A Case of Briditis

Posted on April 28, 2010

We looked at each other as we waited in silence for the doctor to come in.  Tristan gave me a smile, telling me everything would be okay.  I knew that underneath that smile, he was just as nervous as I was.  I sat on the hard examining table, wearing my airy gown, thinking of all the possible worst case scenarios.  Suddenly, a chilled air ran threw the room.  I shuddered.
 
The doctor entered the room with a grim face.  He sat on his round stool and gave us a face that instantly told us there was no sugar coating.  With a deep breath in, he started: “I’m going to be honest.  I have bad news.”
 
With that, Tristan dropped his head and gazed at his crossed hands.  With his right thumb, he rubbed the knuckle underneath his left pointer finger.
 
“We ran all the tests,” the doctor continued, “and came to the conclusion that –” Hours, days, months passed in between the wind up and the diagnosis. “–you have a severe case of Briditis.”
 
It sounded so cold, so terminal.  Tristan lifted his head and asked the question that we all wanted to ask but to which we did not want to know the answer.  “So, what does this mean?”
 
“Well, it’s not serious and often goes away after a couple of months.  We see it happening a lot with soon-to-be brides.  Mental capacity drops severly and memory loss is to be expected.”  The doctor turned and looked at me.  I felt my heart skip a couple of beats.  “You will find yourself enthralled with miniscule things, such as the exact shade of yellow, or how to bustle your dress.  Don’t get frustrated by these things, as they will pass.  Eventually, your brain will return to its high functioning state, and you will be able to think about less trivial things.”
 
Tristan and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I ran into his arms and we wept with the good news that this was only temporary.  We have a long road ahead of us.  I am prepared that for the next three and a half months I will be kept up by the plaguing thoughts of how to make program fans or what items to include in the welcome bag.  In order to live a functioning life, I will spend hours in front of the mirror practicing with contacts, trying out hairdos and figuring out make up.
 
On the road to recovery: 108 days to go!




Mediocre isn’t good enough.

Posted on April 27, 2010

I’m not going to lie to you.  I want to be amazing.  Most of the time, I am a silly day dreamer, looking for the silver lining in everything.  This is one of those times.  When I look at other photographers’ work, sometimes I’m inspired.  Other times, I’m disappointed.  If I’m going to be a photographer, I don’t want to be status quo.  I don’t want to take pictures that cause the typical response: “That’s nice.”  I want to create images–works of art–that capture the emotion of life and our relationships in it.  I want people to see the portraits I’ve created and be speechless.
 
I see it as this: I can either casually spend my time with photography, taking nice pictures.  Or I can pour every spare moment into my photography, learning how to capture and manipulate light, learning what makes outstanding different from mediocre.  I have two modes: ON and OFF.  Either I do this thing at full force or I don’t do it at all.
 
My mind has started categorizing the locations my eyes stumble upon.  Even in the city of Laramie, which is a mix of college students, abandoned buildings, and new strip malls, there are plenty of amazing places to shoot.  But we’re not talking the typical locations, such as the university or at the park.  We’re talking amazing, outstanding, out-of-the-ordinary locations that help a creative photographer create unique images.
 
I want to be amazing, because quite frankly, mediocre isn’t good enough.




Crying Over Spilt Glasses

Posted on April 20, 2010

I woke up in a panic, convinced I was late.  Looking at the clock, I noticed the minutes first: 50.  Immediately thinking it was 7:50, the typical time I leave for work, my breath quickened.  Then I noticed the hour: 6.  Phew!  Best feeling in the world to wake up and realize you still have a few minutes to sleep.
 
My feet swished back and forth, feeling the clean sheets.  I snuggled my head into my pillow, thinking good thoughts about weddings, summer and sugar plum fairies.  I was in pure heaven.  Throwing back the covers, I hopped out of bed and walked into the kitchen.  Ring, ting, ding — the cereal danced around the bowl before settling.  The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting linear shadows on the kitchen table.  I sat in silence, eating my cereal and thinking about the day ahead of me.
 
Shuffling my feet, I dragged myself into the bathroom to get ready.  Individual hairs – some curly, some straight, and all frizzy — flew in every direction out from my head.  Brushing my hair, I accidentally knocked my glasses to the floor, but did not think anything of it. 
 
My last pair of glasses survived rain, hail, and heat.  They had been sat on and dropped on the ground without breaking.  They met their maker that fateful day I went skydiving.  With the wind pounding my face, my goggles slipped right off…and took my glasses with them.  Somewhere, in a small crater in a corn field in Colorado, are the remains of my faithful glasses.
 
So there was no reason to believe that the current pair were not as durable.  They are nearing their third birthday and have been very loyal servants.  From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed, my glasses are with me.  I need them to drive and to find my shoes.
 
I finished brushing my hair and put it up into a bun.  Bending down, I moved the trash can aside to pick up my glasses and to my horror, they laid askew, in two identical pieces. 
 
Realizing how many easy things I was incapable of doing without my glasses, I started to cry.  And to say that I cried delicately, like a southern belle in old black and white movies…that would be a blatant lie.  I bawled.  I was mad at myself for not being more careful, I was annoyed at the idea that I might need someone to drive me everywhere, and I was frightened at the thought of living in a fuzzy world.  In light of all my frustration and sadness, I couldn’t help but think that maybe this was the push I needed to start wearing contacts.  Irony is a pain.
 
I’ve learned there’s nothing that a hug and superglue can’t fix.  Tristan gave me a big hug, wiped away the tears, drove me to work, and went to the hardware store to buy superglue.  My glasses underwent surgery at 8:09 a.m. and at 8:46, they were as good as new, albeit an extra scar. 
 
It’s funny, I went to bed early and woke up feeling refreshed, but since I cried over spilt glasses, everyone thinks I’m tired.  I don’t bother to correct them.




I Love Being in Love!

Posted on April 16, 2010

With the window down, the wind beat through my hair as we rolled down US-287.  Our winter has been so long, I forgot what this felt like.  Staring out the window, I watched the countryside: the prairie grass blowing in the wind, the small snow drifts clinging to the mountainside, and the cattle, walking as fast as molasses in winter.  The scene was so peaceful.  As I always do, I imagined that one day, we would have a little house of our own, out in the country.
 
Nearing the road where Tristan had proposed, I asked him to stop.  The sun was still up, something that almost never happens when I travel this stretch.  He pulled down the road, dust kicking up behind us.  The scene was familiar and magical all at once.  I remembered the curve of the mountains and the bumps of the dirt road.  Tristan pulled off to the side of the road, in the exact same spot.  I hopped out of the car, snapping pictures.  I wanted to remember this moment and allow myself to reminisce in it.  As the years pass, we may move far away or our memories may fade, but I will have pictures to document the absolute joy and serene beauty of our engagement.
 
I love being in love!








The Proposal Story

Posted on April 15, 2010

Standing in the cold, crisp air, Lauren impatiently waited for Tristan to pick her up from the airport. After visiting her family, she had just returned to Colorado. Though the trip was only two weeks, it felt like an eternity. Finally, in the distance, she saw it. The red Toyota pick up she had grown to love. She loved it for the pure, simple fact that it carried the man she was deeply in love with.

Before the flight, Tristan had told Lauren to put any thoughts of engagement out of her mind. He lead her to believe that his whole elaborate plan of the proposal was long off. This was the plan all along. “Ah ha!” Tristan had thought a few days earlier. “I tricked her into believing I will propose in a month. She will have no clue that I plan on proposing on our drive home from the airport.”

As Lauren chattered on about the things she did on her trip — and the food that she ate — Tristan sat quietly, nervous about what was ahead. He rehearsed what he would say. It was important that he get it right. In his mind, Lauren was worth getting it right for.

“How come you’re so quiet?” Lauren asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m listening. I’m just trying to concentrate on the road,” he answered, pleased with his quick thinking. They continued to drive up US-287, a road that they often took to get from Fort Collins to Laramie. “Would you like to pull off somewhere? The stars look really nice.”

Now, for anyone who knows roads in northern Colorado or Wyoming, they know that you can drive a 300 mile stretch and only pass a handful of public roads. The rest, connecting to ranches and private residences, are blocked off to public traffic. Tristan planned ahead and knew exactly which road he wanted. He drove a couple miles down the dirt road and then pulled over.

Because the bed of the truck was full of luggage and stuff being transported to Laramie, then later to Boise, Tristan pulled down the tailgate and helped Lauren up. He wrapped them both in a blanket as they looked up at the stars in the clear sky. Both sitting in silence, Lauren thought about how far she had come to be here in this moment. Tristan thought about their future life together and knew that this was the perfect moment.

Pretending to drop something, Tristan hopped down from the tailgate and got down on one knee. He looked up towards Lauren, and instantly, she knew. Tears started to fill her eyes. She was so in love with Tristan that her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Lauren Elizabeth Kuznick,” Tristan started. “Everyday, you make me happy today and tomorrow. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

And the rest is history. Tristan and Lauren continue to make each other very happy, and look forward to doing so for the next 100 years.





Tristan’s Story of How We Met

Posted on April 14, 2010

Recently, we were asked “How long have you two been together?” To this question, a simple number does not suffice as it feels like our relationship is constantly evolving.

Our story begins in the summer of 2007. In the heart of Denver, we first met on the DU campus as coworkers. At first, our relationship was 100% business. To me, Lauren seemed like a wild-haired party girl from a foreign land, more interested in fun than a serious relationship. Similarly, Lauren has told me that I looked nothing more than a long-haired goof-ball that wasn’t to be taken seriously. Over those first few weeks, these impressions didn’t change much (if at all).

Everything changed on the weekend before our last week together in Denver… even our hair. Spanning the entire Saturday, we discovered that we had both been wrong about each other. In the morning, I learned that Lauren is capable of a supreme level of trust: placing her life in the hands of a complete stranger as she jumped out of a plane at 13,000 feet. In the afternoon, we enjoyed our company as we donated our hair to Locks of Love and visited the optometrist. Lauren’s old glasses were MIA, most likely at the bottom of a small crater in the middle of a cornfield… an unfortunate consequence of the morning’s activities, but it prompted us to stay together for the rest of the day. That evening, Lauren discovered that I wasn’t a total stranger to the night life while we both donned our new hair-dos to our co-workers as we hit LODO Denver for drinks.

Sometimes, things just happen against all probability. Traditionally, 1700 miles is a lethal distance for any friendship that is sparingly cultivated over a few short weeks. We both assumed our relationship would end with conclusion of our first summer working together. The summer was supposed to end with Lauren leaving Denver with her mom and sister to complete a 2000+ mile road trip across the southwest. This would have happened if her mom, Sharon, didn’t break her ankle at Pike’s Peak… on the first day of the two week trip. The trip wasn’t cancelled completely. Postponed a few weeks, I sat in as Lauren’s copilot as Sharon and Liane’s replacement. Have you ever been fully engaged in a conversation that lasted over ten days? Sparing the excitement of following a tornado just a few miles south of the highway, the best part of the trip was that our dialogue wasn’t spared for any longer than the time Lauren needed to take a picture.

By the end of the road trip, we both agreed that we didn’t want our relationship to wilt away. However, we both knew the implications of a long distance relationship, cross-city or cross-country. The year following, I started my new job as a research chemist in Boulder and Lauren returned to her position as a portrait photographer for The Picture People in Pennsylvania. We maintained our friendship with random calls every other week or so. The following summer, I took a quick trip out east to visit Lauren before we started our second summer together. We both learned quickly that our care and passion for each other hadn’t diminished, but grown over the year apart. We picked up right where we had left off. That following summer, we spent every spare minute together. Officially, our first actual “date” didn’t happen until the second summer. Dinner, movies, you name it, we did it. All the while, we enjoyed our company as much or more than any given activity.

The summer passed too quickly and we cursed at the familiar distance we would soon find between us. As much as we wanted it to work out, change is difficult. Lauren returned to The Picture People and I returned to the University of Wyoming to start my Ph.D. Over the following months, we missed each other more than we expected. That following winter, Lauren visited Denver: making this the first time she travelled with her only excuse was to visit me. After her trip we again were met with lonely withdraw-like symptoms. We realized that we were more serious about each other than we were willing to admit. That January, Lauren decided that she wanted to take a chance on me and very selflessly uprooted herself to Wyoming. We’ve been in Wyoming, together, since June 2009.

So how long have we been a couple? Was it the day we went skydiving? Did it begin sometime during our first road trip? Or was it the day Sharon broke her ankle? We were definitely together when Lauren decided to move to Wyoming to give us a chance, but did it start before then? I still don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. We love each other. The reality is that we are together, happy: both today and tomorrow. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.





The Story of How We Met

Posted on April 13, 2010

When I was a little girl, growing up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I dreamed of living in the big city. I loved the lights, the people, the culture and the never-ending list of things to do. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would move to little ol’ Wyoming. (The county that I grew up in has more people than the entire state of Wyoming.)

But then I met Tristan. And while I can’t say it was love at first sight, I soon learned what a kind, caring, funny, smart, honest, and reliable person he is. On our first road trip, we drove 3,000 miles over ten days and never ran out of things to say.

Tristan introduced me to the wonderful world of camping. While I had been camping in my early days, it wasn’t pleasant. I had memories of wet sleeping bags, skinned knees and big, scary bugs. But with Tristan, I found the beauty in camping. I love the peacefulness of the outdoors and the opportunity to take the road less traveled.

Tristan makes me laugh. When I first met Tristan, with his long hair, I thought he was a goofball. And now that he is much more clean cut, I realize how much of a goofball he is (in a good way). He dances on the slopes to make me laugh after falling. He has his own grammatically incorrect way of speaking, and despite the fact that I pretend to hate it, I think it’s hilarious. The fact that Tristan is financially responsible and good with kids makes him a good partner. The fact that he can make me crack a smile when I’m down makes him a good buddy.

Tristan, I love you. I can’t wait to marry you and start this crazy adventure. No matter where we move or what we do, I am glad that I’m on this road trip with you. :)





The Dreamers, The Believers and The Nay-Sayers

Posted on April 9, 2010

There are three types of people in this world: the Dreamers, the Believers and the Nay-Sayers.

The Dreamers spend their time thinking about how the world could be. They look trash and only see the treasure. These are the people that can see the best in everything.

The Believers know deep down in their hearts that something will come true. They believe that their ideas will come to fruition. Because they have this belief, they take risks and work hard into order to realize their dreams.

The Nay-Sayers are those who instantly say “Not gonna happen” when they hear about a new idea. They are content with the status quo and the current state of the nation, their community, and their lives.

So, who am I? And more importantly, who do I want to be? If I were to break it down, I would say that I am made up of:

70% Dreamer
25% Believer
5% Nay-Sayer

I’m a dreamer, I can’t help it. It’s ingrained in my bones. My mother has always been a dreamer, with her head high in the clouds, so I get it honestly. She’s always looking for property and dreaming of living in gorgeous houses. (The Nay-Sayer in my dad tells the Dreamer in my mom that we can’t afford it. That doesn’t stop her from dreaming.)

I would love to become more of a Believer. The Believers are those who greatly shape our society and the world that we live in. Gandhi, Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, Jr., Isaac Newton, Mother Teresa, Christopher Columbus: these were the people that truly believed in their dreams, despite what others would say. They persevered, and as a result, our life is drastically different because of them.

We all start off as Dreamers; after all, an idea has to come from somewhere. If we dream up a dream that is so glorious, so wonderful, so amazing, we want to believe that we can accomplish this dream, that we can make this dream reality. But at what point does the Nay-Sayer start to creep in? That little voice inside that tells you that you can’t do it, that you’re not good enough, it starts to crowd out the Dreamer and the Believer. It’s quiet at first but grows louder and louder until it’s the only voice you can hear.

Usually, when my Nay-Sayer shows up, my Dreamer jumps right in and tempts me with visions of grandeur. If I was given a choice between grim reality and joyful fantasy, I’d take the latter any day. Maybe someday I’ll be able to eliminate the Nay-Sayer all together and grow the Believer. Or maybe I’ll start today. Maybe today is the day that I start to believe that all things are possible, that my dreams are within my reach.

What type of person are you?





Six things to do and 129 days to do it.

Posted on April 7, 2010

My wrist has been sore the last couple of days. It’s on of those things that you don’t pay too much attention. You think about that heavy box that you probably shouldn’t have lifted by yourself. Or that 17th push-up that was just one too many. You may brush it off to sleeping funny, or just working too much. But when it doesn’t go away, at what point do you start to notice?

I plan to take it as a sign that I need to get back to eating healthy. My body is like a reflection pool. If you drop a coin in the pool, the water will immediately ripple. When I eat healthy, I’m more awake and energized, I feel good, and I’m in a much more positive mood. The moment I revert back to my old ways of eating junk food, I immediately feel sluggish, bloated, and have a super short temper. The only upside is that junk food is just soooo delicious.

So, with one Easter cookie left to eat, I vow that tomorrow will be day one of healthy living. It’s a new years’ resolution for the middle of the year. “HAPPY NEW….uh, April 7th?”

Many brides have a list of things they want to improve before their wedding. I am no exception. While I am perfectly happy with the way I look and who I am, I am constantly thinking about how my photos will live long past the wedding day. Heck, they might even live long after I do.

In my parents dining room hangs two portraits of the grandparents I never met. It’s 1920s Philadelphia. They were the first generation to be born in America. My grandparents stand, very stoicly, staring into the camera. While I expect the pictures from my wedding day to be a little more jovial, the point still stands: Even after 90s years, these pictures are are still rocking it out.

So, my list of things to do in the next four months:

1) Eat healthy.
2) Learn to wear contacts.
3) Exercise.
4) Get rid of silly pimples (see #1).
5) Enjoy being engaged.
6) Figure out a hairstyle that accounts for super curly/frizzy hair…in August!

Six things to do and 129 days to do it.





The Simple Joys of Life

Posted on April 5, 2010

If there’s one thing I’ve learned out of life, it’s that it’s the little things that count. Spotting the first lightning bug of the season, giving someone I care about a hug, or hearing my favorite song on the radio. Sure, the big, exciting events are awesome, but these little joys in life are what simply make my day.

Today I found out that if I log in as a different user on the PS3, I can play Little Big Planet from the beginning without erasing Tristan’s data. (I’m a little embarrassed to admit how happy this makes me.) The game is soo much fun, but I’ve always made a little stink about it because Tristan and his friends are whizzes. Seriously, they’re pure Little Big Planet geniuses. They always run along and figure out all the secrets…meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to jump over a wall.

But now, the game is all mine! =D I love games that encourage you to explore and solve puzzles. I’m not much for the combat games (as I usually get grossed out and/or scared in the first 30 seconds). So, Little Big Planet is right down my alley. Weee!

Another simple pleasure: Tristan told me yesterday that if I bought some plastic eggs on clearance, he would hide them for me. I don’t know if he was serious, but I sure hope he was. I’ve never grown out of the “love-to-look-for-easter-eggs” phase, despite the fact that it should’ve gotten old 15 years ago. But I love, love, love the hunt. Even if there is absolutely nothing inside the hollow, plastic eggs…that part doesn’t matter. What matters in the joy of looking up, down, inside, and underneath every possible object to find the little eggs. A test of brain agility, if you will.

So, after work today, instead of buying the usuals (milk, cereal, and veggies), I will scour the clearance shelves for cheap, plastic, hollow, colorful, wonderful, delightful-to-hide-but-even-more-fun-to-find, easter eggs.







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