Every year Hannah, my mom and I put out cookies and milk for Santa, and carrots for his reindeer on Christmas Eve (something we still do today even though we’re in our 20′s). We’d bake cookies, or maybe just give him a store bought one (Santa doesn’t discriminate with cookies), and we’d write him a note with last minute requests. Hannah and I would fight over who got to arrange the plate and glass. And then we’d be sent to our rooms to “sleep”. Of course we’d just lay in our beds talking about what we thought Santa would bring us this year, and wait to hear the reindeer hooves prancing on our roof or the jingles of the sleigh bells.

Sometimes we’d sneak out of bed, but mom was always ready to send us back to our room. If we caught a glimpse of Santa, he’d probably take all of our presents away (and that would be the worst thing in the world). On Christmas morning we’d find bites taken out of the carrots and crumbs from the cookie and a hand written note from Santa (we’re super special).

For years we’d visit family in Petaluma on Christmas Eve. They lived in a farm(ish) town. I don’t remember much, but I know we had to drive through fields filled with cows and sheep to get there. The drive always took forever (probably not more than 2 hours). I knew we were close when we drove up the big driveway to the house on a hill (pretty sure it wasn’t a hill…) I loved visiting Petaluma for 2 reasons:

1. There were always mass quantities of food and presents
2. That meant Christmas was the next day – one more sleep and I’d be playing with all my new toys

I can remember one particular evening in Petaluma, my older cousin took all the younger cousins outside to look in the sky for Santa. She pointed to Santa’s sleigh (a plane) and said, “There he is!” I cannot think of a time where I was more excited. We ran into the house screaming that we’d seen Santa in the sky and I just knew that was going to be the most amazing Christmas ever. I peered out the car window as we made our trek home, hoping to see Santa’s sleigh one more time.

My grandma Mary Lou often lived with us during the holiday season. She’d help us decorate and make us delicious spaghetti sauce. Christmas was her holiday, and she made sure to make Christmas special for Hannah and I. In high school I loved Abercrombie and Fitch (LOVED it). I’d gone to the mall and found the sweatshirt, the one I had to have. It was expensive and nice and had fur lining and I just knew all my friends would be jealous. Well, grandma made sure to have that waiting for me on Christmas morning. She’d be sure to pick out the perfect gifts and have them neatly lined up under the tree. And then she’d give us wads of cash… just in case she missed something. Many of my greatest Christmas memories are ladled with memories of her.

8 years ago my family experienced a deep tragedy with my grandmother’s passing. It was just a few days before Thanksgiving when I received the phone call. This could be a heavy time for our family, but we know she’d want us to celebrate with the same vigor she always had… so we do with memories of her and even a stocking.

Someone asked me the other day if I like the Christmas season.

I think Christmas is a special time of year. It allows us to remember loved ones lost, and celebrate the new ones in our lives. We get a chance to spend extra time with our dysfunctional families and share in the joy of the season together. It’s a cozy time of year. Christmas and togetherness go hand in hand for me. I equate this time of year with spending time with my family and closest friends. Where would we be if it weren’t for those special people in our lives?

As I get older I’m noticing the shift. As a kid I cared about presents, now… I’m starting to care more about the company I’m privileged to spend my holiday season with.

So, Christmas is my favorite time of year because I get to love those that I already love, just a little bit more. Because I get a chance to hang out with my family. Because I get a chance to decorate my house. And because I’m reminded how rich and full of joy my life is.

I call this an adventure because, it’s really boring if I call it what it really is.

I’d like to answer some of the most popular questions I’ve received over the last few days, just so we’re all on the same page:

• Have you started the job hunt? Nope.
• Why not? I’ve been keeping my eye on Craigslist, but I’m not ready to start sending in resumes yet. I’m still waiting on a few things to fall in place before I begin that part of my journey.
• When will you do that? Soon.
• So, what do you do to fill your week? Well, I’m taking advantage of this extended vacation and I’m really trying to spend time with family and friends. I got lost in stress right before I graduated from Liberty in May. That stress took a toll on some of my friendships. I’m working hard to re-kindle those relationships and I’m committing to be present in my friend’s lives.
• What do you do about finances? I was smart when I had a job. I saved for a rainy day. I’ll be fine for awhile.
• How do you feel about all of this? I feel great. I’m currently rejuvenating. I’m being filled by rest and community.

I know I took a big risk. The economy sucks, and I was one of the lucky ones who had a full time job. Some might say my decision was irresponsible… don’t think that didn’t cross my mind. My decision might have been irresponsible, but I also know that this might be one of the last times in my life where I have the opportunity to make an irresponsible decision with limited consequences. I hope to have a family someday, I won’t quit my job when I have a family.

This past week I’ve had coffee with friends I haven’t had a chance to talk to in awhile. I went on a double date. I went out to sushi TWO days in a row. I worked out. I lounged around in my pjs for too long. I did my boyfriends laundry. I held babies. I watched movies and listened to Adele and John Mayer on vinyl. I went to Target just to look at Christmas decorations. And I spent about 20 hours in Peets.

This past week I lived like I wish we all could live. In my perfect world we’d be able to spend the majority of our time in community, pouring into each other’s lives. We wouldn’t spend so much time sitting in an office, responding to mundane e-mails and inputing endless amount of data. We wouldn’t be held down by deadlines. Shoot in my perfect world, we wouldn’t even need money at all.

Something happens when you become a grown up. All of a sudden responsibilities start flying at you and everyone expects you to just “know” how to live.

In high school I romanticized what after-college would look like. It would be really easy to find my dream job and I’d probably stay there forever because, it’s my dream job. I’d get married and have a few children. I’d be able to afford a house right away because you know, I work at my dream job. I’d rescue a Boxer puppy from imminent death. And I’d have a bunch of expendable money to travel with my hunky husband to Europe and/or Africa at least once a year. (I obviously was sheltered as a child)

This is the Boxer puppy I save, his name is Gus

Well news flash high schoolers, for the majority of us, that’s not how things work out.

Now I was one of the lucky ones. I found a pretty rad job right before I graduated from college. I found it on Craigslist, and it was exactly what I was looking for. Not my dream job, but… definitely something I was interested in.

BUT, after I worked there for awhile I realized it wasn’t the place for me. Nothing personal with anyone or anything… but I’d lost my passion and excitement for the job. I told myself a long time ago that if I ever lost my passion for what I was doing, I’d find a way to change it, or do something else. I think we spend a lot of time settling, because it’s the responsible thing to do. And granted, some people have to settle… this economy sucks. But, if we have the opportunity to change our circumstances, ones that we are less than satisfied with, it’s always worth a try.

It wasn’t a whim decision. I waited for a long time. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just going through a phase.

I put in my 2 weeks and breathed a sigh of relief.

This is the 11th picture in Google when you type in "unemployed"

And so that’s where I am. My last day was yesterday. And now I’m sitting in Peets writing a blog post. I quit without any real direction. I have a few prospects, but nothing in the books.

I know I did the right thing.

Yesterday I decided that for 48 hours, I’ll stay away from Craigslist, I’ll refrain from answering the “So what are you going to do?” question, I wont make plans, I wont have an agenda or any expectations. For the first time, in a long time, I’m just going to live… with no responsibilities. It’s weird, but I’m trying to bask in it while I can.

I’m almost 24 hours into my 48… and it’s been glorious. Yesterday I watched TV for a few hours, went on a run, made breakfast for dinner and watched more TV. Today I’m blogging in Peets and I might grab lunch with my dad and maybe I’ll go to happy hour tonight. But for the next 24 hours, I’m just going to be Rachel. Unemployed, no responsibility, Rachel.

With how lame this economy is, I’m not taking for granted how blessed I am. A lot of people don’t have the luxury of quitting their job just because they’ve lost their passion. Tomorrow though, you best believe I’m going to hit the job hunt full force. I’m going to do my best not to be unemployed for long.

I went to a party on Saturday. Pretty much every girl looked like this:

• If you can’t tell, she is a black cat. I think. 

I should have guessed that this costume would be lost on the majority of people, but I wasn’t expecting the “welcome” I received from the guests at the party I attended on Saturday evening.

So every girl in the house/back yard looked like this

And I walk in looking like a boy from a show they’ve never seen.

I got the once over. The eyes up and down (I’m assuming they were sizing me up, trying to figure out if I were a boy or not). I felt like It’s Pat

Anyways, I got the once over. And then the look. And finally the disgust/turn around to whisper to friend. There were about 3 people who got it, and they appreciated it, but the rest spent the majority of the evening trying to figure out my gender.

The moral of the story is: Halloween is weird and let’s stop fooling ourselves into believing that a black cat is a good costume… oh and also my costume was awesome (I know this because I got like 50 likes+comments on Facebook)… BOOM.

I win Halloween 2011. Thank you very much.

I liked it so much that one afternoon, on a drive home from summer camp, I told my youth pastor that I wanted to be a a Junior High Youth Pastor when I grew up. I literally couldn’t think of a cooler job. I dreamed of the youth group I’d have and all the fun games we’d play. I knew I’d be a pretty legit youth pastor.

While driving, my junior high youth pastor looked over at me briefly, he was one look short of giving me the once over. And then he stated, very matter of factly:

“Rachel, you’ll never be a youth pastor. You’re a girl. Girls can’t be pastors. You know this.”

Talk about crushing someone’s spirit. 13 year old me didn’t know what to do. So, I just looked straight out the passenger side window and fought back the tears. I’m sure my youth pastor said something after that, but… I’ve forgotten by now, or maybe I never heard him.

When you’re 13, the authority figures in your life know everything.

I would never be a youth pastor because I am a girl.

Just like that I decided to change my career path. At 13, I realized there would be no opportunities for me to succeed in my current career choice. From then on, at least until sometime after high school, I believed that females couldn’t be true authority figures within the four walls of a church. Maybe I’d receive some leadership responsibilities, but I’d never have the opportunity to be a pastor, so… what was the point?

Eventually, I’d go on to volunteer in the junior high ministry for a year or two, and I was even an assistant program coordinator to the college ministry. But gone were the dreams little 13 year old Rachel had of running my own junior high program.

My adult life has shown me that women are just as influential as men within the church. Now I have a different kind of passion, one that involves business and marketing techniques.

I’ve graduated from college with a degree in Marketing. I’m currently exploring the world of Social Media, and I love it. But every once in awhile, I wonder what would have happened if I’d never had that conversation with my junior high youth pastor. Would I have continued to follow that dream? Or would it have eventually died away anyways?

It also drives me to strive for excellence. So many women are told they won’t be able to achieve their goals because they are women. I want to break that stereotype.

It just reminds me that life is a series of choices. Sometimes we make the right ones, other times we make the wrong ones. But ultimately, we’ll come into focus. I’d like to believe that all my choices are guided and purpose driven, and I’d like to think that I’m on the road I was created for.

*Disclaimer: I still attend this church, 10 years later. Leadership rolls have changed over the years, and my church does not believe that women cannot be leaders. We have a lot of very amazing women on staff and in leadership, and I am so thankful for the community my church provides for me. I no longer feel called to be a youth pastor, and I know now that my passions would have changed whether I had that conversation or not. 

When I was younger my family would have to create a barricade around me when we entered an elevator so the other riders wouldn’t get too close to me. As I’ve gotten older, I can manage the fear a little better. I know now not to enter an elevator if it’s crowded. If it starts filling up too quickly, I will get out of the elevator and wait for a new one. If I’m not on the 34th floor, I’ll just take the stairs. I also have an irrational fear that the elevator will just stop, for no reason, and I’ll be stuck on there with 15 strangers for 3 days.

Now many of you will say, “Rachel, that is claustrophobia.” And you’re right, I am claustrophobic. But I know me, and I know this fear runs deeper. My life long fear of getting stuck in an elevator can all be attributed to a 7 minute episode of the Animaniacs that aired on the WB when I was like, 8. You suck Animaniacs… you suck.

So here’s the deal.

I go to Raley’s everyday for coffee and/or lunch. What’s Raley’s? It’s a grocery store. They make delicious soups, and sandwiches, and sushi. Since I only take a 30 minute lunch break, and it’s within walking distance from work, it just makes sense that I go there on the daily.

It was a normal afternoon. I probably went to Raley’s for some soup… but perhaps I was grabbing a beverage. It was like a Tuesday or something, I don’t remember the details. But I saw a sign that looked something like this:

This caught my attention for two reasons:

1. I <3 Disneyland
2. My boyfriend <3′s Star Wars

It really seemed like the perfect combo of awesome and fun.

I know there are a lot of people out there who like to enter contests. I’m not one of them, never have been. But I’m nerdy and the poster had a QR code and it was a trip to Disneyland. What’s the worst that could happen if I entered? I’d forget about it, and never win. And I’d lose like 30 seconds of my day filling out my name and e-mail address. I figured my win to lose ratio was pretty even on the “doesn’t matter” scale.

So I lasered the QR code with my iPhone (or at least that is what I like to think I do when I use a QR code scanner) and entered my name+e-mail. I met up with my boyfriend for coffee and then I completely forgot about the contest altogether.

October 12th rolls around and I’m driving back to my office from my morning trip to Raley’s for coffee. I receive an e-mail. I don’t recommend doing this, but I read the e-mail while driving. It said something like “Congratulations you’re a winner”. Normally I’d delete it because those things are ALWAYS spam… but I saw the Star Tours logo and it all came rushing back to me. (still driving) I read the rest of the e-mail and long story short… I won the grand prize.

What? Up until this point, I was convinced people didn’t actually win the contests they signed up to win.

So what do I get?

After I won this all inclusive trip I called him to let him know that I can manage my own life and find ways to go to Disneyland for free. He didn’t believe me at first. But after a few: “No I’m really serious, like seriously serious” he realized I wasn’t all crazy and we got wayy too excited.

Obviously there were 2 spots left. So on October 12th, I had a lot of friends. People texted me, and messaged me, and facebooked me… and I was like whoa… I know what you all are doing.

So anyways, it wasn’t too difficult for me to decide that I wanted these guys to go with us to the happiest place on earth:

*I asked about dogs and the administrators were all, “Uh… dogs are not eligible for this prize.” Which was totally rude.

So the KleiGuerAlkers are going to Disneyland in 2012. And you all should be jealous because it’s going to be magical.

The moral of this story is:

Now watch this, because it basically mirrors the reaction I had when I found out I won this trip.

That’s Lindsay Lohan’s sister Ali Lohan and she is 17 years old. She is the product of skin bleaching and poking and re-touching.

We all know about the train reck that is Lindsay Lohan.

And while she used to make me sad… I’ve lost sympathy for her situation. It bums me out though, to see what her behaviors have done to her family:

Crazy Kid + Crazy Family = Divorce

A perfectly normal teen turned terrifying

At 17 you should be seeing movies every night with your friends and trying not to fail your classes as a result of lack of sleep. If you’re a celeb, then 17 should be spent pursuing your career… not getting plastic surgery. But unfortunately, some of us are disillusioned to believe that we must go to great lengths (even going under the knife) to get that “perfect look”.

I don’t know what perfect is these days (and I’m afraid to type “perfect woman” into Google)… but I can assume that the Internet’s idea of perfect is far from perfection.

It’s easy to forget that photoshop exists. And better yet, that very talented artists exist who can manipulate photos to look the way they want them to. Here are some examples of what designers can do to a photo to make it look like the perfect woman:

Does this all make sense? Women in magazines simply don’t look that way in real life. Our perception of reality is based on tons of photoshopped images – not the real life women (and men) that walk this earth.

If we stood next to Naomi Watts or Madonna we’d be able to see lines in their faces, and bags under their eyes, and saggy skin – but photoshop quickly removes all the features that show that we’ve actually lived a real life.

As a result, 17 year olds are begging for plastic surgery and 8-year olds are getting Botox.

So, I can go to the gym every morning and drink protein shakes and cut out all carbs and candy – but… I’ll never be able to compete with photoshop. Photoshop can erase wrinkles, stretch marks, bags, saggyness – the very things that come with age – the very things that let others know that you’ve lived your life, and you’ve lived it well.

There’s nothing wrong with living a full life, and I’d rather see a bunch of well-used faces/bodies then a bunch of unnaturally smooth ones. I want to know that you’ve been places, and seen things, it makes you more real to me… it shows me that you’re living to your potential – that you truly enjoy your life.

We’re girls, we want to be beautiful… but what defines our beauty? I hope it’s not the photoshopped images you see in magazines – because you’re setting yourself up for failure… the reality is you will never be able to compete with photoshop. I don’t want to strive to look like a digitally re-touched image, I want people to know that I am flawed, but my flaws make me unique… they make me who I really am.

FYI: I think Photoshop is an incredible tool & it has truly revolutionized the way company’s and people can market themselves. I am in no way looking down on, or criticizing, the amazing things that Photoshop can do. 

Filed under: Processing, Rants and Raves Tagged: ali lohan, crazy, fat, healthy, images, lindsay lohan, photoshop, skinny ]]> http://rachelhiguera.wordpress.com/2011/09/08/our-perceptions-on-reality-are-based-on-photoshop/feed/ 0 rachelhiguera enhanced-buzz-22539-1315425469-53 Lindsey%20Lohan lohan-rehab-family-divorce Ali-Lohan-400x300 65356027---naomi_watts_photoshopped photoshoppedwoman Photoshopped-Images-Amber-Mac blog_nicole_photoshop[1] 384294675_7c181b651c MADONNA-PHOTOSHOP3 crazy-retouching-woman photoshopped_fat_woman_by_LiLRychoo http://rachelhiguera.wordpress.com/2011/09/03/bike-accidents-and-super-powers/ http://rachelhiguera.wordpress.com/2011/09/03/bike-accidents-and-super-powers/#comments Sun, 04 Sep 2011 01:48:18 +0000 rachelhiguera http://rachelhiguera.wordpress.com/?p=1020 Continue reading →]]> Today while riding my bike, my boyfriend decided to run into me while he was on his bike.

It didn't look like this though... thankfully

Okay, maybe I should rephrase that. He didn’t intentionally run into me. If I’m being honest, I think it was partially my fault too. It was a miscommunication. I was going right, he thought we were still going straight. So… we both ended up on the ground.

It all felt like slo-mo … here were my thoughts:

• GAHHH FALLING
• Your foot is clipped into your pedal, GET IT OUT
• Is my foot out of the pedal?
• Jason?
• This is super scarier than I imagined it would be
• Is anyone watching?

I wish I had spoke beads

If you’re a girl (or even if you’re a guy) being called fat sucks… especially when you’re 14. Suddenly that’s what you’re defined by: fat. Everything you do, or say, or think somehow centers around you and your fatness. There’s no denying that if you call yourself something long enough, you’ll start to truly believe you are that way, or that person. So, I was fat… Fatty McFat Fat, and you couldn’t tell me any different.

I did those things that teenagers do like, stop eating for a few days…or only eat Cups o’ Noodles (which are delicious but not nutritious and also, a Cup o’ Noodles diet is the opposite of a diet). I’d listen to Michele Branch and cry myself to sleep at night, asking God why He made me fat.

I was a cheerleader. Ironically I was probably the most fit I’ve ever been. But I wasn’t a size 0, and therefore… I was fat. [one time I wore size 0 jeans, and then sat down and they ripped in front of my friends... friends don't let friends try to fit into size 0 jeans, you guys]

Believing I was fat carried over into college/young adulthood. The feelings weren’t so pronounced but a little part of me still saw myself as a fat kid.

I’ve noticed, as women (and men), that we shy away from talking candidly about this subject (fatness). No one wants to admit that they look down on themselves, or that they struggle with weight or self image… but the reality is, most of America does. There is nothing abnormal about feeling poorly about your physical appearance. It doesn’t make it right, but you are definitely not alone if you feel fat.

Thankfully, in high school I never struggled to the point of an eating disorder… although I toyed with the idea once or twice [and even stopped eating for a few days... that was bad]. Instead I bottled up my fatness and let it eat away at my self-worth and confidence.

I wasted a lot of time worrying about what others thought of me. 

At some point somewhere around 21-23 I realized I wasn’t fat. I wasn’t (and am still not) a size 0… but, I can hike Half Dome, and run 5 consecutive miles, and I bike a few times a week. I realized fat people can’t do that.

Just me... and Half Dome. NBD

I’m not a vegan (I love me some meat, and carbs, and cheese) and I also love sugar (show me ice cream and I’ll show you an empty bowl) … but I also don’t eat McD’s for every meal.

I’m not a super model (I’m wayyy too short for that ish), and I wouldn’t pose for a magazine in a bikini (even if I was a size 0, I still wouldn’t do that). If I was standing next to a famous guy, he might not notice me… but that’s not what I’m striving for here.

You should strive to be healthy, but don’t kill yourself getting there.

People forget that being healthy doesn’t = being 100lbs. I know plenty of 100lbers that aren’t healthy at all… and that can be just as deadly as being fat. There is a chance that you aren’t built to be a size 0… no matter how hard you try, you will never get there (that might make you feel hopeless, but… don’t).

So if you look at yourself in the mirror and you’re disgusted with yourself, but you can still run a 9 minute mile… then you’re probably healthy. If you can walk up stairs and you only get a “little bit” out of breath, then you’re probably healthy. If you don’t eat McD’s for every meal, then you’re probably healthy. If you go to the doctor for a physical and they tell you that you are healthy, then you are healthy.

Don’t beat yourself up for being “average”. Think about it: if we were all supermodels and body builders, we’d all be average.

SOO thankful this isn't "average"

Is weight and self-image a struggle for you? How have you worked to overcome it, or what are you currently doing to put your mind at ease?