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Last night I bought more airplane tickets, which means I’ve booked three trips in the last two months — the first of which was booked WHILE I was on another trip. And now that these are booked, I’ll turn my attention to an overseas trip next summer. Yes, my savings account hates me. No, I don’t have enough paid time off, which means my savings account will really start hating me soon.

But when I began overhauling my life a year ago, I swore that one of the changes would include more traveling. When I left my job, they paid me two months’ worth of vacation time. That’s two months during which I could have seen more of the world while still receiving a paycheck. In my [censored] years of life, I’ve only seen 19 of the 50 United States. I’ve never left North America. A year ago, I promised myself that I would get off the continent by 2012, and by god, I’m going to do it.

The problem is, I’m not that great of a planner, because I hate making decisions. And that’s funny, because my whole life I’ve pushed toward leadership roles — president of multiple high school clubs, editor of a newspaper, etc. (Let me tell you, getting 15 broke college students to and from New Orleans less than two months after 9/11 was quite exhausting.) There are so many options and decisions, and everything sounds good to me. Honestly, everything in the world fascinates me and I’m never bored. If others have set plans, that’s fine, but how on earth am I supposed to decide among a multitude of options?

As a result, I go into vacations with a mostly open schedule. Usually there are a few things I really want to see, and I often have to work around family schedules. I do try to find interesting things to do, just so that I can get a full experience, but that’s not a requirement. For instance, in June I spent six days in Alaska. I ran a marathon but just played the other five days by ear — and had a fabulous time with great friends. I had no idea the mountains would be so steep and so green, and that I could just marvel at them while out on a walk. I couldn’t have planned ahead of time to find a leaf bigger than my head, but that was one of the funnier pictures I’ve ever taken.

You can’t plan those things. And you shouldn’t. It’s often better to just let life happen, and to revel in it.

I sometimes drive people nuts with my indecisiveness and my struggles to actually plan. But when it comes to vacations, there may be proof that I’ve got the best method. I stumbled across this blog post about whether vacations make people happy, or if the planning is the real trick. It linked to a couple different studies showing that people were happier in the days leading up to vacations, when they were planning and full of anticipation of grandeur. When they returned home, everything felt anti-climactic.

The thing is, I don’t experience that. Granted, I usually want to remain in the tropical paradise or snow-capped mountains rather than go back to everyday life of working and bill-paying and house cleaning. But I return with a feeling of having LIVED. I’ve seen another bit of this fascinating world. Usually there are mellow days in my vacations — and that’s fine, because relaxing is also important.

So, the next time someone says, “Will you just decide already?!” I’m going to feel OK when I suggest that they either make the decision or accept the fact that I’m perfectly happy to just watch life unfold.

Or I’ll ask them to help plan my next adventure. That one involves going to the United Kingdom next May/June, and I have a feeling that will require more decisions than my trip I just booked to Houston. Any takers?

On Aug. 24, 2010, I sent out my last email as a newspaper reporter. It was addressed to a mass amount of contacts, telling them I’d resigned my job. And with that, I gathered the last of my personal belongings from my work desk and walked away from a decade in journalism. I went home, made a list of things to get done, and proceeded to conquer that list in 107-degree weather. Four days later, I got in my car and began driving.

Over the course of the next two weeks, I drove up the California and Oregon coast.

I visited Portland for the first time, and fell in love with the city.

I went to Washington for the first time, making random, short-term friendships with strangers while visiting Seattle solo.

I saw friends I hadn’t seen in years.

I saw beauty.

I remembered my past.

And, for the first time since I could remember, I began to realize that the future was wide open. After 17 days and 1,930 miles, I returned home with a new perspective on life.

One year after sending out that “farewell” email and receiving many “where are you going?” responses, I still don’t quite have that answer. I have vague ideas, lofty goals and big dreams. I sometimes get disgruntled, knowing that a year has passed since I started a new chapter in my life, and that I should have done something spectacular by now. But maybe I am getting there.

Roads aren’t usually straight, and the destination is almost always elusive and around the next corner. My road trip had multiple destinations and experiences I couldn’t have imagined or planned. And I think that’s the best way to live life: Treat it like a road trip, with an ultimate destination or two, but make sure to take in as many sights as possible along the way.

It’s been one year. A year that included a road trip, another visit to Portland, a trip to Illinois and Alaska, a new job, a move to a new city, meeting some goals and setting new goals, making new friendships, and continuing previous friendships. It’s been a good one-year road trip. Here’s to the next year’s continuing road trip.

Apparently I am too lazy and distracted to actually do/finish things. Cases in point:

1. I went stand-up paddling with Naomi, which desperately needs and deserves its own fun blog post. I didn’t do that yet.
2. I ran a total of 19 miles this weekend, including a 10k race that fizzled a little. As a result, I spent some time browsing various runners/athletes/medical websites and talking to several people, some of whom freaked me out to the point that I actually tried to make a doctor’s appointment. I failed at that. I should also blog about it so I have it all in one place, but I haven’t done that yet, either.
3. There were bike races a few miles from my house yesterday, and I knew people who were going to be watching. I never made it over there!! I’ve seen those kinds of races before, and I KNEW how much fun they’d be. Yep, kicking myself for that one.
4. I finally decided today to go for it and sign up for an April marathon, because I know I’ll regret not doing it. I have no idea about my plans for next year, but the race is about to sell out. But as I was entering my information online tonight, my heartbeat suddenly felt bizarre and freaked me out. Yes, this is related to #2 up there, and yes, I’m overly aware of medical things right now, so I know I’m blowing it out of proportion. But now the registration site is just sitting there, halfway completed.
5. I recently got an idea for a book. It would be a kind of a memoir, which I know is cliche, but at this point I’ll take it. A friend said, “Write what you know,” and that’s still ringing in my ears (or in my eyes, since that was a text message). But, aside from brief thoughts while running, I have yet to actually sit down and ponder it more thoroughly.
6. I have a house full of food, but after work and running errands tonight, did I cook dinner? Nope, I got a sudden hankering for In-N-Out, and I GAVE IN!
7. I got a “grow your own tree” kit instead of a T-shirt at Saturday’s race, and I’m quite excited about it. I even have extra potting soil. And yet, I still haven’t planted the tree seeds.
8. I have an almost-finished book and others that I’m dying to read. But I’m not reading them.

So, that’s my current state of affairs. I can’t quite believe I’m about to click “Publish” on this pathetic, self-centered, failing-at-productivity blog post.

Today marks six months since I left behind California’s Central Valley and moved to the East Bay Area of San Francisco. Half a year later, I’m still reveling in the fact that I escaped the oppressive heat and the exceedingly flat terrain.

Many days I drive home from work and see clouds approaching; often they’re upon me by the time I go for an evening run. I gaze at hills, which offer wonderful views and provide much better training for my legs. Since moving, I’ve run my air-conditioner a total of three times, despite the fact that I live upstairs and my windows face the sun.

Do I miss the valley? No, I do not. I spent 13 years, 4 months in the greater Sacramento area, but I never stopped missing the mountains and the cooler night air. People will swear that the “Delta breezes” cool the air at night in the valley, but they’re only comparing the temperature to that of the blazing sun. I grew up in a place that saw triple-digit heat, but I also needed a sheet or blanket every night — I knew the Central Valley people were just grasping for hope. Now I have confirmed that I was right: I can sit out on my patio on a July night without sweating. “Delta breezes,” my ass.

I still need to make friends in my town, but I’m now close to a rather large group of Bay Area runners I’ve known for a while. I can — and do — actually hang out with them any weekend. They came along at a time I truly needed the friendship. While I do still miss my Lodi running crew, they recently split due to some sort of misunderstanding. It was all very awkward and not what I’d expect from adults who hold advanced degrees and have successful careers, and I didn’t want to have to choose between them. I didn’t: My move came just in time.

Now I can drive 35 minutes to downtown San Francisco, meet friends at the Ferry Building, go for a run that takes us over the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge, and later in go to a free concert in Golden Gate Park. Seriously, it doesn’t get much better than that.

The last six months haven’t all been roses, and today also marks the point at which I’m now officially closer to being yet another year older. I still don’t know where my life is going, and I have absolutely no idea where I’ll be in 10 years. But for now I’ve spent six months in the Bay Area, and I’m very happy with that decision. Here’s to the next six months.

After 67 years, a young man’s family members have all passed on, and even distant relatives seem to have disappeared. But Edward O’Toole is finally being buried near his former home in the San Francisco Bay Area, decades after he died in the German warfields of WWII.

I found that news story touching, and was heartened to read that a stranger took the time to research O’Toole’s roots and attend the burial. At one point, the young soldier had a family. They loved him and missed him, and they erected a memorial in his honor. They are all gone now, which means it’s up to the rest of us to remember those who died for our freedom. I’ve whole-heartedly believed this since childhood, when I regularly browsed the WWII section of my local library and read about the atrocities committed by the Nazis. Such horrors should never happen, but history has a habit of fading until we’ve all forgotten.

We are nudged to remember on Memorial and Veterans days, and I imagine that there will be a number of U.S. ceremonies this December, marking the 60th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. But we don’t have to remember on those days only — sometimes a soldier’s remains come home from a far-off country and are buried on a regular weekday while the rest of us go on with our regular lives. That’s how we should live, but we should also remember.

Every new home/city seems to come with new learning experiences. Many are trivial, but it’s still interesting to realize how much you don’t know about the small things in life. So, here are some things I’ve learned since moving six weeks ago:

1. Tile floors are cold. Having slippers (yep, those are mine) by the bed for the morning means you’re more likely to get out of that bed to face the bathroom floor.
2. Frogs are loud. Seriously, how do they just make noise all the time? Also, what is their noise called? I don’t think it’s chirping. Or squawking.
3. High school marching bands can be very off-key. I knew I’d be living about half a mile from a high school and their noise doesn’t bother me, but I hope they’ll get more in tune soon.
4. Locking yourself out always sucks. It’s a much bigger bummer when you are living in a new city where you don’t know anyone.
5. Apartment complex speed limits aren’t enforced. This is a good thing, because my car refuses to drive 10 mph on clear, paved roads. 35 mph is just fine.
6. Geese are mean suckers, especially if they hiss and ruffle their wing feathers at you, and they are allowed the run of the whole neighborhood. If they head your direction, start sprinting.
7. Having a washer and dryer inside your home is worth it.

A new study has concluded that when people fake a smile, their mood worsens.

This intrigues me, because I’m generally a pretty happy/optimistic person and I always thought that if you smile and make the best out of things, your mood will improve. Until a few months ago, that is.

As most of you know, I basically turned my life upside down last summer. I ended just about everything, in some sort of mid-life crisis, went on a two-week roadtrip, and began making changes. (I’m hopefully too young for it to be mid-life, but if it is, that’s all the more reason to take the plunge — time’s running out!) Most people thought I’d gone nuts, and I was often among them. I treaded water for a while, alternating between thoughts of, “I’m freeee!” and, “Oh my god, what is going to become of me?”

I still don’t really know what is going to become of me, but I’ve moved, I’ve gotten a new job, and I’m trying to figure out how to reach a couple other lifelong goals. The move has had its pangs, because I’m further away from friends and I’m feeling a little alone.

Through all the changes and the uncertainty, I had one form of confirmation that I hadn’t gone completely nuts. People told me, “You look happier.” At first I thought nothing of it, because a vacation always refreshes the soul. But as weeks and then months passed, I kept hearing that same message from different people: “You’re happier.”

I never thought of myself as being truly unhappy. Sure, the moments of unhappiness were much more frequent, but they’d gradually snuck up on me. Now I look back and I see myself in that study — I was faking the smiles and thinking everything would be fine. The truth is, I was dying inside.

A friend of mine came across a quote recently by George Eliot: “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” It’s also never too late to find a way to genuinely smile. It’s good for the soul.

Greetings from Portland! (That’s the city up there in the picture at the top of the blog, though it’s a bit rainier this time around.)

I’m having lots of fun, though I just got here Christmas morning. Christmas dinner with great people was followed by the most ridiculously awesome game of Catch Phrase.

Today I dragged my sleep-deprived self to a six-hour run that included Artic-like wind gusts, pelting rain, cold temperatures, and an occasional break in the clouds just to long enough to give us false hope. From 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. I was an ice cube while volunteering as a total of 69 runners — and one marathoning dog — ran a 0.95-mile loop around a park. Then I ran 6.2 miles. While it was my personal worst time in a 10k “race,” it was my longest run since Aug. 8, so I’m considering it a win. My stress fractured leg was fine, and my cranky tendon loved the non-flat course. (I’m told it was pretty flat by Portland standards. It was hilly by California Crappy Central Valley standards.)

The run was for Operation Jack, the autism charity I mentioned here before. The turnout was great, the organizers were awesome, and I’m glad people braved the weather, ran and donated. Here’s a picture at the end with Deb B.: