YOU Are Penn State

First and foremost, I want to say how incredibly sad I am for the victims of Jerry Sandusky. I cannot even imagine the pain, suffering, mental anguish, and heartache they have gone through. I wanted to state this upfront because I feel like they have been lost in the media's witch hunt, and I want to make sure they are not lost in my post.

Fall Saturday afternoons always meant Penn State football in the Spaventa house, no questions asked.  As a young girl, I would sit next to my dad and watch as JoePa ran onto the field with his players decked out in their simple blue and white uniforms. In my hometown, you either went to Penn State or knew friends and family who did. Penn State is a way of life where I grew up.

I have several close friends who went to Penn State and we constantly banter over who went to the better school. As much as I claim I dislike PSU, I will always have a special place for the school in my heart.

When the tragedy occurred at Virginia Tech in 2007, the Penn State community rushed to support us in our time of need. Their famed student section created a VT at their Spring Game and students wore t-shirts with the Nittany Lion in VT's orange and maroon.

The comfort Penn State offered my school has stayed fresh in my mind these past few years. My heart honestly aches for Penn State. I can't imagine the confusion, shock, and pain alumni, students, and faculty must feel right now, as I struggle with a muted version of what they must be going through.

I have a piece of advice for the Penn State community: Get away from the television and stop reading articles, blog posts, etc. The media will make the pill of this scandal so much harder to swallow. Remember that the media's job is to sell stories. They do not care that they are belittling something that you hold so true and dear to your heart. You know what Penn State stands for. Do not let them hurt you even more than you are already hurting.

Those of you who are bashing Penn State need to stop. Sandusky's actions are beyond deplorable and I hope justice is served tenfold. The other men involved should have done more and should be ashamed of themselves for letting a monster roam free for years.  As for the students who rioted, they are immature kids who don't understand the immensity of this situation. Let me put it to you this way, judging Penn State based on the people mentioned above would be like judging America based on the people involved with Occupy Wall Street. I for one do not associate myself with those in that movement, but still consider myself very much an American.

Penn State is so much more than this scandal. I have read several Facebook posts and articles, which discuss the hit PSU's reputation is going to take. While I agree that Penn State will suffer for some time because of this, I don't think the school is ruined.

So many outsiders claim that Penn State is only about football. I wholeheartedly disagree.  Does THON ring a bell? Last year's THON raised over $7.8 million to aid the fight against pediatric cancer. Penn State is also consistently ranked as one of the top 15 public universities. Football is a big part of the school, but it in no way defines PSU.

I think everyone needs to take a deep breath and take a step back. I am having extreme déjà vu, as I watch the media persecute Penn State and lose sight of so many crucial points in this tragedy:

1. The children who have lost their innocence and dignity forever at the hands of a pervert have barely been mentioned. They should be the focal point in this whole sad story and they are not. Why have they been forgotten?

2. Yes, JoePa and the other Penn State officials should have done more. Unfortunately, they got what they deserved, as they abdicated their moral duty and responsibility. However, the media circus was not necessary and just as reprehensible. In addition, I am at a loss as to why we are hearing more about what Paterno did wrong than Sandusky. I find it interesting that on Tuesday, most in the media said that we needed to wait to hear more facts. Once JoePa's press conference was cancelled and the media did not have a story, they lit torches and pulled out their pitchforks and went after him Wednesday … no sense having all that media sitting around in State College doing nothing, right?

3. Why aren't the parents of the abused children being held accountable? Sandusky's Second Mile offers children a "second chance" because their parents could not give them a proper childhood. If these parents had done their jobs (parenting) to begin with, these poor children would have never been put in a compromised position. Parenting is an honor and these parents lost sight of that and their biggest responsibility in life. Why are they getting a free pass from the media and so many people?

I am having a hard time dissecting all of my thoughts and feelings on this scandal, but I find it maddening how people are jumping to conclusions when we truly do not know all of the facts. Most of us are also adults and have forgotten the golden rule, "Judge not lest ye be judged." ESPN recently interviewed Bill Curry and he said something that really stuck out to me,

"Nobody is pure as the driven snow. Whoever has been perfect in these kinds of things when you have learned of something, did you always do exactly the right thing? Probably not. Most of us, 99% of us, are not perfect. Well, 100% are not perfect, but we have all got things we can look back and think right now, 'Gee, I should have done something different here or there.'"

I will be the first to raise my hand and say I am not perfect, so I am ready and willing to hear all of the facts before I pass judgement. Also, last time I checked, America abides by the "innocent until proven guilty" standard and not the "off with their heads" mentality the media has been perpetrating.

I hope and pray that the victims get the justice they so desperately deserve. Hopefully this justice gives them some sort of solace and they can begin to piece their lives back together.

To the Penn State community, stay strong and united. Do not let these actions define the school you all love so much. YOU are Penn State, not a few people's poor decisions. Much like Virginia Tech, you will come out of these dark days better and stronger than ever before.

And I'm Proud to be an American

Like many Americans, I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I first got word of the planes hitting the World Trade Center towers on September 11, 2001. I was sitting in my Honors English class my first week of freshman year of high school. My teacher had just finished prayers when our loudspeaker crackled alive with an announcement.  "Attention, faculty and students. A plane has struck one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. We don't have many details at this time, but please take a moment to say a prayer with your students for those who have been affected by this tragedy."

Confused, I looked at the girl next to me and asked, "What's the World Trade Center?" She looked at me blankly and shrugged her shoulders. Another girl overheard our conversation and explained to us how tall the buildings were. Naively, I said something like, "How did the pilot not see the building?"

At that moment, our loudspeaker sprung into action once more. "Attention, faculty and students. A second plane has hit the second World Trade Center tower and another plane has hit the Pentagon. A third plane has crashed in Pennsylvania." My mind went numb after these announcements and I tried to understand what this meant. After the principal finished the announcement, my teacher looked at us and said something about terrorist attacks. 

We didn't have cable in our classroom, so my teacher flicked on the radio and we all listened in silence to the panicked announcers describing the scenes in New York City and DC. We were all horrified as more details came to light and slowly realized that this day would change our lives forever.

I'll never forget the relief I felt when I got a hold of my mom during my lunch break. I had been stressing out all morning because my dad was in London at the time on business. She had been in contact with him and told me he was safe.  I couldn't talk to her long because I was borrowing my friend's cell phone, so I wrapped up the conversation and said, "Mom? I want you to know that I love you so much." Her voice cracked and she replied, "I love you too, Laura."

The rest of that day was torture. I was dying to know what was going on and had a hard time focusing in class. I ran off the school bus and immediately turned on CNN. I sat there in a stupor as gory images ran across our television screen and countless emotions flooded my body.  Fear, shock, devastation, helplessness, and anger. How could someone have done this to us? How could someone hate America that much?

When my mom finally got home from work, my brother, sister, and I ran out to the garage to meet her. All four of us embraced in a giant group hug and stood there quietly. It struck me at that moment that some families wouldn't be lucky enough that night to hug their loved ones.

After that day, I was desperate to show my support to the country and freedom I had always taken for granted. I cut up one of my softball medals, so that I could tie the red, white, and blue ribbon in my hair. At the time, my family lived in the middle of nowhere, yet I lit candles every night and put them on our front doorstep to remember those who were lost. The first night I did this, my parents asked me why I felt the need to do so.  I explained how I felt like this was one of the few things I could do to help and support America. They never questioned me again. In fact, I always found candles and matches waiting for me on our kitchen counter every night I performed this memorial.

10 Years Later...

When I woke up this morning, I decided to avoid all media coverage of the ten-year anniversary of the attacks, as I know all too well how the media can make a tough event even harder. I was excited to find the Eagles game on TV and settled in to watch. State Farm's 9/11 tribute commercial came on and I found myself covered in goose bumps with tears streaming down my face.

At that moment, I knew I needed to get out of my apartment. I decided to walk up to Central Park to my favorite spot in New York City, the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. I often walk around the JKO Reservoir when something is troubling me. As I felt my sadness melting away, I found it ironic that the city that had been targeted and hurt deeply 10 years ago, was offering me comfort.

A view of Midtown from the JKO Reservoir on 9/11/11.

I heard a bagpipe in the distance, as I rounded the reservoir and faced the beautiful view of Midtown. September 11th will always be a devastating day in New York and America's history, yet it is also a day to celebrate the courage and strength of so many.

Say what you want about New Yorkers, but it takes a special kind of community to rebound from such a senseless tragedy. Even in the chaotic days after 9/11, New Yorkers displayed grit, determination, and strength and served as beacons of hope for the rest of the country. Yes, the terrorists were successful in taking the World Trade Center towers down, but they failed in their ultimate goal: crushing America's spirit. 

God Bless America today and always.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

My source of contentment this week.

Contentment-noun- A state of happiness and satisfaction.

The above definition is relatively simple, yet I've noticed so many of us (myself included) have such a hard time understanding and achieving contentment in our lives. Why is this so when so many of us have so much to be thankful for?

As stated in a previous post, I had a tendency of looking at what I didn't have versus what I did have. I would achieve something and then look for my next big conquest. I compared myself to others and constantly thought, "If only I had so-and-so's life, I would be so happy."

Sadly, I overlooked my many blessings, such as my wonderful family, phenomenal friends, my health, a top-notch education, a job that pays the bills, etc.

I say this all in past tense because a few months ago I had an experience that opened my eyes to how ignorant and stupid I was being.

My roommate talked me into volunteering at a soup kitchen this past April. The experience as a whole was educational for me on so many levels, but one instance in particular really got me to stop and look at myself internally and make some changes.

Kristen (roommate) and I had just finished up our assignment of handing out canned goods to the elderly and handicapped outside the food shelter. We were standing inside saying goodbye to the people who had finished their meals when a woman approached me and asked me to pray with her. I readily agreed and as she took my hands in hers, I asked her what she would like to pray for.

To be honest, I was expecting her to ask to pray to better her situation or something along those lines. I couldn't have been more wrong. The woman looked me in the eye and said something like, "I want to pray for those poor souls in Japan and Tuscaloosa (both of these events had recently occurred at this point) who have lost family members, their possessions, and the will to live. I especially want to pray for those who don't know Jesus Christ. I want to pray that they will find Him, so that they have the strength to get through this and so they realize how lucky they are to be alive."

To say I was shocked at this woman's selflessness would be an understatement.  This woman pretty much had nothing, yet she still recognized that in the grand scheme of things her life wasn't that bad. I think this was the kick in the butt to get over myself that I needed.

Since this eye-opening experience, I've tried to keep my life in perspective and recognize how lucky I am versus dwelling on what I don't have. I'm twenty-four and have finally realized that I won't and shouldn't have it all at this point. 

I want to clarify that to me, contentment isn't just accepting your situation and not challenging yourself to be better. Contentment is being thankful for what you do have and working on what you would like to improve on, while not begrudging others for accomplishing things you have yet to achieve.

There is a difference between using someone's accomplishment(s) to push yourself to be better and allowing someone's accomplishment(s) to make you jealous and consume your life with unnecessary bitterness. 

In stepping back, I've reached a state of contentment in my life that I don't think I've ever experienced before. Don't get me wrong; I still have my weak moments where I question myself, my life's direction, and then some. However, I have found it easier to snap myself out of these negative thoughts now that I look internally, instead of externally.

Life has challenges and trust me, I fully understand that. At the same time, I'm fairly positive we can all find at least one thing to find contentment in every day. Even if it is something small such as the happy dog waiting for you when you get home, a hug from someone special after a rough day, or a beautiful sunset. As a friend said to me, "When you're busy looking at what you don't have, life will pass you by and you'll miss out on all the beauty." As cliche as this sounds, life is too short to dwell on the negative aspects.

I leave you with this quote from Eat, Pray, Love, "At some point you gotta let go, sit still, and allow contentment to come to you." Have you let contentment enter your life today?

                                

Thank you  Mitch Beer, Charles Wells, and Nicole D'Alonzo for your feedback on contentment and what it means to you.

He Did It His Way

This picture sums up my Pop-Pop so well.

In college I became involved with Relay for Life and when I was asked why I relayed, I would always respond, “My Pop-Pop.” Sure, I had other family members affected by cancer, but I was too young to understand cancer until the ugly disease struck my grandfather my senior year of high school.

My Pop-Pop was the patriarch of my dad’s family in every sense. We all adored him and looked to him for guidance and leadership. To be blunt, it was hard not to love the man. He was the “class clown” of the family and always played practical jokes on everyone around him. For instance, he had a cleft chin and when my cousins and I asked him what happened he made up an elaborate story of how he ran into a doorknob when he was younger. He was our hero and we ate up any and everything he said.

Pop-Pop also had a serious side, especially when it came to his family. In high school I experienced my first heartbreak. Shortly after my break-up, I was at a family party when my grandmother asked me how my boyfriend was doing. I guess she hadn’t heard the news of our split. My eyes welled with tears and my Pop-Pop immediately intervened and asked me to step outside with him. Once we excused ourselves, he pulled me into a hug without any questions and stood with me while I cried. 

My senior year of high school rolled around and with that came graduation. A few weeks before graduation my classmates and I had to turn in the names of family members and friends who would be attending our ceremony. My parents broke the news to me that my grandparents would be unable to attend. Their excuse didn’t exactly add up and I remember seething with anger that my grandparents would miss their oldest grandchild’s graduation. My dad looked hurt when I expressed my disappointment and I couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t understand my irritation. 

My graduation party took place a few weeks after my graduation ceremony. My Pop-Pop was in attendance and had to leave early because he wasn’t feeling well. He came up to me with tears in his eyes and apologized profusely. That's the first time a warning bell went off in my head that something could be wrong.

Later that night my mom and I were rehashing the party when my Pop-Pop’s early exit came up. My mom looked at me and uttered the dreaded words, “Laura, your grandfather has lung cancer.” I found myself gasping for air. It felt as though I had been socked in the stomach. I starred at her in disbelief as she explained how my parents had hid his illness from me since April (it was June at the time), as they didn’t want to ruin what should have been a happy time for me. As I tried to absorb what my mom was telling me, I remembered the resentment and selfishness I had portrayed when my parents told me my grandparents would be unable to attend my graduation. I have never felt more ashamed in my life. 

I went off to college as my grandfather entered the intense phases of chemo to fight his illness. At Christmas he looked gaunt, but he put on a brave face for all of us. My Pop-Pop was a huge Penn State fan, so he always gave me a hard time (all in good fun) for going to Virginia Tech. I gave him a Virginia Tech Grandpop sweatshirt for Christmas and as he opened it he looked up with a twinkle in his eye and said, “This is really great! I’ll have to find some duct tape to put over Virginia Tech and write Penn State!”

I never had the opportunity to see him wear that sweatshirt, but my dad told me he always wore it to chemo and would brag about me to any and everyone who would listen. Once he passed, my uncle and aunt gave it to me to hold on to. I don't think I will ever receive a more meaningful gift.

When I came home from my freshman year for the summer, my dad told me my grandfather was not doing well. He took me to visit him and I was blindsided as I walked in to my grandparents’ home and saw my bald grandmother. During my Pop-Pop’s fight with cancer, my Mom-Mom found out she had breast cancer. As if seeing my grandmother without hair wasn’t hard enough, the sight of my frail grandfather sent me over the edge. He once joked he shopped in the “Chubby” section, and yet he was thinner than I was when I saw him. I had to excuse myself to pull myself together.

Once I returned to the room to visit with my Pop-Pop, he immediately started singing “New York, New York” to lighten up the mood of the room. Even in one of his weakest moments, he tried to put a smile on my face. This was a true testament to my grandfather’s character. 

A few days later, on May 18, 2006, my grandfather lost his battle with lung cancer surrounded by those he loved.

His viewing and funeral were extremely difficult for all of us, however my grandfather still managed to get my family to laugh a few times, even from heaven. The power went out at his viewing, and we all had to chuckle amidst our tears. Pop-Pop had gotten his last practical joke in. In addition, my dad gave the eulogy and had the church laughing over some of my grandfather’s infamous lines.

I’ll never forget how packed the church was and how long the procession of cars stretched on the way to the gravesite. My dad said my grandfather never would had believed all of those people came to say goodbye to him. Instead, he would say they were there to support his wife, kids, and grandkids. I don’t think he understood the lasting impression he made on people. 

My family lost an integral part of our family five years ago today. I miss him with every fiber of my being.  This past weekend my dad’s family got together to celebrate both my cousin’s graduation from high school and my brother’s graduation from college. Surrounded by the love, laughter, and pure joy, it was quite clear that my Pop-Pop was present, especially when the sun came out for our family wiffle ball game. He always loved watching his 13 grandkids and 6 kids goofing off and enjoying one another’s company. I have no doubt in my mind that he was smiling down on us from heaven, as we carried on his legacy. 

We Still Haven't Forgotten

One of the many makeshift memorials on the drillfield

My senior year of high school I applied to ten schools, yet Virginia Tech always was my number one choice.  As soon as I stepped foot on campus, I knew without a doubt I belonged at Virginia Tech. VT was six and half hours away from home, yet I never second-guessed my decision. This was in large part due to the family-like atmosphere Virginia Tech provided. VT truly was my home away from home and my fellow Hokies (students and alum) all composed my extensive VT family.

When people ask where I went to school I proudly state Virginia Tech without hesitating. I usually get one of two responses: 

           1. A genuine response such as, "What a great school!" or "My dad went there!" 

           2. A stunned look followed by the dreaded, "Were you there when 'it' happened?"

The answer to the dreaded question is yes; I was there when 'it' happened. I was on campus and on lock-down under a desk while 'it' was taking place. My classmates and I did not know what our fates would be, nor if we would make it out of that classroom alive. I have never been so frightened in my life.

After being locked down for what seemed like an eternity, we were finally released from our classroom. I remember feeling like I was in a terrible dream that I couldn't wake-up from, as I frantically walked/ran to my car. Police with bulletproof vests and machine guns, police dogs, ambulances, and cop cars flanked what once was my beautiful and serene campus. 

When I finally made it back to my apartment, my best friend was waiting for me. We hugged one another and couldn't let go. One of us said something about transferring, but we both broke down immediately because we knew that wasn't an option. We both loved our school way too much to ever leave.

As the death toll kept rising, my friends and I desperately tried to get in contact with one another to ensure everyone's safety. Communication proved to be complicated, as phone calls were unable to go through. News spread quickly to the outside world, and my family and friends tried to get in contact with me in any way possible. I was blown away by how many people reached out to me, many of whom I had not heard from in years. 

The rest of that day and the following day were blurs. My friends and I struggled to wrap our heads around what we had just lived through, unable to come to terms with the enormity of it all.

The morning after 'it' a convocation took place in our basketball stadium. I felt like I was floating outside my body as I took in everything around me. Then-governor of Virginia, Tim Kane spoke to us, as did President Bush. I don't remember what they said to us, but I remember thinking: "This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening." 

Throughout both of their speeches, I held hands with two of my sorority sisters, as all three of us quietly wept. We wept for our 32 family members we lost, for the devastated Hokie nation left behind, and for our innocence that was taken away from us in the blink of an eye.

Just as I thought my heart was going to explode from an inordinate amount of pain, an English professor by the name of Nikki Giovanni stood up at the podium. Her voice echoed throughout the hushed Cassell Coliseum, as she boldly read a poem she had composed, which ended with:

We are the Hokies.
We will prevail.
We will prevail.
We will prevail.
We are Virginia Tech.

We immediately erupted into applause and the "Let's Go Hokies!" chant broke out. That's the first time I truly knew and believed that we would be okay.  Giovanni's simple and yet powerful ending became our battle cry. We would not let this tragedy define us and we would not let one sick individual defeat us. We were the Hokies and we stood tall.

Sending Hokie love to our 32 angels

Four Years Later

Saturday marks the four-year anniversary of that dark day in Hokie history. This will be the first year where classes aren't canceled to remember those who were lost that day. This is in large part due to the fact that the anniversary falls on a Saturday, but it is also because the last class who was present on that day graduated last year.

I realized that this also meant that all of the victims would have graduated as of last year. This realization made me wonder about the kind of impact they would be making on the world right now if their lives weren't unfairly ended that day. I remember being flabbergasted on the one-year anniversary, as all of the victims' accomplishments were read out loud. I think that's the first time I understood the quote, "Only the good die young."

A favorite quote from the ordeal says:

"I ask each of you to take the time to be a Hokie this week. Appreciate life a little more, take in every moment around you, count your blessings, tell the people around you that you love them, slow down, remember what's truly important in life. And live for those 32 that do not have that chance anymore." 

This quote says it all. Join me in honoring the 32 beautiful souls lost on that blustery April day four years ago by living life to the fullest. To our 32 angels, we still haven't forgotten you and I can say with certainty that we never will. Rest in peace.

We did prevail

Good Guys Finish First

Never take no for an answer.

My brother and I have always been very different from one another. I am the typical oldest child: outgoing, talkative, and very social. My brother on the other hand is the typical middle child: quiet, shy, and keeps to himself. Growing up, I loved playing sports and have always been the dramatic one. Danny (yes, he'll always be Danny to me) never really liked playing sports, instead opting for Robotics and the like. He also was the levelheaded child and things never really ruffled his feathers.

We could always find Danny in front of a television clicking away on his video game controller. From a very young age, video games fascinated my brother and he was often lost in his little video world. At 8-years-old, he proclaimed that when he grew-up he would design video games.

Danny always received the short end of the stick. My sister and I always made sports teams, whereas he always seemed to get cut. I passed my license on the first try, whereas he failed twice over BS reasons (the instructor ended up getting fired due to this.) You get the idea.

Fast-forward to high school: My brother went to an all boys' jock school. As a self-proclaimed nerd, this wasn't always easy for him. He was in the Robotics Club, which most guys at this school looked at as uncool. My parents and my brother were also often at war over how long he spent playing video games versus socializing and other hobbies.

Senior year arrived and my brother announced that he'd attend Georgia Tech to study Computational Media. We were all so proud of him for going after his biggest dream.

Once at Georgia Tech, I watched him struggle through GT's rigorous curriculum. I was stunned at how intense Georgia Tech was. There were no in-betweens when it came to grades. Meaning, Georgia Tech only had A, B, C, D, and F.

We'd often have late-night calls where my usually unflappable brother freaked out to me about his grades and how hard his classes were. I told him to keep trying and not to give-up. Everything would work-out, I said.

My inspiration

This year marked Danny's senior year at Georgia Tech and with that came the job hunt. I gave him as many tips and pointers as I could to try and ease what was a miserable process for myself.

He called me the day he found out he had landed an interview with Zynga, a social gaming company. I can honestly say I have never heard him so excited before. He was supposed to go to Florida for his Spring Break trip, but opted to fly out to San Francisco for his interview instead. In his words, "I'd rather have my interview now, so I don't miss school and have to stress out about school work." I was struck by his maturity and wondered if I would have done the same thing in that situation.

The night after his interview, I called him to see how it went. He was exhausted, as his interview had gone from 10 am until 3 pm and he had spoken to six different people. He told me he thought he did very well, yet he still sounded defeated. I asked him what was wrong. "Nothing ever goes in my favor. I gave the interview everything I had. I don't know what I'm going to do if I don't get it."

The following day I had a missed call from him. Danny doesn't call me for stupid reasons, so I knew it was something big. I called back and he told me his plane had run out of gas and got struck by lightning. His plane had to make an emergency landing in Phoenix.

Obviously I was concerned for my brother's well being, but I couldn't help but think "Oh, that's why you called." Just as I was thinking this, Danny's voice cut in, "Annnd Zynga just called and offered me the job!" I'm pretty sure the scream I let out after this statement may have punctured my brother's eardrums. I immediately burst into tears (remember when I said I was the dramatic child at the beginning of this post?) and congratulated him over and over again. I could hear the pure joy in my brother's voice.

I started asking him a million and one questions about the position. He told me he most likely would have to work fourteen-hour days to begin with. "I don't mind working that much because I'm going to be waking up and doing what I love every day," he said. I was awed by the power of this statement.

8-year-old Danny's proclamation was no longer just a proclamation. The 21-year-old Danny had made the proclamation a reality.  My brother is a true testament to the fact that good guys do finish first. Also, that dreams do come true when you don't give up and never take no for an answer.

Danny, you amaze me and I cannot wait to see the mark you make on the gaming world. Zynga is lucky to have such a hard worker on their team. Congratulations on this amazing feat! You are my inspiration.

Is This Real Life?

One of my favorite things about living in New York City is that without a doubt, you will experience something crazy every day. Some encounters have left me shaking my head and pulling a David After Dentist as I ask myself, "Is this real life?" I've decided to start posting some of my favorite experiences for your entertainment.  I promise everything I post is 100% true- most of the stories are too good to make up.

I'll start with my most recent encounter:

A few weekends ago, I went home to spend time with my family and friends. The day I returned to New York, Mother Nature decided a monsoon would be appropriate travel weather. Of course I didn't pack accordingly, so I didn't have any sort of rain resistant apparel.

Normally I would walk a few blocks away from Penn Station to hail a cab, but any New Yorker knows that when it rains you have a very rare chance at finding a cab. Due to this fact, I decided to wait in one of the never-ending cab lines.

Image via: http://tinyurl.com/4cesdqb

Much to my surprise, the line moved pretty steadily. I was close to the front when I noticed a he/she with bad extensions getting into a cab. Cabs normally floor it as soon as the passenger shuts the door, but this cab sat there for five minutes. Suddenly, the he/she emerged from the cab screaming into his/her cell phone and proceeded to bang on the trunk to get his/her luggage.

The cab driver flew out of the driver's side like a bat out of hell screaming, "DON'T YOU CALL ME A MODAF*CKER!!! YOU DA MODAF*CKER!!" The he/she flicked the cab driver off and they both proceeded to get in each other's faces.

As the he/she and cab driver were involved in their little scrum, the Flyers/Rangers game let out of Madison Square Garden. A drunk Flyers fan suddenly screamed out, "WHATEVER! WE'RE STILL IN FIRST PLACE AND YOU STILL SUCK!" Choruses of "You Suck!" and "F*ck you!" rang out from Rangers fans. Keep in mind that I am an intense Philadelphia fan and I love torturing New York fans just as much as the next guy, but we had just lost SEVEN TO NOTHING.

A drunk Rangers fan approached the drunken Flyers fan and some heated words were exchanged. I thought a fistfight was about to commence, but luckily a cop intervened and split the two up.

Just as I thought I had enough excitement for one twenty-minute interval, a car pulled up and a woman got out. She shouted loudly, "Is this Madison Square Garden?" A guy behind me in line yelled out in a stereotypical New York accent, "Uh yeah, dumb a**. What do you want,  for it to jump out at you?!"

Around this time I asked myself, "Is this real life?" Luckily, I had arrived at the front of the line and was quickly ushered to a cab.

I sat back as the cab pulled away from Madison Square Garden/Penn Station, and I couldn't help but laugh. I thought to myself, "Home sweet home."

When is Enough, Enough?

Joan Holloway from "Mad Men" via wesewfashion.wordpress.com

Thanks to a friend, I've recently developed an obsession with the AMC television series "Mad Men." According to the official website (for those of you who aren't familiar with the series):

Set in 1960s New York, the sexy, stylized and provocative AMC drama Mad Men follows the lives of the ruthlessly competitive men and women of Madison Avenue advertising, an ego-driven world where key players make an art of the sell.

Numerous social issues have struck me in this series, but an issue in particular stood out from the rest. One of the female characters, Joan Holloway, is curvaceous and portrayed as a sex symbol. Today, Joan would be considered "plus-sized," which has a stigma in our society.

A few weeks ago, a few friends and I were aimlessly walking around Radio City Music Hall and a discussion commenced over the females' bodies in this series. We all wondered how the voluptuous Joan Holloway’s and Marilyn Monroe’s of yesteryear became the gaunt Nicole Richie's and Kate Bosworth’s of today. How did we go from size 8 (Marilyn Monroe) being the norm to size 0? Why does the media continuously pummel Jessica Simpson for having a REAL woman's body?

This conversation got me thinking about my own personal struggles with weight and  my peers' similar struggles. 

Personal Struggles:

In middle school and high school I was always thin. I was meticulous about what I put in my body and played year-round travel softball, so I always had some sort of exercise regiment in place. Despite being thin and in-shape, I still thought I was "fat." I would put myself on ridiculous diets before dances and proms to ensure I would look my best. To truly paint the picture for you, my softball coach told me he thought I had an eating disorder on a post-high school visit.

College brought new struggles when it came to my weight. I cared so much (too much) about how I looked in high school, that I found myself burnt out once I hit college. I stopped caring about what I ate and how much I worked out.  Freshman year brought the freshman 15 (and then some.) I'll never forget the stunned looks on my parents' and friends’ faces when I came home for the summer. Sophomore year I decided I couldn't live with my large alter ego any longer. I allowed myself to consume 1,000 calories per day and killed myself at the gym. I received the attention and compliments I so desperately wanted, and yet I was still miserable. I tortured myself over not losing weight fast enough and hated that I didn't look the way I wanted to in clothes. 

The lowest point in my college weight battle came the summer going into my senior year. A new website called Juicy Campus (it has since been shut down) came on the scene. Juicy Campus allowed college students to post gossip about their peers. The first (and last time) I logged on the site, I found myself caught off guard by the level of viciousness of the comments posted.  I stumbled upon a post about my sorority, which claimed that we had mandatory gym hours. I laughed to myself at how ridiculous of a statement this was. Then, I saw my name. My heart stopped and I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Someone commented something along the lines of, "HAHA this is so untrue. If it were, Laura Spaventa and XX would not be a part of Alpha Phi. Laura and XX, you're whales! Go join YY [another sorority] where you belong.” I sat there dumbfounded and unable to wrap my head around what I had just read.

My junior year I had struggled through a bout of depression and ballooned up once again. I didn't realize how bad it was until I read the post on Juicy Campus. I was crushed. I didn't eat for days and when I finally admitted to my parents what happened their jaws dropped. I had friends and family tell me that the post was a load of crap, that someone was obviously jealous of me. Nothing they said comforted me. 

I didn't want to go back to school at the end of the summer. I wondered how many people thought I was a whale. Once I returned to school, I rarely went out. When my absence from the social scene was questioned, I told people I was focusing on school. This was partially true, but I also wanted to hide myself from my peers. I didn't want to give anyone ammo. I let a coward, who posted an anonymous comment, shape my senior year.

Others' Struggles:

In college, I had a very close friend go through a nasty eating disorder. My friends and I were at a loss. We had no idea how to help her and watched her slowly waste away. She finally received the help she needed, but she was never quite the same. 

Since moving to New York, I have come in contact with numerous walking skeletons. I've seen so many decrepit women walking around the city, where it is obvious years of abusing their bodies have caught up to them. I have also seen girls my age who probably can't remember the last time they ate.

There is one woman who really has shaped my perspective on this issue. I go to the gym regularly and this woman is always there when I arrive, and is still there when I leave. Her spandex hangs off of her tiny body  and she has had some obvious work done on her face.  Every day I catch her starring at herself sadly in the mirror. Here is a woman who has the stick figure body that society tells us we should have, and yet she is still miserable. What does that say?

Today's standard of "beauty."

So What?

I've watched (and have participated in) people cut themselves off from particular foods or beverages they love, embark on crazy diets, calorie counting, etc, all for the sake of having the "perfect" waistline. Why do we do this to ourselves? I'm not saying we shouldn't exercise and that we should eat any and everything we want. Obesity is an issue all of its own. Yet, we have one life. Why are we constantly killing ourselves to fit what we think society expects of us? Does society even expect us to be a certain weight or are we putting some made-up pressures on ourselves? 

The sick cycle so many of us find ourselves in when it comes to our weight is due to a combination of pressures from ourselves and the "Mad Men" of the world. When will we silence our inner demons and tell the suits enough is enough? When are we going to stop basing our self-worth on the numbers that pop up on a little metal box? How we feel should not be based on an actual number, rather it should be based on whether we are living a healthy lifestyle. It is all about moderation and balance.

With that said, I am a woman, not a little boy. I should and will have curves. I've had enough of worrying over whether  I'm fat or not. Have you had enough?

Adult Decisions

Craig's List sends shivers down my spine. 

I am known to make quick decisions and not to think things through sometimes. As my mom would say, I am very impulsive. Before joining the "real world" I could get away with my impulsive tendencies for the most part. However, once I graduated college and faced some big decisions, I realized I needed to work on thinking before I acted.

Looking for a place to live is tough in general, but nothing compares to apartment hunting in New York City. The words nightmare, dreadful, and painful comes to mind, as I write this post. The sad part is, those words don't even do the NYC apartment hunt justice.

Rent in New York is already expensive, but add broker fees, first month rent, etc, and you're looking at an empty bank account before you can even blink. One of my favorite articles on living in New York describes a New York inhabitant's dilemma perfectly:

"Discover the cruel and bizarre world of New York City real estate. End up spending an obscene amount of money on something called a broker’s fee, first and last month’s rent and a security deposit. Cry a little bit in the leasing office but remind yourself that you’re so happy to be here."

I'll never forget laying in my bed at my parent's house crying in fetal position once I realized how much money I would have to fork over up front in order to sign for my current apartment. I couldn't understand how one little apartment could cost so much. Yet, I had my heart set on New York, so I handed over everything in my savings to live the dream. 

My roommate and I recently embarked on the dreaded apartment hunt. Craig's List and e-mails with brokers took over our lives. Every spare second we had was spent looking at apartments. My life revolved around finding an apartment and other aspects of my life quickly suffered. I wasn't sleeping, I was struggling to keep up at work, I had zero "me" time-- the list goes on.  To make matters worse, unforeseen circumstances popped up that crippled our hunt. By the end of a week of searching, I was exhausted, broken hearted, and discouraged. 

When I first moved to New York, I struggled to make rent and pay for my various other bills. I lived paycheck to paycheck and often wondered if I'd be able to survive before payday. I received a raise over the summer, and suddenly I could breathe again. I didn't struggle any longer for the most part and my life became pretty comfortable. The apartments we were looking at would have reverted me back to living paycheck to paycheck and empty my savings. To be honest, I didn't really want to go back to that lifestyle again.

Our  little apartment suddenly didn't look so bad. My roommate was the first to say it out loud, "Let me ask you this, do we even want to move?" As hard as it was for both of us to accept, we knew the answer. Yes, we wanted bigger beds, a living room, and to be closer to the subway. However, we both have worked hard to get to where we are and didn't want to ruin ourselves financially over a new apartment that didn't even fit the criteria we had set.

In the past, I would have spent the money and dealt with the consequences later, but the new adult in me wasn't having it. Bad credit and poor finances can ruin you for a lifetime. I can put up with not being 100% happy for a year in a small apartment. As the Fray sings, "Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same." My roommate and I made an extremely difficult decision, yet I know it is the right one for us. Adult decisions sometimes aren't fun or what you want, but hey, that's life. 

Happy Anniversary, New York!

Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge with Manhattan in the background.

I realize I have been a terrible (I probably should use a stronger word than terrible) blogger. One of my many New Year's resolutions is to get back into blogging. I figured what better time to do so than now, as my one-year anniversary of moving to New York City is approaching on Sunday.

This post will probably be pretty lengthy, as a lot has happened since my last post in April. I apologize in advance. Bear with me!

When people find out that I live in New York, I'm usually greeted with jaws on the ground, followed by a comment similar to: "Oh my gosh, New York?! You are so lucky!" While I am extremely lucky to live in this incredible city and usually have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming, New York isn't all fun and games. In fact, New York can be pretty harsh and intense at times. My roommate and I like to say that we have a love-hate relationship with the Big Apple. There are times when my head is in the clouds and I want to scream out, "I love you, New York!!" And then there are other times when I just want to walk around with a particular finger high in the air. (Sorry, Mom.)

For a while I had a really hard time connecting with the city and felt like I was on an extended vacation. My “vacation” was filled with unbelievable experiences, such as seeing Lady Gaga perform in her hometown, seeing various Broadway shows (Wicked is incredible), and interacting with some of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever come in contact with.

It truly wasn't until the past couple of months that I really felt at home in the city. In the year I've called New York my home, I’ve had highs and lows, which have helped me learn some valuable lessons along the way.

I feel that there are three main lessons that the Big Apple has schooled me in:

Lesson #1: Quality vs. Quantity

Making friends has never been a challenge for me. I have always been the type of person to have hundreds (okay, maybe not hundreds) of friends in various social circles. In college, I was a member of a sorority comprised of 120+ girls, in addition to having friends all over campus. Let's just say my parents weren't shocked when I told them I wanted to go into the Public Relations field.

New York presented a challenge that I had never experienced before when it came to making friends. I immediately made friends with a group of girls, but I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more. I found that a lot of women here had their cliques and didn't usually go outside of them. This was extremely hard for me to digest. I joked to my roommate, "So let me get this straight. Not only do I have to struggle to find a boyfriend, but I also have to struggle to find girlfriends?!"

For a while, I looked at what I didn’t have vs. what I DID have. I think this contributed a lot to not feeling a connection to the city in the first couple of months. Once I finally woke up and looked at the quality of friends around me, I realized I didn’t need to have a million and one friends. The girls I had surrounded myself were REAL, quality people and would drop anything for me at a moment’s notice.

New York has helped me understand the whole quality vs. quantity concept. I have found the need to surround myself with a group of people who will pick me up when I fall, who won’t let me be my own worst enemy, who will tell me things that I don’t necessarily want to hear, and then some. What more could I ask for?

Lesson #2: Love Yourself

I experienced love in the Big Apple this past year. The relationship was unconventional and something totally different for me. I became swept away in the excitement of it all, but I lost myself along the way.

I found myself compromising on qualities and issues that I never really had to think about before. At the beginning, I thought I could get over what I had compromised on. Turns out I couldn’t.

I faced a difficult situation: Love for another vs. Love for myself. I wasn’t the same girl who started out in the relationship, which was a difficult realization for me to grasp. I always thought I was strong and that I would never be “that girl.” Yet, I put this person before those that I cared for most, including myself.

Samantha from Sex and the City said, “I'm just going to say the thing you're not supposed to say. I love you, but I love me more.” To tell someone that is heartbreaking, yet empowering. I have struggled for years with the whole “love yourself” concept and I finally had gotten to the point where I realized I loved myself too much to be feeling the way I did. It took me twenty-four years to come to this realization, but better late than never, right?

Lesson #3: Power of Positive Thinking

Although coming to the realization that I loved myself was a huge victory, I was devastated by the demise of my “Big City Love.” I cried harder than I had in a long time and felt a huge hole in my life. I had lost my boyfriend and best friend.

To quote Sex and the City again, “Despite the fact that there are over 8 million people on the island of Manhattan, there are times you still feel shipwrecked and alone. Times even the most resourceful survivor would feel the need to put a message in a bottle or on an answering machine.” I broke down in public and people didn’t even bat an eyelash (not that I wanted them to.) I remember feeling invisible and completely alone, even though I had people all around me. That’s a pretty sobering feeling.

I hate to admit this, but I am a wallower. I love throwing pity parties for myself and I could make a living off of obsessing over petty crap. After a couple of days (and boxes of tissues), I decided I couldn’t keep walking along the path I was going down. I needed to be positive and to throw myself into getting the old Laura back. So, I did just that.

I started doing things that made me happy and feel good about myself, such as going to the gym, having girls’ nights, and writing. Whenever I would get upset over the past, I would call or talk to someone I knew would give me tough love and snap me out of my funk. I wouldn’t allow myself to be my own worst enemy and removed things from my life that would allow me to do so.

I have found that I have applied the positivity principle to my life, besides the above example. To say it is easy to be negative in New York would be an understatement. There are people surrounding you that have everything you don’t have and in some cases, everything you’ll never have. Oh, and don’t forget the beautiful people that seem to pop out at you at every corner.

But here’s what it comes down to: There’s a reason why some of the most powerful and influential companies and CEOs in the world reside in NYC. Minus your friends and family, no one gives a crap if you’re upset. Life will and does go on with or without you. Basically, if you aren’t positive and at peace with yourself, New York will eat you alive.

Summing it up:

I could go on and on about everything I’ve learned in the year I’ve lived in New York City, but I think these three lessons have had the most impact on my life.

I have found a kinship with another Sex and the City quote (last one, I promise.) Carrie Bradshaw said, “If you can only have one great love, then the city just may be mine.” In my mind, love is supposed to teach you new lessons about yourself and how you interact with the world. New York has truly changed me in various ways and has opened my eyes to the world around me. I am challenged every day, which to me makes every day fulfilling. At 24 years-old, that is a pretty fantastic thing to be able to say.

New York, thank you for the most amazing year of my life. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store!