birthday! {frocktober, day 4+5}

Saturday was a day for sweet treats, napping and celebrations.
My best friend from college came down with her little boy to visit for my birthday weekend, which was such a blast! It's one of the great blessings of being back on the west coast. We went to college in California so we're much closer to all of our loved ones in that state!
On Saturday morning we went up to meet my sister-in-law and nephew for a fun little brunch, complete with macarons. I love macarons. She gifted me a dozen of them from this little bakery for my birthday, and even though I originally vowed to make them last, I only have 2 left!

When we got back to the house we rested for a little while (recovering from our s'mores hangover), then we headed out to celebrate my little niece Annabella's second birthday! Her and I are the October bebes. Which is fitting, since her middle name is Caitlin, too! (Side story: instantly burst into tears when they announced what her name would be - almost swerved off the road due to tear-vision). 

Sunday was the official beginning of my 26th year. It has begun. 

To be totally honest, I was in a bit of a funk. I think it was a combination of ending my year of being 25, my friend leaving to go back home, my fatigue (I took a 3-hour nap - s'more hangovers can be really long-winded), and the overall uncertainty of this next year of our lives. 

I have to constantly remind myself that I'm a lover of adventure, and that I am blessed beyond measure. It seems unfair that our tendency is to forget and grow accustomed to the great blessings of our lives. Disaster and tragedy have to occur before we remember to gather together, fellowship, compliment, cherish, edify. 

It's one of the reasons people forget God and feel rather confident that they have no need for Him. This world is a rather talented foe at encouraging greed, dissatisfaction and selfishness.  

I love birthdays and I adore silliness and simple pleasures and my morning coffee and presents of all shapes and sizes. I tend to like things, but they're not the intricate matters of life. At the end of the day, as I enter these late-twenties and realize the increasing speediness of each year, I am so grateful for this little life and everything it means to me and my loved ones. I am loved and I love back. I have two cats that purr and frolic and make messes and make me laugh heartily all the time. I have Arizona sunsets and sweet friends and parents that love each other. I have three brothers that I will love for all time, and surrogate sisters that have graced my life with girlishness and encouragement and love. I have my darling husband who laughs, cries, praises, rejoices, challenges, surprises, and delights. He and I will be hand-in-hand for the rest of our days, praising God all the way because all of these things are His. Big picture. 

So grateful for the gifts. 

crush: the pixie cut

Sigh. The Pixie Cut. It's kind of taboo, this tomboyish cut that seems destined to only be successful on the rich and famous. After all, they have the million-dollar hair stylists and the endless supply of that just right hair product, which is akin to finding the holy grail. 

I'm not sure why I'm so drawn to it. Like a moth to a flame. It would be the death of me. People would probably scoff and point and laugh. I know I would look terrible. I can hardly do my hair now, what in the sorcerer's stone makes me think I could possibly make a pixie cut look good? It's baffling. And yet it's an inevitability, this semi-annual alarm that tick tocks to the craving I have for the hair butcher. 

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These photos make me yearn. I try to tell myself that it's all an illusion and that my short stature and tiny forehead and round face would be the death of the pixie, but there's that little flicker of hope inside me (I call her stubborn) that still whispers, maybe I could do it. But the reality is, I'd probably be called "sir" by mistake. 

Which is really the central fear revolving around the pixie cut, because looking like a boy is not normally what we ladies strive for. Chopping off such a vital part of our body feels absolutely terrifying, life changing, and it kind of is. A woman's hair is an embodiment of personality, style, glamour, mystery, and femininity. 

But we are not exclusively those things because of our hair. A woman with no hair does not cease to be incredible and feminine. There's more to it than that, so much more. 

Yes, doing something as drastic as a pixie cut to my appearance would be a ginormous leap of faith [read: mistake] but perhaps in the process I could unleash some glorious piece of myself I've been longing to find. Something like bravery and freedom. Something like that. 

soulhome

A friend of mine once mused, If there are soulmates, maybe there are soulhomes, too. 

A soulhome. What a romantic thought. A place where your heart is destined to rest, a special and mysterious location where your soul has intricate ties. 

I personally don't really believe in soulmates. The One. 

I think relationships take work, you choose to love. I do think that my husband and I are great together, and that I prayed for him from the time that I was a little girl. I knew I would marry someone someday, and I wanted to make sure God knew all of my requirements, things like "loves Big Red gum". 

I don't think anyone could ever love and appreciate me the way my husband does. In all my weirdness. I cherish him. Sometimes I like to say we're soulmates, because he's my one, the man I've chosen. We work hard at our relationship, and our commitment to each other has been blessed. 

But as far as real soulmates go? I believe we as humans are irrevocably flawed, and therefore if there even could be such a thing as soulmates, we would have ruined that whole deal a long long time ago. We would have married the wrong people and messed up the soulmate order for everyone. 

I remember thinking about that when I was around 10 or 11. I had a moment of pure panic, thinking of someone accidentally marrying my soulmate before I got to him.

Perhaps the first and only soulmates in the history of the world were Adam and Eve, and we all know how that turned out. 

But let's imagine for a second that soulmates and, more importantly, soulhomes are real.

Each one of us has, imprinted on our heart, a place that belongs to us. 

Born into the world with locks around our soul, a golden key is tossed out into the universe. And the moment we step into that place, the great expanse of desert in Arizona, the rolling green hills of Ireland, the towering sky-rises of New York, we hear that click. 

And we are unlocked. 

It's an absolutely stunning thought.

A lifelong quest to find each other, you and that distant land of destiny. 

I think I've experienced similar feelings of serendipity, which could easily be heaped into that nebulous overwhelming wanderlust. 

I think for most people though, myself included, a soulhome would be the place we've spent most if not all of our lives. There's a definite bond between a person and where they were born. 

Arizona is my place. The desert is where I have always belonged, it's where I feel most enchanted and most at ease. I understand it and appreciate it for all that it is. I feel really lucky in that way.  

But I've also lived other places and traveled to countries that I have fallen in love with. There are those dreamy trips that make us all swoon (Hollywood-driven, most likely), just imagining what the Eiffel Tower must be like in person, or thinking of riding in a Gondola in Venice. Growing up as an O'Neil and loving all things Irish, I would definitely say that Ireland was my dream place to live for a very long time. Irish blessings hung on my walls, green was my favorite color, Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You is my favorite ever. 

Over the last few years of traveling, I've had my moments of, I could do this. I could live here for keeps. 

One of my favorite terms for my friends is kindred spirits. Unlike the idea of soulmates, I heartily believe and support the idea of kindred spirits. They exist all over the world, and come sneaking into your heart even when you least expect to find them. 

Arizona is my soulhome, but maybe I can allow my heart to find kindred places, too.

And what a long, lovely list of kindreds that will be. 

resolute

How do you feel about New Year's Resolutions?

From my experience, most of you will be lamenting your failed promises right around now. 10-15 days after the commencement of the new year (or sometimes more like 5-10). 

I made some pretty hefty resolutions last year, and (shocking) I didn't keep up with any of them. 

Not to be a downer or anything -- maybe some of you will actually stay true to your resolutions! But oftentimes I find them to be rather empty, which is why I usually don't participate in the whole charade. I feel like I'm setting myself up for failure -- making big promises of change that I know deep down I won't keep. 

This past year I found myself feeling overwhelmed and bogged down by all of things I had set in front of myself, including things that I love, like reading, blogging and crafting.

In 2013, I only read 17 of the 36 books I wanted to read. I all but abandoned my Etsy shop - I didn't make any of the big milestone achievements I was hoping to. 

Top (shop!) / Coated Pants (shop!): Ruche
(trying out the coated jeans I mentioned here!)

You know what I did do, though?
I completely changed my style. I started a fashion blog. I went to London and Paris, and walked on Abbey Road. I bought a painting in front of the Notre Dame. I wrote a daily love journal to my husband. I became a life group leader for our church. I dyed the tips of my hair red. I got way better at playing volleyball, thanks to an incredible summer. I met Needtobreathe. I lost ten pounds. I made new friends. I conquered fears. I made countless road trips to the mountains, to historical sites, to new cities. I stopped biting my nails. I discovered new music. I turned 25.

Wouldn't it be awesome if we celebrated the end of each year for everything we accomplished, or even the things we failed at but learned from? 

Maybe on December 31st, instead of saying "I will get to my goal weight," "I am totally going to give up soda", or "I am going to read 100 books this year!", we could write out a list of all the things we already did without even realizing they were important to us. The unspoken resolutions.

Because the bottom line is, people do what's most important to them. Every time. You can say you want to lose ten pounds, but when you have a choice between working out and watching TV, and you choose the TV, the TV is your priority. If you wanted to work out that badly, you'd do it. 

If you wanted to go on a trip that badly, you'd save your money for it -- you'd give up spending it on coffee, clothes, movies, eating out, and you would make it happen.

I think oftentimes the best change comes from looking to the past, to the historical patterns of your life, and rectifying those mistakes and celebrating those successes. The future is built on those things.

I don't think New Year's Resolutions are bad or evil, but I think most people set themselves up for failure by feeling this renewed sense of self in the party moment -- convincing themselves they will change when they've never even really figured out why they've never succeeded in the past. 

So here's to 2013 -- to all of the times I said yes, to all of the adventures, for the books I did read, for the creative moments and the spontaneous moments.

And here's to 2014 -- to all of the things I will do, most of which are still a beautiful mystery.