The Last Days

Today, my university is giving me the opportunity to attend a lecture/dinner on Islam and Christianity in America. I am so fortunate to (have) attend(ed) this university that care so much for my exposure to new thoughts, ideas, and concepts. 

With graduation 5 days away, I have never been more ready to face what the world has for me. I am ready, with a good head on my shoulders and a strong heart in my chest. Passion bleeds from every pore. Fate favors the fearless, and because I am a Broncho, I fear nothing. 

I am so blessed to have called the University of Central Oklahoma my home for the past 4 years. But, I really am looking forward to finding my new home out in the world. 

Pre Post-Grad

There is a lot of emotion that surrounds graduation, and I feel like at some point pre, during, or post graduation ceremony, I'm absolutely going to lose my will to hold in the uncontrollable sobbing. 

You see, college has been 4 years of absolute Hell for me, but it has also been the best 4 of my life. I feel like a 2 year old who has no sippy cup and my blanket is definitely in the washer. College isn't going to be here anymore, and that thought, while AWESOME, is also pretty scary. 

I am really thankful to have such a lust for life. I'm in love with living and living to the fullest. I can't wait to live a dedicated life, but at the same time, the uncertainty surrounding graduation and finding a job and where I will end up is mildly traumatizing. 

Knowing who I want to be is a good start, and I am glad that I figured that out as early as I did. Live the life you want, and hopefully, the rest will fall into place. Good luck and good vibes. 

It's Not Forever: Fostering From an Outside Perspective

People, let me tell ya 'bout my best friend, Krystle. She's wonderful, I have known her since we were 12; young and fresh to the world. She's a role model, a hard worker, determined to lead a better life, and to achieve the things she wants out of it. 

She is happily married, and since they got married, they have been trying to have a baby. Something they have had trouble with. You see, Krystle has Poly-Cystic Ovary Syndrome, and that makes it very difficult to get pregnant. (Also, April is Infertility Awareness Month, so, be sure to get your learn on!)

They tried and tried, and it hasn't happened yet. So, Krystle and David made the choice to foster children through the Department of Human Services. As her best friend,  (we are pretty much family) I was elated to have more kiddos in my life. I like children and I was excited to meet this 8 year old girl and her baby sister. 

It's been a few months and realistically the girls will be going home soon. It makes me emotional, because I made so much room in my heart for these girls. I love(d) them like they were blood, because I learned at an early age that blood isn't always thicker than water. I want amazing things for these girls, I want there to be happiness and freedom. I want great choices and great things for them. 

It's been difficult to know that at some point I have to let go. I can't imagine how hard it might be to be the actual foster parent. Holding children in your heart for a season of your life has to be the best and worst thing you can do. My heart aches for Krystle; for the girls that will go home and lose her in their life. I feel so much, for someone so little. 

We will all do great things, and I can't wait to see where we all go. 

Gentle Marisa: Writing About Others

Marisa Mohi is a friend of mine. Someone I greatly admire, and love to spend time with. This woman is fascinating; there's always a witty remark, and a story to tell. Recently I got the opportunity to interview her for a presentation in one of my classes. 

I have always been fascinated by those who always have a story in their back pocket. Partially, because my favorite compliment that I receive is on my ability to tell stories in such a way that I never lose momentum. 

Marisa is the kind of person who is 100% authentic. All the time, no questions. It's really cool, and moving to know that people like that are here, and around me. It seems important to note that I can't think of a time Marisa didn't have me absolutely glued to the edge of the seat in anticipation. It's really awesome to know that some people have that natural ability to hold you in the moment. And she does, in abundance. 

So, to Gentle Marisa, I thank you for your contribution to my education, and of course, thank you for all of your stories. May they be plentiful. 

Hail Alma Mater: From Probation to Honors

So, I'm graduating from college. Weird, right? Four years and 35K later, and it's time for me to shake hands with the president (#PBetz) and take my diploma case. I'm reflecting now on how different things are from 2012 to 2016. 

Many people don't know this, but when I first came to the University of Central Oklahoma, I had almost nothing. I didn't have many friends, my dad and I had almost no relationship, and my mom had already passed away. I was also in the midst of leaving an abusive relationship, and the pieces that I had of my life were falling apart. 

My abusive boyfriend had hurt me, emotionally, physically, mentally. I was broken, and no one was around to put me back together. I had alienated my friends and family because I was with him. So, I got into college and I left. I moved into a terrible apartment, alone, and began my college journey. 

In 2012, I was different. Having just left that relationship, I needed something to validate me. So, I joined a sorority. A sure fire way to meet people, make friends and get involved. I had been in a ton of activities in high school, I could definitely do it in college. 

I finished my first semester of undergraduate with a 1.71 GPA. For those of you who might not be sure how GPA works, that's not good. I had joined a sisterhood, but with minimal support, and still dealing with the trauma of my past, I was struggling in school. When you do poorly for a semester, you are put on Academic Probation, a scary word for "you're up shit creek if you don't get it together." I was having nervous breakdowns, and I couldn't deal with the constant pressures that collegiate life was throwing at me. All of that changed when I finally had professors that took the time with me. They taught me things in a way I understood them, and they made me speak up. With a new found confidence, my GPA skyrocketed to a low 3 point after my second semester. 

Two more years passed of more successes, and some losses. Hard choices, lots of tears, all nighters, and coffee were all present for these. Group projects and pain-staking details, until it was time for me to start the final chapter: my senior year. 

I can't tell you how many laughs, tears, jokes, stories, mistakes, and memories we're made, shared, and told throughout these four years. There's been so many people who have been in my life for just a season, but most importantly, there are those who will last a lifetime. 

I graduate 15 days from now, a member of an honor society, for high GPAs among the American Advertising Federation members. I graduate with a bachelors in Strategic Communication, and a found passion for Political Science, Philosophy, and Sociology. I graduate knowing I did my best, and worked my butt off for this. 

Rubbing Compound: Today I Screwed Up

Have you ever had a moment of "oh, sh*t," so loud that it physically made you sick? I have. 

The first time I remember hearing this sound was just after getting my license, driving for the first time without my dad. I was around 17, and I think I probably knew everything. Well it turns out, I didn't know how to back the Buick out of a driveway without taking out a beautiful lighthouse mailbox. 

I hopped in my champagne colored Buick Century, and put it in reverse. The driveway I was coming out of was wonky, and curved, something I wasn't used to at 17. All the drivers education classes couldn't have prepared me for the noise I heard: a deafening scrape from the car and an inhuman screech from my mouth.

The mailbox, a large lighthouse shaped thing, toppled and snapped like a twig under the weight of my two ton beauty. I sobbed, apologetically, to its owner. I was mortified, and even more so when I discovered the red and blue paint transfers onto my baby. How was I going to explain this to my dad? He would be furious and take away my beautiful Sargeant (the car's name). 

A wonderful woman named Jeannie fixed this for me. You see, there is a product called Rubbing Compound that is specifically made for taking paint off paint. It worked like a charm, and I didn't have to tell my dad. What a win, right? Wrong. This particular day, Karma had decided to show me who was the boss. 

Later that night, post-paint and a trip to the auto store, I decided to head home. I took a wrong turn down a dark, dead end, no curb road. In my attempt at a 'K' turn, I smashed the back end of my beloved Sargeant into a telephone pole. Again, resulting in tears and panic. There was no way rubbing compound would fix this. The tail light was smashed and the bumper bent. It was a disaster. My father was definitely going to murder me, and worse, take away my car and ground me. 

I couldn't have that, so -being a stupid 17 year old- I lied. I told my dad that I didn't know how it happened. I told him that someone hit me at McDonald's. He never believed me, but he finally accepted my story at that time. I can't remember now if I ever told him I wrecked the car, and I guess it doesn't matter anymore. 

Last night, after a little late night sushi with my friend Chelsea, I stopped to clean out my car at a car wash. 7 years and almost as many cars later, I heard that familiar scrape and my stomach dropped again. A red stripe across my black Corporal BB, a Hyundai Elantra still mostly owned by Tinker Federal Credit Union. I got out to inspect the damage and I realized I knew exactly what to do. 

Today, I sat on the ground at a car wash, after a trip to Autozone, with a can of rubbing compound and a towel, working off the red paint from my bumper. I reflected back to 17, and all the mistakes I have made since then. Some of them big, almost none of them able to be removed with a towel and some elbow grease. I realized how thankful I was for Jeannie and a life lesson, that would truly last a lifetime. 

1213: How Traveling Alone in Chicago Changed Me

I'm from Oklahoma City. A map dot, encompassed in green pastures and oil field pump jacks. A cozy place, but a place where things aren't always "up to date". There is a great thing happening in OKC right now. A renaissance if you will, to revitalize the city, and make it better. I love the city, but lately I have been feeling like I need to spread my wings. 

I landed in Chicago on a warm Monday evening. I navigated Chicago's Midway airport, found my checked bag, and headed out to the Orange Line. Follow that with a train change to the Red Line, and a short walk from the L station at Grand and State, to my hostel: The Freehand Chicago. 

I check in with a very friendly guy named Alec. He is nice, and helpful. A breath of fresh air to me, after having walked half a mile in the wrong direction, and feeling lost in a giant city with a 30 pound bag on my shoulder. I finally get to make my way to my room, 1213, a 4 bunk room right smack dab in the middle of The Magnificent Mile, with a view of Bloomingdales Home store. 

My first "roomie" in this hostel is from Istanbul, Turkey. She's also in marketing and she seems very sweet. She tells me she will be up early; and when I left at 6:30 AM, she was still asleep. I slept great in a twin sized bed with 1 pillow. 

Fast forward through AAF's Mosaic Career Fair, where I met with and talked to recruiters from a ton of agencies in Chicago. I had a blast there, but that's another post for another day. 

I was exhausted, not enough sleep resulted in me really wanting to nap. So, I did. 4 hours later, I had 2 new roomies. One, Lisa, from Minneapolis by way of the Bahamas. The other, Monica, from Germany. Monica has never been to the States before, and asked me for some suggestions on what to see and do in Chi. We chatted about Europe, and Chicago, and my experience in the states. We talked about eating alone (which I did, and it was amazing!), and how I figure if I can do that, I can do anything. Then she said something to me about traveling, and becoming a person. She said, "it's all about ending up with a story, and I think you will have a good one."

Becoming an adult and getting ready to make the transition to post-graduate has been really hard for me. My security blanket is disappearing and I am struggling to sell myself to others. At the end of the day, we are all stories. That's what we have and what we share with one another.

As I lay here, listening to the sounds of the city 12 stories up, I have never felt so humble. I am moved by my passions for advertising, which brought me here in the first place. I am moved by my passion for travel, and my versatility in all situations. And finally, I am moved by my love for  other people's stories. I am moved by my interest in others, and my passion to know where others come from. 

So, thank you Monica. For wandering the city for a cup of coffee with me. For trying something new and getting an Uber with me. For taking the Red Line for one stop with me. Thank you for broadening my horizons, and letting me be a little piece of your experience here in America. When I come to Germany, I will definitely look you up. 

"We are all stories in the end, just make it a good one." -Doctor Who