Diet Duel-Mindedness

This feels familiar. It’s a mixture of salacious satisfaction and impending doom. 

Oh. I know why. I just ate homemade macaroni-and-cheese for lunch. A whole bunch of it. 

Let the perplexity begin. I’m finding myself in a very strange place these days. It must be because I’ve entered the adult world, because, until now, I’ve never experienced anything quite like it. Or maybe it’s because my metabolism is beginning to fail me as I grow into the ripe old age of 23. Scary. My co-workers are doing it. My friends are doing it. My parents are even doing it! They’re all losing weight (or at least trying to. Some are more successful than others.). Regardless, I don’t think I’ve decided how I should be reacting. 

Some days I find myself being their cheerleaders. (“Way to go! Give those 5 pounds a shot to the groin Kung-Fu Panda-style!”) 

Other days I find myself feeling guilty. (“Yes. We ALL know that you’re dieting. Congratu-freakin-lations. Thanks for reminding me that I’m NOT dieting and that I’m pretty sure I’ve gained at least 10 pounds since I got married less than a year ago.”) 

Sometimes I take pride in my figure. (“I’m so proud of [insert name of starved person] for being so dedicated. Thank goodness I can still fit into that one pair of jeans that I wore in high school, which obviously means that I haven’t gained enough weight to have to care...yet.)

At other times, I find myself possessed by a Dove marketing agent. (“Why does she think she needs to lose weight? Be proud of your curves, girl!)

In the support of full disclosure, this schizophrenic reasoning probably has a lot to do with the fact that I split the majority of my TV time between Dancing With the Stars, Ugly Betty, Project Runway, and Drop Dead Diva.

What’s the reality? A lot of people are living unhealthy lives (myself included). Too much Zaxby’s, and not enough Zumba. So, sure, eating better and exercising is great! I really AM all about that. But it’s also a reality that we have a skewed perception of beauty. How many times have you heard now that the average woman in America wears a size 14? If you’re a woman, probably a lot. If you’re a man, eh…maybe never. 

So here are the solutions I’ve come up with for myself:

1. Just be supportive. (Encourage both the “own it” friend and the “hard core weight loss girl” because they both deserve it.)

2. Get a scale. 

3. Don’t diet. Adjust.

We’ve probably all seen both extremes of this scale. I’ve watched crash dieters lose 20 pounds in a month and gain it back in two weeks. And I’ve seen people make a drastic change and stick with it. For example, both of my parents have lost at least 175 pounds combined, and they have kept it off for a while now. They have completely changed their lifestyles, and it has really made a difference in their health, their well-being, and their happiness. If I decide that I want to lose weight and to live a healthier life, then I’m going to do it their way. By making changes that I can see myself living with forever (whole wheat bread, instead of white. Skim milk, instead of 2% milk. More fruits and vegetables, less carbohydrates. Yadda, yadda, yadda). Because, let’s face it. I love cake WAY too much to give it up forever.

Best Friends!

Before this weekend, I hadn’t seen my very best friends in 6 months. I’m pretty sure that’s like 8 million years in “best friend” time.  I really don’t recommend it.

Let me tell you a cool story about a couple of the coolest girls on the planet.

The first day of kindergarten. I walked into Mrs. Fox’s classroom holding my crying mother’s hand. (I don’t actually remember her crying, but I’m pretty positive that she was. She has a tendency to do that in situations like these. Must be genetic. Thanks a lot mom.) I sat in a chair at a table that was just my size, and across the table was a little girl with long brown hair and brown eyes who was just my size, too. The legend goes that she asked me if I wanted to be friends, and, thankfully, I said yes. You might attribute this quickly formed friendship to some sort of defense mechanism. Two are stronger than one, and in the scary world of kindergarten, it’s always safer to have a partner in crime. But I have absolutely no doubt that this cosmic consult was none other than fate himself.

Sadly, I lived in the middle of nowhere, which just happened to be right next door to Greenwood Elementary School. Total school population from 1^st–6^th grade was probably 100 tops. No kidding. Rachel lived much closer to town, so she went to Widmeyer Elementary School (total school population: a heck of a lot more than 100). Rachel and I met up fairly regularly. We had sleep overs (I once peed the bed at her house. That was embarrassing.) But we drifted apart a bit through the years because we were kids, and we didn’t really have total control of our own lives yet. 

We met back up in 6^th grade when I entered the world of middle school. There was only one middle school for our county, so my 4 or 5 Greenwood Elementary 5^th grade graduating-classmates and I had to brave a gigantic crowd of strangers. My very first day at lunch, guess who I spotted. Rachel. That was the day I met her friend Emily Walters, along with some other really awesome girls who I also happen to still be friends with today.  

We three remained friends throughout our middle school years (although we had our bumps along the way) and into high school. We took classes together, joined clubs, played sports, watched football games, yadda yadda yadda. It was bliss. When it came time to choose a college, we all decided to go to Marshall University together. My freshman year, I roomed with Emily; and my sophomore year, I roomed with Rachel. Our junior and senior years, we moved into an apartment together. We were inseparable.

Emily and Rachel were co-maids of honor in my wedding last year, after which I moved to Burlington, North Carolina with my new husband; Rachel moved to Marietta, Ohio to attend physician’s assistant school; and Emily stayed in Huntington, West Virginia to complete her teaching degree. It’s almost been a year now that we’ve been separated. We call, text, and Facebook (yes, I just used Facebook as a verb) to stay in touch, but we rarely get the chance to see each other. Yet, when we do, it’s as if nothing had ever changed. It’s as if we were together all the time.

This weekend, the stars aligned. All three of us were going to be in Huntington, and it just so happened to be Emily’s birthday. We hung out all day Friday and had an old-school slumber party that evening. We went shopping together, we went out to dinner, we chatted and laughed, and we all three slept cozily on Emily’s double bed. 

It’s got to be God that we became friends in the first place, and it’s got to be God that we’re still friends now. I am so thankful for good, Godly, fun, inspiring, supportive friends. Here’s a big shout out to my besties, Rachel (Rachie) and Emily (Em). I love you guys more than you know! And I can’t wait to see you again (hopefully soon)!

It's a heart thing.

Go ahead. Congratulate me on being an aunt to the 2 cutest nephews in the whole wide world. My second nephew, Rowan Gabriel, was born this past Good Friday (how fitting). My husband and I raced to West Virginia when we got the call that our sister-in-law was in labor. He was healthy and happy and beautiful. I was busting at the seams to get to hold him, and it was pure bliss when the moment finally came. He was so soft and sweet and snuggly. He was completely dependent on me. I, at that very moment in his life, was fully responsible for him.  Freaky.

It’s kind of impossible not to go to that “what a miracle!” place when you see a newborn. In a weird way, I find that a newborn baby is an everyday example of God’s miracle-muscles. A whole miniature person grew from one teeny tiny egg and one super swimmer sperm! That’s fantastically impossible, yet I’ve been told that it happens fairly regularly! Go figure.

I’ve been taking a medical terminology course through the Duke Clinical Research Institute (where I work) for the past 6 weeks. For the last 2 weeks, we’ve been learning about cardiology (cardi/o- [heart], -logy [the study of]. My teacher would be proud). Until now, I had never really been interested in medicine, but it’s impossible not to be blown away by how unbelievably well our bodies are designed. 

Like, did you know that blood’s only purpose is to provide oxygen and remove waste from every single cell in our entire bodies? Did you know that the reason you can only see blue veins (which carry blue deoxygenated blood back to the heart) through your skin is because arteries (which carry red oxygenated blood) are buried deeper into your bodies so that they’re protected better? Did you know that your heart beats about once every second, despite the fact that you never tell it to? (Thank goodness. That’s all we’d ever get done.)

Pretty rockin’. Way to go God. 

Thinking about all of these weird complexities makes me fall even deeper in love with Jesus. It makes me realize, yet again, how insignificant and powerless I am in comparison with Him. Wowsa!

Anyway, babies are cool. Hearts are cool. 

And so are you. Hopefully. If not, then try harder. Just kidding.

Happy Monday all!

Lazy critics are the worst.

How many times have you had your ideas crushed by that one guy. Ya know, the guy who always has something negative to say about every idea that is brave enough to make its way out of your mouth. Suddenly, you begin to notice a pattern. That guy manages to immediately stuff, basketball-style, everyone else's concepts, yet...never offers up his own. 

 

Today, as I was reading this magazine article (http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/features/25335-hate-the-christian-art-love-the-artist), I came across this quote: The only thing easier than doing a bad job is criticizing it. 

I realize that life isn't always full of Reese Eggs and cake icing (two of my favorite things in the world, and they're even better combined!). Criticism certainly has its place in the world, but the line between constructive criticism and "derrr der der...I have nothing to contribute to the conversation, so I'll make everyone else's ideas sound stupid" is actually quite thick. 

 

Avoid becoming that guy. Pay attention to the criticism you give and, more importantly, understand why you're giving it. If it's legit, SWEET! But if you're only speaking up to make yourself feel or look better, then stuff a sock in it, will ya?

 

 

Birthday Bliss!

Today I turn 23 years old. That's right. 23. The magical age of...well...nothing. (Although, someone did tell me that turning 23 means that you can legally drink at work. Wait, wait! Do not bring alcohol to work tomorrow. He was joking. I hope.)

So here I am, basking in my 20s while I still can, and it seems like everyone I work with is noticing. I am the youngest person in my department, and I'm probably among the youngest employees in the whole flippin' company. So, I constantly field the "Do you remember so and so? Oh wait, you're far too young to remember that" question, to which I shake my head in fake shame and quietly mutter "Yes, well, I suppose you're far too old to know who the supercool Justin Bieber is." Today, my birthday, certainly kicked it up a notch. Everyone kept saying, "What are you, 18?", "How young are you now?", and "Oh, 23. I'd give ANYTHING to be 23 again." I guess the good news is that no one told me how awful their 23rd year of life was. It seems to be a pretty positive memory for most.

My mom always says that it's better to have a birthday than to experience the alternative. And I agree. Birthdays are the best! Everyone pays attention to you. 100 people you haven't spoken to in a year send you half-hearted Facebook birthday wishes to which you'll never reply. And there's cake! There's always cake! (And I do LOVE me some cake).

So, in honor of my 23rd year of life, here's a digital toast to the next 365 days. Who knows what they could hold. I'm looking forward to each and every one of them!

I'm a big kid now

Hello all.

First, let's get acquainted.

My name is Morgan. I am (soon to be) 23 years old. I live in Burlington, North Carolina with my husband Dave. We will have been married for 1 year in June, which also, not surprisingly, will make it one year that I've lived in NC.

Sometimes I kind of feel like I lead a double life. Not intentionally, but there is sort of a dual-identity involved. My Clark Kent life: I'm an assistant medical editor at the Duke Clinical Research Institute (DCRI) in Durham. My Superman life: Trailhead Church. Let me explain.

Dave and I are super involved in our church. And when I say "super involved" I don't mean in the "hey, let's actually go to more than one service a week and maybe volunteer every once in a while" kind of way. Dave is the administrative pastor, meaning he handles all the administrative tasks (finances and other organizational stuff). He's also the media guy. Oh, and the whole reason he moved to North Carolina in the first place more than 2 years ago was to help our friend start the church from scratch. After we got married and I moved here, I jumped in right along with him. It's a lot of fun, but it certainly keeps us busy.

I guess I've been a little nostalgic lately. My birthday is coming up next week, and my wedding anniversary is only two months away, so it has me thinking about this whirlwind of a year. 12 months ago, I was weeks away from graduating from Marshall University with my print journalism degree. I was only 2 months away from my wedding and my subsequent move from West Virginia to North Carolina (talk about packin' it in!). So, to summarize, I graduated college, got married, and moved to another state within about a month.

People constantly ask newlyweds the big question: "How's married life?" My answer? FANTASTIC! I love it, I really do, but there's been a heck of a lot to get use to. One of the biggest is being away from my family and friends.

That's why I started this blog. Hopefully it'll be a great way to keep in touch with everyone. Stay tuned, everyone. I promise to make it entertaining!