Neen's Notes

Nine Aprils ago, I was of my own free will, laying in a hospital bed and staring at my hands. They felt naked. The ring mom and dad got me for my confirmation and the one my aunt gave me at my high school graduation were safely tucked away in the overnight bag I left with my parents.

“You know you can’t keep this a secret.”

In a matter of weeks it was going to be obvious. I was already wondering how I’d feel about the questions and (potential) judgment from others. It had already crept up from friends I expected would be supportive, and scared me off of saying much to anyone outside of my immediate family.

“You realize this is permanent, right? This is for the rest of your life.”

True. And at eighteen years old, what clue did I have about permanence? Was I even mature enough to be making a massive life decision? My heart raced a little more quickly.

“You can do this. Would mom and dad ever support you doing something like this if they didn’t think it was going to help?”

I found myself wishing that hospitals didn’t have such stark white walls and fluorescent lights everywhere. All I wanted was a soothing blue ocean, and I tried to picture the summers we spent on Satellite Beach basking in the sun and eating pizza at Bizarro’s.

“Pizza. That’s going to be a hard one.”

Why was I thinking about food? This was the worst possible time to be thinking about food. For the next 6 weeks, there wouldn’t be so much as a crunchy Cheerio in my diet. The kitchen at home was already full of soup, tuna, cream of wheat, and eggs. Even eggs were out for the first two weeks. The panic came back and I suddenly wondered how fast I could get the saline IV out of my arm, and bolt out of the hospital before anyone noticed.

And then there was peace. There was nothing. There was silence.

“This is going to save your life.”

I’d technically been obese since my early teen years. I was always overweight as a kid, even when I swam year-round, but teetered into obesity once high school hit. Between school, marching band, drama club, forensics, a job at the YMCA, a job at the jewelry stand, and time with family and friends, eating right didn’t make my list of priorities. By the time I was a junior, I was only pretending to not hate every single thing about my body. I wanted to be pretty, so I wore lots of jewelry, dyed my hair fun colors, bought sparkly clothes at the plus-size store, and tried to convince myself that it was okay. But simultaneously, I tried every single diet in the book. Changing myself became an obsession, and I went to lengths that I am not proud of to try to lose weight. The “safe” ways like South Beach, Atkins, Weight Watchers, or liquid diets stuck for awhile, but every attempt had an end, everything I tried failed at some point. Temporarily, I could shed a meager 10-20 lbs. but it always came back. I’d find myself buying boxes of cereal to replace the ones I shamefully decimated in a matter of a day or two, destroying the empty boxes and throwing them in a trash can away from home. I tried to hide the binges, but after awhile all it took was looking at me to know that what I ate in front of others could not possibly be ballooning my body at such a rapid pace.

It got worse when I went to college. For the first time in my life I was making food choices entirely on my own, and the freedom was almost intoxicating. Grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies for lunch, all washed down with a big glass of diet coke? Hell yeah. Breakfasts comprised of double Pop-Tarts and Odwalla smoothies? Bring on the sugar rush, baby. I’d catch myself every so often, and the shame would draw me back toward the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Before I knew it, everything would flip again and I’d be hiding in my dorm room destroying half a box of penne. Writing that out now makes my face turn hot and red. After all these years, I’m still embarrassed at what I couldn’t just control. People don’t think about someone obese having an eating disorder, but that’s exactly what it was.

At my highest weight–somewhere in the 280s.

And so there I was, nine years ago, freezing in a thin hospital gown, 280ish uncomfortable pounds packed on my bones, and a little sick to my soon-to-be reorganized stomach. Dr. Quinlin pulled back the curtain to my little cube in the surgery prep ward and gave me a warm smile. “How are you doing this morning?”

“Nervous.”

After all, this (wonderful) surgeon was about to make a bunch of incisions in my abdomen, close off a rather large portion of my stomach, bypass a long section of small intestine and reattach the rest of the intestine to the remaining egg-sized piece of my stomach. That’s the short description of Roux-en-y gastric bypass. For the next week and a half, I’d have only clear liquids, the two weeks after that clear and opaque liquids, the four weeks after that just soft foods, and finally a slow reintroduction to coarser solids. Basically, I was about to be an infant again. I was going to re-learn to eat, and in doing so, try to undo almost 2 decades of bad habits and damage to my body.

A simple diagram of RNY gastric bypass surgery.

Dr. Q gave me a smile and a pat on the arm. “You’re going to do great, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few hours later, my new life began. It was like hitting the reset button, getting the fresh start I always wanted. Starting from scratch.

Visiting my brother in Lucca, Italy about 3 months post-op. I was down about 55-60 lbs. at that point.

And what a miracle. What a life it has become. There is not a day that goes by that I do not believe that Dr. Quinlin saved my life in April 2004. Yes, I have had to make an effort—one that felt unbearable at times for the first year post-op. Yes, I still have to work at making good choices every day. Yes, I still have to fight the (much fainter) urge to fall back on disordered eating and a distorted perception of food.

But do you know what I can DO now? I can bike 20 miles, I run 5k and 8k races, I do ninety minutes of yoga six days a week, and go through body weight circuits like a champ. And mostly I do all of this just because I CAN. Because there was a time that it felt so impossible, and so far out of my reach that I didn’t even dare to dream of it. There was a time when I was out of breath after one flight of stairs. I always believed that even if I was somehow thin, surely I would never be athletic.

At the Race for a Cause 8k – October 2012.

I’m Superman!

People often think of gastric bypass as some golden ticket, or “the easy way out.” There’s not a post-op alive who hasn’t heard that line and had to grit their teeth and smile thinking, “You have no (expletive) clue what you’re talking about.” It’s not easy to withstand those first few restrictive months, the physical healing takes a long time, restaurants are difficult for the first year post-op, finding 70 grams of protein everyday can be really hard, grocery shopping was a nightmare at first because I had to evaluate every label and ingredient, and I had (and have) to be ridiculously careful consuming sugar or alcohol; the former because I hate feeling nauseated, and the latter because I would like to remember entire conversations. If you were (as I was) a major food addict prior to surgery, there’s a good chance you’ll look somewhere else for comfort. If you aren’t prepared it can turn into something ugly like alcoholism. As a regular contributor to a weight loss surgery forum, I can tell you that it is a familiar refrain. Trust me when I tell you that this was not an easy way out. It was as hard, if not harder than any diet I ever tried. The reason it worked for me was its two-fold approach: Restriction and malabsorption. Since the stomach pouch is quite small, the amount of food that can fit is much less than normal, and since part of the intestine is bypassed there is a reduction in the amount of calories that the body absorbs. The malabsorption is effective for about the first year and a half, but the restriction remains permanently for the most part. It is not uncommon for patients to experience some weight re-gain once the “honeymoon” period is over. I most certainly did. I put 30 lbs. back on before I looked in the mirror and thought, “Don’t waste this. You got your second chance.” I’d accepted remaining overweight because it was better than being obese.

“But that isn’t why you had this surgery. You had it to be truly healthy.”

So I re-grouped, started tracking my nutrition and exercise, and worked to find the balance that helped me get to and maintain a weight in the normal range for a woman of my stature.

…and totally jumped out of a plane.

I am literally half of myself. But unless I told you (and I do tell people because it has been such an incredible life change), you’d probably never know I had surgery. You’d probably just think I have a small-ish appetite. I still eat all of the things I used to love, just less, and I’m a lot pickier about the quality of the food I eat. We have dairy, meat, and poultry products delivered from a local farm once a week, and buy as much of our produce from the nearby farmers’ market as much as possible. Sometimes that isn’t so great for my wallet, but the way I see it, food is part of my health care costs. And my health is more valuable to me than I can explain.

Same jersey, just 9 years in between pictures.

So here I am, nine years later and 135-140 lbs. less than my highest recorded weight. There is one pair of size 22 pants that hang in the very back of my closet. Every so often when I am feeling truly discouraged, I fit myself into one leg of those pants and remember all that I couldn’t do, and everything that I can do now. It might not be a big deal to someone else, but to me it’s nothing less than miraculous. Could I have lost weight and maintained that loss without weight loss surgery? To be honest, I’m not sure. I understand so much more about obesity now that I know my problem was not simply a lack of willpower. I’m not sure what I’d be like today if not for RNY surgery.

But I know what I really am today, and what I am is so grateful that I still cry my eyes out every single year on one special day late in April. My heart overflows with gratitude for Dr. Quinlin and his staff. Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping me to achieve a healthy and active life, the life I never dared to dream of as a food-addicted, ashamed teenager. Every single run, every single yoga practice, and every single healthy check-up I think of you. I will never, ever forget what you did for me, and the compassion and care that you showed every step of the way.

Oh, how things change…(click for full-size timeline!)

I remember the first time that I wasn’t bothered that I couldn’t find a cab outside of the Prudential Center and would have to walk the mile home to my dormitory carrying 6-7 bags of groceries (a Thanksgiving turkey for dinner with friends included!).

Looking up at the cloudy, gray November sky at that moment, it was  more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen in my life.

A moment of grace and gratefulness.

Ciao for now,

Neen

Dear Summer, MOVE IT.

My brain has gotten demanding lately. Cravings for fruit and beaches abound, I’m sick to death of wearing tights under dresses and needing to keep my coat on in the office, and I want to go swimming, plant a garden, and grill. I’m the kind of person who will stand outside in humid 90 degree DC weather drinking a cup of coffee and feel perfectly fine with the situation. I am clearly a child of the long summer days.

Our HR department at work decided to hold a pie baking contest to celebrate Pi Day, and I was initially pretty stumped. Can you imagine? One of the most versatile pastries and I could not think of One. Damn. Thing. Not much fruit is particularly in season, most of what I canned last year is gone, and we were asked to omit nuts due to allergen potential, so there were a few challenges. Of course I could have gone for something savory, but for some reason I got stuck on layers. Distinct layers of flavors with different textures, maybe a little deconstruction.

“You’re over thinking this, Neen. What do you really want to eat right now?”

The answer from my summer-obsessed head came instantaneously:

“I want s’mores. I want s’mores reeeeeeeal bad.”

Hmmm….buttery, crunchy, molasses-laden crust, a creamy, slightly bitter chocolate center, a towering marshmallow meringue, and an excuse to use my blow torch? It sounded too fun to pass up.

S’mores Pie, or, “The Happy Camper”

Graham Pastry

• 1 1/3 cups flour – For graham crackers, I always use half all-purpose and half white whole-wheat.
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 4 oz. unsalted butter, cubed and chilled
• 1 1/2 tbsp. cold vodka or water
• 1 tbsp. honey
• 1 1/2 tbsp. blackstrap molasses
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Chocolate Cream Ganache

• 7 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 1 cup heavy whipping cream
• 1 large egg brought to room temperature

Marshmallow Meringue

• 1 tbsp plus 1/3 cup water
• 1/2 teaspoon unflavored gelatin
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup light corn syrup
• 4 large egg whites
• 1 tsp.vanilla extract

Begin by making the graham pastry. Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in a bowl. Add the butter, and using your fingertips, gently smear and break the butter into the flour until the largest pieces are pea-sized. It should have a pebbly, sandy texture.

Whisk the molasses, honey, vanilla extract, and vodka or water together until blended.

Add the wet ingredients to the butter-flour mixture and stir with a fork just until a rough dough forms.

Knead the dough once or twice on the counter until it adheres together.

Flatten the dough into a disc, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for a half hour.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Remove the graham pastry dough from the refrigerator, unwrap, and roll into a circle about 12 inches in diameter. Fit into a 9 1/2 in. tart pan with a removable bottom, or a 9 1/2 in. pie pan. Trim the excess from the edges.

Line the crust with foil or parchment paper and weigh it down with dried beans. This allows you to pre-bake the crust without it puffing up in the middle.

Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees.

Leave the crust on a wire rack while you prepare the chocolate ganache filling.

Put chocolate in a large bowl.  In a medium sized saucepan, heat the cream over medium-high heat until it just comes to a boil. Remove it from the stove and pour gently over the chocolate.  Wait one minute and then whisk the mixture until smooth and shiny. Add the egg and mix until well integrated.

Pour  the filling into the crust and jiggle the pan slightly to make it even.

Cover the edge of the pan with a pie shield or foil and then bake for 22 minutes or until the filling jiggles just slightly when the pan is tapped. Cool for at least one hour. I moved it to the refrigerator after an hour and left it there while I made the meringue.

Place 1 tbsp. of water in a small ramekin and put that in a small skillet. Add water to the skillet until it is a depth of 1/2 inch. Sprinkle the gelatin over the water in the ramekin and set aside to bloom.

Put the egg whites and a pinch of salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment.

Whisk sugar, corn syrup and 1/3 cup water together in a heavy bottomed saucepan. Bring the syrup to boil over medium heat, stirring only until sugar dissolves.

Once the syrup has begun to boil, turn the mixer onto a high setting and beat the egg whites to stiff peaks.

Boil the sugar syrup without stirring until it reaches 248 degrees F. Remove from the stove, and with the mixer on, pour in a thin stream into the egg whites.

Beat for 4 minutes or until stiff, glossy peaks form. Add the vanilla and beat to combine.

Bring water in skillet to simmer. Stir the gelatin mixture in cup until it dissolves into a clear liquid.

Slowly pour gelatin over egg whites and beat until the marshmallow meringue is cool, anywhere from 8-10 minutes.

Spread the meringue over the top of the pie, forming small peaks by tapping the flat side of a butter knife against the meringue and flipping upward.

Using a blow torch or broiler, brown the meringue. Refrigerate the pie until serving. This holds up very well in the refrigerator and the meringue won’t weep because of the magical gelatin.

From the first taste it was…a s’more. A giant, fluffy s’more. The crust was crunchy, with a little caramel flavor from the molasses and a distinctly graham cracker taste. The chocolate ganache was creamy, somehow tasting melted even in a chilled state. But the marshmallow meringue was the star. Puffy and springy on the outside with an almost divinity-like texture inside. The final torching gave it the toasty campfire flavor, finally quieting my weary-of-winter brain.

It didn’t win the contest, but it made me really happy to make it and that’s a reward I cherish dearly. Besides, I work with an insane amount of creative, talented people, so a baking contest here is no cakewalk, er, piewalk.

Hope everyone is having a happy March. It is, of course, the month of super-husband’s birthday, so there will be cake soon. Maybe I’ll have some new sweet treat to share with you!

Ciao for now,

Neen

I apologize to the Girl Scouts of America.

While their cookies are oh-so-delicious, one of the ingredients in them is sorbitol, a sugar alcohol which unfortunately makes me a sick and sad individual. I was depressed to discover this fact, but even more bothered by the fact that the boxes of cookies contained such a litany of unpronounceable ingredients that I’m not sure what I was eating when I did endure the nausea for a Samoa.

I had one of those “As Seen on TV” moments where the person throws their hands up in defeat and says aloud, “There’s GOT to be a better way!” Usually followed by a thrilled voiceover actor assuring the person that yes, there most certainly is a better way.

Sorry ladies, but butter always wins over partially hydrogenated vegetable oil.

Regardless of digestive distress or non-food ingredients, I missed Samoas / Caramel Delites. I’d still give in and buy a box to share, justifying that the proceeds helped young girls, and cookie sales taught entrepreneurship and encouraged social skills. Well, I think I’ll just be making an annual donation now, because I’ve done it. I’ve really done it.

I’ve made a cookie better than Samoas. No joke. Doubt me? Please wait while I retrieve the co-workers that took a batch of these down in about 5 minutes. I may never have been the most competitive Girl Scout when it came to selling cookies, but making them, OH, I’ll take you on. Then we’ll see who gets the “Cookie Star” merit badge.

Coconut Caramel and Chocolate Cookie Bars

For the cookie layer:

• 12 tbsp. butter, cut into 1 in. pieces
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 egg
• 2 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
• 2 tbsp. milk or cream
• Pinch of kosher salt

For the caramel layer:

• 6 tbsp. butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 14 oz. can of sweetened condensed milk
• 4 cups unsweetened shredded coconut, toasted until golden brown
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1/4 tsp. kosher salt

For the topping:

• 1 cup dark chocolate, roughly chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Begin by making the cookie layer. Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor.

Add the butter to the flour mixture and pulse until a sandy texture is reached. Add the egg, milk, and vanilla and pulse until everything is mixed well. The dough will look a little bit uneven and clumpy, but should not be sticky.

Pat the dough evenly into a 9 x 13 in. pan and bake for 20 minutes, or just until the edges are light golden brown. Set the pan aside on a wire rack while you make your caramel.

Combine the butter, sugar, corn syrup, and pinch of salt in a large saucepan set over medium low heat. Heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a boil. It won’t take very long—I was surprised. Continue to stir and boil for 3 minutes.

Add the sweetened condensed milk to the pot and continue to cook over low heat while stirring until an instant read thermometer reads 225-228 degrees.

Remove the pot from the heat and thoroughly stir in the toasted coconut and vanilla extract. (Cook’s note: I’ve also added chopped nuts to the caramel along with the coconut and it’s delicious! Try adding a 1/2 cup of finely chopped pecans if you like nuts.)

Spread the caramel over the cookie base evenly and allow to cool completely on a wire rack. I usually put the pan into the refrigerator once it’s not hot to the touch anymore.

Finally, melt the dark chocolate over low heat, then drizzle over the cookie bars.

Once the chocolate is set, cut the cookies into small squares. Yield: 32 cookies (I cut them into 8 rows of 4.)

Using the unsweetened coconut really keeps that caramel from getting cloying, and the dark chocolate plays nicely against both the buttery cookie and creamy, lightly salted caramel. This is what I imagine would result if a Samoa cookie and a Magic cookie bar got into a brawl and somehow melded into one glorious item.

Come to think of it, shortbread was kind of a theme in February. The rest were mostly cut-outs with some very delicious frostings. Here are some of the other creations that came out of me really not wanting to sit on a fractured / dislocated coccyx.

Portal Companion Cube

The Detective is on the case!

Dancing Mutant People

Not as sweet as he is, but pretty darn good!

These were for my friend Erica’s birthday and were extra special. Coconut and macadamia nuts blended into the shortbread cookies, topped with dark chocolate.

Hope you’re all having a wonderful start to the (early) spring!

Ciao for now,

Neen

For as much of a love of sweets as I have, you’d think that I’d be a chocoholic. While I do love my nearly daily chocolate-caramel Kashi protein bars and can’t resist a peanut butter blossom cookie to save my soul, something chocolate-y isn’t what I’d pick out of a line-up for dessert on the vast majority of occasions.

Please don’t slap me. It takes me months to work through a jar of Nutella, and usually the chocolate treats I do make end up at the Folger or the Advisory Board (where they are truly appreciated).

Joe is not a chocoholic either and for the most part relegates his chocolate eating to peanut butter cups, peanut butter blossoms (ha-ha, I got him hooked too), and chocolate chip cookies. He is far more content with a pan of simple butter shortbread or blueberry cake. Both our wedding and wedding party cakes last summer were white almond cake with strawberry filling and vanilla buttercream. I mean just look at them, of course you want to eat that:

So while I generally have at least 2 lbs of butter, sugar, and flour on hand at all times, I rarely have baking chocolate. Someone did however give me a tin of unsweetened cocoa at Christmas, and over the weekend I found myself thinking that I really ought to use it for something wonderful. We were headed to a Mardi Gras party on Sunday night, and I’d previously thought I’d go with something vanilla and pecan-laced, but remembered that the hostess makes the world’s BEST king cake and decided that a contrasting dessert would probably be more enjoyed.

“Okay, chocolate cake,” I thought. “Really freaking good chocolate cake. Chocolate cake of gloriousness.” Only I was out of buttermilk and entirely without something to acidulate the milk in my fridge. Regular milk would have worked fine, but the tangy, acidic quality of buttermilk gives chocolate cake that tender, soft crumb.

As I often do when this kind of problem arises, I began pacing around the house trying to think of a reasonable substitute. It was the perfect storm: Out of buttermilk, yogurt, and sour cream. There wasn’t even a jar of applesauce anywhere!

Then it hit me. A few months ago, Joe and I went to a wine tasting out in Loudon county and the gentleman serving us gave us each a piece of dark chocolate to go with one of the wines we were drinking. So why not take this concept a step further and put it in some chocolate cake? We had a mystery bottle of red table wine, and as Julia Child said, “The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.” Preach it, Julia.

I’m now convinced that this is what should really be called red velvet cake. It doesn’t have that bright hue, but there is a deep red tinge when you cut into it and the spicy-sweet scent of red wine hits your nose right away. I went with a cream cheese filling for the middles, but powdered sugar alone would also be just fine. The cake is more than moist enough to be served without any kind of glaze or frosting.

Red Wine Chocolate Cupcakes

I used a mini bundt pan here, but this recipe also works baked in a cupcake tin or loaf pan.

• 4 oz. unsalted butter
• 1 cup firmly packed light or dark brown sugar
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup red wine
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/4 tsp. kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Lightly grease a cupcake tin or loaf pan, and dust it with cocoa powder.

Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add the egg and vanilla extract and mix thoroughly.

Mix in the red wine. Do not panic if the mixture takes on an uneven or grainy appearance. This perfectly normal.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt, and then add them to the wet ingredients, stirring just until no dry spots remain.

Spread the batter equally into the cupcake wells and then tap the pan lightly on a countertop to even them out.

Bake for about 23 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cake comes out clean. If using a loaf pan, it will take 50-60 minutes. Allow the cakes to cool in the tin for 10 minutes and then turn them out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Dust with powdered sugar, or whip 4 oz. cream cheese, a punch of salt, and a few drops of vanilla extract with enough powdered sugar to reach the consistency of a frosting that can be piped or spread easily. If it gets too thick, just add a tbsp. of milk to thin it back out.

These were whisked away to a Mardi Gras party where as far as I could tell, they were wholeheartedly enjoyed. I bet they’d be a great gift for your Valentine(s) too. And don’t give me the lecture on why you hate Valentine’s Day because it’s too commercial and has a narrow definition of love. Holidays are what you make them, and I refer you to this post.

Ciao for now,

Neen <3

Every year in February, I write a post about gratefulness. February is Teen Dating Violence Awareness Month, and it is a time during which I reflect on the past and how it has shaped the present. It is also a way of reminding myself to be thankful for simply having good people in my life. You can find Grateful I and How to Not be Grumpy on Valentine’s Day in the archives if you’d like to read the others in this series of posts.

During February, please take time to talk to the teens in your life about cultivating healthy relationships, and how to recognize the signs of abuse. Nearly 1.5 million high school students nationwide experience physical abuse from a dating partner in a single year. It’s time to break the cycle.

The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. I have no wealth to bestow on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving him, he will want no other reward. Is not friendship divine in this?
–Henry David Thoreau

There are a lot of individuals and groups of people who have had a strong impact on my life. My entire family who gave me the foundation and understanding of what it means to love and care for one another, my husband who reminds me every day that I am a person of value and that I am loved, my two best work friends who always seem to know how to bring a smile to my face. To feel as though one matters in the world is a beautiful thing that we often take for granted until someone or something knocks us into the pit. That’s when we need a careful hand to help us up, and is often when we are most grateful for who is fearless enough to lend it.

What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.
–Aristotle

Sometimes though, it’s people who I haven’t seen for years that I feel the most grateful to have known. Maybe I couldn’t understand what kind of an affect the person had on me until we were far removed from one another, and that is what came into my head last week. People who quite literally changed my life and don’t even know it. And that makes me think of high school.

Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend,
as you will always find me yours.
–Ludwig van Beethoven

I felt lonely as a teenager. This is not to say that I was ever alone. It seems odd when I look back on all of the pictures of me smiling with my friends and being completely silly. I’ve got brightly colored hair, rainbow jewelry, shoes with bright orange flames on them, and am grinning so hard most of the time that my dimples are in full view. Everything outward is vibrant and screams “Look at me, I’m happy!” If there was ever a person ‘trying too hard,’ it was me. Inside I felt gray. It was no one’s fault; that’s just where I was at that moment in my life. And I can accept that now as a part of my evolution, but I couldn’t see it that way at the time. All I could see was the light that was out of reach from where I stood in the pit.

A friend might well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.
–Ralph Waldo Emerson

But there were people that always dragged me out of that pit. I am in awe of the maturity it showed to be a friend to someone dealing with depression at that age. For a teenager none of that really makes sense, so to be able to shrug at it and say, “Doesn’t matter. I love you anyway,” was an act of selflessness. That gesture made happiness seem possible and within reach. It helped me understand the true meaning of friendship. I will always carry that with me and hope that I can be the kind of friend that these men were to me. So this year, I will share those particular individuals with you because I think it is important to take time to acknowledge those who brought positivity back into my life when I couldn’t do it on my own. During the month of February, I set my intention during yoga practice as one of being thankful for them, and all of the friends who have shown me love along the way.

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”
–C . S. Lewis

Nate: My friend Zoe introduced me to him at one of our voice class’ concerts when I was in the eighth grade. I hounded Zoe for weeks to give me his phone number and soon we were talking on the phone nearly every day. He and I couldn’t get together very often as we didn’t live close to one another, but where there is friendship there are solutions. On multiple occasions, we synchronized our VCRs (Oh, I’m dating myself here…) so that we could watch the same movie while talking (usually making fun of said movie) on the phone. He stuck with me through thick and thin. He was on the phone with me the night that I ended the most awful, abusive relationship of my life, reassuring me that no, I wasn’t crazy to have done so. Nate was not simply loyal and wonderful in every way, but reminded me that “you don’t need to be fixed, because you’re not broken.”

Nate and I at a Shaler v. Central Catholic football game. The rain-sleet was going sideways, but *who cares* when you have a friend?

Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.”
–Muhammad Ali

Jake: My rock. My absolute, total rock. I’ve rewritten this paragraph more times than I can count because I can’t adequately describe how valued I felt whenever we were together. At one point in high school, I didn’t speak to him for almost three months (due to aforementioned terrifying relationship). One night I worked up the courage to call him purely to apologize for my absence, and remember how ashamed I felt for having been such a negligent friend. Three days later he was with me playing pool in my basement like nothing about our friendship had ever changed. He always accepted me without reservation. There was nothing I looked forward to more than seeing him at our weekly youth group meetings. He was, and I have no doubt still is, an incredibly talented artist. I have kept for years a pen drawing he did in one of my notebooks. Under the psychedelic design his phone number is written with the words “call if you ever need anything” beneath it. When I see pictures of him now happily married and with a beautiful little son, it makes me feel so joyful for him and his family.

Hanging out with Jake at a St. Mo’s youth group meeting.

“Why is it,” he said, one time, at the subway entrance, “I feel I’ve known you so many years?”
“Because I like you,” she said, “and I don’t want anything from you.”
–Ray Bradbury

Joe W.: A hero to me in the most honest sense of the word. Joe brought me back to the land of the living when I tried to isolate myself from everyone and everything. We spent many Friday afternoons wandering the streets of Oakland, and regularly spiffed ourselves up to go to the theatre together. We’d grab a pair of balcony seats to whatever musical was playing at the Benedum and then spend hours afterward critiquing it. He encouraged me to go to speech and debate meets, pushed me to be a better musician, got me to dance, and fed my creative spirit more than any friend I have known since. He is the reason that I came to know and love so many different shows. To this day, I cannot see a performance of Les Miserables without thinking of us seeing it together and getting chills at the chorus’ rendition of “One Day More.” His encouragement and kindness lifted me up in a way that was truly special. I thought of him nearly every time the NSO warmed up before Choral Arts performances last year, sure deep down that he could outplay their oboist…just because of the kind of determination he has in his heart.

“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.”
You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
–E.B. White

Scott: If you could take joy and fill a person to the brim with it that would describe Scott. He radiated joy. From the day I met him I was smitten with him. His capacity for love and forgiveness is something that I have striven to achieve ever since. I met Scott during my junior year of high school, and we were dance partners for part of our school’s performance of “Anything Goes.” When I was having a particularly bad day once, I remember him standing in the wings on the other side of the stage making silly faces at me until I laughed. Sometimes he’d just grab my hand and yank me into a dance number without a word. When I felt lost and confused, he was the person who helped me make sense of things. On numerous occasions we were out somewhere with our other friend Pat and he would make me laugh so hard that I’d be afraid to sip whatever I was drinking for fear of it spewing out of my nose. One of my favorite memories of all time is thinking of the blast we had wandering around downtown Pittsburgh and enjoying the revelry one New Year’s Eve. Every once in awhile, one of our silly inside jokes pops into my head out of nowhere and I cannot help but smile. That in and of itself is a really wonderful thing, and the warm happiness that follows is worth more than gold.

Scott and I celebrating at a cast party after “Anything Goes.” Now those are some happy, happy faces.

Writing this has been a very peaceful, reflective exercise, and I have and will always carry the lessons and values that these people taught me. I will forever be in awe over the fortune of having known them.

And I will never stop being grateful.

www.teendvmonth.org

www.breakthecycle.org

www.loveisrespect.org

www.loveisnotabuse.com

www.pcar.org

www.nsvrc.org