One of the biggest challenges with blogging and social media is that once you create a public identity, it’s that much more difficult to make personal changes.

Take drinking, for example. Anyone who’s been hanging around this blog for longer than a few months knows that I used to drink a lot. Not a lot like “wow, she has a problem,” but definitely “damn, girl loves her some tequila.” Because I did. Cocktail parties, wine tasting, randomly getting drunk on a Wednesday afternoon and riding public transportation – alcohol felt inseparable from my identity, especially my blog identity, and I was terrified of how people would react if I quit.

Well, guess what? It’s been 9 months since I quit drinking, and no one gives a shit. I put it off for a while because one of my biggest concerns was what people would think of me if I didn’t drink, what that decision would mean to other people, but, for the most part, no one cares.

No one cares! Which means, really, that I’m free to do whatever I want. It also means that you’re free to do whatever you want, safe with the knowledge that no one cares even half as much as you think they do. Seriously, let’s do some “life less bullshit” math. Say you want to quit your job and go back to school, but you’re afraid that everyone will judge you. On a scale from 1-10 of how much everyone cares, you think they’re at about an 8. Well, here’s what I want you to do: take that number, divide it in half, and subtract 2. This is how much people actually care. You think they’re at an 8, but they’re actually at a 2. You know why? Because you forgot to account for the narcissism factor – the inherent truth that we’re all a bunch of adorable little narcissists and are therefore so focused on ourselves and our own issues that we don’t have time to overanalyze everyone else. You also forgot the mirror clause, the one that states that we’re so much harder on the person in the mirror than we are on anyone else. Sad, but true.

And yet, even when we want to make a change, even when we’re ready to quit our job or to lose weight or to start meditating, we’re often paralyzed by the fear of what other people will think of us as we change. From the depths of our own issues and insecurities, even though we aren’t judging other people’s decisions at more than a level 2, we’re absolutely convinced that they’re going to judge us at a level 8, and that fear is often enough to keep us stuck in a rut.

Sometimes, though, people really will be an 8, or even a 10. A few of those people, like your parents, might be an 8 because they care about you so fiercely that they’ll weigh in on everything you do to challenge you and make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. This is helpful. We all need people who are willing to call us on our bullshit – people who will poke our decisions full of holes, giving us the opportunity to either plug the holes with conviction or let the idea sink in the water of uncertainty. These people are good. Most of the other people who are an 8, though, they’re probably only an 8 because the change you’re making in your own life leaves them feeling uncomfortable about theirs. When you start making positive changes, it can shine a light on the not-so-positive behaviors in someone else’s life, causing them to feel threatened and to lash out. But, you know what? Their issues aren’t your issues, and you don’t have to make their problems your problems. I mean, whose life are you living here, yours or someone else’s?

Take me, for example. Toward the end of last year, I gave up sugar for 5 weeks. Very long story short, eating sugar makes me feel like shit. Addictive and mood altering, sugar has been wrecking havoc with my physical and mental stability and I finally got fed up enough to make a change. So, I quit eating sugar for 5 weeks, but I didn’t tell anyone about it. I mean, I did, offline, but I didn’t blog or tweet about it, because I felt like everyone would be at least an 8 on a scale from 1 to totally freaking out, and I just didn’t want to deal with it. Now that those 5 weeks have ended, though, and now that I’ve had a chance to test adding sugar back into my life and see that it really does make me feel like shit whenever I eat it, I’m going to try to build a sugar-free life, for good. This is intensely frightening on a lot of levels, and I’m not going to get into all of the details just yet, but the one thing I do want to admit is that I’m nervous about what other people will think of my decision. Will they be an 8? Will they be a 2? And, more than anything, how much am I going to let other people’s opinions influence what I know to be the best choice for me? Am I ready to take responsibility for myself, no matter what?

Because that’s the thing. Taking responsibility for yourself means changing when you need to change. It means following the little internal nudge you have to try something new and do something differently, and change is good. If you feel the pull to make a change, if you see a path that you think can lead you to being your best possible self, take it. Don’t wait for someone else to give you permission. Don’t take an opinion poll. You’re not running for president here, you’re just trying to live your own goddamn life, one step at a time, and sometimes that means making changes that other people won’t understand.

But, at the end of every day, you’re the only one who truly has to understand. You’re the one who has to live with yourself and your decisions, and you don’t have to apologize for taking care of yourself, even if it makes other people uncomfortable. It’s perfectly okay to make the changes that need to be made, look out at whoever might be judging you, and be all, “Listen, I’m doing what I can do to be my best possible self. Sorry I’m not sorry.”

Now that I’m home from Alt Design Summit, I can safely say two things. One, if you ever have a chance to cheat on your bathtub with the deep & gorgeous bathtubs at The Grand America Hotel, TAKE IT. Two, if one of your 2012 goals is to “Do Uncomfortable Shit,” you actually have to, you know, do uncomfortable shit.

Which is how I found myself in Salt Lake City last week, surrounded by 500+ design-ey bloggers & uber-smart creatives, ready for an inspiration-filled 4-day conference at which I didn’t know a single other person. NOT ONE SINGLE OTHER PERSON. OUT OF OVER 500 PERSONS. THAT’S A LOT OF PERSONS, YOU GUYS.

But here’s my theory: if we don’t force ourselves into scary and uncomfortable situations, we can’t grow. And if we aren’t growing, then what the fuck, right?

So, there I was, in one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever stayed in, with a king suite all to myself, a suitcase that was more than 50% shoes (Whaaat? Go away. Leave me alone. Girls need footwear options when surrounded by 500 unknown persons), and a plan to just start conversations with as many people as possible over the course of the event.

Guess what? EASIER SAID THAN DONE.

Randomly approaching strangers is one of my least favorite things. I’m as outgoing as the next girl, sure, but there’s just something so unnerving about being all, “HI! YOU DON’T KNOW ME. LET’S BE FRIENDS OKAYYY??” But, again, Doing Uncomfortable Shit = mad personal growth, so I did it. I went from panel to panel, lunch to lunch, dinner to dinner, party to party, and I made friends. I had to spend a little bit of time in between all the madness hiding in my bubble bath to regroup from All The Socializing With Strangers, but overall I met a shit ton of people. And not just any people, kind people. Creative people. Friendly and open and passionate people. I’ll tell you, for an event filled with women so beautiful and stylish it’s as if Pinterest came to life right in the middle of Salt Lake City, there wasn’t a catty remark to be heard or a judge-y face to be witnessed. Should that surprise me? I don’t know, but it did.

My favorite part of the event (other than ordering delicious pesto pizza from room service at 10:30pm and eating it in the bathtub), wasn’t actually part of the event at all. After I took “Doing Uncomfortable Shit” to the ultimate level at Gretchen Rubin’s closing keynote by standing up and asking her a question in front of ALL 500 MOTHER WATCHING PEOPLE, I joined in on one of Erin Loechner’s impromptu “Resource Parties” and realized, again, that people are inherently good and genuinely want to help each other whenever possible.

Never heard of a Resource Party? Yeah, I hadn’t either, but basically you get a group of people together, everyone stands in a circle, and then you go around the circle and each person has one minute to share a big (but specific) thing they’d like to accomplish in the coming months. Then, once they’ve shared their thing, anyone in the circle who can help them accomplish it (or who knows someone who could help them accomplish it) silently walks over and hands them a business card. At the end of it, everyone is left holding at least a few business cards from people who have offered to help them achieve their goal, and they can go home, follow up on their own, and hopefully make the magic happen.

HOW RIDICULOUSLY BRILLIANT IS THAT??

So brilliant, in fact, that I’m going to host a virtual Resource Party, right here, right now. Want in? Leave a comment sharing one (super specific) thing that you want to accomplish in 2012. Do you want to get an article published in SELF Magazine? Do you want to learn basic Photoshop skills? Complete a half marathon? Travel to Spain? Master the art of pole dancing? Whatever your thing is, leave it in the comments. Then, read through other people’s comments and offer your help wherever you can. Maybe you’re an ace at gluten-free baking and you see that someone else wants to learn some new gluten-free recipes to add to their culinary arsenal. Reply to their comment, offer to help, and give them a way to get in touch with you (email address, Twitter handle, etc).

Who knows, you could find the perfect ally or mentor to help you achieve your goal, and you might just be the missing link to making someone else’s dream come true. You could totally do that. Yes, you! You could be someone else’s fairy goal-mother (or goal-father!) and help them turn their big scary dream into a reality. And hey, before you start being all self-deprecating and telling me that you’re not an expert in anything and that you don’t have anything to offer, let me interrupt you and say that that’s bullshit. Seriously, bullshit. Everyone is good at something. Everyone is good at lots of somethings, in fact, and it’s time you stood up and announced to the world that you’re a pretty great illustrator, or that you’re knowledgeable about weight lifting, or that you have an inappropriately delicious brownie recipe. Maybe what you have to offer is that you’re incredibly supportive, and even though you might not have the exact expertise someone else is looking for, you know that you’re the perfect person to be their support system while they pursue their goal. Sometimes, being supportive and being the person someone else can check in with along the way matters more than anything else, so let’s stop being afraid to admit that we’re totally fucking awesome and that we have a lot to offer, okay? Also, let’s stop hoarding our awesome all to ourselves. I mean, sharing the awesome only breeds more of the awesome, right??

RIGHT.

It was March of 2009 and I had been blogging for about a year and a half. I was completely blown away by my fun and supportive new community, but our online connection wasn’t enough, and I wanted more. I wanted to meet these friends in person, to jump around and hug and stay up late and laugh hysterically and make new memories together.

So, I started looking into blogging events and social media conferences. I found big events like BlogHer, and genre-focused events aimed at food bloggers, tech bloggers, mommy bloggers, and other specific niches. But all of these events seemed to run on a top-down approach where the emphasis was on the panels and the speakers, instead of on the attendees. Great if that’s what you’re into, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a social meetup, a gathering of 20 & 30-something bloggers who primarily used the internet for fun and inspiration. An event for people like me who were lucky enough to have stumbled into an amazing new online world, and who wanted to grab those online friendships, bring them offline, and see what happened.

But, no such event existed, so I created my own.

Since that first event in 2009, Bloggers in Sin City has grown to be the absolute highlight of my year, every year. I’ve met almost all of my closest friends through BiSC, and I’ve watched other people meet theirs. The community that’s grown out of these events, especially in 2011, honestly feels more like a family than anything else, and I’m honored as hell to have each of those people in my life.

With registration for the 2012 event opening tomorrow morning at 9am PST, I wanted to share my little list of top 5 reasons that this should be a must-do for every blogger who’s looking to take the leap from Google Reader to poolside happy hour.

1. BiSC is by bloggers, for bloggers. We don’t have a single speaker, panel, or keynote session at our event, which means that the focus is totally on you. BiSC is a social event, built to bring people together for outlandish fun and unparalleled relationship building. Want to learn how to sell ads on your blog and market yourself through social media? This isn’t the event for you. Want to share an incredibly VIP 4-days in Vegas with 59 other bloggers whose only goal is to show up, have a blast, and make new friends? Now we’re talkin, baby.
2. Hand-crafted sponsorship interaction. At BiSC, we like to break rules – especially the one that says that the best way to get a blogger’s attention is to shove a bunch of coupons in a gift bag and hope for the best. Since our event is capped at 60 bloggers, we’re able to create an environment for real interaction, allowing our carefully selected sponsors a one-of-a-kind opportunity to engage with an audience that’s ready for quality over quantity.
3. Two words: naked gymnastics. True, the people who attend BiSC are so amazing that they’d have a good time together in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, but the exclusive activities we have access to in Vegas are what really makes this event so magical. Gorgeous rooms at the Flamingo, open bar nights, specially reserved space by the pool, VIP access to Chateau for our Mad Men Themed Lounge Party, and best of all, a night to experience the sensual side of Cirque du Soleil with their most risque show yet: Zumanity.
4. Fountain Jumps
5. Soul Fire. It’s impossible to explain the tangible energy that buzzes when 60 creative, fun, open-minded, and loving people come together for four full days. For me, though, the best way to describe BiSC is to say that every year, I always return home feeling like my entire soul has been lit on fire.

It’s truly the experience of a lifetime, and if you want to join me, make sure you’re ready to sign up at 9am PST tomorrow morning. We only have 60 spots available this year, and they’re going to sell out in a flash!

The week before Christmas, I did a three-day juice cleanse. At the end of this post, you can enter to win your very own three-day juice cleanse. Happy New Year, digestive systems of the NicoleisBetter world!

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Juice cleanse? JUICE CLEANSE? But don’t worry, I promise it’s not one of those crazy fasting diets where you only drink water and cayenne pepper or whatever that crazy shit is – it’s a real juice cleanse: 6 bottles of specially formulated juice per day, made by the experts over at BluePrintCleanse.

I know, I know. Me? THREE ENTIRE DAYS WITHOUT FOOD? But you guys! YOU GUYS! I did it, and it was effing spectacular.

When I first picked up my big box of juice down in Santa Monica, I was feeling a bit apprehensive. Actually, that’s a lie. I was terrified. What had I gotten myself into? What was this going to feel like? Who knew a box of juice could be so heavy?!

I drove home, lined the 18 bottles of juice up in my fridge, and sat down to my last meal for the next 72 hours, staring lovingly at a tomato and thinking, “Honey, I’m sure gonna miss you.”

Nicole Drinks Obscene Amounts of Juice: Day 1

When I woke up, I consulted my juice schedule. Yes, juice schedule. That’s the thing – you think it’s going to be super easy to drink 6 bottles of juice over the course of a day – but dude, it’s harder than it looks. There are rules to follow: leave 1-2 hours between juices, drink 8+ ounces of water or herbal tea between juices, finish the last juice at least 2 hours before bedtime, etc. etc. And when you think about that, you realize it’s time for a schedule.

After consulting the rules and doing the calculations, I settled on drinking the first juice at 8am, the second juice at 11am, the third at 1pm, the fourth at 3pm, the fifth at 6pm, and the sixth at 8pm – with a plan to drink at least 8oz of water or tea in between each juice.

“Bladder,” I thought, “it’s going to be a looooong three days.”

When I opened the first bottle, a green juice packed with spinach and kale and other leafy things, I thought I knew what to expect. Drea had done this exact same cleanse, and when she described the green juice as a “weird, liquid salad,” I assumed I understood. But guess what? I didn’t. Two sips into that first bottle and I realized that there’s no way to prepare yourself for drinking a liquid salad – especially if, like me, you’ve never had real green juice before and your taste buds aren’t used to DRINKING PARSLEY. Following Drea’s advice, I added some freshly squeezed lemon juice and a straw, and tried to get the juice down as fast as possible by doing repetitions of deep breath, hold nose, big gulp, swallow, chase with lemon water.

Yes, CHASER. I had a chaser. “Damn,” I thought. “How things have come full circle since freshman year of college. From chasing bottom-shelf-homeless-person vodka to chasing mother effing GREEN JUICE. Times, you are a-changin’.”

About halfway through that first bottle of juice, I doubted that I’d make it past the early afternoon, yet alone an entire three days. Sure, only two of the six juices were this green stuff, but still, THAT’S A LOT OF LIQUID SALAD. Then, just when I was sure I wouldn’t be able to finish the bottle, I remembered that I had paid All The Money for this cleanse and that cheating or quitting absolutely wasn’t an option.

Note to self: Spending lots of money on something is a pretty good motivator not to flake out like a baby.

So I drank the green juice, all the while thinking stuff like, “My insides better be cleaner than the day I was born when this is over” and “Yeah, digestive system, you like that?!”

11am: time for the second juice. I opened the bottle and gave the juice a wary smell. Pineapple, Apple & Mint? That didn’t sound bad at all, but the green juice had me on high alert. I tasted it slowly, and oh sweet mother of relief – it was AMAZING. Juice #2 was so much better than juice #1, but I guess that’s basically like saying “great sex is better than getting beaten to death with a hammer,” so really, it’s all about perspective.

By lunch time, though, I was feeling pretty incredible. I already had so much more energy than normal, and I was ready to tackle my next bottle of green juice. It went down much more smoothly the second time – although I kept up the lemon juice/straw/chaser routine – and by the afternoon I was pretty damn proud of myself. Also, most surprisingly of all, I wasn’t hungry. The quantity of juice and the copious amounts of nutrients kept me full and satisfied, and I was starting to feel like maybe I’d be able to complete these three days after all.

Then, at 3pm, my “Juice #4” alarm went off (of course I set an alarm, how else do you keep up with such an insane juicing schedule?!) and I thought, “What?! No! It can’t be time to drink more liquid already. THERE’S NO ROOM IN MY BODY FOR MORE JUICE. NO ROOM. NO MORE JUICE. ABORT. ABORT.”

But I drank it anyway, a Spicy Lemonade that was so easy to drink that I started getting cocky. “Ha,” I thought. “I’ve got this.” By the time I reached Juice #5, I was positive I had this whole juice thing totally under control. I opened the bottle, took a big gulp, and felt my eyes widen in horror at whatever was happening inside my mouth. I swallowed and stared at the bottle in disbelief. “WHAT IS THIS??” I yelled. It tasted like the ground. Not like the green juice, not like weeds or liquid salad, but like the actual actual ground. “Awesome,” I thought. “I’m drinking pureed soil.”

“You have to taste this” I told James Bond. “It tastes like someone grated fresh ginger over a pile of dirt and liquified it in a bottle.” I frantically emailed Drea. “HOW DID YOU DRINK JUICE #5?!” Well, turns out Drea liked Juice #5, because Drea likes beets. Ooo, right. That’s the main ingredient in Juice #5: beets.

Note to self: IN THE FUTURE, REMEMBER THAT YOU DO NOT LIKE BEETS

Note to others: If you do like beets, I’m told that Juice #5 is actually pretty delicious. You know, different strokes and all that.

Anyway, after that first sip, I spent about an hour waging war with my bottle of beet juice, finally finishing it using the now tried-and-true straw/nose holding/chaser method, and I sat back to think about how grateful my digestive system should be to my tastebuds, who were really taking one for the team with this beet juice situation.

By 8pm, when it was time to open Juice #6, my expectations were pretty low. I read the label. Cashew Milk? What the fuck is Cashew Milk? But you guys, YOU GUYS, it was incredible. Filled with vanilla, cinnamon, and agave, it was basically like drinking a cookie. And after an entire day of spicy liquid weed dirt, it felt like the best thing that could possibly happen to a person.

As I sat there and sipped my cookie juice, I realized that I felt better than I’d felt in an exceptionally long time. Even with the unfortunate dirt/beet situation, I had to admit that I was more alert and creative than usual, and best of all, I’d had such a productive day because I didn’t have to think about what to eat, take time to cook the food, eat the food, do the dishes, etc. etc. Honestly, that was the biggest unforeseen benefit of the juice cleanse, not having to deal with food. I love food, obviously, but until the end of day 1 I didn’t realize just how time consuming it is to think about it all the time. “This is why rich people have kitchen staff,” I thought.

Note to self: Get rich. Hire kitchen staff.

After completing that first day, the next two went by pretty quickly. I had established a routine of when to drink the juices, and I knew what to expect with each one. The green juice and beet juice even got easier to drink as the cleanse progressed (maybe my taste buds were changing?) and by day 3 I was able to drink both without having to hold my nose and actually wound up liking the green juice. Whhhaatttt? Hooray for little victories!!

There were some tough moments, of course, and I was definitely a little hungry at certain points on the second and third days. I was also having bizarrely vivid dreams, some serious cotton-ey dry mouth, and, oh yeah, PINK PEE (you’re welcome), but from what I read those are all normal side effects of the chemical changes in your body/detox experience/beets.

Overall, the cleanse was an awesome experience. I didn’t miss food at all, but that’s probably because there isn’t a second of the day where you’re both awake and not drinking something. Although, with that said, I have to assume that it’s a lot easier to do this cleanse if you live alone – or if the person you live with is doing it too. James Bond was incredibly supportive, like always, but when he made garlic bread pizza for dinner on day 3, all I could do was sit in the corner with my bottle of beet juice and glare hatefully at the best smelling food in the history of the world, thinking that next time I do this cleanse I’m either going to have to bribe him to do it with me or run away to a secluded, roasted-garlic-free island where it’s 85 degrees and sunny and beet juice magically tastes like chocolate milk.

Speaking of convincing others to do the cleanse with me, the lovely health ninjas over at BluePrintCleanse have offered to let one of you try your very own three-day cleanse, absolutely free. That’s $195 worth of organic liquid-ey goodness. FOR FREE. Want in? Of course you do!

3-day Juice Cleanse Giveaway Rules – sponsored by BluePrintCleanse

- Commenting on this post gives you one entry
- Tweeting about this giveaway using both my Twitter handle, @nicoleisbetter, and @BPCleanse gets you one entry. (Only one tweet per person will be counted, so make it a kickass one!)
- The offer is valid everywhere in the US, except Alaska (Sorry, Alaskan cleanse fanatics!), and must be used prior to 1/31/13.
- The winner will be randomly selected on Tuesday 1.17 and announced right here at the bottom of this post, so make sure you check back to see if you’re the lucky juice-ee!

PS – While BluePrintCleanse is generously sponsoring this giveaway, they had no idea that I was doing their cleanse in the first place. I paid for the cleanse in full, did it myself, and then reached out to them about hooking one of you lovely dudes or dudettes up with your own cleanse, and they awesomely jumped on board. All of the opinions in this post are true and bullshit-free (like always, duh), and the best indicator of how I really feel about my experience is the fact that I’m signing on to do another cleanse at the end of this month and will become a regular customer after that, all on my own dime. So like, calm down, FTC.

{Update: Our lucky winner is @Catcoaches!}

This past weekend, James Bond and I celebrated our two year anniversary by driving down to San Diego, getting up at 5:45am, and running a 15K race.

Well, actually, our real anniversary is on Tuesday and I’m the only one who ran the 15K race, but I did manage to convince him to a) come with me, b) wake up in the pitch black dark, c) run the 5K race that was happening that same morning, and d) do it all in the name of an “anniversary celebration.”

I WIN. Or, wait, maybe he wins because he’s the one doing the nice-y nice things for me while I’m the asshole who’s all, “LET’S DRIVE 120 MILES TO PAY SOMEONE TO TIME US WHILE WE RUN AROUND AT THE CRACK OF DAWN WITH A BUNCH OF PEOPLE WE DON’T EVEN KNOW. YEAH!!! HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BABY!”

The race was fucking awesome though. I mean, the race itself wasn’t anything special, but I had this crazy out-of-body moment around mile 8 where I was all, “holy shit, LOOK WHAT MY BODY CAN DO” and it made me remember what Gretchen brilliantly dubbed the “Nicki Minaj moment,” which is basically any real life version of that line in Nicki Minaj’s song that goes “Yes I did, yes I did, somebody please tell him who the eff I is” that in my mind loosely translates to, “YOU BEST BELIEVE I’M DOING THIS CRAZY ASS THING. BAM!” Which is why you’ll see Gretchen and I occasionally yelling “NICKI MINAJ” at each other on Facebook and Twitter as a new go-to mantra for things we maybe don’t think we can do but are totally going to do anyway because bitch please.

So yeah, I ran 9.3 miles (NICKI MINAJ!!) and am now desperately in need of a Thai massage – even though I’m pretty sure getting a massage when I’m this sore could KILL ME DEAD. God, will you listen to me and my first world problems? “How soon is too soon to pay someone to rub my sore muscles after finishing my expensive and equally first world recreational activity?”

Yeah. THAT.

So, no massage for me. Instead, I got to come home from San Diego and have one of my biggest and most irrational fears realized, and honestly, I almost don’t want to tell you about it because there’s absolutely no way you can say that you’re not judging me and also that you’re not a liar in the same sentence and have both of those things be accurate. Seriously, even I judge me for this one.

Here’s the deal. I’m scared of alarm clocks. Actually, no, that’s not quite right. I’m not scared of alarm clocks, what I’m scared of is the possibility that something horribly annoying, like an alarm going off, will start and then just never stop. It’s why I hate when people say the same thing over and over again, like “Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole” if they’re trying to get my attention, or why I freak out when people repeatedly tap me on the shoulder or something, because WHAT IF IT NEVER STOPS? Think about it. What if your alarm went off in the morning and then it just NEVER STOPPED. EVER. EVERRRRR!!!

I’ve always known that this is an irrational fear, which is the only thing that’s kept it in check. I mean, of course the car alarm and the radio static and the blinking lights are going to stop, right? WRONG. Last night, James Bond put a pizza in the oven and set a timer on his iPhone for when to take it out. Then, just before the timer went off, the screen froze – we couldn’t click anywhere, couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t do anything – and then, of course, the timer went off. Loud, incessant, beeping, vibrating, with NO WAY TO TURN IT OFF. It just kept going off and going off and going off and I thought, “Oh my god, this is it. I’m going to have to listen to this sound FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE,” because that’s totally how I feel when repetitive noises get started. That’s where the fear comes from, the brain-eating belief that, no matter what, I’ll be subjected to whatever the thing is from now until the end of time forever and ever amen.

So there we were, trying to turn the phone off, trying to unfreeze it, plugging it into the wall, plugging it into the computer, pushing every button, smacking the screen, EVERYTHING, but it wouldn’t stop. Cue mild hysteria that ended with me burying the phone under a pillow to muffle the sound, closing the bedroom door, and hiding in the living room until it died or faded or gave up or did whatever the hell iPhone alarms do when they realize you’re not paying attention to them anymore because you’re LOSING YOUR MOTHER EFFING MIND OVER HERE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Damn it. Why am I telling you about this?! It’s bad enough that James Bond has had to put up with me and my quirky shenanigans for the past two years (HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BABY!), but now I’m voluntarily sharing it with everyone on the entire internet? SMOOTH, WOMAN.

Although, really, I don’t think the alarm clock thing is my point here. I think my point is that even though I’m out of my mind at least 96% of the time, James Bond still loves me and never even threatens to abandon me in a warehouse filled with blaring car alarms and smoke detectors, even though I’m sure that sometimes I totally deserve it.

That’s what love is, I think. Finding someone who looks at you when you’re at your craziest and says, “Fuck it, I’m in.”

(HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BABY!!)

Sometimes, when a bad thing happens, it’s actually the best thing that can happen because it keeps shit in perspective.

Now, I’m not talking about catastrophic tragedy-esque things (although I’m sure there’s an argument to be made for needing that type of stuff as well), I’m talking about the smaller things, like having one rainy day for every three sunny days. We might not like the rainy day, but we need it to keep us on our appreciative toes about the sunny days. If it were sunny all the time, we’d take every day for granted. (See: living in Los Angeles)

It’s not just the weather, though. We need to be disappointed from time to time – we need to fail, push ourselves too hard, get sick, and really feel like shit – because that’s that only way we get to experience the “light at the end of the tunnel” moment. You know, that moment when things first start to turn around and you realize that, oh my god, YES, you aren’t going to be stuck in hell forever.

I had one of those moments this morning, actually. After spending the past three days in bed with tonsillitis, I’m finally starting to feel better. From the second I first realized it, I’ve been all, “YES! I’M ALMOST BACK TO NORMAL. FUCK. IS THIS HOW GOOD I USUALLY FEEL? HOW AM I EVER SAD IF I FEEL LIKE THIS?? LIFE IS AMAZING. HUGS AND HEALTHY THOUGHTS FOR EVERYONE EVER!”

Gratitude, man. It feels good.

While I was sick, though, I started reading a fascinating book that I haven’t been able to put down. It’s called The Power of Story, by Jim Loehr, and it stresses the fact that the most important story we ever tell is the one we tell about ourselves to ourselves. If we can change this one story, Jim says, we can change our destiny in business and in life.

The book details all of the absurd and damaging stories we tell ourselves, like how it’s okay that we’re working late every night because “it’s for the benefit of our family,” or how we can’t take time to exercise because we have to have our email open during every waking hour to make sure we don’t miss anything important.

Crazytown, no? And yet so many of our stories sound exactly like that.

As I work my way through the book, I’m putting a lot of thought into the story I’ve been telling myself about myself (often unknowingly) in every area of my life. I’m trying to identify the basics of the stories I tell myself about my family, my relationships, my work, my writing, and my health, so that I can compare those daily narratives with my true goals and see where I’m out of sync.

And guess what? I’m embarrassingly out of sync. Take running, for example. The facts of my story are that I’m a new runner, having started only 8 months ago, and in that time I’ve completed 5 races – one of which was a half marathon – and I have a full racing schedule planned for this year. The story I tell myself, though? It goes something like this:

“Shit, I can’t believe I have to run 7 miles tomorrow. I can’t run 7 miles. I mean, I can, I guess, and I have before, but that was luck. Every time I’m able to complete a long run, it’s mostly luck, and tomorrow I’ll probably get a cramp or a blister and I won’t be able to complete all 7 miles. It’s okay, though, because I run alone so it’s not like I’ll be slowing anyone else down. I mean, running with other people would be fun, but I’m not a good enough runner for that. I’m too slow and unpredictable; I’d just hold all of the “real” runners back. I’m not a real runner.”

Seriously, this is what goes on inside my head. HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT?!?

But, now that I’ve started paying attention to the blatant self-sabotage, I’m working to write new stories. Not just about running, but about everything. I’m starting with running, though, and I’m writing a story that’s going to help me run 1,000 miles in 2012.

DO YOU HEAR THAT, SELF?

ONE GIRL. TWO FEET. THREE HUNDRED SIXTY FIVE DAYS. ONE THOUSAND MILES. NO NEGATIVE BULLSHIT.

GO.

If the thought of having an uber detailed plan of goals and action steps for the year ahead makes you twitchy with over-structure, you should just quietly back away from this post. No, seriously, off you go now.

If, however, you’re a personal development whore like me who’s completely turned on by intention setting and checklists and dividing things up into pretty little color-coded boxes, then welcome home, baby. You’re just six steps away from joining me in a blaze of 2012 goal setting glory.

Ready? Let’s do this.

Step 1 - Look back over the year that’s about to end and make your “Eff Yeah” List. You know, that list of badass things you accomplished throughout the past 12 months – big and small – that makes you want to dance naked around the kitchen with pride.

A few of my Eff Yeah 2011 List items include moving in with James Bond, quitting drinking, launching my food blog, and completing my first half marathon. Yep, it was a pretty damn good year.

Step 2 - Think about the big picture of your life and choose one word or phrase that best represents your dreams for the coming year. After you’ve settled on a word, spend some time thinking about why you chose that word and list a few bullet points about what it means to you and how you’re going to manifest that word (or phrase) into everything you do.

My 2011 word was intention, and my 2012 word is honesty. More specifically, I’m gunning for greater honesty with myself about the difference between what I actually want and what I think I should want in any given situation. Goal: more truth, less shoulds.

Step 3 - Choose nine different “Life Buckets” that, when looked at together, represent the sum of who you are and how you spend your time. These nine different categories should be like the puzzle pieces of your day-to-day, taking into account your most important priorities and values.

A few of my Life Buckets for 2012 are self-explanatory (Romance, Food, Running, Friendship) and a few are more creative, like “Do Uncomfortable Shit,” which represents things I’ll try next year to totally push me out of my comfort zone.

Quick note: when I’m making my list of Life Buckets, I never include anything work-related because I like to do an entirely separate goal setting exercise for that. You can absolutely include work as a bucket it if it makes sense for you, though, which is the gorgeous thing about this system: it can be whatever the hell you want it to be. Customizable down to the last drop.

Step 4 - Write down three big goals in each Life Bucket that you’d like to accomplish by the end of the year. Keep in mind that these goals should reflect where you want to be by the end of next year and aren’t things that you all of the sudden have to start doing at 6am on January 1. Thinking about it now, actually, I feel like that’s a big reason that a lot of typical New Year’s Resolutions fade out so quickly. If we feel like we have to be perfectly on track as soon as the year begins, we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to wake up on January 1 and be an entirely different person with entirely different habits; habits take a while to build and even longer to stick.

For example, one of my big goals in the Exercise Bucket for 2011 was to work out three times per week, and yet April was the first month that I was able to do it. I tried in January, February, and March, but it just didn’t happen. Sure, I was working out, but there was always at least one week per month where I only worked out twice, or once, or not at all, and it took me until April to check off 4 consecutive weeks of regular exercise. Then, in the middle of May, I signed up for a half marathon – a goal I would have found hysterically unachievable at the beginning of the year and never would have thought to add to my goal sheet – but yet here I am, nearing the end of December and consistently working out 6 days a week and training for my second half marathon in February. The Craziness, no?

What I’m saying here is that goal setting is a process, and that you have to trust in that process if you want to grow. You have to trust that you can’t see the whole picture or the finish line when you make your goals, because you have no idea where they’ll lead you once you start down that path. All you can do is make one good decision after another and continually reevaluate as you go. I mean, if I never would have committed to a year-long goal of working out three times a week, and if I would have quit after January (or February! or March!) because my results weren’t perfect, then I never would have fallen in love with running in April. Which brings me to another thing: sometimes the biggest accomplishments are ones that spring up out of nowhere (like my half marathon!), so make sure you trust your instincts when you’re drawn toward something you can’t say no to. Except maybe heroin, that’s never a good idea.

Step 5 - On January 1, and on every first of the month thereafter, write down one small action step you’re going to do that month for each of your big goals. These action steps are ones you’ll work to check off throughout that month, and then at the end of the month you’ll make a new list for the next month, and so on and so on during the entire year.

For example, one of my Life Buckets for next year is “Food,” and one of my big goals is to attend 4 food related events by the end of the year. So in January, the action step for this big goal will be to research food events and narrow it down to the ones I’d most like to attend. Then, on February 1, assuming I’ve completed January’s action step, I’ll write a new action step for that month that moves me closer to my goal. Maybe that next step will be to buy tickets to an upcoming event, or to make travel plans if the event is out of town, but I don’t have to worry about that yet because I won’t know the second step until I’ve accomplished the first step. This process, like so many things, is best done one step at a time.

Now, listen, if you do the math, you’ll realize that with nine Life Buckets, three big goals per Bucket, and one action step per goal per month, you’ll wind up with 27 action steps to do each month, which, yes, sounds like a lot. But here’s the thing: I’ve never done all 27. I think I hit 18 or 19 one month in 2011, but that’s it. And that’s okay. Because really, it’s 18 or 19 more things than I would have accomplished if I didn’t use this system, and that means I’m still moving forward and making progress at an awesome rate. And honestly, the majority of my personal growth has come from looking at the things I didn’t do each month and asking myself the all-important question: “Why not?” That’s where the really interesting personal development comes into play, I think, when you start examining why you didn’t do the things you said you wanted to do. For me, it’s always one of three reasons. Either I was just totally fucking lazy, the action step was too large for the time frame, or it doesn’t represent something that I truly want. It’s the last reason that’s always the most eye-opening for me, and it takes the physical act of moving something from January’s list to February’s list to March’s list, etc. etc. to realize that, hey, maybe I just don’t want to do that thing – or at least, I don’t want to do it right now. That’s what happened to me in 2011 with my book of essays. One of my big goals in the Writing Bucket at the beginning of the year was to complete the first draft of a book of personal essays, and it wasn’t until I saw the smallest action step get moved from month to month to month that I realized I just don’t want to write a book right now. So, during my mid-year review in June I erased that big goal and replaced it with a new one – to start a food blog – a goal that come to fruition much more smoothly because it was in line with what I actually wanted.

Step 6 - Once you’ve chosen your word of the year and your Life Buckets and your big goals, take some time to go through them with someone else. It doesn’t matter who you choose (your best friend, your fiance, your mother), but the act of talking about your goals really brings them to life and helps you clarify exactly how you’re going to pursue them. Also, it starts a support system that I think you’ll need if you’re going to be successful. It’s possible to do all of this on your own, of course, but it’s eleventy thousand times easier if you have someone (or multiple someones!) to share the process, challenges, and accomplishments with. Sharing is caring, yo.

Bonus step - Take your list of big goals, make it pretty, and hang it somewhere you can see every day. If you’re a scrapbook-ey person, do it by hand. If you’re a spreadsheet-ey person, do it in a spreadsheet. If you’d like to see what I do, click here to download a preview of my layout, as well as a blank Word Doc layout for you to fill in yourself if you’d like to join me in my 2012 planning madness.

On that note, if you do join me (yay! partners in madness!), it would be awesome if you could leave a comment and let me know your word for the year, some of your Life Buckets and big goals, and anything else you have planned. I’m embarrassingly obsessed with hearing about other people’s goals and dreams, and if there’s anything I can do to help you out, I’d love to make it happen!

Let’s clear up a few things before we get started, shall we?

First of all, no, I’m not actually suggesting that Jesus is edible. But I mean, I didn’t create communion so this really seems like someone else’s issue. Second of all, yes, my mother does have some boundaries, contrary to what you’re about to hear, but I think she’s losing the grip on them little by little every single day.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Jesus.

So, a few months ago, I found a loaf of bread at Trader Joe’s that isn’t as much “bread” as it is “lentils and soybeans and millet and barley and a whole bunch of other non-bread shit that’s been cooked down and smashed together in bread form.” It’s delicious and healthy, and it ranks very highly on my list of Things I Eat Most Of The Time So That I Can Eat Gratuitous Amounts Of Nutella All Those Other Times.

In addition to being healthy, it’s also magical bible bread that bears the name “Ezekiel 4:9” on the packaging and a scripture quote on the side that’s basically like, “GOD WANTS YOU TO EAT THIS BREAD” and really, I’m in no position to be turning down instructions like that.

A few days after I first found the bread, I called my mother – our family’s resident religious person – to tell her that she should be proud of me for eating Jesus bread. She sighed and asked me to please not call it Jesus bread. I told her that I’d try, but that “Jesus bread” was a pretty catchy name and that I’d said it enough times already that she was probably out of luck.

When I went home for Thanksgiving, I brought some of the Jesus bread with me. I was all, “You have to try this!” and she was like, “I’d rather just stick with my English muffins, thank you.” And I was all, “Do you see an endorsement from Jesus on the label of those English muffins?” And she was like, “That’s not a Jesus quote! That’s an Old Testament quote! You’re eating Old Testament bread. Leave Jesus alone!”

A few days later, when I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner, I asked my mother if she could do me a favor. “This better not have anything to do with your Jesus bread,” she responded. “Relax, Ma, I just need you to hand me the cheese grater.” Except, apparently, my parents don’t own a cheese grater. To which I say: SERIOUSLY?? WHO DOESN’T OWN A CHEESE GRATER?

“Then how am I going to grate all of this cheese?” I asked.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I might have a solution for you, but you can’t judge me.”

“Um, okay?”

“No, really,” she said, “you have to know up front that I understand that this is going to sound more disgusting than it really is.”

“Okay…”

She took a deep breath, “We could sanitize my foot thing and use that.”

“Your what?!”

“My foot thing. You know, that little silver tool that scrapes dead skin off your heel?”

“……..”

“I mean, we’ll sanitize it! Of course we’ll sanitize it. Stop looking at my like that!! I’ll put it in boiling water and it’ll be the cleanest foot tool that’s ever been used to grate a block of Gruyere cheese!”

I stared at her in horror for a few minutes before carefully explaining why, in fact, we weren’t going to do that, and then I moved on with plan B for the cheese, trying desperately to rid myself of this new set of traumatizing mental images.

Later that weekend, she looked at me and said, “This is going to wind up on your blog, isn’t it?” I shrugged. “Yeah,” she said, “It’ll be right there next to all the other stories about how I accidentally sent porn to my entire church and how I don’t believe in evolution and how I’m forcing you to take my cremated ashes to Lapland so I can spend my afterlife celebrating eternal Christmas.”

I was all, “DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF RIGHT NOW?? Instead of worrying about individual blog posts, you should be grateful that I don’t have an ENTIRE FUCKING WEBSITE about you and all of your shenanigans and that I’m not charging you for a lifetime’s worth of therapy.”

I was originally supposed to be writing this post from a beach in Costa Rica. Instead, I’m writing it from my living room couch.

But wait, let’s start at the beginning.

Depression is a funny thing. I once heard that people who are susceptible to depressive episodes only need one small trigger to send them down the hole, and that about sums it up for me. The tricky part, though, is that I never notice the trigger as it’s happening. Especially when everything else in my life feels happy and solid, these sad days can seemingly come out of nowhere. One day I feel okay, and then the next day I wake up to find that just getting out of bed requires superhero levels of effort. I’m confused, burrowing under the covers, thinking that other people must be crazy ass fools to be doing anything as exhausting as walking around or showering or actually leaving the house to interact with other humans.

That’s how you know you’re having a really tough time, when the thought of talking to people at the grocery store gives you so much anxiety that you opt to stay home and eat candy canes in the dark instead.

Last week, I ate a lot of candy canes in the dark. I also did a lot of crying, and a lot of feeling sad and overwhelmed and exhausted and empty and worthless for no understandable reason. Which, I can assure you, isn’t really the best way to spend 6 consecutive days.

So I cancelled my trip to Costa Rica, waiting until the last possible minute to see if I magically started feeling less like the anxiety of getting on a plane would lead to full-scale meltdown and more like the fun, spontaneous person who had booked the trip in the first place, but it never happened.

And this is where the truly challenging part kicked in, the part where I had to email all of the lovely ladies I was supposed to go to Costa Rica with, most of whom I’d never even met before, and tell them that I couldn’t go.

I felt like such an asshole. On top of being so deep in the hole, here I was bailing on people who I was sure would think I was flakey and irresponsible and self-indulgent. I spent so much time obsessing about what I was going to say to them in my email that I almost managed to convince myself that the best thing would be to lie and say that I was really sick, or that I was having a family emergency, or a work emergency – anything that would save me from the vulnerability of being like, “Hi, people I don’t know. I can’t come to Costa Rica with you because any activity other than eating candy canes in the dark and watching old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on DVD just isn’t physically possible for me right now. Sorry!”

In the end, I just took a deep breath and told them the truth, and to say that the emails I got in return were kind and supportive would be an understatement. And here’s where we get to the heart of what I’m trying to say, which is that everyone falls into the hole from time to time. Some people fall deeper than others, and some people take longer to claw their way out than others, but we all fall into the hole. And yet, when we’re down there, it’s so easy to tell ourselves that no one will understand and to stay as isolated as possible while maintaining the official party line that “everything’s fine.”

But guess what? Sometimes shit isn’t fine. Sometimes you need help getting out of the hole, and that’s okay. When you start to ask around, you’ll be shocked at how many people can relate to what you’re going through, and there isn’t anything more comforting than that. So if you need help, ask for help. Don’t feel embarrassed or weak, because you’re not weak and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Life is full of holes, and sometimes we can’t help but fall into them.

So if you’re in the hole, tell someone how you’re feeling and let them reach down and pull you out. And if you’re out of the hole, don’t ever underestimate how much your small expressions of kindness can help someone who’s struggling. Sometimes, something as trivial as a few compassionate words traveling from one inbox to another are all it takes to shine light on a dark place.

If you’re traveling to Paris anytime soon and are hoping to eat some delicious French pastries, I’m sorry, but you can’t. BECAUSE I MOTHER EFFING ATE THEM ALL.

Same goes for the butter. And the fresh baguettes. I ate all of those, too. Oh, did you want a salted butter caramel or a macaron? OOPSIE. OH WELL. TOO BAD FOR YOU.

Listen, I’m not saying it’s a good idea to spend 7 days eating nothing but butter and sugar. No, wait, YES I AM, because they were the most perfect days ever. Less because of the butter than because of my magical reunion with Jamie, who I hadn’t seen in 10 MONTHS even though we spent every waking second together for all of last year, but the butter certainly didn’t hurt, you know?

This trip marked my first time back to Europe since I moved from London to California in the summer of ’99, and for a girl who (obsessively) prepares for things like “travel” and “leaving the house,” I went into this one pretty blind.

Maybe it was because I was visiting Jamie and knew I didn’t have to organize any of the details. Maybe it was because I was so busy in the weeks leading up to the trip that I didn’t have time to think about it too much. Or maybe I’m finally chilling out (ha! not likely…), but my trip prep consisted of buying a ticket, packing clothes that wound up not being warm enough at all (note: Los Angeles ruins your perception of seasons and temperatures), and then frantically sending Jamie links to all the pastries I wanted to try while waiting to board my flight at LAX.

When I arrived in Paris, I got my suitcase and headed down to the spot where Jamie and I had arranged to meet. As I waited, I turned on my phone and realized that I had no idea what the phone usage rates were in France. Then, AT&T texted me and was all, “You’re outside your regular zone! Data costs eleventy billion dollars per MB!” and I was like, “Fuck, well, what counts as data? Is checking email data? Are texts data? What’s a MB? WHY AM I SO UNPREPARED?!” Then, I remembered that I hadn’t called my bank or American Express to tell them I’d be traveling, which meant that my credit card and debit card would likely be denied. AWESOME. Also, I didn’t have any cash and wasn’t sure how to get it without a functioning ATM card. DOUBLE AWESOME.

In the fifteen minutes it took Jamie to arrive, I had solidly managed to work myself into a very jetlagged frenzy about the fact that I didn’t have any money, any idea how much it was costing me to even have my phone turned on, or any understanding of the French language. Seriously, the only words I could recall in French were “please,” “thank you,” and “bakery,” which at the time seemed stressful but in the end wound up being all I needed to know to get through the week. PASTRIES IN MY MOUTH FOREVER.

Also, while we’re on the subject of the French language, do you want to know a secret? Last week I figured out that to speak French, you basically just have to take any word and cross out like 6 letters before pronouncing it, and you’ll be good to go.

So, to recap: French people hate the letter “t” but it’s okay because they make really good butter. In other news, I’ve completely lost track of what day it is and what time it is because I got home from Paris on Sunday and then drove to Arizona by myself yesterday and am leaving for Costa Rica in 10 days and am then going to New Orleans for Christmas and Palm Springs for New Year’s and then this is my 2012 travel schedule (which is basically just my 2012 racing schedule with a few other trips thrown in), because apparently my plan for the new year is to be home a total of never:

January: San Diego  – 15K Race | Salt Lake City - Alt Design Summit | Playa Del Rey – 10K Race

February: Austin - Half Marathon

March: Paso Robles – 5K Race

April: Phoenix – 5K Race | Orange County – 5 Mile Trail Race

May: San Francisco – Half Marathon | Las Vegas - Bloggers in Sin City

June: San Diego – Half Marathon Relay | Seattle – Half Marathon

July: Portland - World Domination Summit

November: NYC – NYC Marathon (This is my ultimate dream race. Fingers crossed I can get a spot on the charity team I’m applying to run with! Fingers also crossed that I don’t die in the process of training for/running this race. Running = good. Dying = bad.)

PS – You should sign up to run one of these races with me. Seriously. SERIOUSLY.

PPS – WHAT? Don’t look at my like that. I LIKE TO PLAN IN ADVANCE.