This photo, as I understand and imagine it, captures one forlorn moment during Easter. My friend Bradley was coloring Easter eggs one year—he’s the artsy type so I can just see him doodling all sorts of clever designs and using weird tools. He’s basically a black belt in Easter egg painting in my mind. Anyway, when he went to clean out the glasses full of the coloring, he found this one bright blue egg at the bottom of one glass (I’ll let you draw your own assumptions on which glass it was, I personally think it was the red one).

To me, there’s something poetic about this photo. Not to be a completely melodramatic girl, but at times I feel a little like this pathetic blue egg—the Eeyore of eggs, if you will. Although I fluctuate between feelings of victory (after I post a blog or land a freelance job) and feelings of despair (when I can’t even bring myself to write one blog in two weeks), I feel like I have gained something from every minute of this year. It has been an incredible adventure. Yes, I made a few less than brilliant choices along the way, but without those choices I never would have learned half of the lessons I did.

Lesson 1: You will never truly appreciate the words “rent free” until you have to pay rent

Lesson 2: Food is darn expensive, especially when you eat like I do.

Lesson 3: Lack of health insurance makes you want to live in a plastic bubble and never ever come out.

Lesson 4: Air conditioners are not meant to be set at 65 degrees (that temperature gets really expensive really quick).

Lesson 5: Apartment walls are too thin. There should be laws or regulations against them and noisy neighbors.

Lesson 6: Be assertive. People can’t read your mind.

Lesson 7: Dogs are great company for running. They’re also good motivators too.

Lesson 8: Any drop of water mixed with hot oil will cause a small explosion.

Lesson 9: Foil and Styrofoam do not go in the microwave.

Lesson 10: Patrol the coupon section like it’s a gap in the border.

These lessons, along with many more I’m sure I’m forgetting, have been invaluable to me. And I learned all of them the hard way. The funny thing is I’m pretty sure my parents told me all of these things at one point or another, but being the stubborn know-it-all that I am, I had to do it my way—the hard way. I love it. You would think I would be mad at myself or at least regret the fact that I had to learn the hard way, but I learn the best that way. When I have to go through these things myself I really take it to heart. I might learn the hard way but at least I learn. Most of the things I learned were unexpected. Like scalding my arm because I dropped a wet block of tofu in hot oil or starting a small fire in the microwave because I put foil in it. These were not things I planned on learning, but I feel like I’ve come out the other end a little bit smarter.

No amount of classes I could have taken at PUC could have prepared me for the real thing. I believe some things you just can’t prepare for and “real life” is one of them. Even if you’re smarter than me and actually take other people’s advice, no amount of talking will compare to actually experiencing it yourself.

I love it! That’s what life is about to me. Getting out there and experiencing things. Not to say that listening to people, especially people older and wiser than you, isn’t a good idea, but sometimes people get way too caught up in sitting and listening. They don’t realize they could be out there making their own stories to give advice from instead of listening to other people’s stories. To the “wise” bystander, I suppose those few sentences above could be translated as, “Balls to the wall compadres! Screw advice!” But that’s not what I meant. Being reckless and being adventurous are totally different in my opinion. I just love life and want to live the crap out of it. Squandering life should be a felony.

Even when things aren’t going great, we are still some of the luckiest people I know! I’m pretty sure most everyone I know has a roof over their heads, enough food to eat, and people who love them. That’s more than some people can say. Even I need to be reminded of this fact when things get tough, but at least I eventually remember it. I’ve also found another thing to help me keep my chin up when things get rough—the color blue.

I love this blue egg, I think the color is vibrant and my guess is that none of the other eggs turned out to be such an intense color. Even though it got left behind, the time it spent “forgotten”, floundering around in murky blue liquid, made it into something that it could not have been otherwise. If it had been taken out of the coloring at the “right time”, it would have been an average Easter egg. But this lucky egg got to experience things other eggs didn’t (by the way, I realize and love how far I’ve taken this analogy).

Believe it or not, I have found inspiration in this little blue egg. I might be floundering around right now, but I feel like I’m starting to figure things out and someday soon I’m going to be found and everything that I’ve gone through this past year will be an asset and make me even stronger than I would have been before.

I’ve always disliked the color blue, but now I think I’ve grown quite fond of it. Thanks for changing my mind Bradley and happy birthday.

One of the things I love the most about living in California is the great produce that we have easy access to almost all the time. Growing up in an Adventist and medical family meant that I learned how to eat really healthy at a young age. My mom didn’t make your typical Adventist food (cheesy casserols and strange colored Jellos), but instead graced our table with different steamed fishes, perfectly cooked vegetables and vibrant seasonal plates of fruit.
No matter what the main dish was, there was always a great salad to go with it. For asian foods, my mom has a great chinese cabbage salad. For more hearty meals a mixed salad that has kidney and garbanzo beans. So my childhood familiarity with salads has now accumulated into a love and appreciation for a great salad to kick off each meal.
The lovely southern California summer has officially been kicked off and I have been cooking at least once a week—though I have yet to catch up with these adventures on my blog—and my new mission has been to figure out the perfect summer salad. Something simple, yet tasty. I think I’ve done it, so I decided to post this and see what everyone else thinks.
On July 4th, I served my perfect summer salad with a barbequed cilantro lime chicken and it paired perfectly. The acidity and tanginess of the salad dressing was a great counterpart to the sweeter chicken glaze. Also, on Father’s Day, I successfully served the salad with rack of lamb and garlic mashed potatoes (also went over well and definitely won some points with Jon’s parents!)
Hope you find your own success with this recipe and also get inspired to go on your own salad adventures!

“Recipe” for The Perfect Summer Salad
Spiring mix (includes spinach, frisee, leafy green and red lettuce)
Crumbled blue cheese
Beets
Oranges
Dressing:
Equal parts extra virgin olive oil and fresh lemon juice
Fresh ground black pepper
Salt
2 tablespoons red wind vinegar
1 tablespoon stone ground dijon mustard

Directions:
1. Whisk all the ingredients for the dressing together and season to taste. My measurements might be a little off because I kept adding to taste also.
2. Either boil or oven bake beets. You can scrub them down, cut off the ends, and throw them in a boiling pot, it just takes awhile. Or my mom wraps them in foil and throws them in the oven at 350˚F (she’s convinced that boiling them boils all the nutrition out). Or, I actually recently found a nifty little package of pre-cooked baby beets in the produce section at the grocery store that also work wonders if you’re in more of a hurry.
3. Next, segment the oranges. I suppose you don’t have to do this, but this is my favorite part and makes the salad look a little more fancy. I’m not sure how to describe segmenting oranges so just google it.
4. Last, toss all the ingredients together and drizzle your dressing over the top.
5. Enjoy your perfect summer salad!

So I realize most people probably aren’t counting, but up until this post, all of my posts have been exactly a thousand words. I intend to try and keep hitting that number, but it turns out the perfect summer salad only needs 561 words.

In light of the recent death of a music icon, I thought it would be fitting to write a music blog for the week. Music is a powerful thing. I think one of the things that make it so powerful is the fact that it can occur on so many different levels. Everyone from the crackle-voiced teen who only sings in the shower to the King of Pop makes completely unique music. Music is a great medium through which people can express themselves. A lot of people find they can communicate meaning through their music they can’t communicate in person. They become alive just through the act of creating music.

One of the things I love most about music is that not only is it an outlet for musicians, but can be really influential for the listeners. Think about all the people who were devastated by the recent death of Michael Jackson. His music made a huge impact on millions of people who had never met him personally. His music served as an extension of Michael Jackson himself. Without his music, what would Michael Jackson’s life been all about? I’m sure many musicians feel this way, without music, what would they have? Musicians aside, what would some listeners have without music?

I don’t consider myself a religious person. I was raised a conservative Seventh-day Adventist but have become somewhat of a “Badventist” in recent years—I don’t really attend church anymore, I eat unclean meat, and I enjoy the occasional glass of wine. When I do attend church, usually out of respect for my parents, I sit jadedly through the service and give a tremendous sigh when the sermon is finally over. Twenty minutes of well-thought- out speaking and I usually feel nothing by the end of it. This is a perplexing matter for me. As a communication major, I always appreciate the qualities of a great orator or a well-written speech. So why do sermons vex me so? Our pastor is probably one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met in the church and I respect him beyond words, but for some reason, I still can’t bring myself to take what he says to heart.

Sermons aside, when the praise band gets on stage and starts strumming the opening chords of my favorite songs it takes me to a whole other place. I’ve sung these songs many times so the message they bring is nothing new, but they get me every time. It always surprises me how music can speak to me in a way no sermon can. Usually the lyrics are simple and maybe even slightly cliché, but they always manage to bring something new and challenging to my mind. How come I can get more from a three minute song that I’ve sung a hundred times than a twenty minute sermon I’ve never heard before? Music has the ability to reach a person down to their core, in a way no other form of communicating can.

The question “what kinds of music do you like?” is always a frequent one in small talk and will probably always be asked as long as there are awkward conversations around. I’ve been asked it countless times and I’m still not sure how to answer. In my experience, most people say, “I listen to everything but country.” I try not to discriminate when it comes to my taste in music and a lot depends on my mood. As I’m writing this blog, I’m listening to my favorite iPod playlist for inspiration. It has a little of everything—pop, indie, rock, R&B, Broadway, oldies, and even some Hawaiian. Each song stirs different emotions and brings to mind various things. Some evoke fond memories, others make me melancholy, and most of them make me want to dance. The raw power of music never ceases to amaze me.

The raw power of music stems from the fact that I find music to be an incredibly honest and pure art form. As a writer, I feel I put a lot of honesty and therefore a lot of myself into the things that I write. Most writers can’t help pouring themselves into their writings, and I feel that musicians are similar. Both forms of art require a certain amount of vulnerability and honesty to hold any kind of merit with an audience.

I believe the average listener (or reader) is smarter than us artists give you credit for. I think you can see right through us. You know when we’re not being completely honest or forthright. That’s why you disregard the people who are (pardon my language) full of crap and embrace and empathize with those who level with you. From the side of the artist, I have to say, being honest and vulnerable is one of the scariest but most rewarding experiences you could ever have. There is a certain thrill in sending your true thoughts and emotions out into the world, one I doubt you can find anywhere else.

Music and writing—I believe they are brothers from another mother (did I use that phrase correctly?). While they have their obvious differences, at the core they are the same. Honesty, courage and vulnerability are must-haves for both. But why stop at music and writing. Honesty, courage and vulnerability are must-haves to live life to the fullest. When you figure out the balance for these three things, you might just find yourself having the greatest ride of your life. Look at the King of Pop, he sent his music into the world loud and proud and he’s leaving a legacy that will live forever. Not all of it was pretty, but it was Michael. I don’t want to leave a legacy that’s full of regrets and “what if’s”. I want to send my “music” into the world knowing that I didn’t hold back anything. After that, all I can do is sit back and hope that someone finds this to be one powerful note.

I love California and I’m pretty sure I always will. There is something glamorous about this picture and I’m not sure I can put my finger on it. I think this is what some people who aren’t from California see when they think of California—the beach, gorgeous sunsets, and gorgeous people (being the home of Hollywood). Being a native Californian, I can’t say I disagree with them either.

Born and raised in California, I am a self-proclaimed California-centric (meaning I think California is the best). I spent most of my life in Ventura County, which is as close to perfect as you can get, geographically at least—twenty minutes from the beach, 80°F almost all year, about an hour away from L.A., couple hours away from decent snowboarding, an hour away from the lake, and home to some pretty decent shopping. What more could you want? Before I get pummeled with comments about how ignorant I am, let me say this: I know I’m biased in my love, but at least I know it. Now that we have the disclaimer out of the way, I will continue on my California rant.

Geographically, I have been rather spoiled. Even after leaving my beloved Southern California to venture to a whole new world—Northern California—I lucked out again. Northern California, so different it has been rumored it might be split in to another state, is gorgeous. I had the opportunity to do my undergraduate work in Napa Valley, California—arguably one of the most beautiful places in California—and loved every minute of it. One of my greatest appreciations spawned out of Northern California—my appreciation for fall. Fall in Southern California is awful. When fall rolls around all I know is that the lovely Santa Ana winds come and blow my allergies out of control. It’s the worst. Northern California I love the fall in the Napa Valley. The vineyards turn a fiery red and orange that makes the whole valley glow. It’s something special. My dream is to make enough money to be able to buy a fall house in the Napa Valley. Screw summer beach houses, fall in Napa is where it’s at. Spending four years in the Valley solidified my hunch that California has it all. couldn’t be more opposite.

Now of course, there are some drawbacks. Earthquakes and wildfires are probably the biggest ones. But for some reason, maybe it’s because I’ve grown up with them, I don’t really mind earthquakes. Possibly because I’ve never been awake for any of the major ones. And as far as wildfires go, I figure if I keep the ground around me moist and try not flick any cigarette butts into dry brush, I’ll be okay. (Why would anyone smoke in a field of kindling anyway? Idiots! Apparently they never saw the Smokey the Bear videos)

In one of my earlier blogs, I mentioned the phrase “the grass is always greener on the other side.” But is there a flip side to this? A side where we think we have the greenest grass of all? There couldn’t possibly be any grass greener than California grass. For some reason, this brings to mind the California cows commercials—“Great cheese comes from happy cows. Happy cows come from California.” Who says? I hear Wisconsin makes some pretty good cheese too. Who is anyone to say their anything is the best? I suppose there is the obvious way of scientifically testing everything, weighing it based on pros and cons. But beyond that, who is the judge?

This new found flip side of “the grass is always greener…” thinking has me thinking. Is this new side any better than the former? In many ways it is. I always hear people say you should be happy with what you have. Is there such a thing as being too happy with what you have? To be honest, I’m still trying to make up my mind about this. But for now, I’ve come to the conclusion that no you can’t? Judging by that question mark I just ended the last sentence with, I’m not terribly sure, but definitely leaning that direction.

The way I see it, being really happy with what you have, has to be better than wasting your time always wishing for things you don’t. As long as being really happy with what we have doesn’t make us close-minded and complacent, I think it’s a pretty good place to be.

Never thought of myself as having a problem with being close-minded but now that I think about it, it might be, especially when it comes to California. Although I consider myself adventurous when it comes to food, books, and other things, moving is out of the question. Is this a bad thing? I love traveling, sort of (not sure if that makes sense) but at the end of my trip, I’m always ready to come back home. There really is no place like home.

Complacency, a whole other world beyond close-mindedness is a difficult one. It is a dangerous thing because although you want to be happy with what you have, you don’t to drift into the land of complacency and fail to push yourself outside your comfort zone and challenge yourself.

I’m starting to realize close-mindedness and complacency are issues a lot of people don’t realize are issues. Our vision is always 20/20 when looking at others, but when it comes to ourselves we are blind.

In the thousand words it took me to write about this picture, I discovered I have a lot more to work on than I thought. I’m still proud to be from California and feel incredibly lucky to live in this beautiful state, I just need to be more open to other new and beautiful states. To push ourselves is the goal. Pushing yields greater results than standing still. It may not always be the easiest, but in the end, you’ll reap what you sow. So get to it.

It seems like everywhere I look, babies are appearing. In the last year, seven babies were born within my family, with one on the way and due in July! With this many babies comes the joy of throwing many baby showers. One thing my family knows how to do well is throw a party. One of the first baby showers we threw was a Jack and Jill brunch-style shower. Cheesy casseroles and vibrant fruit platters crowded the circular buffet table. It was the perfect mid morning party. After that first shower, apparently we decided that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”—meaning we did a lot more brunch showers.
Now I’ve always considered myself adventurous when it comes to food, of course there is the occasional item I don’t care for, but I will at least give it a try before deciding whether or not I like it. Lately, I’ve grown tired of our usual brunch casseroles and decided I would go on a culinary adventure with my sister-in-law trying to find a new kind of baby shower menu. We happen to be hosting one in June and for the menu, we have decided to leave the land of brunch casseroles and venture into the world of antipasto.
For those of you who don’t know, antipastos are the traditional hors d’oeuvres that mark the beginning of an Italian meal. Traditional antipasto includes, but is not limited to, different cured meats (like prosciutto), olives, cheeses (usually provolone or mozzarella), marinated artichoke hearts, bell peppers and mushrooms, topped off with a drizzle of olive oil. Sounds yummy right? Well, we can’t have a baby shower at noon and just serve the guests little pieces of meats and cheese so in the end, we decided to do an antipasto-inspired menu.
On the menu:
Grilled marinated vegetables on focaccia bread with homemade pesto
Lightly glazed teriyaki salmon
Wild rice salad
Grilled artichokes
Asparagus popovers
Lemon zest pasta
Fruit platter (baby shower essential apparently)
Pastries from Porto’s bakery in Glendale (chocolate croissants and guava pastries are my personal favorite)
So today, we decided to do a test run for the wild rice salad. My favorite wild rice salad is at Rutherford Grill in Napa Valley, California. So I Googled a recipe but was skeptical about its authenticity. It’s pretty close and fairly easy, so I would encourage you to try this as a side for any kind of meat. At Rutherford Grill, my favorite thing to eat this with is the ribs.
The first thing I thought when looking at the recipe was, “where am I going to find dried figs?” Luckily, our local Vons is better stocked than I thought and Sun-Maid came through with a beautiful bag of dried Calimyrna figs. It is important to use these and not the purple Mission figs. The only other slightly intimidating ingredient would be the wild rice itself. I have never been in the instant rice aisle at the market and was overwhelmed at the variety of choices. I tried Uncle Ben’s Original Recipe Long Grain and Wild Rice, minus the seasoning of course. It turned out fairly well and the box comes in a 6 oz. package, which is what the recipe calls for. I also tried Teximati Wild Rice Blend from Vons and I think it might be better just because it comes in a bigger package (approximately 21 oz.) so if you want a bigger portion, this brand might be the better choice. Aside from these two ingredients, you should have no problem with the other ingredients.
I started cooking the rice first—just follow the directions on the back of the package. While it cooks, chop up the first six ingredients (figs, pecans, cashews, green onions, celery, and red onion). You can mix these together in a bowl off to the side. I prefer almonds instead of cashews. I distinctly remember almonds in Rutherford’s wild rice and don’t remember the cashews, so I substituted them. Also, 2 tbs of celery is a ridiculously small amount, so I just used one stalk. After tasting the finished salad, I also decided it could have used more onion, so I changed the green onion to ½ cup and red onion to ¼ cup.
Next, the recipe calls for you to mix the other ingredients in a blender. This is not necessary, a whisk will definitely suffice. Besides, blenders are a pain to clean. I love this dressing because it’s so fragrant. The pungency of the vinegar made my mouth water! I thought it needed a little bit more of a tang at the end, so I added a little more red wine vinegar.
Mix the rice and the first ingredients together, let the rice cool in the fridge then toss it with the dressing! I thought the dressing was a little much, in terms of amount, so I didn’t use all of it, but it’s up to you. After its dressed, just season with salt and pepper to taste and enjoy! Hope this was helpful!

Wild Rice Salad Recipe (with my changes in the parentheses)
Makes about 6 servings

1 cup wild rice - 6 oz.

½ cup finely chopped dried figs (Calimyrna)
1/3 cup chopped toasted pecans
1/3 cup chopped toasted cashews (changed to roasted almonds)
¼ cup chopped green onions (changed to ½ cup)
2 tbs finely chopped celery (changed to 1 stalk)
2 tbs finely chopped red onion (changed to ¼ cup)

2 tbs raspberry vinegar or red wine vinegar (Red wine vinegar, added about 1 extra tbs)
1 tbs fresh lemon juice
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp sugar
¼ cup vegetable oil
¼ cup olive oil

1. Cook rice according to package directions. Let cool.
2. Transfer rice to large bowl. Add first 6 ingredients. Cover and refrigerate.
3. Mix next 7 ingredients in blender. (blender not necessary, whisk instead)
4. Pour dressing over rice and toss.
5. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

With my newly found love for the fabulous jet setter lifestyle, I have made it my mission to become acquainted with everything travel. Multiple visits to airports within the last month—first from LAX, California to Liberia, Costa Rica then from Burbank, California to Oakland, California—have forced me to acquaint myself with everything airports…a much less fun endeavor than acquainting myself with the glamorous jet setter lifestyle. But I guess one must suffer through hardships (like getting to know airports) to enjoy the good life. And life is definitely good.

Flying is not as fun as I remember—or at least the airports aren’t as fun. The addition of copious amounts of TSA agents certainly adds to the aura of non-fun. I appreciate and understand they are trying to do their job and keep us safe, but do they have to be so mean about it? (I know, I sound like the super sensitive uncool kid on the playground, but seriously.)

On my latest flight from Oakland to Burbank, I was waiting in line to go through the infamous TSA security check point, which of course was moving especially slow because they were merging two lines together unnecessarily. Genius. Merging in front of me was this older couple, they were adorable, the kind of old people who don’t smell at all (or at least less) and you just want to hug them. Basically, they’re the grandparents everybody wants. So these people are shuffling ahead of me toward the metal detector with their walkers. They get there, questioningly point toward their walkers and the TSA agent gives them the OK to come through. Suddenly, halfway through the detector the agent decides that it’s not ok to have a walker and literally yanks it out of the old man’s hands. Yeah, like that was necessary. Al Queda bribed Orville Redenbacher to smuggle bombs through security in his walker. “What is her problem?” I thought to myself. “They’re just trying to comply with her apparently impossible-to-meet demands. The nerve of that lady! She is so rude and impatient.” It’s at this time I look down at my watch and catch myself. I’m tapping my foot, have my arms crossed and I’m fairly certain I wasn’t wearing my usual smile. What is my problem? Though the agent could have been nicer, she’s just doing her job and yet I stand here as if she should hurry up just because I’m tired of standing in this line. I wasn’t even late for my flight. When did I become so impatient? I look behind me and everyone in line has the exact same stance and expression that I do. Maybe I’m not so bad—or maybe everyone else is just as bad.

Besides TSA, my next “favorite” airport addition is the Smarte Cart. What is so smart about it? People pay hundreds of cents to rent this Cart so they can wheel their luggage around the airport…which usually already has wheels. There is nothing smart about that. Yes, I know people have tons of luggage and it’s convenient, yes, but smart? No. The truly smart thing would have been to pack light enough so that you could wheel your own luggage around the airport without problems. Maybe the Over-Packer-Enabler is a more appropriate name—not as catchy, but at least more accurate.

Things like the Smarte Cart make me giggle, but they also make me think. I find myself trying to figure out how many gadgets, like the Smarte Cart, in our modern techy age, are more for convenience than necessity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to preach down to you from my ivory tower about shunning all things convenient and modern, I just never stopped to think about how many things are convenient but might also be enabling us. Have we created a culture of laziness and impatience? I must admit, I’m slightly hesitant to continue this discussion, because I’m fairly sure I know what the answer is going to be and I’m not sure I like it.

I always make fun of my parents for barely knowing how to add an attachment to an email—I’ve showed them at least a dozen times. Our generation takes for granted our familiarity with technology. I’m so familiar with it that if my computer takes more than a few seconds to load a page, I get impatient and mad. “This is ridiculous that my page still hasn’t loaded! It’s been a whole seven seconds!”

My parents tell me how lucky I am to be living in a world with all these gadgets they could never fathom, but how lucky am I really? They see it as a world with conveniences they never had as kids, I’m starting to see it as a world where people check each others Facebooks instead of hanging out in person or even calling. Why actually see the person, when with one click you can be instantly updated about everything going on in their lives?

As much as I adore our modern conveniences, I hope we won’t let it affect the core of who we are as people. I make a conscious effort to have some real interaction with the people who are most important to me—to resist clicking and actually interact instead. We live in a world of high-speed everything and express everything else. We need to remember the most beneficial thing we can do sometimes, is to “unplug” and refocus our priorities. At the end of the day does it really matter if you waited five more seconds for your web page to load? Or is it more important that you take those extra five seconds to do something amazing? Yes, it’s only five seconds, but seconds add up to minutes and minutes to hours! And just maybe, if we took advantage of those moments and used them wisely we could have the best of both worlds—the age of Smarte Carts AND the age of humanity.

I’ve often heard people refer to this thing I call life, as a rat race. I’ve never really fully understood this expression, but just nod my head in agreement—“I know, right? Total rat race…” What does that mean? Last time I checked, we’re not rats. But as for the race part, I suppose that’s not too far off. As I sit pondering this expression, I look at this picture and everything becomes a little clearer.

This photo captures the opening moments of excitement at the Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling near Gloucester, England. This 200 plus year tradition has left many broken bones and concussions in its long wake. A total of nine races are held, each with the same prize—an 8 lb. wheel of Double Gloucester Cheese (yes, the same one you chase down the hill).

I’m going to level with you. I am cheese’s biggest fan. Any one of my college roommates can attest to this fact. I always had a steady supply of cheese in our fridge—everything from cubes of sharp cheddar to a wedge of brie, there was always something to satisfy the cheese cravings. You’re welcome roommates. Anyway, even though I would consider myself a cheese fanatic, I’m not sure I would risk broken bones and other serious injuries just for a giant wheel of cheese I could probably buy at the market down the road from the hill. These cheese people are on a whole other level. Ironically, these people are chasing cheese just like rats supposedly do. What is about cheese that is so irresistible? Or could it just be that we love winning prizes?

Out of all the spectators and participants in this picture, there are three people who catch my eye. The first is the grandfatherly-looking chap wearing the top hat, standing at the top of the hill. He is the master of ceremonies and judging by the Gandolf-sized staff he’s leaning on, he must have been a participant once upon a time. Look at him, standing anxiously at the top of the hill, waiting for one of the young bucks to bite the big one (looks like orange-camo guy is about to fill these expectations too). I bet he’s thinking smugly to himself, “these guys are idiots. I used to be that idiot.” To me, he embodies the smug adults in our lives who look on as we stumble down giant hills, usually by choice, and have to pick ourselves up. They’re the ones that tell us we’re about to make a huge mistake, and then we decide to make it anyway. They think they’re so smart…and they are, much to our chagrin.

My second pick for interesting characters in this photo is the portly older fellow sitting in front of the master of ceremonies. This guy, for some reason, has decided to not compete in the race at all. Whether he thinks he can’t because he’s too old or too fat, I’m not sure, but something is keeping him from standing up and getting in the game. These people frustrate me. They have everything right at their fingertips but because of their own insecurities, they end up becoming their own worst enemies. Sure, if this guy was actually in the race, he probably wouldn’t catch the wheel of cheese, and he might even get hurt, but at least he could say he tried and ran with the best (or stupidest) of them—whichever way you choose to look at it.

The third, my favorite guy, is the crazy one on the right, the one with the face paint, cape and unitard. I strive to be this person—maybe not the outfit (although, let’s be honest, who can resist a good unitard?), but definitely the mentality. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, he is completely focused on one thing—getting the cheese. That is his goal and he is going to go all out to get it and probably have more fun than anyone else doing it. I’m not this guy quite yet, but I feel like I’m starting to get some paint on my face and I’m proud of it.

Living life to the fullest—that’s what it’s all about right? Then why do we always hesitate when we know we’re about to do something that might challenge the status quo or make someone think we’re less than perfect? Let’s grab life by its big wheel of cheese and run down that scary hill! Breaking the molds that people make for us is definitely scary and not always easy, but it’s worth every moment. There will almost always be bumps and bruises along the way, but hey, battle scars are cool right? Show them off and be proud you had the guts to go get them. Already this year, I’ve had some bad breaks, some undeniable bruises, and might even be in need of a few stitches, but you know what? It was a way better year than I would have had if I had gone to med school and stayed in my family’s perfect mold. Not to say that med school isn’t a perfect fit for some and I admire those who have the determination to do it, but I challenge those of you who aren’t doing what you love, to take a step back and ask yourself what YOU really want to do. You only have one life and it’s yours to live. Why squander it on a hum-drum job or something that you feel nothing about? Passion is an ambiguous thing but once you find it, go with it! Who cares if everyone says it’s impossible, that will just make it that much sweeter when you get your cheese.

I haven’t quite caught up to my giant wheel of cheese, but I’m about to launch myself, full-on superman style, into the air and grab hold of it. I hope my cape works!

Cheese for thought: what’s the giant wheel of cheese you’re chasing?