April 27, 2016

This is What the Trip of a Lifetime Looks Like

April 27, 2016

I mentioned in my 5 year travel bucket list that I was headed to my first destination this year: The Galapagos.

Back in the summer of 2015, I sat on an outdoor rooftop in Chicago with my husband and our four best friends, two of which were about to embark on a year-long trip traveling South America. We gathered around a table in the warm night, surrounded by city lights, drinking cold beers, and dreaming about what it would be like to meet up in the Galapagos one day.

I don’t have the vocabulary or the writing skills to explain the eight days we spent sailling across the islands, experiencing life in a new way, so here is the next best thing. The actualization from that day of rooftop dreaming.

Enjoy!

LappsFINAL from Alex Reinhardt on Vimeo.

March 8, 2016

Why Everyone Needs a Happy Place

March 8, 2016

There is a strip of land that runs about 25 miles long off the coast of North Carolina, called Topsail Island. For the first 20 years of my life, I had no idea this place existed.

When I was 21, Al (then my boyfriend, now my husband) and I decided to make the 15 hour drive from Bloomington, Indiana, to Topsail, North Carolina. We had a week off from school for our college spring break, and since we were too broke to spend money on a vacation, we decided to take advantage of the home Al’s family owned and rented on a quiet stretch of beach that I had never heard of.

I will never forget the first time I saw Topsail Island. I already had the salty moisture of the ocean on my face as we drove over the arched bridge connecting the mainland to the island. I saw the long row of houses neatly lined up on the sand bank, facing miles of endless blue ocean. I was struck with that very specific feeling that hits when your bare feet hang out of the window of a car, sunshine hitting your face, and the sea waiting for you just around the corner. The perfect mixture of freedom and happiness.

I was lucky enough to feel that feeling countless more times over the next nine years, as the Beach House became our happy place. It was perfect.

Over the years, Topsail Island managed to stay somewhat secret (or at least managed to feel that way), and was never overrun with vacationers, tourists, or chain restaurants. It remained a special place that squeaked by the fast pace and commercialization of the world around it, unnoticed. I would grow to have some of my happiest memories take place within that 25 mile stretch of sand.

Throughout my twenties, Al and I would return to the Beach House during various stages of our lives. When we graduated college, we went to the Beach House to celebrate. I got to know and love his family there. I visited before and after moves abroad, stressful jobs, bouts of unemployment, saying goodbye to friends, and other major transitional periods of my twenties. I could create a montage in my head of the amounts of times I took runs along the shore, wondering where life would take me next, and if I would make it out okay.

The Beach House always listened.

Al asked me to marry him on the second floor balcony of the Beach House, overlooking the ocean. I tried surfing for the first time in my life there. I felt elated watching pods of dolphins playing in the surf. I once sat along the beach with my best friends in the world, in the middle of the night, as we witnessed the phenomenon of bioluminescence, and watched in amazement as glowing lights danced in the sand, reacting to the touch of our feet. It was pure magic.

The Beach House was always the place I went to in my mind’s eye when I needed a quick mid-day escape during a hectic work day. It instantly calmed me.

This year, the Beach House was sold, and we said goodbye to the place where we had built so many memories. I feel so grateful to have experienced a place that meant so much to me, that created so many endless pockets of happy memories to draw on for the rest of my life.

I love knowing that when I am 80 years old, I will still have the memory of the time I went boogie boarding with my friends, and turned my head as I crashed on to the sand just in time to watch each person wash up on the shore one by one, the sun setting behind the horizon, casting a soft glow on everything surrounding us. It is one of my happiest life moments so far.

Now, it’s time for someone else to build memories there.

Loving a place as much as we loved the Beach House made me realize how important it is to me to have places in life that make you feel happy, free, and alive. Of course, it is important to find this internally, but there is no denying that there are places in the world that help bring out the best in us, that make us feel good the moment we step foot in them.

The Beach House happened naturally, and was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of place for us, but that won’t stop me from aggressively searching for my next Happy Place. And I hope you find yours.

Thanks for the memories.

Meg

(Now currently taking suggestions for new Happy Places!)

February 22, 2016

Coffee and Crafts II

February 22, 2016

You can read the first installment of Coffee and Crafts here for background, and some insight into my love for beer and coffee.

Coffee:

My sister and I have recently made ourselves a hobby of imitating Oprah’s latest commercial for Weight Watchers, where she shouts about her love of bread with reckless abandon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSOtcyK3hF8
As entertaining as this is, I know exactly how Oprah feels about bread, because this is how I feel about iced coffee.

I. Love. Iced. Coffee.

So, when I took a recent trip to St. Augustine with my family, I was giddy knowing that one of my favorite iced coffees was in my near future.

The Kookabura

Where is it?: 24 Cathedral Place, Ste 100, St. Augustine, FL 32084

The Kookaburra calls itself an Aussie-American coffee and pie bar, and apparently has a three different locations in St. Augustine. The one I visited is a tiny shop right in the heart of the historic district.

What I ordered: I walked into the Kookaburra knowing exactly what I was going to order: An Aussie Iced Coffee. It has a hint of vanilla, and is a bit creamier than your averaged iced coffee.

On this particular February day in Florida, temperatures were the upper 50’s. I have complained enough about the weather in Chicago on this blog for you to know that upper 50’s in February is basically summer weather for me. In Florida however, upper 50’s seems to be the equivalent of living inside of an icebox. As I waited in line, I overheard the barista and the customer exchange shock that there were people dumb enough to order iced coffees in this freezing weather. The barista then said, “I know, it’s crazy. Some people are just diehard about their iced coffee.” Lucky for them, they were able to see one of those diehard fanatics in the flesh, when I walked up next and ordered my iced coffee, daring to do the impossible in the face of such harsh elements.

Anyway, I ordered my delicious coffee, stepped outside into the sun, and enjoyed every second of it.

somehow I managed.

What I liked: I think I’ve said it enough – this is one of my favorite coffees, so I loved everything about it.

What I didn’t like: I guess this is where I should complain about the tiny cramped coffee shop, but honestly, I didn’t even care about that. This probably isn’t a place you would want to post up and spend hours reading and enjoying your coffee, but I personally think that adds to the Kookaburra. You’re in one of the most beautiful cities in America, grab your coffee and explore!

hard to tell from this picture – but it’s tiny and gets cramped, fast.

Would I go back?: Yes, yes. A thousand times yes.

I see this in my dreams.

Crafts:

My adventure into new beer this month took me out of the city of Chicago, and into the suburbs of Barrington. I was interested to know if the beer would be as delicious outside of the city, as the suburbs have a reputation for not having quite as much to offer.

The Lucky Monk

Where is it?: 105 Hollywood Blvd, Barrington, IL 60010

I wanted to make the drive out to the Lucky Monk after all of the ‘Best Of...‘ awards I saw attached to their beers. That, and their logo of a happy monk is adorable. The monk theme is carried throughout all of their menu and drink items – with beers like ‘Cardinal Sin Pilsner’ and ‘Solitude Stout.’

All of their house rotating tap beers are brewed in-house, and they even use a private well to supply the water they brew the beers with.

I felt as happy as that jolly monk looks after sampling these beers.

The restaurant itself is large, with dim lighting and a mixture of wood tables and various booths. It had a very familiar feel – almost like that of a large chain restaurant or brewery.

What I ordered: I didn’t hesitate to order their sampler for only $8.99. It was a great value, and gave me the opportunity to try all of 5 of their tap beers. The sampler also came with this handy breakdown and description of each beer I was sampling.

What I Liked: As I mentioned in my last coffee and crafts, I am a huge sucker for a great beer glass and presentation. The Lucky Monk did not disappoint. My favorite beer of the 5 was the Cardinal Sin, and the Monk’s choice, (which is a new rotating brew of the week) an IPA that I can no longer remember the name of. All the beers were ice cold, and delicious. I could even appreciate the stout beer – which I am not usually a fan of.

I also want to mention that the Lucky Monk got a bonus point for naming one of their appetizers Kristin Calamari – a clever little wink at the local ‘celebrity’ Kristin Cavallari, who went to Barrington High School before hitting it ‘big’ on Laguna Beach. Clearly, all it takes to win points with me is a good a reality TV personality pun.

What I didn’t like:

There wasn’t a whole lot that I didn’t like here – other than the fact that it’s way too far out of the city. The restaurant itself is pretty isolated, and has a pretty generic restaurant feel inside like I mentioned, but it’s hard to care too much about that when the beer is so good.

Would I go back?: Probably not. As much as I enjoyed the beer, I can’t envision myself making the effort to go out there again, even when I’m in Barrington visiting family. However, I would absolutely recommend it to anyone who was in or around the area.

—

All and all, I’d check this off as another successful venture into coffee and crafts. I’m already reaping the benefits from this series – as I’ve introduced the Metropolitan Flywheel to various people with rave reviews from my last visit at Beermiscuous. I can’t wait to see what other delicious discoveries are in store.

Until next time.

February 3, 2016

What my 23 year old self wants my 30 year old self to know

February 3, 2016

I have kept a journal since I was seven years old. I wrote about the first time I saw The Lion King in theaters, and how I felt when Princess Diana died. Around the age of eighteen, when I got my first laptop, I started typing out diary entries when I didn’t feel like hand-writing them. I have over a decade of ramblings saved on word documents.

Recently I have been going through some of these ramblings while doing my annual computer back-up, and stumbled across this letter I wrote to myself when I was 23 years old. I wish I could say this was the only time that I have written a letter to myself, but that is not the case.

The letter is advice to my thirty year old self, and I enjoyed reading it through the eyes of a younger me. Although I am not quite thirty yet, I figure this is a good reminder for when I do hit the milestone in about six months.

Me at 23, back when I apparently knew it all.

June, 2010

Your twenties are supposed to be a crazy, unstable, scary, and confusing time. I have read endless articles and blogs where the author contemplates what they would tell their twenty-something self if they could go back in time. Lessons they wish they could have imparted upon their younger, less developed self. The most popular wisdom seems to go something like this:

–Wear a two-piece and short skirts! You’ll look back on pictures and miss your 20-year old body!

-Don’t go tanning. Stop slathering on baby oil next to your friends and spending hours on a beach chair, you might look cute now, but you won’t later.

-Don’t worry about such-and-such boy, what other people think about you, stop being so pathetic, just love yourself and everything else falls into place.

-Monitor your credit card spending and money, stop dropping $200 every time you go to a bar. You’re not a Kardashian.

I can’t argue that these aren’t valid pieces of advice. However, if my thirty year old self figured out a way to communicate with me from my future, and was like, “Hey Megan, I’m here to tell you it’s ok to start buying sluttier dresses, as long as you don’t spend too much on it-because you need to be saving for retirement. Got it?’ I’d be like, I can’t believe my 30 year old self wasted her one chance at time travel for that useless advice.

So, I decided to write my thirty year old self a letter. This way, if she ever figures out time travel and decides to use it as a method to communicate to her twenty year old self, she’ll have this letter to refer to:

Dear thirty year old Megan,

First things first. Don’t write me a letter with your advice, I’ll just ignore it. Instead, pay attention.

Your twenties have been awesome. Granted, I’m only about three years in, but so far they have gotten considerably better every year. You have done some seriously amazing things.

At 23, you know you don’t have it all together, but it’s cool. Don’t worry about that. Right now, let’s talk about thirty-something-year old you.

Most importantly, please do not stop being awesome.

I’ve seen people hit their thirties and instantly panic if they haven’t hit certain life-milestones. I’ve also seen the opposite. People just instantly get boring when they hit their thirties, and decide it’s time to ‘settle down’ or whatever that means.

Don’t misunderstand. By awesome, I do not mean going out clubbing with twenty-somethings every night and trying to reclaim your youth. Nothing about that is awesome. I mean continuing to always strive to find what you love, never becoming complacent, and always challenging yourself when things start to feel too easy.

If I were to guess, most of the people you know are probably much farther along in the ‘life stages’ race than you. Do not let yourself think that this is a bad thing, or that you need to catch up. Even now, you worry that you aren’t making enough money, that you aren’t far enough in your career, that you are making bad ‘life moves’ by chasing your travel dreams. You should know by now, that you cannot make any wrong decisions. Everyone has their own direction to take. Keep taking yours, never compare, and never look back.

Keep in touch with your friends, and make a huge effort to stay as close as possible with them, no matter where life takes everyone. This is a big one. These people in your life at 23 are the best friends you will ever have. There are not other people in the world that exist like them. They are the most supportive and caring people on the planet, and if you let that fall by the wayside, then you have failed at life. Seriously.

This is probably the most important part of this letter, and also the cheesiest.

As long as you are healthy, relatively happy, and have your friends and family-nothing else matters. I know you probably don’t believe this, and think it’s just your 23 year old naïvety talking, but it’s true. You are a chronic over analyzer-but sometimes the best thing to do is just stop thinking. Stop thinking and spend time each day being ridiculously grateful for where you are, and the opportunities you have in your life.

And please, for god’s sake, throw away all our jean skirts. They aren’t coming back, and if they do, that’s none of your concern.

Love,

23 year old Meg

February 1, 2016

Monday Motivation: Women Who Get Shit Done

February 1, 2016

January has always been a rough month for me, and I am not sorry to see it go this year.

Mondays lately haven’t been looking so hot, despite my efforts in beer tasting and resolution making. I don’t know what it is about January that always puts me in a weird funk.

Thats a lie, I do know why.

The weather, post holidays, the long dark and cold days without sunlight, just to name a few.

It probably didn’t help that on my way to work today, I started thinking about the undeniable fact that I am less than six months away from turning 30 years old (clearly I wasn’t trying very hard to pull myself out of my January funk). My thoughts went something like this:

My career has hit a complete brick wall.

I can’t believe how much I’ve had to spend on dental bills this year already.

Why can’t I force myself to get up an extra 30 minutes early to make my hair look more presentable? All the other girls in my office seem to pull it off.

It’s because everyone else has their life together way more than I do.

Will I ever stop being the type of girl (woman?) who wears out her clothes until they have holes in them?

And so on.

Just as I was getting knee deep into the mud of my own self-judgement, I thought about my mother. For whatever reason, I began to wonder what kind of things she must have wondered about at my age.

At my age, my mother was married, with two tiny rambunctious girls, and pregnant with her third – me! She had moved away from home, to a city where she knew no one, back when people were still writing letters to keep in touch. She had already gotten her masters degree in education, and was working full time as a teacher, while my dad finished his masters degree.

At my age, she was just beginning to lay down the ground work of a life that she would continue to build for the next 30 years. A life that would grow wider and deeper and strong enough to create the foundation where my roots would eventually grow.

My point is, I have a hard time imagining she worried too much about her hair. She was too busy raising a family, building a career she found meaning in, surviving.

Then again, we Fitzpatrick women have always had wild hair, so maybe she did think about it from time to time.

Either way, thinking about what my mom was like at my age forced me out of my negative thought process about my own life to see a bigger perspective. I am not making the argument that my life isn’t as rich or meaningful because I don’t have children, or I am not working towards a masters degree. Everyone has their own individual battles and challenges, and no one way is better than the other.

What it shifted my thinking to instead, is how inspiring it is to me when people create a life of meaning for themselves. Not a life based on what looks good on the outside, or a life that aims to hit the checkpoints that we are conditioned to think we should be reaching at certain ages, but a life that calls to them individually.

Nothing motivates me more than seeing women succeed within their own terms of what success means for them.

This led me to think about all the women in my life that inspire me, and how little would get accomplished if I continue to spend too much time worrying about where I think I should be by now, and instead just focus on building the life that I actually want to live.

In an effort to leave January behind, and start February off right, I have put together a list of women who are motivating me to actively work towards the life that I want, and the type of woman I want to become, instead of worrying about what everyone around me is doing.

Taylor Swift

Why She Inspires Me:

I don’t care what people say, I love Taylor Swift. Not only is she the highest paid woman in music at 26, but she also writes her own music, and plays four instruments, which to me, is the equivalent of speaking four different languages. She isn’t afraid to speak up for what she believes in, like when she pulled all of her music from Spotify because it doesn’t properly compensate artists, and then proceeded to write an open letter to Apple for the same reason, influencing Apple to completely shift their music streaming policies.

Taylor really solidified that she was a woman after my own heart when she announced she was giving away all proceeds for her music video Wildest Dreams to the African Parks Foundation of America.

I could go on and on about the reasons I love Taylor, but the reason she made my list above all others, is her focus on surrounding yourself with women who build each other up. I am lucky enough to have women in my life who are each other’s biggest cheerleaders, and who find true joy in one another’s successes. I have seen firsthand how powerful this type of support can be. I don’t care if you like her music or not, that’s something we all can get behind.

Favorite Taylor Quote:

“The one thing I do believe as a feminist is that in order for us to have gender equality we have to stop making it a girl fight, and we have to stop being so interested in seeing girls trying to tear each other down — it has to be more about cheering each other on as women…”

Doctor Hawa Abdi

Why she inspires me:

I first heard of Hawa Abdi in 2011, after watching her TED Talk on running a hospital with her daughters in Somalia during war-time. Abdi has dedicated her life to serving her own country, founding the Dr. Hawa Abdi Foundation, which is both a camp and hospital that provides basic needs to the refugees and most poverty-stricken communities in Somalia. She has been described by Glamour magazine as “equal parts Mother Teresa and Rambo.” Today she runs and brings awareness to a camp for over 90,000 people, most of whom are women and children.

Women who fight peacefully, by contributing their skills and gifts to those who need it the most in times of conflict are huge role models for me. Whenever I find myself complaining about the cold Chicago weather, or a work project I am not particularly excited about, I think about Abdi, and it instantly humbles me.

Favorite Abdi Quote:

Abdi was held hostage at her camp in 2010 by Islamist Militants, and told (as half of her camp got destroyed) that she couldn’t run camps like hers since she was a woman. Her response to her captures is one of the (many) things that put her on my list, and earned the slot for my favorite Abdi quote:

“You can’t do things like this. You are a woman.” She responded: “You are a man — you have two testes. A goat also has two testes. What have you done for your society?”

Beyonce

Why She Inspires Me:

I almost left Queen B off the list, because I thought she was too obvious of a choice. Then I realized this is my blog, and I can write whatever I want, and I LOVE BEYONCE, so how could I ever leave her off the list of women that inspire me?

It is hard for me to explain just exactly why I love Beyonce so much. When I watch her perform, I instantly feel like more of a bad-ass, even if I have just wasted an hour of my life on a YouTube bender of music videos (which I may or may not have just done after I decided to put Beyonce on my list). Beyonce has made herself into a business, has been named Forbes #1 most influential celebrity, beating out Oprah, and her husband, Jay Z. She uses her powers for good, shining her spotlight on things like gender equality and women’s empowerment. She’s successful because she works extremely hard, and does things her own way.

Favorite Beyonce Quote: ‘It is so liberating to really know what I want, what truly makes me happy, what I will not tolerate. I have learned that it is no one else’s job to take care of me but me.’

Malala

Why She Inspires Me:

If you have watched He Named Me Malala, or read I Am Malala, you will have no doubt why this 18 year old made my list. She survived an assassination attempt by the Taliban after speaking out for the right for girls to get an education in Pakistan, and is the youngest recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Her survival story is no doubt amazing, but what she turned her life into after the assassination attempt is what makes her so inspiring. She says, “the terrorists thought they would change my aims and stop my ambitions, but nothing changed in my life except this: weakness, fear and hopelessness died. Strength, power and courage were born.” It is impossible to watch her speak and not be completely absorbed in what she is saying and how strongly she delivers her message. The attempt on her life made her fearless, and even more determined in her campaign for women’s education.

I tend to be the most quiet and reserved in a group or professional setting, and keep most of my thoughts to myself. Malala inspires me to see the value in speaking up, and that my voice and opinion do matter, just as every woman’s does. If Malala hadn’t been so vocal about what she believed in, she wouldn’t have been able to draw so much attention to women’s rights, and actually get people to pay attention.

Favorite Malala Quote:

I speak not for myself but for those without a voice… those who have fought for their rights… their right to live in peace, their right to be treated with dignity, their right to equality of opportunity, their right to be educated.

J.K. Rowling

Why She Inspires Me:

If J.K Rowling had done nothing else but bring Harry Potter into our universe, that would have been enough. She became the first person in the world to become a billionaire from a book, and then quickly fell off the billionaire’s list due to how much of her money she ended up giving away to charity. She is vocal on political issues, and doesn’t ever shy away from speaking up for what is right. Her Harvard commencement speech makes me cry every single time I watch it. When I read the Harry Potter books, I am forever amazed by the amount of imagination and storytelling she has swirling around in her brain.

All those things are reasons that she inspires me, but her views on failure are what remind me that even the most successful people have faced great failure in life, and it is never an excuse to stop trying. I can tend to let failures in my life have too much power, and stop me from moving forward with a certain thing, but, if J.K Rowling had done that, we wouldn’t have Harry Potter, so it’s really in my best interest to take a page out of her book.

Favorite J.K. Rowling Quote: “As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.”

—

I could keep going with my list of amazing women, but I am starting to feel pretty good about taking on Monday, and a new month. Sometimes all we need when we’re feeling sluggish is to draw strength from women like Taylor, Abdi, Malala, Yonce, and Jo, and we’re back on track.

Until next time.

Love,

Meg

January 11, 2016

For the Love of Coffee and Crafts

January 11, 2016

I meant it when I said in this post that I want to focus more on things that bring me joy this year.

It’s no secret that I have had a bit of trouble nailing down what exactly that means for me. I have had some hits and misses in the process of trying to figure it out. I find happiness through adventure in the form of things like skydiving, scuba diving, and travel, but not so much in the form of reliving old passions that I have clearly outgrown.

The problem with these activities, is that they are not exactly things that I can realistically implement into my day-to-day life. I am probably not going to go for a quick 60 foot dive in Lake Michigan every day after work to shake off the stress of a long day.

I decided it was in my best interest to change tactics, and start small. I asked myself,

What is something simple that you actually enjoy doing and can do consistently?

It is such an innocent question, but I still find myself having difficulty answering questions like this, which tends to happen when you become out of touch with yourself over the years. After thinking about it for a bit, I came up with two things.

Anyone that knows me at all will not be surprised to find that the first thing that popped into my mind was, drinking coffee. The second, having a good beer.

Lucky for me, Chicago is bursting with endless amounts of craft breweries and local coffee shops that I have never tried. My goal is to try a new local brewery and coffee shop once or twice a month.

This is the perfect excuse to make an effort to spend time doing something that I actually enjoy, while simultaneously forcing me to get out of the familiarity and routine of frequenting all the same places.

The best part, is that I am doing it simply because I love a good coffee and a refreshing beer (but preferably not at the same time).

So without further ado, the first installment of Coffee & Crafts:

Coffee:

Eva’s Cafe

Where is it?: 1447 N Sedgwick St, Chicago, IL 60610

Eva’s cafe is a small, local coffee shop located in Old Town. I have to admit, that I have been in this area countless of times, have dined right next to Eva’s, and never once gave it a second glance. Had I not been on the hunt for a new coffee place to try, I would have never thought to step foot inside.

I could tell right when I walked in that this is a spot where the locals in the neighborhood go. It was extremely quiet, yet full of people with work stations set up who clearly had been there all morning, with no plans to leave any time soon. It was full of mismatched furniture, comfy armchairs, a fire place, and a few big shared-space work tables in the back. It had the feel of a library mixed with the personal living room of a college professor (the movie kind. I have no idea what an actual college professor’s living rooms look like).

What I ordered: House brew and a mocha

What I liked: Their house coffee was delicious. It was smooth and light, which is exactly what I wanted. The mocha was one of the best I had ever had. It had just the right ratio of milk to chocolate and coffee. I am usually disappointed when I order a mocha that is overpowered with the taste of chocolate, so I was extremely pleased with how delicious this mocha turned out. Plus, it had a fancy decoration on the top which always impresses me.

The mocha. Look at that swirl! Also, taking pictures of your coffee in public is a humbling experience.

What I didn’t like: That whole library/college professor vibe to the place wasn’t for me. It felt slightly cold and uninviting while we were there. My distaste for the ambiance could have been because the only two seats available to enjoy our coffees were in the back at one of the shared tables, meaning we were sitting with strangers. Call me an anti-social introvert if you will, but I prefer to enjoy my coffee in the company of myself, or of people I know. I felt like we weren’t able to fully relax in the environment, which kind of defeats the purpose of enjoying a warm coffee on a cold winter day.

Inside Eva’s. Those cozy chairs opened up right as we were leaving.

Would I go back?: Yes, but only for a coffee to go, and only if I happened to be in the neighborhood. The coffee was great, but I’m a sucker for a place with a good feel to it, and this just didn’t do it for me.

Crafts:

Beermiscuous

A fan of their outdoor wall art.

Where is it?: 2812 N Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL 60657

Beermiscuous is a new craft beer cafe located in Lakeview. To be honest, I don’t know what makes something worthy of being called a ‘craft beer cafe’ but it sounds fancy, is not actually fancy at all once you are inside, and I like it. This is how they describe themselves from their website:

The relaxed atmosphere of your local coffee shop
The curated selection of your neighborhood wine store
The social engagement of your favorite Cheers-like watering hole

When I first walked in my knee-jerk reaction was that it looked more like a half-empty liquor store than a ‘Cheers-like watering hole,’ but it definitely grew on me after my first beer. Funny how that happens.

There are only a handful of tables, a fireplace, and a long bar with 12 drafts that rotate various types of local craft brews throughout the year.

What I ordered: Metropolitan flywheel (a german pilsner from Chicago’s Metropoltian Brewing) and Order Out of Chaos (an American Wild Ale from Chicago’s Une Annee Brewery)

Pilsner in the tall glass, ale in the short.

What I Liked: Two things please me very much when it comes to beer (outside of the beer tasting delicious) and they are

1) it is cold to the point of near freezing and,

2) it is served in a fancy glass that makes me happy to drink the beer.

Fancy glasses! Connect Four! A fireplace! What more could you want?

I realize this is might be embarrassingly juvenile to any hardcore craft beer aficionados, but that is why I am not (nor ever will be) a beer snob. What can I say? I love a pretty home to hold my beer in.

I am happy to report, that Beermiscuous passed my two point beer test with flying colors.

The only beer that I am not really a fan of are wheat beers, so other than that, I can appreciate any variation of beer. The flywheel was refreshing and light, but not too light that it reminded me of a miller or coors light from my college days of old (which unfortunately many lighter beers tend to do).

The Order Out of Chaos was a little bit fruitier and heavier, and I probably wouldn’t order it again, but it was fun to try.

What I didn’t like: I have to admit, Beermiscuous did have a little of an industrial feel. Not in the cool-hipster-on purpose way that so many places are going after, but in the actual, we-just-opened-and-are-still-getting-set-up kind of way. We lucked out and got two plushy chairs right in front of the fire, but I could have felt differently if we had been sat somewhere else (an argument made by my Eva’s review).

Would I go back?: Yes! I really did love the time we spent here, and the beers were amazing. I love that they rotate beers from local breweries, and it doesn’t hurt that it’s only about a 10-15 minute walk from my apartment.

—

Trying new coffee and beer might not be the most exciting of adventures, nor will it change my life and cure my Sunday night blues, but sometimes it is the most simple of things that bring us moments of joy, that are worth finding time to squeeze into our busy schedules. Until next time.

Love,

Meg

December 28, 2015

A Year Of Waiting

December 28, 2015

With 2015 coming to a close this week, I realized pretty quickly that I wasn’t up for the task of trying to summarize the past year into a single blog post. I decided I would attempt to do it using pictures instead. I started looking through all my pictures for one highlight from each month-a way for me to reflect on how I spent 2015.

Once I started looking back on pictures from the first half of the year, I started to re-think my strategy, since all I was finding were variants of the following:

It’s not that I didn’t spending my year doing things, because I know I spent a considerable amount of time filling up my days with all the things that people do; work, dinners, friends, weekend trips, happy hours, etc. All those things that make up a life, I know I did, regardless of my iPhoto history telling a different, more cat-filled story.

However, it did remind me that 2015, for the most part, felt like the year of waiting.

For the first half of the year, I was waiting for my wedding in July. Anyone who has planned a wedding might understand the feeling that there is a small period of your life during the throes of wedding planning, that your life temporarily hangs in suspension during a weird pre-wedding limbo period. You often find find yourself saying things like, “We’ll make a decision on that after the wedding.” For me, this time happened between January and July of this year.

I would stare at the calendar constantly, counting the months on my hands, updating the countdown on the small blackboard in our kitchen, wondering if July 11th, 2015 would ever actually come to be.

In case you were wondering, it did.

Once our wedding date passed, from July 11th on, I found myself constantly waiting for the next step. Waiting for certain big events and obligations to pass. I would write down each weekend plan we had, and check off how many days I had to live between now and my next break from work, or the next thing I had to look forward to that would help me get from point A to B of my life.

Before I had time to think about what had happened, I found myself staring at the tail end of 2015 with the realization that I had spent over an entire year waiting. And as everyone has heard at one point or another,

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy my year because of this, but the feeling that you are always waiting for the next thing in life, can make it extremely difficult to fully engage in the life you are already living.

I realized that this is something I am going to need to learn how to conquer, because my life is never going to be comprised soley of events that are worthy of being marked with carefully drawn doodles on my dry erase calendar.

The reality is, every year, we have some big moments:

And some not-so-big moments:

My year of waiting has taught me that the in-between-moments of life are just as important and worthy of my attention as the big moments, and it is up to me to make sure I am making those days count, instead of simply wishing them away.

My challenge to myself this year, is to stop waiting for time to pass, and instead, work on filling up my days with things that make me happy, and that bring me joy right now.

Like anything in life that is worthwile, it will be easier said than done, but I always argue that giving it a try is better than the alternative.

Wishing everyone a new year filled with happiness for every momentous, mundane, and in-between moment that comes your way.

Meg

December 20, 2015

5 Signs You’ve Fallen Out Of Love

December 20, 2015

Once upon a time, in a different life, on a different blog, I wrote a love letter to the city I call home, Chicago.

Can’t deny her beauty.

Here is a direct line from that blog post years ago:

I can drive into the city after a weekend out of town, and seeing your skyline still takes my breath away. Even after all of these years. Perusing bars and restaurants, from Old Town to Wrigleyville-it never seems repetitive. You have the lake, the park, the pier, downtown, and my home of Lincoln Park. Sometimes I forget that I ever lived in any other city.

When I read that now, the first thing that comes to my mind is not a warm fuzzy picture of the breathtaking Chicago skyline, but a flashing image of the disgusting trash littered streets of Wrigleyville after a Blackhawks win.

Seriously, Wrigleyville? I never thought that got repetitive?

A night in Wrigleyville, back in 2011.

For years, I really was in love with the city of Chicago. Even as the winters started to take their toll, and I would dream of moving somewhere warm, I would still always think to myself ‘but I just love Chicago so much.’ And it was true. I did.

Then, slowly, things started to change.

About a week ago, I was walking home from work. It was a December day, and the temperature was inching near fifty degrees. In Chicago, this is a near miracle. People were out in shorts, drinking and dancing in the streets, and I barely seemed to register the joy that I would normally feel. I was walking down a familiar street that was full of classic Chicago brownstones. I looked up at one of my favorites. It was one of those multi-level, beautiful historic looking homes that I used to imagine myself living in some day. On this day, my first thought was,

“It must be miserable living there. They are so close to the police station, they probably hear ambulances even more than we do.”

I kept walking past, and then I realized suddenly, and with a shock that I had fallen out of love with my city. It wasn’t just the new found disgust for beautiful brownstones and their proximity to noise, it was everything. I had known things between me and Chicago were not exactly the same as they used to be, but it still was jarring when I realized just how much had changed.

When I was in my very early twenties, and fresh out of college with a useless Communications degree, I dreamed about living in Chicago. No, really, I had actual dreams that I would move to this city. I remember one dream in particular, I was walking through an empty apartment, unsure if I wanted to rent it. I looked out the apartment window and saw a clear view of the Sears (ok fine, Willis) tower. Once I saw the view in my dream, I knew the apartment was mine.

Me at 20, dreaming about my future city.

Flash forward a month later, and I had gotten my first job. I was apartment hunting with Al, and we stood in an empty 700 square foot one bedroom on the corner of Fullerton and Clark. It was a little dirty (there was an actual banana peel on the ground) and I was voicing my doubts to Al. At that moment, I looked out the kitchen window, and saw an exact replica of the view from my dream. Needless to say, we signed our rental agreement that day.

I took this as a clear sign that Chicago and I were meant to be.

But, just like people argue that you can have multiple soul mates, I think it is time for me to admit to myself that it is okay to have multiple cities. When I made my dream of living in Chicago a reality, it fit who I was and what I needed out of life at the time. Who I am, and what I need out of life now, has completely shifted. Anyone who has fallen out of love can probably attest to the fact that it doesn’t happen overnight. But, once the realization does hit you, it becomes almost impossible to ignore.

So, here are the 5 signs that made me realize I was falling out of love with Chicago. Beware of these signs in your own life, as they might be telling you that it is time to move on to another city, before the relationship starts to take a turn for the worst.

1. Your eyes start to wander.

Just how I imagine it must be when people start falling out of love in a relationship, my eyes have started to wander every single time I travel out of Chicago. I start seeing other places through rose-colored glasses, and comparing their strengths to Chicago’s weaknesses.

It used to be that when I would go out of town to another city to visit someone, I would always smugly think to myself how much better Chicago was.

Not anymore.

For example, I happened to be in Minneapolis for a wedding this November, and I wouldn’t shut up to anyone who would listen about how beautiful the lakes were, and how impressed I was with the downtown.

It wasn’t it until finally I said it to someone who was from Minneapolis, who looked at me suspiciously and said, ‘Don’t you live in Chicago? And aren’t you like right by lake Michigan? What’s the difference?’

Oh, right. This is MINNESOTA. I am fawning over lakes in Minnesota.

the ‘beautiful lake and downtown’ – like I said, rose colored glasses.

Once you start to think the lakes in Minneapolis, Minnesota rival those of Lake Como, Italy, it is time to do some re-evaluating.

2. The nit-picking begins.

When I first moved to Chicago, I loved the pace of it. I loved how each neighborhood has its own vibe, and how the city was alive at all hours of the day and night.

Me & Chicago together in our glory days.

Now, I get physically angry when I hear voices outside my window. The wail of an ambulance siren has become one of my most hated sounds. I now go out of my way to avoid crowds. This is something that has developed over years of being shoved in a moving box next to dozens of people during my morning commute, lining up behind fifty other people just to get into my work building, and standing in line for over thirty minutes to get groceries at Trader Joe’s, not to mention facing an hour of traffic just to get two miles. Basically any simple task or errand in Chicago: You face a crowd.

These are things that never used to bother me, but have started to really take a toll on my sanity lately. Which leads me to:

3. You stop wanting to spend time together.

I used to get really excited for a weekend discovering a new neighborhood, going downtown for an event, or a lazy summer day at the lake. While I still find myself going through the motions of doing these things, they don’t hold the same excitement they once did.

Avoiding the cold, city crowds, and skipping out on pricey restaurant meals, has slowly replaced the above as my weekend activity of choice. Staying at home and venturing within in a three-block radius of my apartment has become just as exciting and fulfilling (although this may be because winter has set in, and that changes everything).

4. The thrill is gone.

This is a less tangible one to explain, but just as important. I realized that day when I no longer looked at my favorite house on my favorite block in awe, and instead grumbled past it like a scrooge, that the thrill was gone.

My favorite tree line street with fancy houses.

While I do still admire and love the beauty of Chicago, it doesn’t have the same hold over me that it once did. And that’s okay.

5. It’s not you, it’s me.

This is probably the sign that matters the most above all others. Signs 1-4 could simply point to a rough patch between Chicago and myself, or a little bump in the road of our relationship. But, this point is the one that makes me know it is time to start seriously planning my next steps.

The truth is, Chicago no longer fits who I am anymore. It was the perfect place for me to transition into adulthood, to spend the bulk of my twenties running around enjoying life, with everything I could possibly want at my fingertips. I now crave something new, a slower pace, somewhere that facilitates a more year-round outdoor lifestyle, and that doesn’t freeze my face off in the winter.

Falling out of love with the city you live in can actually be a wonderful thing. It can become the catalyst that propels you to make a much needed change. In our case, it is exactly what needed to happen to feel like we can finally move on from Chicago for awhile, and start a new chapter. I am someone who has always been horrible with transitions and change, so moving on would be nearly impossible to do if I was still constantly feeling like I belonged somewhere else.

All this to say, Al and I can count on two hands the amount of months we have left in this great city that has given so much to us. I am going to make an effort to spend time doing all the things that remind me of what I once loved so much about Chicago, and make the most of the time we have left in the Windy City.

Although things have changed with us, Chicago, I hope you always know:

I still love you. I’m just not IN love with you.

The city we’ll always love.

Meg

December 15, 2015

When Your Favorite Sushi Place Betrays You

December 15, 2015

Chicago has thousands of sushi restaurants. In my neighborhood alone, I can think of about 15 different sushi places that are within a 3 block radius of each other.

I can also admit that I have tried almost every single one of them. But, I always come back to the same one.

Kabuki.

jumping for joy.

Kabuki is easily the place in Chicago that I have frequented most often in the past 6 years. I can’t exactly put my finger on why it is my favorite. It could be because I have always lived relatively close to it, and I can be pretty lazy about venturing out of my neighborhood. I tend to think it is because the prices are reasonable, the portions are huge, and they always give us free stuff when we come.

drool.

It has also always been BYOB (bring your own bottle). My friends and I would file in from the cold, sit at the same long table in the back, crack open bottle after bottle of chardonnay, while being as loud and obnoxious as we wanted to be. It was the only place we felt comfortable enough to do that.

Last week, Al and I decided to treat ourselves to a delicious sushi dinner. Whenever one of us mentions the idea of getting Kabuki, we both get instantly giddy, picturing ourselves surrounded by endless rolls of goodness. So, we went.

And when we arrived, we saw this:

Needless to say, we were devastated. This was a game changer. We can no longer justify spending money on both sushi AND wine, when there are so many other sushi places offering BYOB just a stones throw away, thus making them more affordable than Kabuki.

And so, I am dealing with this pain in the only way I know how. Also, I decided to write this to help me get from 4pm-5pm at work today. It’s Monday. Don’t judge me.

An Ode to Kabuki

this is my ode to a special place

where I often did go to stuff my face

birthdays, celebrations, it was always a good time

made even better since we could bring our own wine

we’d walk up to her doors, then we’d gaze at her beauty

the red neon lights signaling we’ve arrived at Kabuki

one by one we’d choose our favorite roll

then shamelessly devour them without self control

dragon, california, spider, all served on a boat

seconds they’d last ’til they were shoved down my throat

we’d pour the saki and drink our wine

thankful for our favorite place to dine

until that fateful day when I arrived

and read a sign that pained my eyes

I still can’t believe they’d do this to me

and remove the joys of BYOB

So one last time we paid our respects

Christie, Dan, Al, Nina, Zach, me and Bex

In person and in spirit we all said goodbye

to the greatest sushi place we ever did try.

The End.

P.S., I feel like I should probably mention that the real reason I won’t be returning to Kabuki is because I have ( painfully and reluctantly) given up eating fish, which also means giving up my all time favorite food (sushi), but sometimes it’s easier to blame someone other than yourself. A post for a different time.

December 8, 2015

Surviving (another) Chicago Winter

December 8, 2015

This year marks my 6th winter in Chicago.

It is a distinct trait of Chicagoans to obsess endlessly over the weather (particularly in the winter) and I am no different. In fact, here is an entire post on this very subject.

I grew up in Indiana, so I am well aware of what to expect from each of the four seasons. My whole life, I naively thought I understood what a rough winter looked like. Turns out, I never fully understood what it meant to be cold, until I moved to Chicago and experienced my eyelashes turning into icicles within minutes of stepping out of my apartment.

Growing up I would hear people talk about ‘seasonal depression.’ At the time, I assumed it was just a way for people to blame their problems on something else, and would arrogantly think to myself, ‘I don’t get it. Winter is just like every other season. All you have to do is put on an extra layer and go outside.’

And then, I moved to Chicago.

In Chicago, winters are so brutal, it is normal for your face to physically hurt the second you walk outside. You are often forced to wear sunglasses to protect your eyeballs from the wind, not the sun. Fashion becomes completely irrelevant for at least four months straight. Everyone is wearing coats that make them look as if they rolled themselves into a giant burrito with the down comforter used primarily for their beds. People get genuinely excited for any temperature above 25 degrees for the entire season.

Throughout the years, Chicagoans have had several different names for the hell that is a Chicago winter. There was the Snowpocolypse of 2011, and the ‘Groundhogs Day’ blizzard of 2012, which pelted us with a new (but suspiciously similar) snowstorm day after day. Then, in 2014, we officially unofficially renamed the city of Chicago ‘Chiberia,’ after an unprecedented 7 months of straight winter.

When you live in a place that evokes complete dread between the months of December and April, you are bound to come up with some strategies.

Here I am once again, for reasons I can never fully explain, slugging through another Chicago winter. I have had to come up with some survival strategies over the years to make it this far. Turns out, complaining about the weather non stop doesn’t actually help as much as I had hoped (but please don’t take that to mean I am going to stop).

Allow me to share my top 5:

1. Have Plenty of Wine in your Apartment AT ALL TIMES

11206567_10105663160123579_2776125164709985040_o

Or, just move into a winery with your friends and save yourself some time. Please note: Full length coats while indoors happen regularly.

This is serious. While increasing your alcohol intake may seem like a bad idea in conjunction with seasonal depression, I assure you, it is not. (Disclaimer: I have no professional credentials to base that on so all statements are not factual and should probably be ignored).

A glass of red wine after spending 2+ hours battling the brutal winter commute home is necessary. We’ve got to keep our sanity during these dark times, and this is one of the best ways to do it.

More importantly, I have had a few winters that were so cold and snowy, the entire city of Chicago basically shuts down for days on end (except work. Work never seems to stop). Would you want to be stuck indoors for an unknown amount of time without a drop of wine in the house? Always be prepared.

2. Make plans. Make all the plans. (or risk fusing into a blob with your couch)

Friends! Don’t forget that you have them in the dark winter months. (Again, notice the coats being worn indoors)

This is a difficult one, because during a Chicago winter, you truly lose all will and motivation to leave your apartment for months on end. This is when you have to call your friends for back-up, and hold each other accountable.

For example, this year, my friends and I started a weekly winter dinner club. It is a great excuse to get together during the week, and force ourselves to do something creative, like attempting to cook different type of meals. More importantly, we use it as a way to make sure we are all getting some type of social interaction outside of our co-workers. True friendship at it’s finest.

3. Have 3-5 shows (or books) lined up at any given moment

The most common Chicagoan sight you will ever see in the winter. Pretty soon you won’t be able to differentiate between the couch and us.

When you do have to be on the couch (because no matter what my other points in this post say, this is unavoidable) make it count. Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, House of Cards- all shows we saved to burn through in the winter.

One of my favorite winter memories is the time Al and I spent watching all six seasons, 128 episodes and 8,215 hours of Dawson’s Creek. Now that I am typing that fact out, I realize it is probably something I should refrain from admitting to others.

The bonus here is, you don’t even have to feel guilty about wasting hours in front of the TV, because when it is negative 20 degrees outside, you really don’t have any other options.

4. Leave Chicago

947246_10105765113513169_873158896239738495_n

A winter escape to St. Thomas (which also doubled as my Bachelorette Party)

This is my #1 way to survive Chicago in the winter. Every single person that I have ever known, hits a point during a Chicago winter that I have dubbed the ‘Wubblies.’ It sounds cute, but make no mistake, there is nothing cute about getting the Wubblies (the winter blues and uglies). Your skin hasn’t seen sunlight for as long as you can remember. You are constantly cold. Your lungs have forgotten the sensation of breathing fresh air. You get genuinely shocked at your own sullen face when you unexpectedly catch yourself in a passing window reflection. Seasonal depression has worked its finest magic on you.

This is when you know you have got to get out.

I always try and plan at least one trip away from the city every winter, even if it’s only for a few days, and it changes me every single time. Never in my life have I had such great appreciation for the sun, than on a trip away from home in the winter.

5. Love on your pets

If I have to be inside for days on end, at least it gives me an excuse to spend hours of uninterrupted time with the two fuzziest (yet neediest and most freeloading) roommates I’ve ever had:

I take any excuse to spend more time with these guys.

I am planning for the 2015/2016 winter to be my last in Chicago, but you can be sure that I will be using all 5 of my survival strategies to make this last one count.

Here’s to staying warm, and never letting those Wubblies get you down.

–