Gate D11 Seat 27A

I swore To myself I'd write before I touched down in Paris. Do me a favor and read between the lines on this one. Pay no mind to the disorganization, the rambles, the sweaty palms and emotional jargon this post is about to contain...in just a short while.

Propped up cross-legged in a leather airport chair. I'm beyond gracious for the Starbucks I stumbled upon moments ago. Approaching the gate, not a single Starbucks in sight. What airport, international none-the-less, doesn't have that gold mine in a cup? Just my luck, this one did. I swear I heard angels sing.

Miami International, Gate D11. It's quickly approaching. Surrounded by strangers catching up and joking in an unrecognizable language. I'll assume it's French but I'm not willing to confirm it. At this very moment, it just occurred to me:  the most 'foreign' place I've ever been is El Paso, TX. There aren't beaches in El Paso. Definitely foreign.

'The moment.' The moment I've had branded on my calendar for months. The moment typed in all caps accompanied with little airplanes and strokes of emotion. It is here.

Four months ago I stood in my parents driveway begging and pleading her not to go. Heaving, gasping for air, doubled over in physical pain, piercing eyes met mine. Regretfully forcing her to second guess her decision, if only for a second, fearing I would not be okay without her. For the fist time understanding what "take care of yourself" meant. Take care of myself?! I wanted to shake her and say, "THAT'S WHY I HAVE YOU!" Too self-absorbed in the moment to form sentences. All she could fathom was, "should I go get Mom?" My countdown began the very next day.

Writing this, seat 27A houses the emotions of that night. Fighting their way out in the form of tears. Pain has ceased but recounting how vulnerable I felt is a horrifying realization. Sounds dramatic; I'm well aware but I'm also aware that grasping our relationship from the outside, is beyond challenging. It's rare and it's natural. We communicate silently through our eyes. In our early twenties, we whisper and giggle and hold hands under the covers in our childhood bedroom. My heart aches for those who never experience a relationship of this magnitude.

Less than twenty-four hours from now, we'll be [by choice] sharing a tiny bed, holding hands and whispering months and months of stories early into Friday morning. Longing for this for so long, it's just now I realize why the anxiousness feels absent. She hasn't felt it either. Initially, my heart ached. Are we OK being far away from each other? Have we grown apart? Has this destroyed our precious relationship?

Surely not but we have changed as women. We've grown wings; we've ventured beyond what is safe and what is cozy and what is expected. Conquered fears, overcome adversity and proved to ourselves we are strong and independent and adventurous; bound and determined to be better than we were yesterday. I believe I wrote--and if I didn't, I surely intended to--this would be our chance to grow separately together.

That, we did.

I land on unfamiliar soon, welcomed by all the familiarity I can guzzle at once. From there, we will embark on our next adventure, together. Four months ago I prayed that nothing would change between us. Appreciative for unanswered prayers, things have surely changed.

We are better women than we were four months ago; we are changed for good.

Cross it off, chalk it off

No better time than the present right? We can go ahead and cross off the trusty Bucket list,

• permanently delete Facebook

I know I said from the beginning that I was well aware that there would be days when I would be totally and completely out of my comfort zone. I said it like I was perfectly fine with it-- which I thought I would be. Thought it would be new and fun and exciting. I couldn't have been more wrong. I am, always have been, the type of person to own up to my mistakes, to own what I've done and admit when I am wrong. With that, I was always forgiven; it was always a lesson learned.

Well, I suppose, here's my big, warm "welcome to the real world." I have spent the past two days in tears, on edge and more than ever, wanting my old life back. I would, without question, trade the past two days for the worse days training, ever had to offer. For ladder drills up to twenty and back down again, for being put in the circle, for a timed 5k on a torn hamstring or a kick to the face with the mirror breaking my fall. I'd take a loss to someone I've already beaten, I'd take the mental games, the put downs, the let downs and the tears. I'd take it all because I knew it was worth it. I knew that the day would end and the next day would begin-- maybe better, maybe worse.  There was no denying that eventually, days or weeks or months down the road, there would be one day where it was all worth it. Where every drop of blood, sweat and tears would pay off in pride and glory and success.

Looking at the situation like that, I suppose that's life. There are, and always will be, days where people knock you down, put you down and even kick you when you're already down & the worse part? There is no center referee to break it up, to make the calls, to warn you or deduct points. It is just you against your opponent, and these days, that opponent may very well be the entire world-- or at least, what feels like the entire world.

There were many times I let people get to me-- I let them make me cry and doubt myself and question my own ability but one thing I never let them do, was break my spirit. No matter what I was faced with, I still had the desire to keep going. The hunger was still there to make it & to prove them all wrong. 

Here I stand with my big girl pants on, in the real world, with everyone scrutinizing my every move. It's literally like being in the circle-- where everyone gets a piece & you have no choice but to keep going. To do whatever it takes to stay standing. To fight through the pain and suck up the doubt.

A very smart Jersey boy once said, the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

And thus, in the face of any adversity, it's sink or swim. Really though, it's swim.

Failing is not an option; sinking is not a possibility.