You can never go home again.

I'm sure you have heard this phrase before... "You can never go home again." I always personally thought that I knew what it meant, but as it turns out, up until last week- I really didn't.

After 4 months of living out in the "real world" and away from the home I was born and raised in, I finally went back to visit. Just the idea that I now have to go home to visit is still such a strange concept to wrap my head around. Now, I was obviously overwhelmed with excitement to be reunited with my friends, family and, of course, my puppies. But, I was also anticipating the weirdness that was sure to go along with it. I knew that it wouldn't be the same, especially without my handsome future hubby there with me.

What I didn't anticipate, however, was how hard it was going to be to say goodbye to him; even if only for a week. When I was getting out of the car at the departures terminal of the airport and receiving one final hug and kiss, I couldn't even attempt to stop the overflow of heart-wrenching tears that ensued. Yes, it was only going to be 7 days and 7 nights apart. I told myself this (not to mention how embarrassingly pathetic I was behaving) repeatedly. Although, in this moment (and many to follow), I simply didn't care. We had been through so much together in the those short 4 months that being apart would mean I would have to basically spend the next week feeling like I was missing a limb.

In addition, I've always hated flying. Especially by myself. I spent the entire flight trying to force away my anxiety with my mind; going in and out of feeling sad to have parted with my other half, followed by feeling overjoyed to get to see my mom in less than 6 hours. Talk about an emotional roller coaster.

My mom picked me up from the airport with both of my furry little Shih-Tzus awaiting me in the front seat. While they were excited to see me, they didn't try to hide the fact that were also a little pissed at me- the bitch who left them. Understandable, but nonetheless somewhat heartbreaking. When your dog, the one who has always jumped up and down at the sight of you instead is giving you the side-eye, you'll know what I mean.

The moment we pulled into my drive and I stepped foot into the last place I called home before I decided to "become an adult" or whatever, my heart sank to my stomach. It looked so much smaller. My mom told me to, "Hold on! Wait here!" before walking into my old room. After waiting a few seconds, she told me to come in and then shouted, "Ta-da!"

She had completely redone my old room. New paint, new bedspread, new art on the walls, candles everywhere, and the furniture completely rearranged. It was beautiful, I actually couldn't help but wonder why I had never done it that way myself, but it also made me a little sad. It wasn't really my room anymore.

I was afraid that my first night away from Jason would be tough, but after celebratory champagne and In N Out with my mom and my best friend (also considering the fact that it was about 4 AM East Coast time), I fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The days that followed went by in a blur. I expected that to happen though, for it go by far too quickly. I spent time with my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, my baby cousin, my dad, my friends, and mostly my mom. I got to do my favorite "California things" like go to Newport Beach, go to an Angel's game, drive up to the mountains, go shopping, lay by the pool, eat Mexican food, and so on... While I was busy with all of those activities, I was also blessed with plenty of downtime as well. Time to just sit and talk for hours on end with the people I'm closest to. I learned how healing and grounding it is to be able to let your guard down and just be close to those who matter most to you. I never realized how grateful I am for such a crazy and close family until I had to live without them.

My last night home, before I had to wake up at 3 AM to go back to the airport, hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute I was sitting in my kitchen, drinking wine, laughing at something silly with my best friend and my mom, and the very next I was openly sobbing into my wine glass. My dog, Honey Bunny, crawled into my lap and stayed there, kissing my tears away, for over an hour.

Moving away from everyone and everything you've ever known is not at all for the faint of heart. It does, however, make you appreciate your loved ones more than you thought possible. It allows you to feel small (in a good way) because maybe for the first time in your life you understand how big this world really is. And while leaving home the second time was surprisingly harder than the first, simply knowing that when my big adventure is over, I'll have a home to go back to... Well, that just makes it all the more worthwhile.

Oh and my new fiancé picking me up from the airport with a dozen pink roses didn't really suck either.

The best day.

May 3rd, 2015 at 4:06 PM was the single greatest moment in the single greatest day of my entire life.

I was in Central Park, New York City- my favorite place in the world. It was a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon with not a cloud in the sky. The breeze was blowing through the fully bloomed trees, and grass, flowers, and greenery all around me. 

I was standing near a pond and next to what is now my favorite bridge in the park, watching the ducks swim, with the love of my life. 

I was calm, content, and grateful for such a beautiful day.

Then, suddenly, my best friend, my soul mate... He turned to face me and slowly got down on one knee. Before my heart could catch up with my head to figure out what was going on, he pulled out of his pocket a small, black box.

My hands flew to my mouth as my jaw dropped in shock and I couldn't breathe.

"Taylor Worthey," he said, tears filling his big, brown eyes, "Will you marry me?"

The whole world had gone quiet and all that was real was me and him.

Tears filled my eyes and I believe my exact words in response were, "Yes! Oh my God! Yes! Yes!"

I pulled the ring from the box and shoved it on my finger without even looking at it. 

I grabbed my fiancé's face and he stood up, wrapping his arms around me and smiling. We kissed, and laughed, and cried, and kissed some more.

He scolded me for not even looking at the ring and when I finally did I realized it was perfect. Exactly what I had always imagined it would be. Just as was this monumental moment.

The best person I know, the best thing that has ever happened to me... And he asked me to be his, forever.

We lied in the grass together in Central Park for nearly an hour, soaking in our engagement and daydreaming about all that is now to come.

All I can do now is smile, and thank God, and stare- incessantly- at my left hand.

To everything there is a season.

I wrote about the winter and the majesty that is heavy snowfall (to a born and raised California girl, at least) and now I feel it necessary to write about the spring.

I've never in my life experienced drastic season changes. In California, we have one season year-round: beautiful. And while I do find myself missing that constantly perfect California sunshine, I am truly enjoying getting to see the seasons change. After the snow melted and everything was just plain dead for awhile, I figured it would take quite some time before my new world started turning green. Much to my surprise, however, this new world of which I've found myself took less than a month to come alive. It gets more and more beautiful every day; with cherry blossoms and flowers sprouting up all over the place practically overnight.

This newfound drastic change of seasons has gotten me thinking about the seasons in our lives. (And yes, it got me singing, "To everything turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn...") 

Think back on your life, on all of the people you have been. It's amazing to think that just from year to year, not to mention every 5 years or so, how different we become. If somebody one year ago would have told me I'd be where I am today, I'm not sure I would have believed them. If they told me just two years ago, I definitely wouldn't have. 

Our lives are like a giant book and every thing we go through, every inner-change we grow in to, becomes a chapter in that book. And the funny thing about it is that looking back on the chapters in our lives, one at a time, we (well, maybe I can only speak for myself, but I digress...) truly believe that we know how things are going to turn out in the chapters to come. Although, the truth of it is that what we believe is going to happen, usually doesn't. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse, but always it's for a reason.

I know, I know. How more cliché could I possibly get? The whole everything happens for a reason bit... But it's true! It does! And I haven't always believed that, either, which just goes to prove my "different people in our different chapters" theory. If something terrible were to happen to me or someone close to me, I would think, "What reason could this possibly be for?" But the older I've gotten, the more and more that I've learned every little detail that is bestowed upon us in our lives is part of a bigger plan, much bigger than anything we could dream up for ourselves. God's plan.

A quick example: If my parent's wouldn't have split up when I was very young, if I wouldn't have gotten my heart broken by the first boy I loved, if I hadn't have gone through all that I did because of and in light of the hardships in my life... I never would have been the me that I was when my Jason came along. Therefore, I never would have had the bravery and the appreciation and the belief in love that I had in order to open my heart to him.

Here's one more: If Jason hadn't been so driven by all that he went through in his childhood, put himself through college, worked his ass off, and gotten a job at a major plastics company... he never would have been able to take a job in California. If he hadn't have chosen the California location (out of FIFTY others)... we never even would have met.

Last one: If all of the above hadn't have happened... Jason and I never would have found each other, the people we had always been meant for, we never would have fallen in love, and we certainly wouldn't currently be living out the adventure of our lifetime right this very second.

This has been the hardest three months of my entire life. I miss my family so much and I know that I have put a strain on them as I hear them tell me often how much they wish I was back home. This decision was not one that only changed the course of my life, but it catastrophically changed the course of the lives of those all around me as well. This is a new chapter, a new season, for all of us.

And though it has broken my heart in ways I didn't know were even possible, it has also brought to life parts of myself that I didn't even know were there. 

And to think... I'm only on month 4 of 24, with many a chapter and many a season to go.

'Til the next one.

Xx

My "I'm-In-Love-Rant".

You may be confused by the obnoxious title of this post. To be honest, I am a little bit, too. But hopefully I can make myself clear to you and myself very soon here...

As of late, I have been pondering the idea of "feminism". (No, I am not putting that in quotes to show sarcasm. I am simply enunciating the word.) While I totally agree that a woman should have the same rights and wages as a man in the workforce, especially if they are doing the same job, and while I totally agree that women and men should be treated equally in life, just as should all ethnicities of the human race- I think something gets misconstrued when it comes to women who have fallen in love with a man.

The sad thing about what gets misconstrued is that (usually) the people pointing fingers at such women who are in love are also women.

Now, it's no surprise that women can be downright disgusting to one another and it's true that we don't really get dressed up to impress men, it's usually to impress ourselves and other women. It's an ongoing competition, struggle, and unspoken way of life. I personally have only had one true best girl friend my entire life and I consider that in and of itself rare and, let's face it, awesome. That just doesn't happen anymore. Women are spiteful and deceitful beings at times. It makes it hard to find true friends in all of that mess. The bottom line is that women are not (always) good to one another.

An example of this that I have experienced first hand in the time since I began dating my now very serious boyfriend, is that people (but again, mostly women) look at me differently. Not all people, mind you, because there are many who look at us with love and adoration. There are those who are truly happy for what we have found in one another and genuinely wish us the best.

Then there are those who, well... don't. Even if they say they do. You know what I mean? Whether you want to call it jealousy or spite or whatever- there are so many people in this world who will not only look down on a relationship as a whole, but look down on [the woman] in said relationship for "succumbing to domestication".

I am a prime example of this because I have moved across the country with my boyfriend. "You aren't even married!" I know, I'm such a slut. And I could go on and on to explain to those people that I know my boyfriend is the one for me, blah, blah, blah... but, really? I know it's a waste of time. I couldn't explain the depths of our relationship to anyone and get them to understand if I talked until I was blue in the face. They won't get it. It's not their relationship to "get". I'm not worried about that.

What I am worried about is this- the people who look at me as if I'm less simply because I am in love.

I see it in their faces and in their eyes when they speak to me about my relationship. Regardless if they are wishing us well or telling us that we're going to hell; I see it. It's hard to explain how I can determine what I'm seeing as "looking down on" versus "jealousy", but there's a definite difference and I guess you'll just have to take my word for that.

When I hear about stories of women mocking other women for doing their significant other's laundry, it makes me sick to my stomach. If she doesn't mind doing his laundry and he isn't physically forcing her to do so, what is the problem with her washing his clothes? I realize that there was a time when a woman was told she had to stay home and take care of the kids, do the housework, and hold down the fort. I realize that there was a time when women weren't free to go after their own goals and ambitions because that was "the man's job". But that time has passed. Who is to say that both a man and a woman can't live out their passions in the world and then come home to each other and work as a team to accomplish the household chores? I'm not saying household responsibilities should lie solely on the woman while the man gets home and cracks open another beer. But as hard working women who have experienced both love for a man and inner passion for success, should we really be pointing fingers at and belittling each other for throwing some dirty underwear and soap in a washing machine?

Women have come a long way since the early 1900's and, yes, we still have a long way to go. But when it gets right down to it, if we want to change the way the world looks at us, shouldn't we start by changing the way we look at each other?

Let her wash his dirty underwear if she wants to because the truth of the matter is, she'll probably make him do the dishes after dinner.

Let's lift each other up, ladies. And never feel ashamed for being in love.

Food for thought. 'Til next time.

Xxx

Focusing on the good.

When I started this blog I told myself that I didn't want to ever post anything negative. Two blogs in and I, of course, realized that was unrealistic. Life is full of ups and it's full of downs and, therefore, any writing that you do about your life will reflect that. My last post described how much I miss home and how moving here has been much harder for me than I thought it was going to be. Well, I suppose that's still true. However, I'm learning to love it here more and more every day.

My best friend in the whole world, someone who might as well be my sister because we've been attached at the hip since we were five, came to visit this past weekend. 11 weeks we went without seeing each other, which for the record is the longest we've gone without one another since we were five. I'm pretty sure we never stopped laughing the entire time she was here. Not for a single solitary second. Seeing her in that airport was one of my favorite moments since arriving here. We talked for a solid hour about make-up before stopping and shouting at the same time, "I missed talking about this stuff with someone who actually cares!" Our boyfriends oblige us, but let's face it- they don't care about contouring or blending brushes.

We ate too much, drank too much, and shopped too much. It was exactly what I needed. But then she had to go home and this morning when I woke up to a boyfriend at work and a best friend back in California, I felt even more alone than before. It was even quieter than usual. It's a sting that I can't even accurately describe. All I can say is that it was a sting that took two cups of coffee, an intense work out session, a Target splurge, AND dark chocolate to shake off. Once I did, I had a little pep talk with myself. Something I've become quite good at since moving here since, most of the time, I'm the only one around to cheer myself up.

I realized that I need to be grateful for the memories I made with my best friend this weekend and look forward to the ones to come next time she visits. I realized that I truly am living out a life-long dream here, even on the days when I feel emotionally drained and my soul is tired. I'm still here. I'm still breathing. I'm still doing this. I realized that this won't last forever, nothing ever does, and there will come a time in my life when I look back and miss this place and this time. I'll miss seeing the seasons change and feeling the excitement of not knowing what each outing is going to bring. I'll miss spending time in the city. I'll miss this little apartment and the way all of our cute little things look in it. I'll miss this.

The grass is always greener on the other side. But maybe it's about time I start watering where I'm standing. 

People are going to disappoint you. They are going to make mistakes and so are you. Sometimes it's hard to forgive, sometimes you can't do it right away, but give yourself time. Since moving here, many of my relationships have been hindered. I have to work every day to not let it get me down and to not allow myself to feel isolated. Maybe some relationships will get so broken that they never truly heal. It will hurt, sure, but you can focus on them or you can focus on the good. I'm trying to focus on the good and I ask that you, whomever you are, would try with me. And if you're lucky, maybe you'll find yourself in love with your soul mate in the greatest city in the world with a beautiful best friend who comes to visit and share it with you from time to time. At least I did.

Here's to the good in our lives and raising a brave middle finger to the bad.

'Til next time.

Xo

Settling in.

I think before coming here I subconsciously assumed that one day I would just be settled. That that would be that. I'd make a cup of coffee, curl up on our couch with it, and I'd just know, "Okay, here I am. Settled." But I've come to realize that settling in happens in bits and pieces. It takes time and patience. And yoga. And a lot of wine.
Things that still have me on the fence...

For starters, driving continues to terrify me. I'm not even slightly exaggerating when I say that the people here drive like they are on a mission to kill anyone and everyone in the cars around them. Between that and dodging potholes, I feel like I'm in some kind of video game whenever I drive. And I've never much cared for those.
The people are still taking some getting used to as well. Maybe it's not that they don't like me or that they don't like, you know, LIFE. Maybe they're just tired of trying to fight for their lives on the way to the grocery store, too. I don't blame them.
Also, it's getting warmer so the snow is melting. Now instead of being freezing with pretty white stuff everywhere, it's slightly warmer with ugly black stuff everywhere and, okay, I'm being really negative. I think it's because I'm hungry. Or maybe starting to understand these people's "sunny" disposition... Hm...
But all in all, I truly am settling in. I'm finding my way here with each passing day, even though that small dull ache of missing home probably won't go away until I go back home. Until I feel that California sun and squeeze my family, friends, and puppies tight. Still, I savor the moments when I actually run into someone nice who smiles at me. I find it pretty awesome that I don't have to get out of the car when I get gas. (Gas attendants. New Jersey thing.) I appreciate the sun (when it decides to come out), warming my skin, and sending dancing streams of light on my living room floor. I love being able to say "my living room floor". Because I have one of those. Because I'm living on my own now. I'm even memorizing the potholes on my street and don't have to look as much when dodging them. It's great. I'm getting better at the whole train thing. And I'm seriously looking forward to spring, which is just around the corner because, finally, I'll get to see a season change.

There's a lot of comfort in knowing that I'll continue to find my place here in the little things that were all so foreign to me when I first arrived. That being said, this very morning when I got up I made a cup of coffee and it felt like my coffee. I curled up on the couch and it felt like my couch. Not 100% settled, but a little more "warmed up". It felt like maybe one day soon I could even call this place home.

Snow.

So I have to write about the snow. Mostly because I've already talked and taken pictures of it incessantly; now it's time to write about it. It is falling feverishly outside my window as I speak; we are expecting about 6 inches today. (I get to say stuff like that now, preferably in a snarky English accent. "Oh, yes, hmm.. We'll be expecting about, hmm, 6 inches today.")
The people who have lived here, or anywhere else where a lot of snow in the winter-time is a common thing, go about their daily lives as usual while this gorgeous stuff falls from the sky. Seriously, they don't even care. They don't bat an eye or take a second glance at it. Meanwhile, I have to try and be cool as I can (pun intended), so as to blend in.
And then it's everywhere, all the time, even when the sun is shining. It coats the world around me and serves as a constant reminder that I'm not in Kansas anymore. (By Kansas, I mean California of course.) Sure, I have seen snow before in my life, but never like this. This is something else entirely.
If ever I find myself getting used to it, for example, when I step outside and it doesn't surprise me... that's when I mentally kick myself. To say that it is "beautiful" is an incredulous understatement, and it will only be here for the rest of the winter season, so appreciate it- I will.
Friends and family from back home keep bringing up the weather. It's not all that surprising...  From the moment that I told everyone I would be moving across the country to the Land of the Snow and the Blunt, I pretty much always got the same response. "Oh, you're going to be cold!" they would say. And then they would laugh and laugh as I politely nodded wishing I thought it was as funny as they did. "You're going to be so cold!" To be honest, the cold is not nearly as horrible as everyone had made it out to be. It's not as if people on the East Coast just stand outside in it for hours on end waiting to get frostbite before exclaiming, "Okay, that's enough!" and going back inside where there are these wonderful inventions called heaters. The cold is only endured when getting from your house to your car and your car to wherever it is you're going and back again. Besides, the sharpness of the chilled air against my person makes me feel alive. It reminds me of the brave step I've taken to get myself here. It also reminds me I should really invest in some thermals.
Speaking of the people inhabiting the East Coast- they aren't the friendliest when you first meet them. In fact, they're not all that friendly the second time you meet them, either. Okay, so I've met, maybe, like three nice people since moving here and two of them were waitresses at a restaurant anticipating a tip. I choose to believe people on the East Coast will warm up to me eventually. (Pun, again, entirely intended.) "They're frozen, Taylor," as my aunt previously explained to me, "They need time to thaw out."