That time Hank Green wore my tutu and that other time Ruth of All Evil and I found Aerofighters at a rink in Rhode Island

In the world of roller derby in northern New England, I'm kind of known for my tutus. All three doll likenesses of me wear them:

So, when John Green tweeted that he was looking for a tutu for the first stop on the Tour de Nerdfighting back in 2012, Ruth of All Evil made sure I saw it:

@graceless880, GET ON THIS. RT @realjohngreen: does anyone coming to the show tonight in Wellesley, MA have a tutu that would fit, say, me?

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 10, 2012

Which led to this exchange:

@graceless880 AWESOME! THANKS! Tell the people at the bookstore that YOU HAVE THE TUTUS.

— John Green (@johngreen) January 10, 2012

 ...And then this happened:

I have photographic proof of @hankgreen wearing @graceless880's tutu. Thanks for a great show, Hank & @realjohngreen! pic.twitter.com/X2uvy06u

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 11, 2012

Interestingly, the person who would go on to be my BFRef was also at this event, but we barely knew each other at the time. 

A little more than a year later, Ruth of All Evil and I were in southern Rhode Island to officiate a game between Maine Roller Derby's Port Authorities and the Rhode Island Riveters. Evil came running up to me, "Graceless, they have nerdfighters!" 

I looked at her uncomprehendingly. "...Someone's wearing a Pizza John shirt?"

And then she pointed out the game at the far edge of the rink, which led to this:

.@graceless880 and I found #nerdfighters in a roller rink in Rhode Island! Roller derby refs love @realjohngreen pic.twitter.com/wTerPJdPmO

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) March 24, 2013

When another official received his Pizza John shirt in the mail in December, he posted a picture of it to my Facebook timeline because he knows I am a die-hard nerdfighter even though I don't think we've ever had a conversation about it.

Nerdfighteria -- like roller derby -- is a huge part of who I am, a huge part of what got me through losing my mom six and a half years ago and then my dad almost two years ago. That rink in Rhode Island with the Aerofighters game closed last year, and several rinks in my state are closing or have closed down already. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Maine Roller Derby, a certified nonprofit, is trying to raise enough money for a down payment to purchase Happy Wheels before it is sold on the open market.

We hope that other nerdfighters will help us meet our goals:

• To sustain the personal, athletic, and professional development of women in southern Maine;
• To maintain a supportive athletic community for LGBT and other athletes who face discrimination in other sporting ventures; and
• To sustain roller skating, a physical activity that promotes healthy lifestyles in people of diverse backgrounds, in southern Maine.

You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online here.

That time I was semi-stalked at Bubba's Sulky Lounge because of Neil Gaiman

Way back in the beginning of time when I played roller derby, I would always sign up to be in charge of merch at fundraisers because I don't like talking to strangers, but I'm willing to take someone's money and hand them something they want in exchange. I used to get bored, so I'd bring a book.

I was reading Good Omens at the second-ever Lucky Lass Throwdown eight years ago when some guy came up to the table and said, "So, you like Neil Gaiman?" It was the beginning of an incredibly awkward evening where he kept coming on to me, and I kept turning him down. Eventually, he asked for a picture together (which was especially weird since another skater took the picture with her phone and he didn't know her, so there was no way he was going to get it).

When I got home that night, I wrote Neil Gaiman a letter about how it was all his fault this guy semi-stalked me, complete with a copy of the picture and footnotes. I made sure to tell him this all happened at Bubba's Sulky Lounge, because it's one of those names that makes for good storytelling and had the bonus of being fact.

Three months later, I got a postcard back with a note from Neil himself:

Why, yes, I do keep this postcard matted and framed on my library wall. It's from NEIL GAIMAN -- who happens to be my favorite writer -- for crying out loud.

On the back was a note from Neil's assistant Cat (not the one who eventually went on to play roller derby) asking how much it would cost to sponsor a roller derby team. At the time, my very new league wasn't good at following up on offers of sponsorship from the assistants of amazingly talented writers.

Our league has grown and changed a lot in the last eight years -- recently becoming a non-profit, continuing to raise our all-star team up in its international rankings, adding two home teams, talking seriously about developing a youth league, and more.

Unfortunately, our league also faces a huge challenge right now. We need to raise money for a down payment to purchase the rink where we skate or risk it being sold on the open market. Historically, when that has happened with other rinks in our state, they end up closing or being repurposed. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Neil, you considered sponsoring one of our teams eight years ago. Might you consider sponsoring skating in Southern Maine now? My league-mates would love to talk with you in more depth about this opportunity and how you might be able to help us keep this vibrant, empowering community alive. You can contact them at trip@mainerollerderby.com or visit our website here.

Ten. Years.

I count the day I broke my ankle -- March 28, 2006 -- as my derbyversary. Do the math. That's ten years coming up next month.

(Because I like contextualizing things like this: Graceless Kelly is old enough to be in fourth grade now. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?)

I acted as team manager for nine games before I played in my first (of three) games. I have now officiated 174 games, plus a whole lot of scrimmages. I was Maine Roller Derby's first-ever Skater of the Month. I was NERDerby's first-ever Raging Zebra. I've been recognized as MVP Ref, Mama Zebra, and Ms. Chutzpah for Derby Lite's 2013 intermediate class. I had a song written about me. And three different people have made doll likenesses of me (one of whom has been to Montreal, Ft. Lauderdale, Germany, and Iceland).

Derby has brought so many good people into my life -- and I've managed to hold onto quite a few of them. People who helped me have adventures with my mom's ashes, who helped me fill a red Moleskine notebook with magic, people who have helped me be a better skater, official, and human.

In the last decade I've gone from mid-20s to mid-30s. Lost several pets, my last two grandparents, and both of my parents. I've moved and changed jobs a couple of times. Visited Iceland (I even got to ref a practice for Roller Derby Iceland!). Read hundreds of books, and written a couple, too. Had my heart broken in so many ways, but always managed to put it back together (mostly with help and thanks in no small part to strapping eight wheels to my feet). Conquered fears and had so many adventures.

And four weeks from now, I'm going to celebrate. I've rented Happy Wheels for two hours. I'm going to do a bunch of skating, and I'm going to eat cake. It's going to be glorious. I'm inviting most everyone who has positively impacted my derby life in some way (playing, officiating, and/or skating Derby Lite). I can hardly wait.

-----
Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Reffing isn't a second choice for me

Every time I see this flyer, all I can think is, "Oh, dear. That's my butt." I mean, it's well-covered, but still. It's a weird thing to have your butt on a flyer.

I've been a roller derby official for more than seven years. I've reffed 125 games on skates and almost 50 off, which isn't a ton for that span of time, but considering my dislike for tournaments and devoting too much of my life to derby travel, that's not so bad.

When I first found roller derby, I wasn't aware of a single female official. I spent two years working my butt off learning how to play roller derby. I wasn't particularly fast or agile, and although I have a competitive streak, I found that I wasn't particularly aggressive either. I didn't really like hitting people. I thought maybe it was just because they were people I knew, that once I scrimmaged against strangers it would be different. But it wasn't. I liked the skating part but not much else.

There are so many reasons I decided to stop playing roller derby and become a ref. More than I could count on all my fingers and all my toes. I am sure there were some people who thought then (and maybe still think now) that I became a ref because I wasn't very good at playing roller derby. Officiating is often treated as the back up plan for people who, for whatever reason, can't commit to playing. But it wasn't like that for me. It's the right choice I just happened to take a circuitous route to get to.

I love being a roller derby official. It appeals to my analytical brain, my sense of fairness and order. It's hard and constantly changing. The various positions (on and off skates) require a tremendous range of skills and talents.

But it's no easy gig. There's a lot of pressure to do your job (whatever it happens to be) well, to ensure fairness. We talk a lot about safety, but usually we're just recognizing when something unsafe has happened and trying to get people to cool off and refocus before it escalates.

Being a female official adds an extra layer of complication. It can be hard to get skaters and other officials to recognize your authority. (Oddly, my height has also played into that. I'm 5'5", but apparently that's pretty short in the world of roller derby officials. I have never been patted on the head, but I know at least one official who has and I've definitely experienced metaphorical head patting.)

And officials get injuries, too. I've collided with plenty of skaters and other refs; one incident a few years ago led to a concussion. I managed to stretch out a tendon in my neck/shoulder area last year that caused an incredible amount of pain and kept me from reffing on skates for 11 months.

But I'm back to reffing on skates at least part-time now, and I don't see myself giving any of it up any time soon. My league is holding a recruitment event for officials this Monday (see above flyer for details!), and I'm excited at the prospect of gaining some new people on our crew.
-----

Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

The birth of Graceless Kelly

That's me on the left, obsessing about a skate even before I ever put any on.

First: A birthday party at Upskate New York, where I fell after skating too fast over a warped part of the floor. Almost bit through my lip. Stood up and some strange lady who'd seen it asked if I was okay. I nodded excessively, but my friend's older brother was standing behind her. He went pale (because I was bleeding) and when he asked the same question, I started bawling. I spent the rest of the party sitting on the elevated light-up dance floor, legs dangling between the railings, watching other people skate while I iced my face.

Later: Third grade. I have pink Hug-a-Bunch roller skates that I got for Christmas. I am a pretty odd and solitary kid. I mostly stay inside watching TV or reading (or both at the same time). But I go out to the back porch, draw a hopscotch board with chalk from one of Mom's broken ceramics molds, and put on my skates. Because I also love jumping rope, I grab the jump rope. I slow-motion jump rope WHILE completing the hopscotch board ON roller skates.*

Eighth grade: The National Junior Honor Society takes a trip to go rollerskating one evening. A girl named Norma tries to teach me to cross-over. I fall down and trip another kid from the honor society with my sprawling.

Most of the things that stand out are the falls and injuries, the gracelessness. But not all of the things. What stands out most is how much I loved to skate. I didn't do it all that often, but I always enjoyed it and kept coming back, even after I repeatedly hurt myself doing it. For a kid who didn't get out and do much, who always felt afraid of things and people, that's a pretty big deal.

It should have been no surprise that when I was in my mid-20s and saw a clip about a reality TV show following a roller derby league in Texas that I would be completely enraptured with the very idea of roller derby. I knew it was something I needed to do the same way I knew before I could even write sentences that writing is a part of me.

At the time, the closest league was in Boston, a couple hours away. I would've been willing to do that kind of crazy commute (even though I am very much anti-commuting after spending 10 hours a week in the car going to school and work my first two years of college). I would've been willing to do just about anything. And then I heard that some women in Southern Maine wanted to form a roller derby league of their own.

Another memory: I want to go to the meeting about forming a roller derby league in my own backyard, but I am terrified to go alone (I still get freaked out by strangers) and know that I will just not go if I don't have a buddy. I ask two co-workers who have no interest in roller derby themselves to accompany me. They do.

At our first meeting, we are split into "teams" based on when we are available to "practice." My team decides to go to the next Tuesday night open skate at the local rink. In my excitement, I have already bought some skates, but they aren't right. They are like the rentals, high boot and way too heavy. I try to remember what Norma taught me all those years ago about cross-overs. I fall down again. Fracture my right distal fibula. But I don't know it. I don't want to look like a baby, so I keep skating on and off for the next hour and a half. When I get home, I have a limp. "Must've sprained it," I think until the next morning when I can't put any weight on it without screaming in pain. I call my boss, who brings me to get an X-ray. They confirm the fracture. We stop at the pharmacy to fill the pain prescription, but I have him bring me directly back to the office, because we have a major grant report due at the end of the week, and I am going to finish it.

I hobble in on crutches and one of the girls who went to the initial meeting with me points and laughs. "Roller derby?" she says.

"Not exactly," I respond.

But that's how I decided what my name should be: Graceless Kelly. The girl who falls down and gets back up, no matter how long it takes or how much it hurts.

A little more than a month from now, I will celebrate my 10th derbyversary at the same rink where I fell and broke my ankle. My league is trying to buy that rink before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space (just like the rinks I skated in as a child or the one in New Jersey where I used to skate with a friend each time I came home in my early derby days). You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (if you are so inclined) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. Just like I saw some magic and luck in the sport of roller derby when it caught my eye a decade ago.

Roller derby has been one of the biggest influences on my life. Over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to write more about how and why, and the importance of this campaign.











* With no protective gear and no supervision of any kind, of course. I wonder where everyone was. I feel like I did this more than once, but maybe it was all the same day. In any case, I didn't fall or even hurt myself. Must've had a guardian angel looking out for me big-time.

You Are Not Alone/Make Your Own Magic

I'd been thinking for a while that I wanted to write the "You Are Not Alone" post and then also the "Make Your Own Magic" one and I never got around to either. So, since it's the first day of a shiny new year, I'm just going to write them together.

It wasn't the easiest year for me. I lost a couple of friends (one to death and one to what I can only call major communication failures on both sides). I had the longest/worst bout of insomnia of my life (which is saying a lot). An overuse injury that caused a lot of pain and kept me from reffing most of the year. Lots of work stress. A bunch of rejections (touching on just about every aspect of my life). My cat's trip to the emergency vet the day before Thanksgiving for yet another urinary obstruction.

But all the bad stuff I had to deal with pales in comparison to the stuff people I love had to go through. This year that just ended was miserable for so many people (illnesses and deaths and just so much loss -- often compounded on each other). It was hard to witness, and I can only imagine how hard it has been to live it and carry it.

And there were lots of really good things in my life this year -- another trip to Iceland (when it was green!) and a good visit with a great friend in Colorado being among the highlights.

You Are Not Alone

When I visited Em in Colorado around Halloween, I told her I wanted to see aspens. I'd learned years ago that an aspen grove is actually one large organism, because the trees are connected at the roots. I thought there was something really amazing about that. We were in Rocky Mountain National Park with not a lot of time to hike before it got dark, but I got to see aspens, and I was happy.

And then we saw a lone aspen on a small slope just off the path we were on. I stopped to take a picture, marveling at the fact that this tree was connected to the cluster of trees we'd passed a few yards back. It seemed like a bit of poetry -- this tree that looked like it was all alone was just set apart a little, out of sight it was connected to so many others. I handed my camera to Em and told her I wanted a picture with the tree. I ran to it like a Muppet (because that is something I do), shouted, "Hi, friend!" and threw my arms around the tree.

It is a testament to Em's kindness and friendship that she took this picture without batting an eye at any of that:

Sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes, it feels more real than anything else. But I know that it's not true. I know that I am connected to some deeply kind and good humans who love me. This picture -- and the tree in it -- help remind me of that. (And it's not only me. It's all of us. Connected just below the surface.)

Make Your Own Magic

A few days before my birthday, I received a package in the mail. It had books and music and a Veronica Mars bookmark in it (so, a pretty perfect gift for me). When I texted the sender that it had arrived, the reply text I received was surprising: "Books or glitter brick?" It turned out to be a joke (because I am gullible and willing to believe in things like glitter bricks). I wasn't sure what a glitter brick would do (book end? door stop? paper weight?) or what it would look like (a brick made out of glitter or a regular brick covered in glitter?), but I kept thinking about it. Part of me was hoping that if I thought about it enough, believed in it enough, a glitter brick would just magically appear in my life. Finally, months later, I decided to make one. Because if I know anything, it's that sometimes you have to make your own magic. I bought a brick, glitter paint, glitter glue, and regular old glitter. I made a glitter brick. I liked it and the process of making it so much that I made a whole bunch more. I kept one for me and gifted the rest to friends. It may not be the most practical thing ever (the one I kept is sitting on a bookshelf right now) but it's pretty, it brings me joy, and it makes me feel like I can make my own magic.

If nothing else, 2015 gave me these two tangible reminders of really important and valuable life lessons. 

Shame and judgment (and maybe a little empathy)

I have read and loved several books by Michael Chabon. I looked him up to find out more about him and what other books he's written, and I learned that his wife is also a writer (and she has a cool first name). Turns out, his wife is known for having written an essay in which she said she loved her husband more than her children. People freaked out about it, as if their self-righteous indignation should mean something. As if being accusatory and judgmental would change something. Like being publicly attacked and threatened would make her suddenly say, "Oh, yes, you're right. How could I have been so mistaken about my own feelings?"

If there is one thing I have learned (over and over again) -- the hard way -- it's that people can't control their feelings. Sure, there are anger management classes and meditation practices and psychotherapy (not to mention drugs), but those are about dealing with feelings, not controlling them. I vividly remember sitting in my shrink's office shortly after my mom died, talking about how I wanted to think my way out of my grief. Because my rational brain could handle it all more than my squishy little heart. She looked at me and said, "You just have to feel it." And she was right. I hated it (hate it still) but it's true. All any of us can do is feel our feelings and do the best we can with them.

Ayelet Waldman's feelings may be unpopular (which I suspect has more to do with shame on the part of people who secretly feel the same way she does than anything else), but they're her feelings. What gives any of us the right to judge her?

A friend once told me I was the least judgmental person she knew. My former boss used to say I was really good at assuming people's best intentions. I like to think both are true (because I work hard at it), but I still catch myself judging people rather harshly from time to time.

Recently, I was on a train to New York City. There was a girl on the train dressed in a very skimpy Wonder Woman outfit. The people I was traveling with snickered and made comments. My initial reaction was similar to theirs, but then I thought about it some more. I figured there are probably people who have had similar reactions to me when I've worn my tutus in public (and not so public) places. My tutus don't hurt anyone, and even at my most judgmental, I do not have a malicious bone in my body. So why be hostile about my whimsical choice of clothing? Why judge this girl on the train about hers? I mean, if she actually thought she was Wonder Woman, that might be reason for concern (and for calling a mental health professional). Otherwise, who cares?

I have a couple of friends who have said some pretty harsh things about people who read certain books, particularly super fans of them. I may not like the things they read, may not understand their obsessions, but how are the things I like and obsess about any better?

I saw a picture of a tattoo somewhere that read "More joy, less shame." I liked it a lot, even though I don't tend to experience a lot of shame. (Guilt? Yes. Truckloads of it. And a fair bit of worry, too. But not much in the way of shame.) But isn't judgment all about shaming other people?

So, when I catch myself getting judgmental, I try to remind myself that we all like different things. Not only is that okay, it's one of the things that makes the world (and the people in it) interesting. We're all just feeling our feelings and doing the best we can with them.

36

I was looking back at the post I made just before I turned 35 that listed all the awesome things I did in my 35th year. ...The year that ended with my grandma's death two days before my birthday.

My 36th year was much more complicated (because I was still newly grieving my grandma when my dad died), but I still did a lot of fun and awesome things that I never collected in a list. I'm a little more than halfway through my 37th year now, so I feel like I should go back and make the list for the 36th:

• I celebrated my actual birthday in New York City with my sisters, brother-in-law, and friend Daniel
• I got to finally go to Strand Bookstore and eat at Veselka and had a great mini cake from Black Hound Bakery just before they closed their shop

•  Reffed my 100th game on skates (and was presented with an amazing cake made by my friend You++)
• Saw bands I love (Taking Back Sunday, Fall Out Boy, Paramore, Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox)
• Had lovely visits with good friends, including old friends I haven't seen in much too long
• Explored some roadside attractions
• Completed the Urban Raid, Color Me Rad, Beach Raid, and Insane Inflatables 5Ks
• Drove hours to meet a couple of friends at the geographical midpoint between our residences and played a bunch of ski ball (and discovered I am not as good as I used to be)
• Spent hours watching movies of video games on YouTube...and actually enjoyed them tremendously
• Finally went to Acadia National Park
• Discovered the fancy new recliners at the local movie theater with my sisters
• Took my sisters to Moody's Diner
• Got to visit a real live topiary (even if it was starting to die a bit)
• Saw SO MANY PUMPKINS
• Got to dance to What Cheer? Brigade on Peaks Island again
• Climbed around at Monkey C Monkey Do again (let's forget the part where I fell off the element and dangled by my safety line, shall we?)
• WENT TO ICELAND!!!!!
• Saw so many bands in Iceland
• Got paid to write creative stuff for the first time ever (even if it was just a small amount of contract work)
• Got the award for Most Valuable Official - Ref at the MRD Christmas party
• Visited the prison showroom, which is an adventure all on its own
• Painted a picture I really like (and had fun doing it)
• Participated in a live sing-along show of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which was just as amazing as it sounds (and worth driving in a blizzard to get there)
• Officiated a lot of derby (on and off skates) 
• Wrote a bit and even started querying agents
• Started a really, truly healthy meal and fitness program (which led to me losing about 20 pounds, getting in the best shape of my life, and receiving the best lab report I've ever had on my bloodwork)
• Mailed (and received) so many strange and whimsical things as part of my postal ninjery campaign

I ended my 36th year with a relatively simple celebration that included foot soaking and tea with good friends, Indian food (mmmm) for lunch, a trip to an art gallery, a trip to a gluten-free bakery, a trip to a bookstore, bouncing on trampolines, my first-ever PiYo class, dinner with more friends, AMAZING cake, and a slumber party followed by getting a memorial tattoo for my dad the next morning.

I'm a little more than halfway to 37 and while the last six months haven't been without their challenges (and heartbreaks), there have also been lots of incredible adventures. Looking forward to rounding out the list and posting it at the end of the year.

(And thank goodness for my color-coded Google calendar with nearly EVERYTHING in it...).

Happiness

It's been two weeks since my friend Beth died. And last night, my dear friend Emer's mom died of the same stupid cancer that killed my mom*. A friend and I were texting last night and he wrote, "I'm sorry so much ache finds its way to your door."

In a way, he's right. It's been a hard few months. (And let's not even talk about all the death last year.) I'm on my fourth month of the worst/longest bout of insomnia I've ever had (and the second prescription that isn't doing much to help).

But in a way he's wrong, because most of the ache this year has landed directly on people I love, and I'm just a bystander. Sure, that's still hard, but in a completely different way. And I don't take for granted my good fortune at being on the sidelines rather than in the direct path of the train.

I have been feeling the weight of these and other things lately, but I've also had moments of incredible joy and beauty that need to be celebrated. I just completed my first ever gishwhes, which is an event that feels like it could have been created just for me. Here's the conclusion to an email about it we received from the organizer just before the hunt ended:

It’s easy to fall prey to the monotony of life. It’s easy to get sucked into the routine of going to school, raising a family or grinding at a job. It’s easy to get lost for hours in the impersonal online world.

...Even if you only managed to complete a fraction of the items on the list, you still did things you never thought yourself capable or comfortable doing. You went out in the world and woke up the public by doing strange and wondrous things. You dove headfirst into art (with either a beautiful ripple or an incredible wonderfully ugly spastic tsunamic splash) and, based on the submissions I’ve seen, you touched thousands of hearts.

...And don’t forget, just because Gishwhes ends, doesn’t mean you have to stop bringing weirdness, fun and kindness into your life and the lives of those around you. No matter who you are or what you do, the world deserves to see your gish.

My team submitted a total of 79 items on a list of 215. I don't think there's any chance we'll win any prizes, but that doesn't matter. We had fun. So much fun. And we helped make the world a better place, if in only small ways. I made a couple of new friends. I got to do lots of silly things. And I got a bunch of hugs (including one while coated in butter and another that lasted 20 minutes).

Beth once said she loved how I live my life. It's not like I don't make colossal mistakes sometimes. I hurt and annoy people. I wear them out. I leave things undone. But mostly, I strive for happiness.

Early in the hunt, I chose to do a task assigned by John Green that involved writing your own personal manifesto. I liked the idea of the task, but had no idea what I'd do. It was really eye-opening for me when I sat down and started writing. I thought of Beth. I thought of how Esther Earl said, "Just be happy, and if you can't be happy, do things that make you happy. Or do nothing with the people that make you happy." And this is what poured out of me:

Happiness. That's the most important thing. It's hard, because I want to be a good person who does good things. It feels selfish to focus on my own happiness, but really it's just a matter of practicality. An unhappy person doesn't have as much patience or tolerance. An unhappy person doesn't have the same capacity for love and kindness. An unhappy person can't possibly be as engaged as someone who feels fulfilled and at peace...and happy. So, I will fight for my happiness first. (Even if I have to fight my own feelings of wrongness about it.) And then I can go out and try to make the world a better, gentler place.

* I have witnessed how hard it is to quit smoking. I know science says that most people who smoke want to quit. If you smoke, please try to quit. And keep trying until you do. If not for yourself, then for the people who love you, who should not have to go through what Emer and I did.

Going rogue

For months now, I've seen pictures in my Facebook feed of various friends and acquaintances posing with identical (or nearly) paintings they had made during paint nights at various organizations. It's a fad I didn't have any interest in. None of the paintings that showed up in my newsfeed were the kind that, if I saw them in a store or gallery, I'd want to buy. And it seemed odd to want to hang up a painting in my house, knowing that a group of my friends/coworkers/acquaintances and a roomful of strangers all it had in their houses, too.

If you want to do that, go right ahead. It's just not something that interests me.

But then a very good friend said she wanted to do one of these paint nights and she invited me along. I said I'd go, but I made it clear from the beginning that I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted to paint the sky (as I remembered it) from the view of the boat deck when I saw the Northern Lights in Iceland.

Our group of three arrived at the studio last night and found our way to the corner where our assigned easels were. We were supposed to be painting this:



We received paper plates with globs of paint in the color pallet needed to paint this picture. It didn't include any blues or greens, which would've been necessary for the painting I wanted to make. I was nervous that I was going to have to come up with another plan, because although this picture is fine, it's not something I particularly wanted to hang in my home.

And then the instructor said we could help ourselves to any of the colors in the "paint bar" and to feel free to paint whatever we wanted.

I tuned out the instructor as she described how to paint the picture above. From my initial brush strokes, it was obvious I was doing my own thing. The guy seated next to me said, "Going rogue!" I just said, "Yep," and continued painting.

During an early break, a woman I didn't know stopped in front of my easel. I'm not sure where she was painting or why she came over to look at mine. She asked me (in a bit of a sharp tone) why I wasn't painting the picture everyone else was.

"Because I didn't want to," I said. (My tone might have been sharper if I hadn't been so taken aback by the fact that a stranger was interrupting me to ask what I perceived to be a pretty dumb question.)

My friend stepped in and very cheerfully said something about my overwhelming desire to paint the Northern Lights as I had seen them recently. The lady walked away.

What I wanted to ask was, "Why do you feel like you need to paint exactly what's up there?" Or, "Why is it so threatening to you that I wanted to do something different?"

The instructor came by, was very complimentary, and even dug out the studio's Northern Lights painting to help serve as inspiration, if I wanted it. (Theirs was very different from what I was doing, but it's a nice painting, and it was nice of her to be so enthusiastic.)

In the end, this is what I painted:



That's the moon in the upper right corner. The column of white light is supposed to represent the Imagine Peace tower. That's a big cloud rolling horizontally across the canvas.

It turned out to be a really fun evening with friends, where I got to do something creative and make a painting I truly wanted to make. I'd do it again.

The guy next to me seemed impressed that I was "going rogue" while the strange lady was clearly disturbed by it. I marvel at both of their reactions. I didn't break any rules. I took advantage of the freedom the instructor gave all of us. And it's not like I went way outside the box or anything -- I didn't make splatters or use my fingers. I didn't go abstract. I didn't make a mess or engage in any kind of odd creative process.

If the instructor had insisted on using the original color pallet as provided, what would I have done? (Probably something abstract with those same colors.) If the instructor had insisted that everyone in the room conform and paint the same thing, what would I have done? (I honestly don't know. I probably would have had to go rogue at that point and risk getting thrown out.) What's the worst that could've happened? I guess they could've asked me to leave, and I would've been out some time and money and would've needed to find a way to entertain myself until my friends were done. As far as worst case scenarios go, none of these are all that bad. But I didn't even have to worry about any of these things.

It's like we're all conditioned to live in our tiny, little boxes that we don't even see the possibilities right in front of us a lot of the time. I feel like people have often viewed me as some kind of rebellious free spirit in the way they've described my style of dress (tutus and mismatching socks and silver boots with checked laces, etc.), but I'm really not. I like what I like, and I take advantage of the opportunities to enjoy those things. It's not that hard. You just need to pay attention and look for the opportunities. (And then exploit them for all you can.)