When 2010 came to a close, I published a post entitled “What Will You Bring Me, 2011?” In it, I wrote this segment:

As usual, I have begun this new year having absolutely no idea where I will be when I throw the confetti 12 months from now. I do not know what state I will be living in, what my career position will be, or if I will actually be throwing confetti at all. I do expect, however, that I will be where I am meant to be at that moment, and I plan to take this next year to figure out where that place may be.

Last night, I heard a story about a shoebox. It was a story of both thanks and giving so, in honor of this American holiday, I want to share the story with you.

My brother, Dan, has been traveling around Nepal for almost two months with two American friends. Upon their arrival in early October, they planned to stay for several days in Kathmandu to get their bearings and collect travel visas and other materials.

In a society where communication technology has made distance among loved ones seem more bearable and staying in touch easier, the thought of being out of anyone’s reach has become almost unfathomable. While I have learned in recent weeks that one can obtain cell phone service at various locations on Mount Everest, sending emails, updating Facebook statuses and Skyping do not come as easy. This post is my technological cheerlead – a dedication to my brother, Dan, who just accomplished a 17,598-foot hike to Everest’s base camp with little way to tell anyone about it.

Anyone who has ever driven through the state of Kansas knows the characteristics of its roads: flat, straight and simple. When compared to this ride, an excursion around a mountain – let’s say Mount Kilimanjaro, for example – might be described with hills, curves and complexity. These may be two different types of paths, but – like our own life paths – each hold characteristics that make their individual journeys both unparalleled and unique.

Life is about constant change. Though sometimes minor, we see change daily. We meet new clients, try new restaurants for lunch and find alternate driving routes at road detours. The world rotates, and so do we. We experience change, and so we become change. As I look out my apartment window onto the bright lights of Chicago, I think about the significant changes I will face in these quickly approaching weeks. This, I realize, is my final countdown.

We all have those weeks. They are the weeks that linger like a looming black raincloud and are filled with the types of seemingly endless days that everyone knows about, but no one wants to live through. This was one of those weeks for me…one of those weeks from Hell.

Today was my day to get out of dodge. I had finished my torturous work week one day early and had plans to travel east for a long 4th of July weekend at my family’s cottage. I had one afternoon to spend in my hometown first, and I planned to use it drinking mojitos and lounging on patio furniture with my mother. It would be good to be home.

Last year, while catching up on my DVRed Oprah episodes one Saturday, I watched an interview with Oprah and Queen Rania of Jordan. I do not remember exactly what the interview was about, but I do remember hitting pause after the Queen said something that really hit home for me. I immediately wrote it down: ”We’re programmed to believe that time is the enemy, that it takes away from us or that it diminishes us…Life is in perfect balance. It’s just that our perception of it isn’t.”

I have never been big on New Year’s resolutions. I do not want to commit myself to plans I cannot plan for, or excuse myself from daily self-improvements because I am waiting for a new year to come. This is not to say I judge or look down on New Year’s resolutions. I see them as great turning points for individuals who want a fresh start or could use a kick in the rear. For me, though, I view New Year’s resolutions like I view pointy shoes – they look great on others, but are just not for me.

This Christmas, my family decided to alter tradition a bit and eliminate the gift exchange from our holiday celebration. After discussing this option for the past several years, but never actually following through with it, we finally made an agreement to stick with it this Christmas.

Shortly after indulging in sugar-rimmed mimosas and a filling breakfast on Christmas morning, my dad called us all together for a “family meeting.” He told us a story about Jill, one of his co-workers who is active in the local battered women’s shelter. Just prior to Christmas, Jill sent an e-mail to her and my dad’s fellow staff members asking for volunteers to sponsor a family at the shelter this Christmas. Within hours, every family on the list was cared for.

“If children retold stories they read at school like this, all modern authors would be proud. No matter what your religious beliefs may be, I think you will enjoy this version of the greatest story ever written and retold, and revised.”

The Christmas Story by Kids

I have found myself commando-crawling my way through this past month with more unwanted surprises and sudden turns of events than I care to deal with in a year. While this life is understandably and expectedly full of ups and downs, it seems to happen once in a while that the downs over stay their welcome and we are left with nothing but a prayer and hope that everything will turn around soon.

Stand By Me

(A quote I’ve carried with me since receiving it on a card from my mom freshman year of college)

Chicago is truly a different place in the summer. It’s been at least 80 degrees and sunny for the past few days, and my seemingly desolate neighborhood has suddenly become flooded with runners, dog-walkers, moms pushing strollers and kids playing football in the same allies I have yet to walk down without keys wedged between my fingers, sharp side out. I love this sudden burst of activity and, combined with the gorgeous weather, it adds a new spark of enlightenment to my life.