Oh, hey guys, I’m on a “diet.”

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I sold out. BUT! Before you judge me for being all diet-y (wait, are you doing that??), remember my 30 before 30 list?

I sorta do. A whole big list of things that I wanted to do before the big 3-0 hits in a little under 4 years. I crossed some off recently, and we’ll get to those when we get to those, but in the meantime, I want to talk about number 15:

Feel completely comfortable naked

OK. So that’s why I’m “dieting” and have been for two weeks now.

The problem is, I’ve never been one to take things like “dieting” all that seriously.

“I don’t believe in diets, man. Life is short, food is good, and grabbing a beer with friends is way more fun than hitting the gym.” -Jami, circa 2 weeks ago

Well, you all know that it’s true.

Secretly, though, I may have agonized a bit over things like, you know, my weight. I was always thin, up until I started hitting puberty at the ripe old age of 8. Then my hips started to curve outward, my slender legs started to fill out, and my breasts — ha, no, not really, not my breasts. Flat, those stayed, while my lower half began to curve and bulge in ways I had no reason to understand.

I went through high school and college with an expanding ass and thickening thighs with enough self-esteem to get me by and enough humor to laugh off the comments of my critical family.

Interestingly enough, though, it was when I started gaining confidence that I began to see weight loss in a more realistic light. These past few years my mid-20s have had me splitting at the seams with happiness, strength, and so much self-love that I’ve begun to think that maybe I’m a little narcissistic.

Well, until I looked at myself in the mirror next to my friends.

I’m lucky enough to have made some pretty awesome friends these past few years. Three girls from three different places. They do different things, have different passions, and all live their lives totally differently.

What do they have in common? They’re all thin little pieces of beauty. Standing next to them feels like being the penguin trying to be one of the flamingos.

They’re encouraging, wonderful, and they all love me dearly. “You’re not fat,” they’ve all laughed at me in one way or another. “Look at your ass!” they cry. “You’ve got rockin’ tits!” they point out. (At 26, it would appear that I finally grew some boobs.)

And they’re right, of course. I’m not fat. I carry most of my weight in my hips, ass , and legs, and even at my heaviest, I still fit into a 13 in Juniors. Not that big really.

But I want to be totally comfortable naked. In fact, that’s on my 30 before 30 list.

So what would that take? Slimming down, dipping below that high-school-low — that mark I haven’t seen since high school.

Toning up. I took lots of yoga classes while I lived in Chile last year — I want to take more of those. And beyond that, I really want to start running. Ever since I was a kid, I watched my dad walk out the door, no matter what the Northwest weather is doing, and run step after step on his thick, strong legs that I so ungraciously inherited. I want to follow after him, and I want to run beside him.

So WEIGHT WATCHERS, huh? Yup. I’ve done it before, lost 15 pounds by following it half-heartedly for a few months. So what happens if I really follow it, and start doing my yoga and my running?

I get over this weight hump, I’m hot, and I don’t agonize internally about having to be seen in shorts or a swimsuit.

Here’s why I love Weight Watchers: I’ve been doing it for two weeks now. I don’t starve. In fact, as long as I’m conscious about it, I still have plenty of points for hanging out with my friends and grabbing that beer — very important, given that I live in a completely beer-centric corner of the US and I love it so dearly.

“I don’t believe in diets, man. Life is short, food is good, and grabbing a beer with friends is way more fun than hitting the gym.”

It’s all still true.

Woot.

My South American dream

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Yesterday, I sat across from Jeremy while we ordered breakfast from our favorite north-of-Seattle joint. On his white shirt were the words “Cerveceria Kuntsmann: Valdivia, Chile.” I was puzzled for the briefest moment: Chile? Where’d that come from?

Oh, right. From me. I was the one who spent ten short months in that long, thin country at the end of the world, visited that brewery, and spent ten minutes mulling over which shirt to buy him.

Outside today, the characteristic nothwest rain pounds away the very un-characteristic 10 inches of snow that fell this week. I lay curled under my favorite comforter in my best friend’s mom’s spare room in Bothell, Washington, switching between listening to Gotye and reading. And in this comfortable little corner, the reality of those ten months seems like something more akin to a dream I had.

There are occasional reminders that it did actually happen. My skin is still a touch browner than Jeremy’s. My favorite Chilean sends me quick messages to complain about the draining heat in the south of the world. Spanish words sometimes leave my mouth out of instinct. In those little notes, I remember that world that I left a month ago.

And that’s the thing — it really has been only a month since I left.

In that month, I’ve acquired a job, a car, and put a deposit down on a fantastic apartment in North Seattle. I’ve spent time with my family, my friends, my boyfriend, my dog, and my dad’s new cat. Nothing seems new, or different. Everything is just the same as it ever was.

I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. On the one hand, it’s comforting. And on the other, it’s monotonous and draining. I spend hours researching more ways to get away.

It felt as though I was actually doing something of note for myself while I was in Chile. Something distinct, something to set me apart from the pack of 20-somethings that are just like me. Here? Shelling out marketing materials for a start-up company that I don’t entirely understand? Sure, I’m making my living and getting by and allowing myself to spend time with people I love — and that’s the most important part of any life, the people you spend it with.

But I worry. I worry about living my life without any passion. I see friends around me doing things they actually love to do, and it makes me … jealous? Something akin to that. In any case, I feel like I could be doing more. I feel wasted.

While I had Chile, to look forward to, to live with, I had passion. I had something I could cling to and say “You see this? This is mine, and I love it and I don’t have to let it go.”

This isn’t to discredit everything I have here. I’m incredibly grateful to everything I have here. I just feel a bit empty.

Now that I no longer have Chile, what do I look forward to? What’s next? What dreams do I have left?

Chile was a reality, but it was a reality that I made out of a dream that I had once. So I’ll cling to my South American dream, and hope that I can find another one soon.

Because I just might go crazy if I don’t.

So this is normal.

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I have not, in my adult life, lived in the same city as a boy I’ve been seeing.

What? That can’t be right.

Right. Let’s examine this statement a bit more.

Let’s define “adult life” as life beyond high school. Let’s define “lived in” as being in a city with no immediate intention of leaving for extended periods of time. For the purposes of this study, “same city” actually means “same area code.” And let’s define “boy I’ve been seeing” as just that — any boy that I have seen, in any type of romantic setting.

That means in eight years — around six of which were spent in relationships — and over the course of a few different boys, I’ve never, ever lived in the same city as one of them.

It was an easy win in “Never Have I Ever” because almost no one can leave a finger standing and a drink untouched.

Welp, cross that one off the constantly decreasing “possible ‘Never Have I Evers.’”

I’m living in 425/206 area. My boyfriend is also living in the 425/206 area. I have no intention of leaving. Not school, not a job, not a raging desire to leave for the sake of leaving.

And it’s occurring to me that I have no idea how this kind of relationship works.

How often should we see each other? Is it okay to hang out at home doing nothing, when instead I could be hanging out with him? What do you do when it stops feeling like a special treat to be able to see him?

I hope I’m cut out for this.

Also, things are good so far. So don’t worry. More updates to come.

Nothing changes here.

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There’s a thick fog covering my hometown. The intense dark is only broken by the reflection of orange streetlight in the mist, giving an eerie, quiet glow to the streets I used to know so well.

I drove through it in my new car, my beloved dog on my lap, as I went to pick up my take-out drunken noodles from my favorite local Thai place. I felt like I should have felt something.

I didn’t.

Since I’ve been home now, I feel like I’m not feeling anything right. In the past week I’ve gotten a job, I’ve gotten a car, and I’ve found a place to crash for my first month in Seattle. Rather than feeling happy that everything has fallen into place so nicely, I’m suspicious, and panicky, and quietly worried.

“It’s happening too fast.”

“It’s not supposed to be this easy.”

“Something has to go wrong.”

“They’ve made a terrible mistake in hiring me. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

…are all things that I’ve been repeating this past week.

I’m not normally this pessimistic, so I don’t know what’s going on there.

I feel like I should still be adjusting here after 10 months abroad. While I was there, my friends and I would speculate the different ways that we would be culture-shocked. So far, the only things that have been true are that I keep forgetting that I can flush the toilet paper and I tend to say inappropriate things really loudly because I forget that the people around me speak English and can understand me.

Instead, I sometimes forget that I was even living in Santiago. Are there really these people that exist, that I spent so much time getting to know?

While I’ve felt completely and utterly happy when all of my friends are gathered, such as at our New Year’s Eve party, outside of that I felt something missing. Something not quite right, that rubs me raw and drives me crazy. I can’t pinpoint it.

I just know that I’m feeling it all wrong.

I’m terrified of failing. I feel like there’s so much at stake, but there’s not.

I’m excited to move to Seattle. I desperately don’t want to leave my family here.

I’m completely at odds with myself.

Someone tell me how I should be feeling.

dos semanas. the sun won’t go down.

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and instead of saying all of your goodbyes
let them know you realize that life goes fast
it’s hard to make the good things last
and you realize that the sun doesn’t go down
it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning ’round.

flaming lips, do you realize?

It’s funny how quickly days fly by when jam-packed with school, with grades, with pools, and dinners, and birthdays, and trying desperately to claw at each minute we have left here.

14 days. 6 in Santiago. 8 in the south: Valdivia, Puerto Montt, Puerto Varas, Chiloe.

Am I happy to be going home?

Depends on the hour that you ask me.

The point is — I’m done with teaching. Now it’s loose ends, it’s packing, it’s savoring what’s left.

It’s looking forward to hugs and kisses and reunions with people I’ve missed desperately. And it’s finding that perfect place in Seattle, it’s picking up where I left off, and it’s planning for the next big adventure…even if I do have to wait 4 years to do as much.

And mostly, it’s remembering that this isn’t the end, not if I don’t want it to be. The sun doesn’t ever go down — it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning around.

And it’s trying to sleep every now and again.