Chasing butterflies

Sometimes I think I'm my own worst enemy. I build up the guy I'm seeing in my head to be this Adonis, with this halo around them like they're some perfect, untouchable entity. Like a 13 year old girl in the 80s crushed on New Kids on the Block and cried at their concerts. Ok, maybe not that crazy. But I definitely still get that same feeling I got the day I got my first crush. The problem is that I still see myself in the same light too. As the band geek with the Whitney Houston “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” hair, and the baby fat I hadn’t learned how to shed just yet. And as one half of a relationship, it was no different. I had always viewed myself as the reacher and not the settler. And that is where this pilgrim always gets her heart broken.

More so than that is the fact that I have what some would call relationship ADD. I don’t necessarily get bored, but I find that I lose interest easily. Usually because a lot of the guys that ask me out aren’t all that deep, or interesting for that matter. Sure, they can be smart or good looking.. but rarely are they ever the full package. Add in the “glass shattering” effect, and well.. they are toast from the start. It’s relationship boredom, and it usually sets in within the first couple of months. So I start looking for an exit strategy. “It’s not you.. it’s me,” is far too cliché and no one seems to really buy it. Then there is always the talk of babies. If you want to run a man off, tell him everything you ate that day, that you want to be married with five children by the time you’re thirty and that your biological clock is ticking. Works every time. Before my regular readers start berating me for running off potential suitors, let me assure you I was doing it for their own good.

I find myself in situations where I “used” to feel the flutter. You know, the Butterfly Effect. Where you smile like an idiot every time their name comes up on your phone, or when you spy them from across a crowded room. That high school sweetheart feeling you had for only one person.. your Wendy Peffercorn. Maybe I am just jaded or a tad too cynical, or maybe all my years of thinking like a boy and being treated like one of them have caught up with me. But now the only feeling I feel is.. well, like vomiting. Over anxiety. Over being trapped in something that doesn't fit me the way I had pictured it would. The past few attempts at relationships were more like hemorrhoids. No, make that enemas. They were just up my ass and left me feeling extremely uncomfortable. And oddly enough, I always weighed less once I was rid of them. Hmmm..

I miss the feelings I had in the “beginnings.” Not necessarily the thrill of the chase, because at my age, in my line of work, that shit is really starting to get old. Instead, I miss feeling like I can be "me" and not a "we". Far too often I was consumed by feelings of guilt that I couldn't be everything they wanted because I was too busy fulfilling my dreams. But more so because I wasn’t willing to give up everything I had worked so hard for at the chance of living happily ever after with them. The real problem lies in the fact that no one tells you what happens when that new car smell isn't there anymore. What does it mean when the flutter isn’t there? Is it just a sign of life just getting real and signaling the end of the honeymoon phase or is it God’s way of showing you this isn't where he wanted you to end up?

If living on the island has taught me anything, it’s… go to the bathroom before you leave home, and that the world is really that small of a place. And trying to cut your teeth in my industry, the number of people you are exposed to on a daily basis… even smaller. So to say my dating pool was more like a koi pond, is a vast understatement. It wasn’t unheard of me seeing people I had used to date, or flirt with… some more casually than others. The worst part though was seeing someone after there was no resolution. Your situation just kinda melted, evaporated, or exploded… and there was no conclusion. I found myself in one such situation.

I recently ran into a familiar face that used to do that to me, you may recall him - the Perfect Stranger? Well, since our falling out, we haven't seen each other too much and haven't even really spoken other than an occasional text around birthdays or holidays. And that was fine by me. I think we just realized we wanted different things out of life. Translation: I wanted to date an adult. He wanted to date girls that could barely spell “orange”. He never liked what I did for a living and was always giving me ultimatums about it.

“Would you give up your acting/TV stuff?” ---NO!

“Would you give up your writing?” --- NO!

“Would you give up appearances, the public eye, and settle down and have a family?” -- Hell to the NO.

A guy like him wanted nothing more than a trophy girlfriend. Someone who would give up herself, relies on him financially, and never challenges him… ever. And that girl was certainly not me.

A little over a month ago, I was standing outside a Super Bowl party in Miami waiting on a friend to arrive, when he came out of the entrance with a girl whose shoulders easily could have bench pressed someone my size. Oddly enough however, there was not a single flutter. The deeper down in my soul I searched for a feeling for him.. the emptier I found it to be. There was no butterfly effect, only the feelings they sing about in those Pepto Bismol commercials. Heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea. God, why had I picked such a tight dress? Still, there was no drama. He ignored me, I ignored him.. and all was right with the world again.

Oddly enough, the Stranger’s thinking wasn’t at all original. Same thing happened with my latest companion. I cared about him deeply, but he just never seemed to "get it." His attitude toward my career, toward my opinions, and his sophomoric tone about him always being right were the proverbial can of Raid that laid the whoop ass on my butterflies.

Catching up with friends recently, none of them seemed surprised the latest didn't last.

"Jenn, c’mon. He was a child,” one of them said. “While he was hella book smart, you could have run the New York marathon around him in the common sense category. He was just naïve about life and was more interested in having a piece of eye candy than what was under the wrapper."

"Heh. Isn't that all men?" I laughed.

"Some. Err, make that most. I meant that metaphorically speaking by the way.. not about getting naked. But every once in a while you find one that seems a lil different from the rest and it you let your guard down. Face it Jenn, beneath that tough frat boy exterior, you're kinda a girl. Granted, you keep it a secret from most people, but we’re your friends. So, the jig is up."

My friend was right. Maybe I had been the exterminator in all my relationships by expecting things to always feel “direct from the dealership” fresh. But on the other hand, maybe I was doing myself a huge favor. Maybe I was weeding through all the tired bullshit, the cobwebs and spiders. I was getting rid of all the old cluster of ‘ish in the attic that I had zero use for. And Lord knows I have seen plenty of that. When it comes to relationships, you have to find someone with gumption to stand by you when shit gets tough, and when things aren't perfect. Because the butterfly feeling only last so long. When the day comes and she's barefoot, pregnant, and cursing that day you were in the mood.. well, you still have to love her. And what about the day your balls look less like the prizes of their day, and more like Jose Conseco’s after a cycle? Well, she won't mock you endlessly for it. At least, not if it’s the real deal. The point is, that you have to find the person that you could imagine waking up next to for the foreseeable future and not the one who you lay awake next to plotting your narrow escape before the sun comes up like one of those kids from Twilight.

Some things in life are just worth waiting for. Maybe that is why I have thrown myself into my career. Sure dating can be fun, but finding people of substance is tricky. Because once the butterflies leave, and the moths take up nesting, all you’re going to get are holes in your clothes and a closet that smells like old people. Finding genuine people in this world who can make you laugh, keep you smiling, and make your life a better place to be.. well, it certainly beats that empty feeling you wake up with after a “coyote ugly” experience. After all, while some people settle down, and others just settle, there are still people out there that refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies. This girl just happens to be one of them.

America's Sweetheart

Very rarely do my blogs ever veer into the pop culture sector of my industry. I figure there are enough Perez Hiltons and Tyler Durdens out there that there's really no reason to inject any more worthless third person opinion into the mix.

But as I ran on the treadmill the other day, I couldn't help but be drawn to the day’s skeezy headline on the TV in front of me.. "Chopper bad boy cheats on America’s sweetheart."

Two weeks ago, Sandra Bullock was on top of the world. She was dressed to the nines and outshining actresses half her age. She was the envy of the gay community for "making out with Meryl Streep." And oh yeah, she won what most would argue is the most prestigious acclaim one could possibly take home as an actress these days.. an Academy Award. Upon accepting her award for her role in “The Blind Side” she attributed her beautiful performance as “Big Mike” Oher's adoptive mother to two very special people. One, the actual woman whose mannerisms and gusto she had nailed to a "T." And a tattooed up garage rat she had affectionately come to refer to as her husband.

Little did she know the shitstorm that was about to become her life. A little over a week later, Life and Style had their people call her people and give her the heads up on the explosive headline that was about to hit the stands. You know, the one where the good girl gets crapped on by the bad boy she is in love with. Figuring the report was just another random bullshit line in tabloid history, Bullock's people denied the allegations. That is, until the sleaze magazine handed over all the evidence, including substantiated reports from none other than the “white power,” tatted up, “classy” broad claiming to have slept with Sandra’s husband. Sandra packed her things and moved out that day.

The whole mess really got me thinking though. Was it some sort of ego trip, or were men's minds really that feeble that they couldn't resist a little bit of “T&A” being paraded in front of their face? I mean seriously. What kind of men cheat on America's sweethearts?

There have been plenty of cases out there in the media world these days of beautiful successful women being cheated on by their "faithful and loving" husbands. Plenty of my friends and women-- that I care about deeply that seemingly had life by the balls-- lives were suddenly thrown into the turmoil dealing with their partner's infidelity. Hell, at 26, my last two long term relationships involved being cheated on with a Hooters chick, and the other to attend a “party.” Did I mention the party was 18 girls 18 boys, no boyfriends, girlfriends, or apparently human decency allowed? Since when did party=orgy??.. So when I learned of the details of this sordid event, it was “Hi ho, hi ho, pack your bags and go” for his sorry, undeserving ass.

That's not to say it didn't hurt like hell to see him go. It most certainly did. But it wasn't even that I loved him, or I thought he was the "one." Hell, I'm not really convinced there is still a "one" out there anymore in this day and age, especially with what I do for a living. No, instead it all came down to a lack of respect and a whole lot of perceived entitlement.

Bad boys are bad boys for a reason. Whether they claim mama issues, have huge egos, or supposed sex addictions, it really all comes down to their own personal character and the choices they make. And it’s our "role" in society as the loving nurturing women we are to want to fix them or save them from themselves. I call this the ‘Danny/Sandy Complex’ because well, every person on the planet has seen “Grease” at least once in their life, even the straight ones. Classic story of bad boy meets sweet girl. Girl falls for his antics. He retreats back to what he always was once school starts up again; he’s around his degenerate buddies. And breaks said good girl’s heart. But what happens at the end downright blows my mind. Down in the dumps about having lost Danny, she stands up in the middle of a disgusting aqueduct, and sings her sad song..

"Sandy, you must start anew. Don’t you know what you must do… wholesome and pure, I'm so scared and unsure. Good bye, to Sandra Dee."

And the next scene.. The grand finale. Its good bye poodle skirts, hello skankwear and spandex from American Apparel’s sex ads. Sure, she’s “the one that he wants”… for now anyway. Roll credits.

What the Sandra Dees don't realize is there's no changing the Danny Zukos of the world's ways, or saving them for that matter, because they are who they are. No one asks a scorpion why its stings people, it’s just its nature. Tigers don’t go crazy, Tigers go Tiger. (I am referring to the animal in this case, but I guess it could apply in several instances these days.) Regardless, you accept it for what it is, and either proceed with caution or go running for the hills. But if you do stick around, understand there's a fine print somewhere that states the potential hazards this relationship could and WILL bring into your life.

So for all the Sandra Dees and the Sandra Bullocks of the world, just continue to do your thing. There's no reason to change yourself or dress like a slut to compete with the women out there willing to destroy someone else’s relationship, just so they can “win” something. Instead, you let them keep their cheap carnival toy they "won" at the expense of you and their own self worth. You've still got your pride, and if you're Bullock, a new man in your life named Oscar.

As Lady Gaga once said, “Some women chase men, I chose to chase my career. A career won’t roll over one morning and tell you it doesn’t love you anymore.” Maybe under all that make up, the wigs, and masking tape, that girl isn’t so nuts after all. In fact she is absolutely right. After all, no man should ever rob you of the things you create and make happen …

Especially when you do it on your own.

Gone (fantasy) fishing

It’s that time of year we've all been anxiously waiting for… NFCB!!!

(And right THERE... 1500 red blooded young American men just stared at a screen. Blinked. And said.. WTF is this girl talking about?)

But for the hundreds of thousands of other guys out there.. The kind who can sympathize with Leroyyyy Jenkins... The kind who when you say "rotisserie", they don't think chicken... And the kind of guy who waits for Baseball Prospectus to come in the mail.. The kinda dudes that understand what positional scarcity and ADP actually are (and are all too happy to explain it to you. For hours. Without anesthetic.) All just simultaneously said... Yes!!!!!..

Let me explain.

It’s National Fantasy Championship of Baseball. Seriously, some of these guys have fantasies that don't involve me and my girlfriends. It's usually David Wright .... which I get ... but for me. Not you.

There are several types of baseball fans. There are guys that love to go to the games, drink beer and are simply spectators. There are guys who sit in foul ball territory with gloves like eight year olds. (Yes, that was me laughing at you last season on the third baseline at 'New Yankee'). There's the kind of fan that gets taken out of the stadium in handcuffs while their kids watch on, for telling Alex Rodriguez to do something to his mom that I couldn't quite make out, but apparently the cops did. (We will skip them.) Finally, there are the types of fans that sit patiently in front of their laptops and watch a computer generated baseball dude as he swings at red and blue dots. Even when it’s a shitty team whose entire season has practically been blacked out (sorry Pittsburgh), they'll do it just to see how one player’s individual stats may affect his chances at being a fantasy Joe Maddon.

Well, this blog’s for you.

I tried fantasy baseball a few years back. Didn't really like it. It was just so time consuming. Kinda like a marriage; you had to work on it every day adjust for injuries and line ups because they play so many games and most of it is so day-to- day. Way too high maintenance. So I eventually found this genius guy to pretty much run the team for me after I drafted. He was the pool boy I hired to keep the wife busy while I attended to the rest of my life.

Now fantasy football. That was something I could get behind. It was more like the hot girl you called up once in a blue moon at 3am on a weekend and all you had to text was.. "?"

Yes. That actually works on some of the dumber ones.

But then one day, one of my friends came in bitching about his fantasy league. His.. Fantasy fishing league.

No, I'm not joking. Note the lack of LOL’s.

I sat there perplexed.

“So wait. You chose a line-up of fishermen.. To sit on boats all day and catch fish by pure dumb luck.. And you call this a sport?”

He nods enthusiastically.

“So how do you choose how to sit or start??”

“Well...” he began.

“No, WELL. I mean. Do you actually strategize about it? Like… Well, I gotta sit Bob this week he got wasted off some Nati Light, puked, and then passed out. So his opponent Frank caught a shark off his chum and my buddy Mark's team won because of that. I mean, do you sit in front of Versus all afternoon long and listen to dudes with such thick southern accents they sound like Boomhauer on ‘King of the Hill’ reruns? Do you yell at them and cheer for them like you would at an MMA match or a football game? Really?”

But how can you call something a sport, let alone devise a fantasy league around it if it’s fate rest in the hands of the Gods and whether or not a fish is smarter than you are?? Fishing is really all about luck. You just put your rods out there, see what bites.. And decide what to toss back. Pretty much how most men I know date. They just set a couple of rods out there.. And see what they can snag as it swims by. Hell, I've watched guy friends of mine do it in one bar on a single night. I'm pretty sure it’s called a catch and release program.

But what happens when you get multiple bites? How do you know which line is worth all the effort of reeling in? Is it the one of least resistance? Or the one that makes you work for it?

The couple times I've gone fishing I've been quite successful. I always caught the biggest fish, with the least amount of effort. Shit, I didn't even take the hook out of them; I let the boys do all the dirty work. But they were usually cursing me the entire time, because they hadn't caught a damn thing. Maybe that's because I fished with the real thing. Good old fashioned worms.

Sure, they were gross and I hated touching them, but damn did they work better than that stupid artificial crap the boys were raving about.

And when it comes to dating I'm the exact same way. I put my real self out there, and if they like what they see, hopefully the right fish will come along and take the bait. But I by no means use any trickery.

Me? I'm gullible .. I fall for shiny things. Get hooked. And then it’s too late. Hook. Line. Sink “her.”

Despite my success, there was one thing I couldn't get past with fishing. It was boring. Sure, some people may call it relaxing, but if you can sleep and do it at the same time, well.. it’s not exactly multitasking. Personally, I found it a waste of time, as I do the whole initial dating process and the games. But girls I know insisted it was the way to go.

So I cast myself a few lines into the water to see what I'd find. Problem is, when you're fishing in the Hudson real fish are hard to come by. You're more likely to catch garbage, a mutated three-eyed monster, or maybe even a finger or two of Jimmy Hoffa that wasn't buried at Giants Stadium. However, when my friends would inquire about my dating life, and I'd just say “I was dating,” the guys got a little indignant about it. But I figured, if men are allowed to keep their rods out there, well why the heck shouldn't I? One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Each line had something different to offer, and that made choosing the right one like looking at the menu for Cheesecake Factory when you're beyond famished. Good luck with that.

But it got me thinking...

When is it time to reel in your catch and call it a day??

Maybe we should fall for a lure not because of how it looks, or its glossy appeal, but fall for it because in all honesty, it looks like the real thing. Until that day happens for me, at least at the end of the day..

My mom says “I'm a catch.”

But 'til then.. I've gone fishin.'

Admin Update: Jenn Sterger joins new Versus show

USA Today
3-4-10

Keith Jackson returns; Jenn Sterger joins new Versus show

http://www.usatoday.com/sports/columnist/hiestand-tv/2010-03-03-keith-jackson_N.htm

Versus vs. Sportscenter. Versus will today announce its first daily live studio show —The DailyLine— that will debut April 5 at 6 p.m. ET, opposite ESPN's SportsCenter.

But, says producer Andy Meyer, the show isn't meant to be any kind of knockoff. "Most shows have the same formula, with hosts in suits in front of a plasma screen showing highlights," he says. "This show will curate what's happening all over the Web that day. … And we don't want to have a lot of people shouting about sports, there's already too much of that."

Instead, says Meyer, the show will continually field tweets, texts, calls and emails from viewers and use them on-air. With the show having an "unscripted" feel, he says, "we're hoping we'll hear from viewers that take us in new directions during shows. … The only master we're serving is what fans care about."

Figuring out exactly what such a master wants could be daunting. But ESPN2's afternoon SportsNation already takes a stab at that by incorporates lots of viewer feedback and online elements — the show has about 650,000 Twitter followers.

Meyer says The Daily Line— which, despite the title, won't offer betting tips — will "have a huge presence of material from blogs, more than any other show."

The show's four on-air people, all new to Versus, includes Jenn Sterger, whose public profile was launched when she appeared in a crowd shot on a 2005 Florida State home football game and announcer Brent Musburger said, "1,500 red-blooded Americans just decided to apply to Florida State.

"I always felt sports TV was a bunch of guys in suits yelling at me," says Sterger, who's been an online columnist and host for SI.com and the New York Jets, has appeared in Maxim and Playboy, wears lingerie on her YouTube videos and has been the only female spokesperson forDr Pepper in both U.S. and non-U.S. markets.

"Other shows don't exactly know how to use social media and the Web," says Sterger. "Since I'm practically living on the Web, I've got a pulse on what going on out there. … And I'll be personally accessible to the audience, except for my personal phone number."

Down the rabbit hole

......I’ll start my story by telling you all that this particular blog is not one of those happy go lucky, feel good blogs. It’s a blog full of what people these days would call “brutally, honest truth.” And while it may not be pretty, sometimes putting your own thoughts and pain out there may help someone else as much or more than it helps yourself. I’ve come to realize in these past few years you can either put the real truth out there… or you can let people spin it into whatever sick story they want. I choose to be honest with you because whether you’re new to my blog, loyal followers or just stopping through… I want you to know that you’re getting the real me. The Good, The Bad, The Ugly… but always ME. We’ve been through a lot together over the years so… no secrets now right?

I don't want this to come across as soap boxy or a public service announcement or the episode of Saved by the Bell where Jesse Spano becomes addicted to caffeine pills. And be forewarned, this blog’s style is a little different from the usual.. so don’t fret if you don’t like it as much. I’m simply telling a story the best way I know how, in the best voice I know how. And hoping that maybe by writing this down I can help others know they aren’t alone. So without further ado, I give you..

Down the Rabbit Hole.

As I sat in a dark room on a dreary winter evening.. I couldn’t help but ask myself..

“How did I allow myself to get here?”

For anyone that has fallen down the rabbit hole, you know what it feels like. That sickening feeling of weightlessness and helplessness just waiting to see where you land. I’ve fallen down here once before and somehow managed to find my way out, but it wasn’t without the help of my family and friends. As anyone that has seen it will tell you… It’s a dark place, that rabbit hole. Once it sucks you in, you wind up in this whole different world with its topsy turvy views of how people in society should not only look, but how they should act as well.

When my journey began almost five years ago, I was thrown into an entirely different world. Until then, I was used to my daily routine, with my small, close family and my real friends. My normal friends. Not supermodels, or baller athletes, or movie stars, or public figures, or hanger-on’ers trying to get ahead. They were the people that loved me as I was. But they don’t belong in this other world, and nor would they want to.

I exist in a world that in order to get ahead, you have to take one pill to get your body smaller, and another to…. well, get your body smaller. So much so, I began to treat my body like an iPhone. Need to get skinny? Need to have Abs? Need to poop? Well, there's a pill for that. Their world tells me a size zero isn't small enough. And would prefer me to look like a Bratz Doll than an actual human being. It’s a sad place where one bad photograph or one wrong angle, robs you of all the beautiful moments you've had. But all these pills made it hard for my body to know how to function on its own. It only knew them. It needed them.

It was hard competing in a world that was seemingly always on the move. I had always lived a fast paced, busy life. Downtime was unheard of to me. I was the queen of “To-Do Lists” and mine seemed to go on for days, but I didn’t mind. But once my magazines came out, those lists seemed to multiply into books that seemed to multiply into editions, until I found myself in the middle of a library. To say I was overwhelmed, well.. that’s an understatement. Still, I smiled, because there is no frowning... not on the outside at least, and certainly not in this world. So I continued to run, faster and faster, chasing the white rabbit that is my career… and NOT a metaphor for illegal drug use.

I’ve met a lot of characters along my journey back. Most just kept me from moving forward, and so they were quickly discarded. But some managed to hang around, and some for far longer than they should have. The latest was a charming guy. A guy with a great grin and big ideas. But a tad misguided and certainly naïve to how real life works. His small town upbringing had kept him relatively grounded, but something was still not right. He talked of good values, and family, and his future… and of small government and being patriotic. Yet he worked for arguably one of the more hated and corrupted companies on the planet. How well he treated someone was measured in receipts from his credit card and gifts I really had little use for. Not to say I wasn’t grateful, but it seemed to me he really missed the boat as to what I was all about. To him, in his mind, in his world.. his ways were perfectly sane, but through my eyes he appeared just downright… “mad.” And even though I cared about him, I just couldn't continue to exist in his world and maintain sanity in my own.

His fun and games that I once found charming began to wear on my psyche as he could never understand why someone in my position would be “down.” And our once riveting conversations had morphed into debates, and then grueling knock down drag outs that would make Pacquiao Mayweather look like an undercard fight. So we parted ways, and my one true ally I had in this crazy world was gone. We both may say it’s for the best, but deep down we know differently. And when things go down the way they did, there's no going back.

Getting into the hole was easy, but getting out was always the hard part. The time before I was surrounded by my friends and family back home, but current circumstances prevent me from just picking up and going as I please. But one face reoccurs in my life, whose role is very much undefined. We’re both comfortable at an arm’s length away, but mutually appreciate one another’s quit wit and sarcasm. I’ve met him in the rabbit hole several times, and his wisdom has normally helped me see the way out.

So late one night, as we walked through the streets of New York, I asked him.. “Have you ever felt THIS way???”

It was dark outside, but I could still make out the features of his face. He looked back at me with a big bright smile and inquisitive eyes...

"No. But, you and I are similar creatures Miss Sterger, your heart is just way more exposed than mine. We substitute our work for our personal relationships with people. It’s why I admire and appreciate your drive. You’ve been down here before, and you’ll get back up. You’ve got an amazing journey ahead of you and it’s about to get started. So no use in letting your today, bring down your tomorrow. I’ve never understood the concept of sad. I know what it is; I just don’t ‘get it.’ I don't act like the world spins on its axis for me or any one person in particular. So whatever it is I may feel will pass.. and I just keep plugging along. Being sad is unproductive. So just channel it into what you do. And never look back."

Hmm, maybe he knows something I don't. Or maybe I still had an ally in this foreign land.

A few days later, a very close friend sent me a text..

Alice- "Well in our country you'd generally get to somewhere else -- if you run very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."

Queen- "A slow country! Now, here, you see it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that."

“What’s that?” I asked her.

“It’s a quote, from Alice and Wonderland,” she said. “I read it, and thought of you. It’s a beautiful description of ‘our’ lives.”

How right she was. The world is a rat race enough alone, but to end up in a city like New York and an industry like mine.. Well.. Ha, you do have to run twice as fast.

Her text didn’t draw me a road map to the bright red exit signs or anything, but it did let me know that there was someone out there that had seen the darkness of this dreary place too. And if she had made it out to help someone else, I had to do the same. After all, how does a girl who falls… no… actually jumps willingly down a rabbit hole into chaos, come out unchanged? Well, she really doesn’t. All you can hope for is to come out on the other side in one piece, a little bolder, little wiser and in a better place. And if you're lucky.. with someone who is brave enough and strong enough to accompany you on your next big journey.