact that she was going to have to turn down her admission to an art school on the other side of the country. Her single mom was having trouble making ends meet, and also mourning the loss of her older son, who died just after his high school graduation, two years before.

Vee was also best friends with Sydney, a trust fund, narcissistic drama queen, who cares more about being popular than about the well being of those around her. It was Sydney who introduced Vee to the game of Nerve, wanting Vee to be one of her "watchers." Nerve was an internet game involving two groups of people: watchers and players. Watchers paid to watch, players got paid to pay. Nerve compiled all information about a player- including "secure" information, such as bank account info, etc. The way the technology worked, there was no single server, so it was impossible to find out who was running the game or shut it down. The rules were made very clear: No police. Snitching carried with it very serious consequences. The watchers came up with dares for the players. The players were given financial incentives to complete various dares. The rewards got bigger and the challenges harder. Vee's first exposure to the game was Sydney flashing her bare butt at the crowd while cheerleading at a school game.

After a fight later that day, in which Sydney accused Vee of always being too afraid to do anything. In an effort to prove Sydney wrong, Vee decided to join Nerve as a player, and her first dare was to kiss a total stranger for 5 seconds. She did, and got $100 deposited into her account. As it turned out, the guy she kissed was also playing Nerve. He completed a challenge by singing to her, and then they got challenges sent to them that involved each other, because the watchers loved the two of them together. At that point, things still seemed rather innocuous, so Vee kept going with the challenges, quickly completing enough challenges that continued increasing in value to add a few thousand dollars into her account. Fast forward a few hours, and Vee has managed to complete a challenge that Sydney bailed on, severely damaging their relationship, and shortly thereafter, Vee bailed on Nerve.

She blacks out, and when she wakes up, she's inside a shipping crate, with a video playing and telling her she's not allowed to bail. The guy she's been playing with finds her and fills her in on how Nerve really works. Once a player gets to a certain level, if they bail, they enter the third category of the game: Prisoner. He and another guy who was also playing, and causing some severe issues for Vee, had bailed on the final challenge the year before, which included hanging over the city of Seattle, from some scaffolding. The third finalist didn't bail, but he did fall to his death. Because the other two had bailed, Nerve had destroyed their lives. Threatened their families, emptied all their accounts, etc. The only way out was to win. Vee was now a prisoner, too. Her partner told her she had to win, and he was going to try and knock out the third competitor to make sure she could win.

Vee wasn't willing to accept this, and came up with a plan to bring down Nerve, which everyone had thought was impossible, due to the lack of a central server. With the help of some techhie friends, they put a plan into place. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. Vee finds herself in the final round on Ellis Island with her former partner, surrounded by a few thousand watchers in masks, yelling for them to shoot each other. The first to shoot would win. Vee refused to shoot, even though she could have just shot her opponent in the arm, and he'd live, and she'd be free. She started yelling at everyone, "Do you think this is what 'nerve' means? Do you think it takes nerve to stand in an arena and shoot someone? Do you think it takes nerve to shout at us to do this behind your masks and behind your screens? Where no one knows who you are?" When her time is up, the third finalist, from the year before, jumped in the arena and begged to let him shoot her, saying he'd do it. The watchers went for it, and he took his place in the arena, opposite of Vee, while her tecchie friends worked frantically behind the scenes to take down the game. Vee continued to yell at her watchers that they had no idea what nerve really was. The countdown started again, and Vee's new opponent shot her. She collapsed, and the watchers who had approved the challenge all got texts sent to their phones with their names and the message, "You are an accessory to murder." They all scattered, and Vee's partner ran to her, horrified, despite Vee telling him she was fine.

In fact, she had been shot with a blank. Her friends had shut down the game, and they had all made their point. She had managed to get the third player to agree to the plan. Vee was finally free, but in those few, crazy hours, she had learned a lot about herself, and had grown immeasurably. She decided to go ahead and go to her dream school, on the other side of the country, and stop living in fear, and in the shadows of other people.

The movie made some excellent points, and I found myself really loving how Vee stood up and realized what real courage was. She risked a lot to try and bring down a game that fed off of the mob mentality. She also called out the Watchers as weak. They were allowing their better judgment to be overridden by the exhilaration that comes from being a part of a massive group which gives them collective power. That's not real power, and it's not real courage. Real courage is sometimes standing alone for what is right when facing a loaded gun. Real courage is sometimes risking one's life for what is right, and trying to bring down what is wrong. Is it easy? No. But it's worth it.

Asking for Help

Tuesday, I went to see a new hand specialist, to have my carpal tunnel and thumb issues looked at. The doctor I saw is the one who does hands and elbows for the Rockies and Broncos. She evaluated my hand, and said that she would like to get the results from the nerve conduction test I had done in Cape last year. She said that if it shows any nerve damage, which I'm pretty sure it does, her preference would be to do surgery. I signed papers for my old doctor to send out the report from the test, and she said that the office would call and schedule a new appointment when they got the results. I was expecting to hear that, but I was disappointed when I left. I'm 32 years old, and in all probability, looking at my 7th orthopedic surgery, for no other reason than that my joints weren't made to last.

It's frustrating that I can't really play the piano anymore. I wound up in tears on Sunday, while kneading a pie crust. Getting dressed can even be painful. A surgery would help, but it would be yet again months without the use of my hand- this time my dominant hand- and more months of therapy. This would be my 7th orthopedic surgery in 13 years, and not because I'm hard on my joints, but just because...they give out too soon.

I don't really have a choice but to deal with this. It'll only get worse if I ignore it. Normally, I handle my health issues really well. But it gets really overwhelming, especially on top of all my other issues. Sometimes, I find myself throwing items on the floor and storming away, because I can't open a lid, or hold something, or do whatever I need to do with my hands. It frustrates me that I love doing so many things with my hands, and so many strenuous physical activites, but I'm so severely limited by my health issues.

I don't know that I have any big point to make with this post, or any great story to tell. I guess my only point is this: sometimes the most Dauntless thing to do is to be able to accept and confront one's limitations, and to ask for help when needed. And that's something I have learned to do a lot. So I guess that makes me brave. 

Living Life

There has been a ton of new stuff going on in my life lately. Far more than this stability - loving girl likes. But I'm hanging in there and pressing on. Sandwiched between the very Dauntless trip to Glenwood Springs, and the nerve-wracking trip to Wyoming, I spent my first week at my new job as a Customer Care Manager at Level 3 Communications. That's basically a fancy term for a project manager. I was one of about a hundred new hires for this role, approximately half of which are scattered throughout the country.

I was thrust into five weeks of training involving tons of new people (no! Anything but new people!), more new information than I could possibly absorb, and a whole lot of confusion. But I made it through, and this week, we were all finally handed over to our new managers. I'm still in a bit of training for a few weeks before my manager starts throwing me my own orders to work on.

It's been interesting. I have never had a regular 8-5 office job before. Academia is pretty darn flexible, and my job at the cleaners, while full time, was only 3.5 days a week. It's not terribly far from home, and I manage the parking lot that is I-270 every morning fairly well. Thank goodness for podcasts! There are some cool people at my job, and I think I'll like working there.

Landing this job marks a significant milestone in my life. I finally, at nearly 33 years of age, have a job that will actually pay all of my bills, and give me good health coverage. I am finally on the verge of financial independence. Next year, I'll finally have the money to be able to pay for all of my medical bills as well. Granted, supporting one's self feels good to anyone. But to an Autistic, chronically ill, cult survivor with PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression, who wasn't even allowed to go to college until she was 22, this is amazing. I'm making enough that, though I won't have much left over, I can even afford to support myself in a place with such a high cost of living as Denver, and I can even do it while living alone. I even have a 401k and life insurance! I  might even be able to buy a house in a few years.

It's kind of amazing, when I think about it. Here I am, with a Master's degree, living alone in a city well over a thousand miles away from my parents as a single female, wearing makeup, awesome clothes, and just living my own life. Making my own way. Living in a way that I was taught for years was, not just wrong, but actually dangerous and even evil. But I feel so free. I'm actually getting to the point of loving my life. It may not be anything like how I imagined or wanted it, but who cares? I'm in a good place and headed for good things. At the end of the day, that's really all that matters.