The Mean Reds: I Finally Get It

Breakfast at Tiffany's (Paramount Pictures)

Holly Golightly: "You know those days when you get the mean reds?"
Paul Varjak: "The mean reds. You mean like the blues?"
Holly Golightly: "No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)

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April seems to have been cast under the haze of a perpetual "full moon." Tragedy, accidents, and crimes beyond the scope of all human decency. Ridiculously busy schedules. Crazy projects, deadlines, and To Do lists becoming longer than the days themselves. POLLEN, Lord, the pollen... it's all been, well, a little much.

But it hasn't been all bad.

A couple of weeks ago, I entered a photo contest to attend The Southern C Summit. I discovered news of the conference several weeks ago, and immediately I knew I had to attend. A gathering of PR specialists, bloggers, small business owners, photographers, crafters, and creators from the south. After long neglecting my creative-self, I've been desperately seeking a chance to get re-inspired and refocused. But with one look at the conference cost (not to mention the cost of lodging, food, travel/gas, etc.), I decided "next year" - maybe. Just when I convinced myself the summit was out of reach, they posted an opportunity to submit a photo for a chance to win a ticket to the conference. Without hesitation, I submitted a picture I recently had snapped while on a run through the Horseshoe on the campus of USC.

Photo copyright Breakfast at Target/Celia G Photographie

Not only did it match the southern theme of the contest, but the photo was as spontaneous as the swift shift into spring - and I caught it on my iPhone. Nope, not my "fancy" Nikon. Nope, no Photoshop - only using a few apps to touch it up and bring it to life.

I slowly spread the word for friends and family to login to Facebook at vote. I hesitated and hovered over the "Send" button numerous times - while clicking a button is easy enough, I hated the idea of being that annoying "Heyyy! Like/Vote/Support/Donate for meeee!" person. But my gut said to do it, because success comes by having others help you along the way... even if it means annoying them a little in the process.
(Or a lot?)

Monday, April 15th, was the last day to vote. I sent out one final push early afternoon during a break at a work conference for my "day job" while in Orlando. Within the hour, I get a Twitter update from the New York Times: there was a bombing at the Boston Marathon. My heart sank. Suddenly the photo/summit contest seemed trivial, selfish even. I withdrew my efforts and decided my energy was better spent absorbing the shock of it all. Better spent watching the the slow moving images on the screen of the panic and scattered details. Better spent praying.

That's the funny thing about people who inflict unthinkable evil in the world. In that moment, those two corrupted young men won. The world stopped. Many felt unimaginable fear and overwhelming sadness. Others felt angry that now more liberties will be stifled and privacy violated in reaction. And others, like me, felt the swift pang of reality - no matter how close I was to taking the next step, it's just not my time. There are far more serious and important things to think about now. There always will be.

We attendees had a free evening in Orlando and my work team had made plans weeks ago to visit the Magic Kingdom. I felt guilty going to Disney when there was such chaos and tragedy in Boston, but wasting my discounted ticket and sitting in my hotel room wasn't going to do any good either. And so we went. And despite the circumstances elsewhere, we made an effort to really make it a good time. And we did. 

All the while, I discover I have a team of family members, friends, blogging buddies, colleagues, and my husband who had organized an effort far and wide to make sure I got the votes to win the contest. But why? Why would they organize an impromptu campaign for me to go to a silly summit? Why did they still excitedly spread the word and remind me it's still worth pursuing? 

How could I ever repay them?

Just like that, I realized another reality: 

The world is still full of amazing, awesome, wonderful, and good, good people.

And because of them,
I'm going to Jekyll Island.

I can't be afraid anymore. 

I can't be afraid of the guilt, the bad guys, the worst-case scenarios, the failure, or possible regret. I have no basis for it. Everything I've ever done where I've busted my butt and really set my mind to and did so with the very best of intentions have ALWAYS paid off... and I've always had a cheering section along the way.

I am really frickin' lucky.

I have no idea what will happen or who I'll meet or what I'll accomplish.

But I DO know whatever does happen... I owe a lot to a lot of y'all.

Thank you.

**Be sure to follow the adventure on Instagram.**

An Open Letter to "Old People"

The "Breakfast at Target Open Letter Series" returns.

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April 7th , 2013

Dear "Old People,"

I am 27 years old. When I tell people this, I often get the raised eye-brow, open mouth *wink-wink-nudge-nudge* smile with a resounding "AHHH, gettin' close to 30, eh?!"

Well, yes. I'm glad you know how to round numbers. The public school system hasn't failed you entirely.

In recent months, I've seen and read and heard a ridiculous amount of sentiment from my peers and even younger generations of how "old" they feel. There's this weird notion that because one has made better efforts to not recklessly relish in being a shameless and immature individual that you've been cast into a dark shroud of misery and monotony. Why is making a conscious effort to focus your life in one direction or another the new "gray hair"?

Why am I to feel, as a "twenty-something" (a phrase that annoys me to NO-end, I might add), that I'm getting... old? That the age of 30 will forever mark the end of my youth. That I need to clutch my chest and wail in sorrow when a snarky 18-year-old doesn't get my reference to a 90's TV show. That I need to make cranking out kids and buying a house a priority. That I need to prove I'm "young" by partaking in late-night debauchery in frocks that barely cover my hoochie. That I'm a failure because I'm "almost 30" and don't really understand how a 401K or mortgage works. That my life is stifled and a tragic mess because I'm "almost 30" and haven't figured everything out yet. 

THAT I STILL NEED YOUR OPINION.

Linda Rodin

I refuse - REFUSE - to believe that because I'm out of school and rockin' my 9-to-5 and prefer happy hours to drinking into the wee hours that I'm OLD. Twenty-seven - or "the downward spiral toward my 30th birthday" - has surprisingly been a good year so far. I'm more intentional with taking on activities or duties, more affirmed in my thoughts and opinions, and more sound in my convictions. I'm more fit than I've ever been, more appreciative of the small things, and far better at making decisions. I've learned to say "no" - I used to take on an absurd amount of responsibility because I was so nervous of missing out on an opportunity that might lead to something. But, now, I only accept things in which the opportunity itself is going to enhance my current ambitions. Or, simply, because it'll make me happy.

I've also learned to say "no" to people - my social life is far less cluttered, and I only surround myself with people who add positive notes to my day, even if we discuss negative or controversial things... which makes them MORE wonderful, because I've discovered dialogue is far more appealing than idle chatter, superficial banter, empty small-talk. It makes me want to find out more. It keeps my wits sharp. It pairs oh-so-divinely with margaritas.

How can a generation of people with at least another 50, 60, or even 70 years ahead of them feel so geriatric? Why are we so lethargic, depressed, full of woe and void of aspirations? It baffles me that there are so many tools at our disposal to create and so many causes in need of a champion - and, yet, we'd rather wallow in the tragedy that is the "hot mess" of a twenty-something (*cringe!*) life.

It's a waste. And society wants us to believe we aren't worth anything once we've hit a certain age and haven't "accomplished" anything. I'm tired of the people - the real "old" people - who make excuses for not making the most of the life they have left. Who let their fears dull their sense of time. Who ruin my happy hours.

PEOPLE. There's art to be appreciated, champagne to be poured, moments to photographed, races to be run, floors to be twirled upon, and perspectives to be shared. I've never been more energized than I have coming to terms with my Old Soul - she and I like our dark corners and bitter gin and highly entertaining friends who still marvel in the exciting possibilities of this screwed up world.

And thank you to the "young people," no matter how "old" you are, who continuously inspire me to stay vibrant and curious and eager. Who show me you can conquer anything, live a life full of experiences, and not be afraid to give something a try. Who remind me that you need to hold on to the people who love you for it - because those folks don't have to, but they do. And the only thing sweeter than perfectly aged bourbon is having friends & family who want you to succeed.

So go head, "old people." Let your youthful spirit sink to the bottom of your tequila and I'll be sure to visit on Sundays to have chats about the good old days... that were like, two years ago.

I bid you all A GOOD DAY.