my heart is home, but heavy…

I’ve been (not so mysteriously) absent. If you follow A Little Bit Brave, you know that I have a tendency to do this. I get busy and am gone for a while. Then I come back and promise to do better. And don’t. It’s a cycle.

This time, I’m not promising any specific comebacks. You see, something happened.

It almost pains me to write this to you, Reader, because it makes it that much more real. But though I’ve tried to avoid it, I can’t. My grandmother passed away over the weekend.

It wasn’t sudden in the sense that it was a surprise, but her decline seemed sudden. I just saw her and sat around her kitchen table with my (somewhat) estranged cousins this summer for the first time in well over 13 years.

That afternoon was so special… I felt like I had repaired some of the broken and strained places in my family tree. My father passed away nearly 20 years ago and since his passing, things haven’t been “normal.” Sides seemed to be chosen and the side that was chosen for me seemed to be out of my control. I wasn’t even aware that it was happening. And for a long time, I couldn’t go back to where he was, where my family was. My heart couldn’t handle it.

But you know what? My grandparents never stopped loving me (or my sister, for that matter). My grandmother never shamed me for not coming home to see them. Never made me feel like I was turning my back on my family, though arguably, that’s exactly what I was doing in some ways.

No. She was generous. Kind. Full of love and acceptance. Never judged. Was always supportive. She was everything I ever hope to be.

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it’s a lazy, rainy Sunday…

I didn’t go to bed terribly late last night, but I was tired, nonetheless. After my big day of gaming, I needed some decent rest. I intentionally didn’t set an alarm and as such, woke up at a ripe 11:28 this morning. YIKES.

I’ve been quite lazy and the rain hasn’t helped. Last weekend, I started a new tradition to make pancakes every Sunday. Every single one. But this morning, I didn’t have enough real flour for them; and I didn’t have enough eggs for coconut flour pancakes. I’m still trying out recipes to get the exact right one, but when you don’t have the ingredients, you’re still SOL.

So, either I’ll get around to it tonight or just skip it until next weekend. I did, however, manage to get my arse out of my house and hop to Starbucks. Now it’s just a matter of getting to work.

I don’t have anything interesting or planned to tell you tonight, so I’ll leave it at this. Lazy, rainy Sunday. No pancakes. Out at Starbucks.

I hope you have whatever kind of Sunday you’re hoping to have, Reader.


I didn’t forget about you…

My dearest Reader,

You might be thinking that I completely forgot about you. I realize that I haven’t written anything for about six weeks now, and for that I’m terribly sorry! It certainly wasn’t intentional, but a lot has been happening.

I’ve been serving as editor for an awesome boutique content marketing firm, Charm House.

I went to the Americas for 3 weeks. (That’s right, THREE. I had a lot of Mexican food, sushi, Chick Fil-a, and cheesecake. Though not all together (thankfully).)

I came back from the Americas and got slapped in the face by my “day job” of teaching. Report cards, special classes, and keeping up with my semi-newly-accepted position of Head Instructor has made life nothing less than chaotic.

I finished a book (for the first time in a couple of months.).

I have accomplished few (or no) goals and have failed to set any new ones since, oh I don’t know, April?

So essentially, I had a lot happen. I promise I didn’t forget about you. Nay, I have thought about you a lot. I’ve felt spectacularly guilty about not writing anything to entertain you, or at the very least, ramble on about my opinions that you may or may not agree with. (That’s the beauty of the internet, I can say what I want to!)

Here’s my promise: I’m back full-swing this week. I’ve been cooking up things I should write about and I’ve got a post for the A Little Bit Brave series hanging out, waiting to be published. I promise to hop back on the horse!

So please forgive me, gentle Reader. I didn’t forget you. I just have really pathetic excuses as to why I haven’t been writing. But I’m back, really.

Talk (super) soon,


dads are the awesomest…

It’s Father’s Day in the Americas and I’m waiting for it to get late enough in Korea for me to call home. Every year, I feel like I don’t quite know how to act. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I obviously know the day is meant to shower dads with love and appreciation. What I mean to say is, sometimes, I don’t feel like I know how excited (or not) to be.

If you’ve been reading A Little Bit Brave for any length of time, you probably know that my dad passed away nearly two decades ago when I was 8 years old. As a result, I’m well acquainted with this “sadness” that seeps into Father’s Day for some. I am sad with those who have lost someone this year – sad for them and sad for myself. It probably shouldn’t, but it puts me in a strange position.

My mom remarried a few years after my dad passed and I now have a slightly dorky – but totally awesome – step-dad. When Father’s Day comes along, I try to let my “pops” (as I’ve taken to calling him in the last few years as his hair has grayed) how much I love and appreciate him.

But it wasn’t always this way.

Mark  (“Pops”) joined our family at a strange time for me. I was 11, going on 12, and experiencing awkward hormonal changes and fighting a continuous uphill battle with my mom that so many girls fight at that age. In my mind, he tried to take over too quickly. He wasn’t my dad. I literally hated him and remember calling him a “jerkasaurus” in my head and to my friends. (That’s the best I had back then. My vocabulary has since grown more colorful, for better or for worse.)

By no fault of his own, Mark and I had a rocky relationship from the beginning. I hated my mom and I hated my step-dad. He was NOT my dad and I was NOT his daughter. I wore that badge with honor. I was angry for a long time about not having my “real” dad and I fought any attempt by my “stand in” to create a relationship with me.

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I’m a quitter and I don’t care…

So, Reader. As you know, I’ve been busy. Very busy. (I swear, this is becoming the most ridiculous excuse for not posting because it’s one of only two that I give – the other being laziness.) I was doing regular work. And taking a Korean class twice a week. And I started blogging somewhat more consistently for my city gig, Colorful Daegu.

And then I decided, after reading some things and having some short exchanges with my friend, Anna (who wrote an awesome guest post on this blog that you can read here), that I wanted to start making more time for writing on this blog. Plus, I got accepted to write again for the city blog – another year with them – and I want to really take it more seriously this time… And I want to basically run a business. This takes time, effort, and a shit-ton of research, Reader. And I didn’t have that kind of time between my day job and Korean class and being lazy and trying to exercise and remaining social… You know, so, something had to go.

So I quit Korean class just a week and a half before it was set to end.

Cutting class never felt so good and so bad all at the same time.

I felt good because I kept thinking, “My heart isn’t in it right now. I don’t want to be there. I’m not interested in doing the homework or truly studying. So, why force myself to do something I’m not enjoying anymore?”

But then I felt guilty because I thought, “I paid for this class – actual money – and there are only three left. What kind of lazy a**hole doesn’t just suck it up and go to the last three classes? Who does that?”

Let me tell you who: ME.

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