Portland, OR

Living on the West side of the states for the first time in my life leaves me with the desire to drive, explore, and experience the Pacific Northwest. If only we had a little bit more time here. There is so much to see and despite how much I'm struggling with the political climate of America, it is a beautiful, diverse country. Landscapes, people, cities. It is full of beauty and difference. 

I knew I had to see Portland, Oregan. Home of one of my favorite writers/speakers, Cheryl Strayed. Known for its weirdness, quirks, and hipster vibe, I was excited to drive the eight hours to explore a new city.

I expected Oregan to be absolutely gorgeous but it wasn't until right outside Portland. At least coming from Idaho. It was the same brown, boring landscape I've gotten used to here in Southern Idaho.

Our trip to Portland was a lovely escape from the monotony of everyday life. We explored downtown, got drunk and danced the night away at a 90s bar, ate doughnuts at midnight at Voodoo Doughnuts,  and we traversed the eccentric Saturday Market with a trendy Stumptown coffee in hand before walking the many blocks to Powell's City of Books. 

I was simultaneously overwhelmed and awed by the biggest independent used and new bookstore in the world. We had to go back a second time before I could decide on a mug and a book to buy as a souvenir of our time. We ate food cart Indian, Greek, and Mexican. Although I was expecting amazing food from this foodie city, I can't say we were impressed by much. We ended our second evening in Portland at Salt and Straw where I got a bone marrow and smoked cherry scoop and a sea salt scoop on a fresh waffle cone. It was delectable.  

Our last day in Portland was reserved for nature, hiking, and outdoors. We stopped at Multnomah Falls which is very easily accessible from the highway before moving on to a seven-mile hike to Ramona Falls (which is a part of the PCT!). 

Reconnecting with a long weekend away to a new city is one of my favorite things to do and I hope Brandon and I continue taking the time to enjoy new places and one another. 

Oh, and keep Portland weird. 

Salt Lake City, UT

2018 was the year of road trips to explore different places in the states. Although we had stopped in Salt Lake City on our way to this duty station, we only spent the night and didn't do much exploring. So when Brandon had to be there for work and I had to be fingerprinted nearby, we took the opportunity to spend the weekend enjoying a bit of Salt Lake's magic. We visited the International Garden where we got to experience the magic of Japanese gardens again, announced our move to England to the Instagram world, and posed Luna with a mini Stonehenge. We ate delicious Korean Barbeque, Japanese sushi and ramen, and the best food truck burrito we've ever had. We will definitely hit that one up every single time we're in SLC. We spent the day wandering through the maze that is Ikea and the Natural History Museum of Utah which was a lot more impressive than I thought it would be. 

Before I left that Sunday, we decided we would take a hike to a waterfall. I'm not the most outdoorsy person nor in the best shape at the moment and wasn't prepared for a treacherous uphill hike that made me dusty, dirty, and grumpy. Until we finally got to the top and my soul felt calm and joyous at the sight of the waterfall and the cool shallow pool at its feet that made me feel alive again. Until we had to go back down. I understand so fully now why Cheryl Strayed calls hiking retroactive fun (or something like that. She mentioned it in Dear Sugars once) because you can't really enjoy the experience until you're past the grunt of it. That has to be one of the most truthful things I've ever heard. So a new pact was made with my husband, no more crazy hikes unless there is a waterfall at the end. It's just not worth it. 

So I'll end this with a quote from that amazing woman, Cheryl Strayed, "The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of love."

That's the plan, Cheryl. 

Colorado & New Mexico

This Summer I drove eleven hours down to Southern Colorado to meet my family for a vacation. We visited and explored parts of Colorado and New Mexico. I didn't take as many pictures as I should have but we enjoyed historical landmarks, museums, shopping, and food while my little brother complained about not being home. I feel ya, kid. Home is the best. So here is a blog in pictures. As meager as they may be.

News

Being a military wife was not how I saw my life unfolding. I never had any affiliation with the military growing up and it never even crossed my mind that this would be my life. I got married young because he joined the military. Much more young that I would have liked but I made a choice. 

And then his first station was overseas. Okinawa. And I was the girl who lived in the same small town her entire life and had never been out of the country. 

Also, an introvert who had built in friendships and relationships and never had to work on making friends.

I've written a bit about my experiences in Okinawa and how much it challenged me. And how I've grown through those challenges.

We spent three years there and I can't say that I was sad to leave. I wasn't particularly excited about moving to Idaho but I saw it as an opportunity to let life slow down and to meet the goals that I wanted to meet. And it's mostly worked. I've managed to grow and blossom in this boring and slow environment.

I'm so close to being done with my bachelor's degree that I can almost taste it. Two classes, a year of in-class experiences, and some tests are what stands before me and my own classroom. It's exciting, terrifying, and almost tangible. 

And then, news. Military life. 

Oh, I kind of forgot about them. 

I took for granted that we would be here for a few years. Most people get stuck here. We've only been here for eight months. Nothing would get in my way of finally finishing school and becoming the woman I want to be. 

Brandon got orders. 

Overseas.

At first, he wasn't sure where. We were simultaneously excited and nervous that we would be heading back to Okinawa (it happens). 

I cried.

His orders would be right in the middle of my student teaching. I've spent the past year planning this around Idaho. There's no way I can do this overseas.

Don't get me wrong, we want to be overseas. At least I think we do. But the timing couldn't have been worse. I always told Brandon, just let me finish school and get some experience under my belt. That's all I ask.

Well, the military doesn't care what I ask.

We're going to England. 

England. Full of the rich history and museums that I crave, close to over European countries we've always wanted to travel, and with my favorite kind of weather: cool and rainy.

Once I cried and processed and talked to others, I bounced back. I can go back to my hometown in Missouri and spend a few months living with my family and reconnecting while I'm doing my student teaching and getting licensed. I can meet my husband a few months later when everything will already be settled. I'm terrible at moving. It stresses me out to see all our things strewn about and I get anxiety about how we have too much stuff. It will be nice to let Brandon handle at least one side of that.

I think I've finally accepted how things will be. I still need to talk to my student advisor and see how this will all work out. I'm hopeful that it will all be fine. 

I'm tentatively hopeful about living overseas again.

I'm scared that I won't blossom and thrive in an overseas environment again. I can't take three years like Okinawa again.

I think my resiliency is getting better. I think I'm adjusting to the changes and unexpectedness of military life. 

I know I need to work hard in the next year to create good habits that will sustain me in a foreign country and, hopefully, in my first year of teaching.

I know that I need to work harder to be in that place by the time 2019 comes around. It's going to take some work but I think I'm ready for this new challenge.

A Letter to My Twenty Year Old Self

Reading through my old blogs puts me back in the mind of twenty-year-old me. She was tentatively idealistic and searching to find her place in the world. She was newly married and couldn't stop using the word husband as she was so enamored with the idea of marriage. And still rather new in love. She saw the suffering of the world and wanted to teach others how to make a difference. I'm trying to decide if that trait is still embedded in me. My experiences over the past five years have deeply impacted and changed me. 

I am no longer that small-town girl who was coming into her own. So here is my letter to her.

Megan,

Right now you are experiencing what you think is the low before you figure everything out overseas. You are stressed. You hate your job. Your skin and your body are not being kind to you (because you are not being kind to them). Learn to listen to your body. It is telling you that you're stressed. Physical symptoms will always be your clue that you need to change things. And once you make that connection all the way back to your childhood, you'll be so much more self-aware. You miss Brandon deeply. I hear it in your writing. You've been so used to wrapping yourself up in this relationship that you feel a little lost without him. It's okay. This separation is good. You'll start doing the long and arduous work of becoming yourself. Embrace it. And, shockingly, someday you'll be totally fine with a break between the two of you. Time and confidence in your love will allow you to back off a bit. 

The next few years of your life will not be easy. I wish I could shield you from that pain. But in between the painful moments, you will experience beauty, love, and kindness that will change your heart forever. You will become more self-aware. You will become a fierce and passionate version of yourself. You will lay on the floor and cry and want it to come to end. You will experience depression and anxiety. You will experience loneliness like never before. Your marriage will be hard. You will want to leave. It will also be silly, loving, and real. You will feel cut off from people you considered friends and you will lash out in the most immature way. You will find out who your true friends are. Especially Terra. Nobody will grow with you and be on the same page as you are like Terra. 

You will turn your back completely on religion. You will learn about feminism and atheism and you will embrace those terms whole-heartedly. You will become that liberal hippy you never thought you'd be (it will take some time though).

You will make crappy friends. You will seek companionship based on who will take you and it won't end nicely. You will be a toxic person in someone's life. You will be a pretentious asshat at times. You will try to pretend you have everything together when you are falling apart inside. 

Don't be afraid to let people see the broken parts of you.

You will develop esteem issues. You will lose yourself. You will gain weight. You won't appreciate the beauty of Okinawa because you just weren't in the right place. 

You will become a Dog Mom. It will give you anxiety. You will think you aren't cut out for anything. Not even taking care of this dog that you got because of the crippling loneliness. That's the depression talking. It will pass. She's one of the best things that has ever happened to you. It sounds a tad banal, but she saved you. And you will love her deeply.

You WILL find your way. You will make a forever friend. You will make a lovely home, learn to cook, and understand yourself more every day. Your marriage will get better. And then worse. And then better because that's how marriage is. Becoming yourself truly is a culminating practice. You're never done. And when you make mistakes (because you will), understand that you learned from that and will try to be better next time.  

Also, know that these experiences you've gone through have made you who you are today. And today is a lot brighter than five years ago. And even a year ago. It does get better. That culminating process of becoming yourself just keeps happening. I'm proud of you and everything you went through to get me where I am today. 

Stay idealistic,

Megan

Living with White Space

The theme of simplification has weighed heavily on my adult life. Growing up in an environment rife with stuff and a lack of intentionality made me want more from my life. But even with that intention of simplicity, I have fallen victim to the consumption bug that Americans are so known for. Perhaps not with the superfluous attitude that most bring to their homes and lives, but in my own way, I had too much. 

I have a decorator's heart. She craves beauty, coziness, and comfort in a way that minimalist style never seems to capture. 

Bare white walls symbolize military life and a lack of choice over where we live and our surroundings. It may be that the agency of choice plays into those feelings about our homes. If I have white walls, then I had to cover them with art and things. It isn't in my nature to accept the whiteness (unless of course, it is bedding or dishes).

When we moved into this house, I was stuck with the starkness of white walls on white molding on white ceilings. A very lovely home that met all of our needs was driving me crazy. I wished that I just didn't care. It hurt my heart to think of living in an environment where I would be forced to try and decorate on a budget with white walls.  However, unlike our last home, we had the choice to paint in this one. 

So we did. At least one room. We painted our living room a lovely shade of gray-blue and I don't regret it a bit. It allowed me to put up a few picture frames and a clock and leave it at that. And even with the simplicity of the decorations, it is comfortable and lovely.

Painting is arduous. It is messy. It takes forever. You have to get approval from housing. It would have been absurd to paint this entire house on our own. I was sick of painting before we ever finished with the living room.

So, I tried to change my mindset. I tried to embrace it. My first experiment was our bedroom. Large and comfortable with beige carpet and a large lovely window and window seat, our bedroom was the perfect opportunity to embrace a more minimalistic approach. It's not as if many people would see it (or any, really) and it isn't a room that is used for much more than sleeping. So I bought lovely white bedding and sheets. Our upholstered king-size platform bed was beige and our end tables and small dresser dark brown. The white bedding with a beige and white throw for the end of the bed and blank white walls would have been a nightmare to me a year ago. 

But now... I love how simple and minimalistic it is. I love how easy it is to look clean and organized. I've embraced that room.

So I keep challenging myself. It seems hardest in the rooms that I think people will see. I want people to think of my home as comfortable and stylish and the downstairs is the place for that. 

Not only do I struggle with the white walls, but I particularly struggle with the white space. You know what I mean. The areas of our homes that are bare and empty. The corners with nothing in them. The rooms with one piece of furniture. 

For me, the room that bothers me the most is our dining area. It isn't large but our Japanese-style dining table isn't either. And we hardly ever use it. We almost never sit down to eat at the table and yet, I always have this desire to buy a beautiful farmhouse table and sideboard where guests could use the beautiful silver my mother bought me and have a traditional breakfast together.

We never have guests. And if we do, are they going to judge us on the state of our dining room that we never use? I hope not. But I still desire that picture-perfect environment that may lead me to be the hostess that people dream about. I have this innate desire to be a b&b I think.

But those empty corners? They plague me. In an area of our home that is almost never used I have this desire to fill it with stuff. 

I'm working on accepting the white spaces in our home. Whether that is white walls or empty corners or whatever else I find to challenge my desire for consumption. So often we consume things because we believe they will make us an idealized version of ourselves. Or perhaps the things will give us status in some way. Or that those things will help us become the person we want to be. 

They almost never do. 

Every day I am learning the value of simplicity and intentionality in my life. My home is an outer representation of who I am. I'm trying to find the balance between minimalism, comfort, and beauty. 

My home is just the start.

Authentic Writing

I’ve tried the blogging thing a few times. I don’t know why it didn’t quite work out for me.

I resented the social media time that seemed necessary and really didn’t have any quality content to share with the world. It was a fiasco. I believe I tried to use my blog as a way to make myself important in a time when I struggled deeply with self-esteem and who I am.

I went back and read some writing from my second blog (Honestly, my first blog was on Weebly and I have no idea where it is) and some of it is so unnecessary.

Clickbaity.

Cringe-worthy.

Terrible.

Writing that was silly and inauthentic and just redundant. But then some of it was… heartbreaking. I could feel the sadness and frustration with my life in Okinawa while I was writing that blog. Okinawa was such a difficult time for me.

Early marriage, move across the world, birth control depression, lack of self-esteem and worthiness, feeling dependant on my husband, and a true lack of purpose in the world made me a rather toxic and sad person. No wonder I struggled with making friends so badly. Sometimes I’m not sure if I would go through my experiences in Okinawa again. I’m not sure if they made me the person I am today or if they kept me from being more advanced than I am. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s probably a combination of the two.

Reading my words from three years ago makes me realize how far I’ve come. How much more confident I am in who I am as a person and what my purpose in life is. How much better I’ve adjusted to this military base than the last. I have isolated myself to a certain extent but it no longer hurts me.

I feel like I have grown so much in the past few years and reading my words made me realize what a culminating practice becoming yourself is. It is so fascinating to me how I can be a different person this week than last week because of a struggle I have overcome or just something I have learned that has changed my perspective. Because my perspective on life, religion, education, marriage, politics, everything has changed over the last few years. I have truly grown into myself. And yet… if these last few years have been so formative for me, what will the next few be like? Will my writing feel naive and dated if I read it back in a few years? That is what scares me about blogging or even journaling. I feel like I’m always ashamed when I read it later.

Ashamed of the authentic feelings that lead me to write them out and perhaps share them on the internet.

But should I be ashamed of being a different person than I was when I wrote something years ago? It shows that I’m growing and learning and becoming more me every day and year.

This has probably been one of my most successful years in quite some time. I’m doing well in my classes and am getting closer and closer to being in the classroom. I’ve been killing my reading goal and learning to find different perspectives than my own. And I’ve managed to form a relatively healthy relationship with exercise and my body is improving (slowly).

And yet, I still find fault with myself. I still struggle with not being good enough or not improving quickly enough.

Maybe I should take some time to appreciate how far I’ve come and how much better my life has been in the past year. Sometimes it is so sad to me how much time I spent being unhappy in such a beautiful and wondrous environment. I’ll never know if I just wasn’t in the right place at the time or if the chaotic and crowded environment of Japan doesn’t meet my needs. I wish I had the ability to know which and yet, once again, I have to think it was a little bit of both.