A Whole Bucket of What the…

One of the funniest things about the age of my Peanut (13 months) is the beginning stages of them feeding themselves with utensils. They stab and scoop food with little grace and lots of mess. They stab their food and pull it off with their hand to eat it. She’ll scoop up her yogurt only to turn the spoon upside down on the way to her mouth. She makes swirls with her finger in her maple syrup, eats the butter first, claps with food in her hands. All the while, we praise and coo, making her giggle even more.  Her skin is, and will remain AWESOME because she has had more avocado facials than a Hilton.

Every meal for her is a new and incredible experience.

Living in NYC, I am SUPER jaded toward new experiences. I’ve seen a lot living here. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the what the f*ck. A lot of the what the f*ck. We seem to have it in abundance. In fact, I think I could see 10 instances of what the f*ck a day, for all eternity, only to get to the other side, look down, and realize I MISSED a whole lotta what the f*ck. The sad part is that I hardly utter the phrase, even in my own mind anymore.

Growing up is a little bit like losing your belief in Santa Claus slowly, over many years, one wistful glance and memory at a time. Doing it in NYC is like realizing that Santa Claus isn’t real, but Van Gogh may be the homeless man on the stoop, and the Boogie Man may be the guy in charge of your investment portfolio. I ken that most people will not experience this harrowing and beautiful life experiment that is your 20s in NYC, but I sort of wish everyone could.

Though I walk with my cloak of “I’ve seen it”, I watch in wonder at those who haven’t. Much like a child feeding herself for the first time, people who’ve never been here, look at it with equal parts fascination and abject terror. It’s big, it’s loud, it’s fast. There’s no three date rule with my city. You either go home with her the first night, or run back to Nebraska.

I LONG for that sensation. That wonderment. The fresh joy of a new experience. I’ve mastered feeding myself, and already live in NYC, so where does that leave me? I KNOW there is so much I have yet to experience. I want to run in the Swiss Alps, and swim in Iceland. I want to hike the Grand Canyon, and after hearing about Stenshuvud National Park for MONTHS from a co-worker who is Swedish, I am actually convinced I’ll never be truly happy or like puppy dogs or chocolate or vodka until I go there. Mostly, I want to run the beach naked, alone, no people around on Luhuitou Peninsula with the cop. It’s on Hainan Island, where his family is from.

Really. I mean. I come from West Virginia and Ohio roots. That isn’t Huntington or Cleveland.

It’s Sweden.

The fine brain of Kelly Olexa of FitFluential has come up with the idea of the #FitnessBucketList on Pinterest and Twitter. You can find mine HERE. It’s a great way to curate your ideas and find more inspiration. I am sure that in NO time my board will be bursting at its internetty seams with ideas. (when internet seams burst, Al Gore and Bill Gates bleed a little from their ears).

I think it’s going to help me with serious case of lack of the what the f*cks, with a whole new case of holy shit. I need the upper. The Fitness Bucket list is my prozac, or wind under my skirt, or whatevs. Actually, wind under your skirt in NYC isn’t uncommon. We have subway grates, though a less-than-savory character with a hairdryer aimed up wouldn’t garner a what the f*ck, but would garner a well placed, size 11 boot up his ass.

Speaking of crazy ideas…worst segue ever? NOPE!! I’ve done worse.

How about a GRILLED PEACH CORNCAKE?!?!? Have I lost my damn mind? Probably, but my dithering into mental oblivion will be delicious.

What do you dream of doing?
Where do you dream of going?