Library-Approved, Call Me a Local

And BRING IT, Park City. 

I had a really hard time when I first moved to town, as I'm sure most of you would have already concluded from earlier posts, texts, phone calls, general ire on the internet. It was brown, there is a LOT of money to put my measly salary in perspective, and I had very few acquaintances or friends to unwind with or understand me over the two months I went homeless. My closest family is 1500 miles behind me on that wide, flat highway, and I had really grown to love my home state of Maine, recently getting over the disdain most kids have for small-town America when I moved back there after college. 

Park City wasn't very accommodating either. I had a to-do list that just couldn't get done and it started to feel like each endeavor was a personal attack on my character, like the West was lumping me with Mass Holes and other New Englanders everywhere and didn't understand that girls from Maine are really just trying to find nice people and smile at everyone we meet. 

I tried on three different occasions to get a library card, being told I had to be on a lease (always made more challenging by the fact that most house-shares don't have all names on a lease), have a utility bill, offer up my kidney to the dark lord of the library system, even promise to name my first-born Park City in order to show my allegiance to the throne. It was a challenge and in my already beaten state, I felt every setback was a personal attack.

Aside from that, I brought all the wrong paperwork to the Post Office when I went for a PO box, was told I hadn't actually been signed up for health insurance at the beginning of November (contrary to what my paycheck was telling me), and found a mouse nesting in my trunk and nibbling all the split peas and dried kidney beans I was storing back there. Hanta virus haunted me, the thought of 1000s of dollars of chewed wires in my 18-year-old car kept me up at night, and I was working 10 hour days and struggling to find time for ME, which in my world means time to RUN MY FEELINGS OUT. 

Then, one day, after trying to have the time to do so for a full week, I stopped into the library with my utility bill and, being the true grown-up that I am, that utility bill had not only my name and my PO Box (still my work's), but my actual, physical, Park City town limits address. As in, I could prove that you could see my house from the library front desk. And the lady sitting there on that Saturday afternoon, the same I had spoken with to a cold response on those other occasions, smiled and truly welcomed me to the community. She let me have not only a card (FINALLY!) but even a book to read for pleasure (ha, like I'll have time for that) AND Martha Stewart's Pies and Tarts cookbook. As in, she welcomed me finally into this yuppy world of wonder. 

And then, that same day, I bonded with the girl I sit near at work by going to Costco on her card and joining up with some other coworkers at their house for football, ribs, and a frozen journey through the public transit system of Salt Lake to go to a pro hockey game.

So basically, I'm getting to know people, still in the office at 7:00 on a Friday night, but I do have a library card and just scored 24 boxes of only slightly-expired Kashi cereal from our chef, barely saved on its way to feed his chickens.

Barely expired yummies should always go to a starving Team Manager over chickens. Especially after spending $525 yesterday on some new ski kicks (Tecnica boots - why are the only comfy ones always the CRAZY expensive ones?!) and leaving work with a need every night to turn what little remains of that paycheck into 2-buck chuck or the nearest equivalent in this crazy state.

Flawed

It may just be what we call "human" or "normal" and to generalize might diminish the power of the feeling, but there is something about at least the first five years of our twenties that seems to be a pretty important universal lesson. 

I'm sure falling in love, having children, and growing old in a career/relationship/community come with their own lessons, but the past five years have taught me what I can only imagine and hope will be the base for a fruitful and satisfied life.

As a teenager I didn't know failure, at least not in any real sense. Sure, I was pushed out of a lacrosse program or realized I wasn't quite as good at the flute as my peers, but I was still selected for state concerts and runner-up to state swimming titles. I ran for Student Council and was elected, started a group in my school and was lauded as a golden child for human rights in the developing world. I even applied to a then-top-5 liberal arts college (I think the entire Class of 2010 is still bitter about that) and was accepted before even having to worry about a second choice school. 

In college I felt the nag of being slightly less "smart" when incorporated in the intellectual conversations of such an elite student body, but I passed out of Spanish language requirements, made conference-winning varsity swimming squads, and became director of volunteer programs and Senate committees. I'm sounding like a cover letter here, but let's be honest... I was accepted to the two most selective study abroad programs and while my GPA didn't make me one of the top students at that school, I was involved and rocked it.

The problem for all successful youths hit me like a ton of bricks when, at the end of college, I ended a 4+ year relationship with my best friend, graduated early and lived off-campus paying for all my own meals, and then moved to a city I knew no one. In the process, my other best friend disappeared, I realized I studied something in which I had no interest, and I moved overseas to follow a dream I always had, but that in practice proved a challenge in bureaucracy and the politics of an all-women-English-department in Spain.

The number one lesson I think my 20s have taught me so far is that I am not invincible. I am not the best person for every job. Life is challenging and not always fun. We pursue careers, follow loves around the world to find the love wasn't real, leave things we love behind to follow any combination of life, love, and money, and through it all are slowly learning that we are not flawless. We are not perfect and we will not always be successful. 

The challenge is in determining what timeline we have in which to work, what is most important, and what little thing each day is going to make us able to breathe, smile, and move on. 

I've gotta say: there have been days here I didn't get a morning sweat (run, bike, lift) in and I apologize to anyone that had to watch my scattered brain figure out the challenges of managing 95 athletes and all their coaches. So the plan is to keep running, take the time for that mental relief, and remember that I am flawed and you know what? So is every single person I'm working with.